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twg_000012928100 | of steel. The fingers tightened relentlessly. The Indian's beady eyes began to bulge; his tongue protruded. With all his strength he struggled, but Kid Wolf handled him with one arm, as easily as if he had been a child! "Yo're goin' to answer fo' yo' crime--that's what I'm goin' to do about it!" The Kid declared. The half-breed's yell was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928101 | wild and unearthly, when the grip at his throat was released. All the fight was taken out of him. Kid Wolf shook him until his teeth rattled, picked him up bodily and hurled him across his saddle. "I'm takin' yo' to the law," he drawled. "I might kill yo' now and be justified, too. But I believe in doin' things | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928102 | in the right way." At the mention of "law," the half-breed snarled contemptuously. "Ain't no law," he grunted, "southwest o' Dodge. Yuh no take me there. Too far." Kid Wolf knew that the killer was right. Still, on the prairie, men make their own commandments. "Theah's a new town, I hear, not far from heah--Midway, I think they call it," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928103 | he drawled. "Yo're goin' theah with me, and if theah's no law in Midway, I'll see that some laws are passed. And yo' won't need that, eithah!" he added suddenly. The knife that the half-breed had attempted to draw tinkled to the ground as The Kid gave the treacherous wrist a quick twist. "Step along, Blizzahd," sang out Kid Wolf | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928104 | in his Southern drawl. "Back to the trail, as soon as we get a drink of watah, then no'th!" At the mention of Midway, the half-breed's expression had changed to one of snakelike cunning. But if The Kid noted his half-concealed smile, he paid no attention to it. They were soon on their way. Always, even in the savage lands | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928105 | beyond civilization, Kid Wolf tried to take sides with the weak against the strong, with the right against the wrong. And on more than one occasion he had found himself in hot water because of it. The average man of the plains, upon seeing the murder committed, would have considered it none of his business, and would have let well | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928106 | enough alone. Another type would have killed the half-breed on general principles. Kid Wolf however, determined that the murderer would be given a fair trial and then punished. Again striking the Chisholm Trail--a well-beaten road several hundred yards wide--he veered north. Thousands upon thousands of longhorns from Texas and New Mexico had beaten that trail. This was the halfway point. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928107 | Kid Wolf had heard of a new settlement in the vicinity, and, judging from the landmarks, he estimated it to be only a few miles distant. In the meantime, the sun went down, creeping over the level horizon to leave the world in shadows which gradually deepened into dusk. All the while, the half-breed maintained a stoical silence. Kid Wolf, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928108 | keeping a careful eye on him, but ignoring him otherwise, hummed a fragment of song: "Oh, theah's hombres poison mean, on the Rio! And theah's deadly men at Dodge, no'th o' Rio! And to-day, from what I've seen, Theah's some bad ones in between, And I aim to keep it clean, beyond the Rio!" Stars began to twinkle cheerily in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928109 | the black vault overhead. Then The Kid made out a few points of yellow light on the plain ahead of them. "That must be Midway," he mused to himself. "Those aren't stahs, or camp fiahs. Oil lamps mean a settlement." Camps of any size were few and far between on the old Chisholm Trail. The moon was creeping up as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928110 | Kid Wolf and his prisoner arrived, and by its light, as well as the few lights of the town, he could see that the word "town" flattered the place known as "Midway." There were a few scattered sod houses, and on the one street were two large buildings, facing each other on opposite sides of the road. The first was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928111 | a saloon, brilliantly lighted in comparison to the semidarkness of the other, which seemed to be a general store. A sign above it read: THE IDEL HOUR SALOONE Below it, in similar letters, the following was spelled out, or rather misspelled: JACK HARDY OWNER AND PROPRIATER As the only life of Midway seemed to be centered here, Kid Wolf drew | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928112 | up his horse, Blizzard, dismounted, and dragged his prisoner to the swinging green doors that opened into the Idle Hour Saloon. Pushing the half-breed through by main strength, he found himself in a big room, lighted by three oil lamps and reflectors suspended from beams in the roof. For all the haze of tobacco smoke, the place was agleam with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928113 | light. For a moment Kid Wolf stood still in astonishment. To find such a group of men together at one place, and especially such a remote place, was surprising. A score or more of booted-and-spurred loungers were at the bar and at the gambling tables. A roulette wheel was spinning at full clip, its little ivory ball dancing merrily, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928114 | at other tables were layouts of faro and various games of chance. Cards were being riffled briskly at a poker game near the door, and a little knot of men were in a corner playing California Jack. Kid Wolf took in these details at a glance. What puzzled him was that these men did not appear to be cattlemen or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928115 | followers of any calling, unless possibly it was the profession of the six-gun. All were heavily armed, and although that fact in itself was by no means unusual, The Kid did not like the looks of several of the men he saw there. Some were half-breeds of his prisoner's own stripe. At The Kid's entrance with his still-struggling prisoner, every | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928116 | one stared. The bartender--a bulky fellow with a scarred face--paused in the act of pouring a drink, his eyes widening. The quiet shuffle of cards ceased, the wheel of fortune slowed to a clicking stop, and every one looked up in sudden silence. Kid Wolf dragged the half-breed to the center of the room, holding him by the scruff of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928117 | the neck. "Men," he said quietly, "this man is a murderah!" In a few more words, he told the gathering what had happened. From the very first, something seemed to warn The Kid of approaching trouble. Was it his imagination, or was a look flashed between the half-breed and several of the men in the room? He sensed an alert | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928118 | tenseness in the faces of those who were listening. One of the men, whom the Kid immediately put down as the owner of the saloon--Jack Hardy--was staring insolently. Hardy was flashily dressed, wearing fancy-stitched riding boots, a fancy vest, and a short black coat, under which peeped the butt of a silver-mounted .. Kid Wolf's intuition told him that he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928119 | was the man he must eventually deal with. The saloon owner had been watching the faro game. Now, having heard Kid Wolf out, he turned his back and deliberately faced the layout again. "Go on with the game," he sneered to the dealer. There was a world of contempt in his silky voice, and Kid Wolf flushed under his tan. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928120 | Hardy pretended to ignore the visitor completely. The faro dealer slid one card and then another from his box; the case keeper moved a button or two on his rack. Then the dealer raked in the winnings from the losers. The game was going on as usual. The gamblers, taking their cue from Jack Hardy, turned to their games again. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928121 | It was as if Kid Wolf had never existed. The Kid took a firmer hold on the wriggling half-breed. "Do yo' know this man?" he demanded of the proprietor. Hardy turned in annoyance, his black brows elevated sarcastically. "It's 'Tucumcari Pete,'" he mocked. "What is it to yuh?" Looking at the faro lookout, perched on his high stool, he winked. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928122 | The lookout returned it knowingly. Kid Wolf's eyes blazed. He had told his story so that all could hear. None had paid it any attention. All these men, then, were dishonest and unfriendly toward law and order. "I want yo' to understand me," he said in a voice he tried to make patient. "This hombre--Tucumcari Pete, yo've called him--shot and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928123 | killed a man from ambush. Isn't there any law heah?" With long, tapered fingers, Jack Hardy rolled a cigarette, placed it between his lips and leered insultingly. "There's only one law in Midway," he laughed evilly, "and that law is that all strangers must attend to their own business. Now I don't know who yuh are, but----" "I'm Kid Wolf," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928124 | came the soft-spoken drawl, "from Texas. My enemies usually call me by mah last name." A man brushed near the Kid; his eye caught the Texan's significantly. But instead of speaking, he merely thrust a wadded cigarette paper in the Kid's hand as he passed by. So quickly was it done that nobody, it seemed just then, had seen the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928125 | movement. Kid Wolf's heart gave a little leap. There was some mystery here! If he had made a friend, was that friend afraid to speak to him? Was there a note in that paper ball? Hardy's eyes met the Texan's. They were insect eyes, beady and glittering black. "All right," he snarled. "Mr. Wolf, you clear out!" The Texan's fiery | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928126 | Southern temper had reached its breaking point. It snapped. In a twinkling, things were happening. Using quick, almost superhuman strength, he picked up the half-breed by the neck and one leg and hurled him, like a thunderbolt, into the group at the faro table! Tucumcari Pete's wild yell was drowned out by the tremendous crash of splintering wood and thudding | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928127 | flesh, as the half-breed's body hurtled through the air to smash Jack Hardy down to the floor with the impact. The table went into kindling wood; chips and markers flew! A chair banged against the lookout's high perch, just as he was bringing his sawed-off shotgun to his shoulder. _Br-r-r-ram, bang!_ The double charge went into the ceiling, as the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928128 | lookout toppled to the floor to join his companions, now a mass of waving arms and legs. Kid Wolf's twin .45s had come out as if by magic. He ducked low. He did not need eyes in the back of his head to know that the men at the bar would open fire at the drop of the hat! A | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928129 | bullet winged venomously over him. Another one whined three inches from his ear. At the same instant, a bottle, hurled by the bartender, smashed to fragments against the wall. But with one quick spring, Kid Wolf had his back against the green-shuttered door. For the first time, his Colts splattered red flame and smoke. There were three distinct reports, but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928130 | they came so rapidly that they blended into one sullen, ear-shattering roar. He had aimed at the swinging lamps, and they went out so quickly that it seemed they had been extinguished by the force of one giant breath. Glass tinkled on the saloon floor, and all was wrapped in darkness. The Texan's voice rang out like the clang of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928131 | steel on granite: "Yo're goin' to have law! Kid Wolf law--and yo' may not like it as well as the othah kind!" A score of revolver slugs, aimed at the sound of his voice, sent showers of splinters flying from the green-shuttered doors. The Texan, though, had taken care not to remain in the line of fire. When the inmates | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928132 | of the Idle Hour swarmed out, looking for vengeance, they were disappointed. Kid Wolf and his horse, Blizzard, were nowhere to be seen! M'CAY'S RECRUIT The Texan, after circling the town of Midway, rode in again. It was not his way to leave a job unfinished, with only a threat behind. The cigarette-paper note had aroused his curiosity to a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928133 | fever heat. He read it by the light of the moon. It consisted of three pencil-scrawled words: GO CROSS STREET Across the wide street from the saloon, there was but one building. Was it here that he was to go? Was it a trap of some kind? He dismissed the latter possibility and decided to go at once to the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928134 | big frame general store, using all the caution possible. Approaching the place from behind, he looked it over carefully before dismounting. As Blizzard was conspicuous in the moonlight, he left him in a thick clump of bushes and slipped through the shadows on foot. As he neared the building, he discovered that it was not merely of frame, as he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928135 | had at first thought. The boards in front masked a fortress of logs. It was so planned that a handful of defenders might hold it against great odds. As Kid Wolf knocked softly on the rear door, he wondered if it had been built merely as a security against the renegade Indians, or for some other and deeper purpose. For | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928136 | a few minutes after he knocked, there was silence, then the door slowly opened. The Texan found himself looking into the barrel of a .! "What do yuh want here?" Framed in the doorway, the Kid saw a grim young face glaring at him over the sights of the six-gun. "Speak quick!" said the voice again. "I will," the Texan | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928137 | said, "if yo'll kindly take that . out of my eye. I can talk bettah when I'm not usin' yo' gun barrel fo' a telescope." "That gun," said the other sharply, "is goin' to stay just where I've got it!" But it didn't. Kid Wolf's left hand snapped up under the gun and rapped smartly at just the right spot | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928138 | the wrist that held it. It was a trick blow--one that paralyzed the nerves for a second. The Colt dropped from the boy's quickly extended fingers and fell neatly into Kid Wolf's right hand! All had happened so quickly that the youth hadn't time to squeeze the trigger. Before the amazed young man could recover himself, the Texan handed over | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928139 | the gun, butt first. "Here yo' are," he drawled humorously. "To show yo' I mean well, I'm givin' it back. I do wish, though, that yo'd kindly point it some other way while I'm talkin'." The manner of the other changed at this. After losing his gun, he had expected a quick bullet. "Guess yo're all right," he grinned slowly. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928140 | "Come on in." Passing through the door, Kid Wolf noted the thick loophole-pierced walls and other provisions for defense. Rifles stood on their stocks at intervals, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice. "Oh, dad!" the youth called in a low voice, as they entered the big main room of the building. Six men were in the place, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928141 | and The Kid took stock of them with one appraising glance. Although just as heavily armed as the faction across the street in the Idle Hour had been, they were of a different type. They were cattlemen, some old, some young. All looked up, startled. One of them got to his feet. He was a huge man and very fat. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928142 | His face was round and good-humored, although his puckered blue eyes told of force and character. "What's the matter, 'Tip'?" he asked of Kid Wolf's escort. "Who is this man?" The Texan smiled and bowed courteously. "Maybe I should explain, sah," he drawled. "And aftah I'm done, perhaps yo'll have some information to give me." He began his story, but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928143 | was soon interrupted by an exclamation of anger and grief from the boy's father. "A man on a strawberry roan, yuh say? And murdered! Why, that was Hodgson--one of my best men! Go on, young man! Go on with yore story!" In a few words, the Texan told of bringing the half-breed to the saloon across the street, and of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928144 | his reception there. "They-all told me to cleah out," he finished whimsically, "so I cleahed out the Idle Hour. Or rathah, I got the job started. Some one theah," he added, "handed me this note. That's why I'm heah." The big man looked at it, and his face lighted. "A short fella gave yuh that? I thought so! That was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928145 | George Durham--one o' my men. He's there as a spy." "As a spy?" the Texan repeated blankly. "I'm afraid this is gettin' too deep fo' me, Mistah----" "McCay is the name. 'Old Beef McCay, they call me," he chuckled. "This lad, yuh've already met. He's Tip McCay, and my son. And you?" "Kid Wolf, sah, from Texas--just 'Kid' to my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928146 | friends." The five punchers, who had been listening with intense interest to the Texan's story, came forward to shake hands. They were introduced as Caldwell, Anderson, Blake, Terry White, and "Scotty." All were keen-eyed, resolute men. "Now I'll tell yuh what this is all about," said the elder McCay. "When I spoke of a spy, I meant that Durham is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928147 | there to see if he can find out why Jack Hardy has imported those gunmen, and what he plans to do. Yuh see, I'm a cattle buyer. At this halfway point I buy lots o' herds from owners who don't wish to drive 'em through to Dodge. Then I sell 'em there at a profit--when I can." "And Jack Hahdy?" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928148 | drawled the Texan. "Hardy is nothin' more or less than a cattle rustler--a dealer in stolen herds on a large scale. He's swore to get me, at the time when it'll do him the most good. In other words, at the time when he can get the most loot. "So far," McCay went on, "there's been no bloodshed. To-day it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928149 | seems he's had Hodgson murdered. Looks as if things are about ripe for war!" "He seems to have mo' men than yo'," murmured Kid Wolf. "Yuh don't know the half of it. A dozen more of his hired gunmen rode south on the Chisholm Trail this mornin'." "What does that signify?" "Plenty," McCay explained. "Six o' my men are drivin' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928150 | fifteen hundred steers up this way. Quite a haul, yuh see, for Hardy. They're due here tonight. If they don't get here----" The big man's wide mouth hardened. "But I'm afraid I'm a poor host," he added apologetically. "Yuh'll have supper and stay the night with us, I'm sure. Tip, you an' Scotty go out and bring in The Kid's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928151 | hoss." The Texan consented, thanking him, and all began to make preparations for the night. The big general store seemed more like a fort in time of war than anything else. Some of the men slept on the counters in the main room. A place was made for Kid Wolf in the rear. Sentries were on watch during the entire | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928152 | night, which passed uneventfully. In the morning, just as the dawn was glowing in the east, the Texan was awakened by a horrified cry. All rushed to the front windows. Across the wide street, over the Idle Hour Saloon, a man was dangling, suspended from the roof by a rope! It was Durham--the man who had given Kid Wolf the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928153 | cigarette-paper note. Some one had seen him in the act, and the fiends had lynched him. "That settles it," said Kid Wolf grimly, turning to McCay. "I reckon I'm throwin' in with yo'. My guns are at yo' service!" It was a situation not uncommon in that wilderness where "the law isn't, and the six-shooter is." Kid Wolf, however, had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928154 | never seen a bolder attempt to trample on the rights of honest men. His veins beat hot at the thought of it. And Jack Hardy seemed to have the power to see it through to its murderous end. It was not long after the discovery of Durham's murder when Tip McCay brought in a new note that had been pinned | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928155 | to the door. "It was put there durin' the night some time, probably by one o' Hardy's sneakin' half-breeds, because none o' our sentries saw any one the whole night through," Tip said. The note was roughly penciled on a sheet of yellow paper, and the message it carried was significant: Ef yu will all walk out of their without | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928156 | yore guns we promiss no harm will com to yu. Ef yuh dont, we will get yu to the last man. We alreddy got yore cattel. This offer dont go fer Kid Wolf. We no hes their and we aim to kill him! "They don't like me." The Texan laughed. "Well, I don't want 'em to. What do yo' intend | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928157 | to do, sah?" The elder McCay's face was very red. His fingers, as he tore the insolent letter to bits, were trembling with anger. "I say let 'em hop to it!" he jerked out. "I ain't givin' in to anybody!" The others cheered. And it was a fighting group of men who gathered for a conference as to the defense | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928158 | of the store. It was agreed that their position was a serious one, outnumbered as they were. Just how serious, they soon found out, for at the rising of the sun--as if it had been a signal--a burst of gunfire blazed out from the saloon across the street. Splinters flew from the logs as bullets thudded into them. Several whined | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928159 | through the two windows and crashed into the wall. Kid Wolf took an active part in quickly getting ready for a stand. The windows and the doors were heavily barricaded, at his suggestion. Sacks of flour, salt, and other supplies were piled over the openings, as these were best for stopping lead. Mattresses were stuffed behind the barricade for further | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928160 | protection, and just enough space was left clear to allow a gun to be aimed through. The volley from the Idle Hour had injured no one. The firing continued more or less steadily, however, and an occasional slug ripped its way between the logs. Jack Hardy's gang were firing at the chinks. Up until this time, the defenders had not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928161 | fired a shot. Even now, after the preparations had been made, Kid Wolf advised against wasting ammunition. The rustler gang were firing from the cover of the saloon, and were well protected. "Hunt up all the guns heah," the Kid cried, "and load 'em. If they rush us, we'll need to shoot fast!" Several rifles were hunted up--Winchesters and two | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928162 | muzzle-loading Sharps .50s. There were also a powder-and-ball buffalo gun of the old pattern, and, to Kid Wolf's delight, a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun. In the light of the early morning, each detail of the grim scene was brought out minutely. It was a picture Kid Wolf never forgot! Across the street that formed the No Man's Land was the saloon, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928163 | wreathed in powder smoke, as guns spat sullen flame. And swinging slightly above the splintered green-shuttered doors was the dead body of Durham, neck stretched horribly, head on breast. It seemed a grotesque phantom, warning them of death to come. The horses had been run into the back of the store itself, as a protection against flying bullets. Kid Wolf | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928164 | suggested that they be saddled, so that they would be ready for use if occasion demanded it. "We might have to make a run fo' it at any time," he warned. The firing from the saloon went on for nearly an hour. Then there was a sudden lull. "Look out now!" The Kid exclaimed. "Looks like they mean to rush | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928165 | us!" "We'll cure 'em o' that!" Old Beef McCay cried grimly. He picked up the sawed-off shotgun. The Texan was right. A yell went up from the saloon, and a dozen men rushed out, firing as they came. Six others carried a heavy beam, evidently torn from the interior of the Idle Hour. It was their intention to use this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928166 | as a battering-ram to smash in the door of the store. The cry from the defenders was "Let 'em have it!" The terrific thunder of the shotgun and the buffalo rifle blended with the loud roar of six-guns. Hammers fell with deadly regularity. Fire blazed from every loophole and shooting space. When the smoke cleared away, Tip McCay emitted a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928167 | whoop that the others echoed. The charge had been stopped, and very effectively. The big beam lay on the ground, with the writhing bodies of four men around it. The "scatter gun" had accounted for three of them; Kid Wolf had put the other out of business with bullets through both legs. A little to one side were two more | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928168 | of the outlaws, one of whom had been brought down by Tip McCay, the other by the lantern-jawed, slow-spoken plainsman known as Scotty. The others had beaten a quick retreat to the shelter of the saloon. ONE GAME HOMBRE Hardy's gang did not attempt another rush. They had learned their lesson. Keeping under cover, they continued firing steadily, however, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928169 | their bullets began to do damage. Every crack and chink was a target. In the afternoon, more riders arrived to swell the Hardy faction. Some were ugly, half-clothed Indians, armed with rusty guns and bows and arrows. The odds were steadily increasing. As there was ample food and water in the storehouse to last for several days, the besieged had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928170 | no worries on that score. McCay knew, though, and Kid Wolf realized, that nightfall would bring trouble. Hardy was stung now by the loss of several men, and he would not do things by halves. He would show no mercy. The first casualty took place in midafternoon. Anderson, in the act of aiming his revolver through a loophole, was hit | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928171 | between the eyes by a bullet and instantly killed. The number of men defending the store was now cut down to seven. Toward nightfall, tragedy overtook them, full force. Old Beef McCay was in the act of reloading a gun when a treacherous bullet zipped spitefully through an opening between two logs and caught him low in the chest. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928172 | impact sent him staggering against the wall, his round, moonlike face white and drawn. "Dad!" called out Tip, in an agony of grief. He and Kid Wolf rushed to the wounded man, supporting his great weight as it slowly sagged. "Got me--son!" the cattleman jerked out. Quickly the Texan tore away his shirt. He did not have to examine the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928173 | wound to see how deadly it was; one glance was enough. Shot a few inches under the heart, McCay was dying on his feet. "I'm done--all right," he grunted. "Listen, Tip. And you, Kid Wolf. I know yo're a true-blue friend. I want yuh to recover those cattle, if yuh ever get out of here alive. Yuh promise to try?" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928174 | He turned glazing eyes at the Texan. "The cattle should go--to Tip's mother. She's in Dodge City." "Believe me, sah," promised Kid Wolf earnestly, "if we evah get out of this trap alive, Tip and I will do ouah best." The stricken man's face lighted. He grasped his son, Tip, with one hand, the Texan with the other. "I'll pass | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928175 | on easier now." Suddenly he drew himself up to his full height of well over six feet, squared his enormous shoulders, and with crimson welling from his wound, walked firmly and steadily to the door and began kicking the barricade aside. "What are yuh doin'?" one of the defenders cried, thinking he was delirious from his hurt. McCay, fighting against | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928176 | the weakness that threatened to overcome him, turned with a smile, grim and terrible. "I'm goin' out there," he said, "to take some of those devils--with me!" In vain Kid Wolf and Tip attempted to restrain him. The old man waved them back. "I'm done for, anyway," he said. "I haven't got ten minutes to live. What if they do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928177 | fill me with lead? I'll get one or two while they're doin' it!" He seemed stronger now than ever. Sheer will power was keeping him on his feet. Seizing two revolvers, one in each big fist, he wabbled through the door. With horror-widened eyes, they watched his reeling progress. He faltered to the hitch rack with bullets humming all around | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928178 | him. He clung to it for a moment, then went on, stalking toward the Idle Hour like grim vengeance! His guns sputtered red fire and bursts of black powder smoke. Hit time after time--they could see the dust fly from his clothing as he staggered along under the dreadful impacts--he kept going. It was glorious, terrible! Tip hid his eyes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928179 | with a despairing cry. Kid Wolf watched, his face white under his sunburn. Up to the very door of the Hardy refuge, the old man walked, his guns hammering claps of thunder. Hit several times in the body, he sprawled once and fell, but was on his feet again before the smoke drifted away. He plunged through the door, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928180 | The Kid saw two men drop under his blazing guns. Then McCay, too, fell--for the last time. "Yo' dad was one game hombre, Tip," murmured the Texan, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let's hope that when ouah turn comes, we can go as bravely." He had never seen such an exhibition of undaunted courage. Although the tragedy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928181 | had clutched at his heart, the spectacle had thrilled him, too. He knew that if he should escape, he would do his best to make good his promise to Old Beef McCay! The McCay store was surrounded on all sides, and its four walls were scarred and pitted with bullet holes. And night was coming on rapidly. Kid Wolf saw | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928182 | the peril of their position. He knew, only too well, that the darkness would add to their troubles. Twilight was deepening into dusk. Soon it became dark, and the moon would not be up for an hour. Kid Wolf, Tip McCay, and their four companions were never more alert. But even their keen eyes could not watch everything. Young McCay | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928183 | was very pale. His father's death had touched him deeply, and fury against his killers burned in his glance. The others, too, were grim, thinking not of their own peril, but of the murderous Hardy gang. Thirsty for vengeance, they kept their eyes glued to their peepholes, fingers on gun triggers. Tip had found a friend in Kid Wolf. No | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928184 | words were wasted on sympathy now, or regrets, but Tip knew that the drawling Texan understood. There was little shooting being done now, and the suspense was telling on the nerves of all of them. What was Hardy up to? Would he again attempt to batter down the door and force a way in, under cover of darkness this time? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928185 | But they were not left long in doubt. "I smell smoke!" cried Blake. Immediately afterward a sharp, crackling sound came to their ears. Hardy's gang had set fire to the store! Under cover of darkness, one of the slinking Indians had crept up and ignited a pile of oil-soaked rags against the logs of the building. The flames rose high, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928186 | licking hungrily upward. "Get water!" some one shouted. A bucketful or two from their supply tossed accurately through a loophole by Kid Wolf extinguished the blaze before it could rise higher. It was a close call, and it showed them what to expect now. The Indian's mistake had been in setting his fire where it could be reached by the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928187 | defenders. "We were pretty blamed lucky," Caldwell began. "If thet fire----" "Not so lucky," sang out the Texan. "Look at _that_!" From the direction of the saloon, a half dozen streaks of flame shot up into the sky like so many rockets. Fire whistled in the wind. The streaks were burning arrows, fired by Hardy's red-skinned cutthroats! "That settles it!" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928188 | groaned Tip resignedly. "They're fallin' on the roof!" It was a wonder Hardy's evil brain hadn't thought of it before. Possibly some of his savage recruits had suggested it. At any rate, it was more to the rustler chief's purpose than smashing in the door. It would soon be all over for the defenders now. In a breath, the roof | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928189 | was afire. Little jets of smoke began to spurt down from the beams over their heads, and the flames were fanned into a roar by the wind. Desperately the little handful of fighters exchanged glances. Things looked black indeed. They could not remain long in the burning death trap, and outside was Hardy's gang, waiting in the darkness to shoot | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928190 | them down if they ventured to escape. "Steady, boys!" encouraged the Texan. "Theah may be a chance fo' us yet." But one of them--Blake--was overcome with terror. In spite of what the others did to restrain him, he ran outside, tearing his way through the barricade. His hands were raised wildly over his head in token of surrender. But that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928191 | made no difference to Hardy. There was a dull spat, and Blake went sprawling, shot through the heart. "I hope nobody else tries that," drawled The Kid. "When we go, let's go togethah. By the light of this fiah they can see the colah of ouah eyes. We haven't a chance in the world to escape that way." "We can't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928192 | stay here and burn to death!" groaned Terry White. The heat and smoke were driving them out of the main room. Already flames were creeping down the walls, and the air was as hot as the breath of an oven. Their faces were blistered, their exposed hands cooked. Tip's coat was afire, as all five of them made a dash | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928193 | for the smaller room, taking the extra guns and ammunition with them. This gave them a short respite. As yet the fire had not reached this apartment, although it would not take long. The smoke was soon so thick as nearly to be blinding. Stationing themselves at the loopholes, they began to work havoc with their rifles and revolvers. For | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928194 | the outlaws, bolder now, had ventured closer and made good targets in the glare of the burning building. Suddenly there was a tremendous crash. The roof over the main room had come smashing in! Instantly the fire roared louder; tongues of it began to lick through the walls. Wood popped, and the heat became maddening. One side of the room | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928195 | became a mass of flames. The imprisoned men began to wet their clothing with the little water that was left. "The stable!" ordered Kid Wolf. "Quick!" The stable was built against the side of the store in the rear, and a door of the smaller room opened into it. There they must make their last stand. The horses--and among them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928196 | was Kid Wolf's white charger, Blizzard--were trembling with fear. They seemed to know, as well as their masters, that they were in terrible danger. "We'll make ouah get-away with 'em, when the time comes," drawled the Texan. "Not a chance in the world, Kid!" Tip groaned. "Just leave it to me," was the quiet reply. "We've got a slim chance, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928197 | if mah idea works." Fanned by the wind, the flames soon were eating at the stable. And once caught, it burned like tinder. The horses screamed as the fire licked at them, and all was confusion. To make matters worse, bullets ripped through continually. The Hardy band had gathered about the burning buildings in a close ring, ready to shoot | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928198 | down any one the instant he showed himself. The situation looked hopeless. "Stay in there if yuh want to!" a voice shouted outside. "Burn up, or take lead! It's all the same to us!" The heat-tortured Scotty staggered to his feet and groped toward one of the plunging, screaming horses. "Lead is the easiest way," he choked. "They'll get me, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928199 | but I'm goin' to try and ride this hoss out o' here!" "Wait a minute!" Kid Wolf cried. "All get yo' hosses ready and make the break when I say the word. But not until!" Gritting their teeth, they prepared to endure the baking heat for a few minutes more. They did not know what Kid Wolf was going to | 60 | gutenberg |
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