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twg_000012928200 | do, but they had faith that he would do something. And they knew, as things stood, that they could not hope for anything but death if they tried to escape now. The stable was a mass of flames. The walls were crumbling and falling in. The Texan gave his final orders. "If any of us get through," he gasped, "we'll | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928201 | meet on the Chisholm Trail--below heah. Ride hard, with heads low--when I say the word!" Then Kid Wolf played his trump card. Upon leaving the store itself, he had taken a small keg with him--a powder keg. Until now, none of the others had noticed it. Holding it in his two hands, he darted through the door into the open! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928202 | Bits of burning wood were all about him; flames licked at his boots as he stood upright, the keg over his head. "Scattah!" he shouted at the astonished Hardy gang. "I'm blowin' us all to kingdom come!" The Texan made a glorious picture as he stood there, framed in red and yellow. Fire was under his feet and on every | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928203 | side. The glow of it illuminated his face, which was stained with powder smoke and blackened by the flames. His eyes shone joyously, and a laugh of defiance and recklessness was on his lips as he swung the poised keg aloft. The Hardy gang, frozen with terror for an instant, scattered. They ran like frightened jack rabbits. To shoot Kid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928204 | Wolf would have been easy, but none of them dared to attempt it. For if the keg was dropped, one spark would set it off. Overcome with panic, the ring of outlaws melted into the night. The Texan gave the signal, and Tip, Caldwell, Scotty, and White tore out of the doorway on their frightened horses, heads low, scattering as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928205 | they came. Kid Wolf whistled sharply for Blizzard and pulled himself effortlessly into the saddle as the big white horse went by at a mad gallop. He tossed away the keg as he did so. The Hardy faction began shooting then, but it was too late. Bullets hummed over the heads of the escaping riders, but not one found its | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928206 | mark. Kid Wolf found himself riding alongside Tip McCay. The others had taken different routes. The sounds of guns behind them were rapidly growing fainter, and they were hidden by the pitch darkness. Kid Wolf heard Tip laughing to himself--a rather high-pitched, nervous laugh. "Are yo' all right, Tip?" sang out the Texan. "Great! Yore plan worked to a T! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928207 | But do yuh know what was in that powder keg yuh used?" "Yes, I knew all the time," chuckled The Kid. "It wasn't powdah at all. It was lime. I found that out when I tried to load a Sharps rifle from it. But just the same, Tip, the bluff worked!" THE NIGHT HERD By the time the Hardy faction | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928208 | had given up the chase in disgust, Caldwell, White, and Scotty had joined Tip and the Texan some miles below Midway on the Chisholm Trail. The former three were jubilant over their unexpected release from the fire trap, but they agreed with the Texan's first proposal. "We've got mo' work to do, boys," he drawled. "If we wanted to, we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928209 | could give that gang the slip fo' good and make ouah get-away. I think, though, that yo' feel as I do. What do yo' say we rustle back that herd o' longhorns that Hardy stole from Tip's dad?" It meant running into danger again, and lots of it, but none of them hesitated. Kid Wolf had made his promise, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928210 | the others vowed to see him through. It took them but a few moments to plan their reckless venture and get into action. The Kid hated Hardy now, just as heartily as did Tip McCay. And even if he had not given his word to the dying cattleman, he would not have left a stone unturned to bring the rustling | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928211 | saloon keeper to justice. More than once before, Kid Wolf had used the law of the Colt when other measures failed to punish. And now, even although handicapped and outnumbered, he planned to strike. The stolen herd represented a small fortune, and rightfully belonged to Tip McCay and his mother. But where were the longhorns now? Tip's suggestion was helpful. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928212 | He thought the cattle could not be more than a few miles below. They quickly decided to ride south, and Tip and The Kid led the way. The moon was up now, and it lighted the open prairie with a soft glow. The five riders pounded down the old Chisholm cattle road at a furious clip, eyes open for signs. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928213 | Presently Tip cried: "We'll find 'em down there at Green Springs! I see a light! It's a camp fire!" On the horizon they made out the feathery tops of trees against the sky, and riding closer, they could see a dark mass bunched up around them--little dots straying out at the edges. It was the stolen McCay herd! No general | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928214 | on the field of battle planned more carefully than the Texan. The party came closer, warily and making no noise. As they did so, they could hear the bawling of the cattle. Some were milling and restless, and the cattleman could see four men on horses at different points, attempting to keep the animals quiet and soothed. At the camp | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928215 | fire, several hundred yards from the springs, were four other men. Two of these seemed to be asleep in their blankets; the other pair were talking and smoking. "The odds," drawled Kid Wolf in a low tone, "are eight to five in theah favah. Tip, yo' take the man on the no'th. Scotty, yores is the hombre on the west, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928216 | ridin' the pinto. Caldwell, take the south man, and yo', White, do yo' best with the gent ovah east." "How about those four by the fire?" whispered White. "I'm takin' them myself." The Texan smiled. "We must all work togethah. They won't know who we are at first, probably, and will think we're moah of Hardy's men. Don't shoot unless | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928217 | yo' have to." One of the two bearded ruffians by the camp fire clutched his companion's sleeve. Two other men lay snoring on the other side of the crackling embers, and one of them stirred slightly. "Bill," he muttered, "didn't yuh hear somethin'?" "I hear a lot o' cows bawlin'." The other grinned. "But what I was tryin' to say | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928218 | is this: If Jack Hardy splits reasonable with us, why we----" He was interrupted. Both men glanced up, to see a tall figure sauntering toward them into the ring of red firelight. Both stared, then reached for their guns. "Sorry, gents," they were told in a soft and musical drawl, "but yo're a little late. Will yo' kindly poke yo' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928219 | hands into the atmospheah?" The two outlaws experienced a sudden wilting of their gun arms. It was quick death to attempt to draw while the round black eyes of this stranger's twin Colts were on them. With a jerk, both threw up their hands. One gave a shout--a cry meant to warn his companions. A shot from the direction of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928220 | the herd told them, however, that the other outlaws were already aware of something unusual. The two bandits in the blankets jumped up, rubbing their eyes in amazement. A kick from Kid Wolf's boot sent the . of one of them flying. The other, prodded none too gently with a revolver barrel, decided to surrender without further ado. Lining them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928221 | up, The Kid disarmed them. He was joined in a few minutes by Tip, White, Caldwell, and Scotty, who were driving two prisoners before them. "Bueno!" said The Kid. "I see yo' got the job done without much trouble. But wheah's the othah two?" Scotty smiled grimly, spat in the direction of the fire and said simply: "They showed fight." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928222 | In five minutes, the six outlaws were tied securely with lariat rope, in spite of their fervent and profane protests. "Jack Hardy will get yuh fer this, blast yuh!" snarled one. "Maybe," drawled The Kid sweetly, "he won't want us aftah he gets us." They planned to have the cattle moving northward by dawn. Once past Midway, the trail to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928223 | Dodge was clear. But there was plenty of work to do in the meantime. An hour after sunup, the herd of fifteen hundred steers was moving northward toward Midway. Kid Wolf and his four riders had them well under control, and had it not been for a certain alertness in their bearing, one would have thought it an ordinary cattle | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928224 | drive. Kid Wolf was singing to the longhorns in a half-mocking, drawling tenor, as he rode slowly along: "Oh, the desaht winds are blowin', on the Rio! And we'd like to be a-goin', back to Rio! But befo' we do, We've got to see this through, Like all good hombres do, from the Rio!" The prisoners had been lashed securely | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928225 | to their horses and brought along. Already several miles had been traveled. And thus far the party had seen no signs of Jack Hardy's rustler gang. They were not, however, deceived. With every passing minute they were approaching closer to Midway, the Hardy stronghold. And not only that, but the outlaws were probably combing the country for them. Reaching a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928226 | place known as Stone Corral, they were especially vigilant. The place was a natural trap. It had been built of roughly piled stone and never entirely finished. Indians sometimes camped within the inclosure. It was, however, empty of life, and the adventurers were about to push on with the herd when the keen, roving eyes of Kid Wolf spotted something | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928227 | suspicious on the north horizon. He held his hand aloft, signaling a stop. "Heah they come, boys!" he cried. "We'll have to stand 'em off heah!" They had been expecting it, and they were hardly surprised or unprepared. They were favored, too, in having such a place for defense. Save for the low walls of the abandoned corral, there was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928228 | no cover worth mentioning for miles. Among the cool-eyed five who prepared to make their stand, there was not one who hadn't faced death before and often. But never had the odds been more against them. They had slipped through the toils before, but now they were tightening again. Watching the riders as they grew larger against the sky, they | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928229 | could count two dozen of them. There was no use to hide. They could not conceal the cattle herd, and the Hardy gang would surely investigate. Already they were veering in their course, riding directly toward the stone corral. "Aweel," muttered Scotty, lapsing into his Scotch dialect for the moment, "there isn't mooch doot about how this thing will end. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928230 | But I'm a-theenkin' we'll make it a wee bit hot for 'em before they get us!" "Right yuh are, Scotty," said Tip savagely. "I'm goin' to try and pick Hardy out o' that gang o' killers, and if I do, I don't care much then what happens." The prisoners had been herded within the corral, and their feet were lashed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928231 | together. "Yuh'll soon be listenin' to bullets," Caldwell told them. "Yuh'd better pray that yore pals shoot straight and don't hit you by mistake." The Hardy gang had seen them! They saw the riders check their horses and then spread out in a cautious circle. "Hardy ain't with 'em," sang out White, who had sharp eyes. "They seem to be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928232 | all there but him!" snapped Tip in disappointment. "The coward's stayed behind!" A bullet suddenly buzzed viciously over the corral and kicked up a shower of clods behind it. And as if this first shot were signal, a shattering volley rang out from the oncoming riders. Bits of stone and bursts of sand flew up from the low stone breastworks. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928233 | "We got yuh this time!" one of the rustlers shouted. "We're givin' yuh one chance to come out o' there!" "And we're givin' yuh all the chances yo' want," replied Kid Wolf, "to come and get us!" For answer, the horsemen--two dozen strong--charged! In a breath, they had struck and had been driven back. So quickly had it happened that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928234 | nobody remembered afterward just how it had been done. The Texan's two Colts grew hot and cooled again. Three riderless horses galloped about the corral in circles, and the thing was over! It had been sheer nerve and courage against odds, however. Three of the attackers fell from their horses before the stone walls had been gained, and three others | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928235 | had met with swift trouble inside. The rest had retreated hastily, leaving six dead and wounded behind. Only Caldwell had been hit, and his wound was a slight one in the shoulder. The defenders cheered lustily. "Come on!" Tip shouted. "We're waitin'!" Kid Wolf, however, was not deceived. The attacking party was made up largely of half-breeds and Indians. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928236 | Texan knew their ways. That first charge had been only half-hearted. The next time, the outlaws would fight to a finish, angered as they were to a fever heat. And although the defenders might account for a few more of the renegades, the end was inevitable. Kid Wolf did not lose his cool smile. He had been in tight situations | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928237 | before, and had long ago resigned himself to dying, when his time came, in action. "Here they come again!" barked Scotty grimly. But suddenly a burst of rifle fire rang out in the distance--a sharp, crackling volley. Two of the outlaw gang dropped. One horse screamed and fell heavily with its rider. The five defenders saw to their utter amazement | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928238 | that a large band of horsemen was riding in from the east at a hot gallop, guns spitting fire. As a rescue, it was timed perfectly. The rustlers had been about to charge the corral, and now they reined up in panic, undecided what to do. Two others fell. And in the meantime, the newcomers, whoever they were, were circling | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928239 | so as to surround them on all sides. "It's the law!" Kid Wolf smiled. "The what?" Caldwell demanded. "Why, there ain't no law between here an'----" But the Texan knew he was right. He had seen the sun glittering on the silver badge that one of the strange riders wore. The rustlers themselves were outnumbered now. The posse included a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928240 | score of men, and they handled their guns in a determined way. The outlaws fired a wild shot or two, then signified their surrender by throwing up their hands. While the sullen renegades were being searched and disarmed, the leader of the posse came over to where the Texan and the others were watching. "Who in blazes are you?" he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928241 | shot out. "That's the question I was goin' to ask yo', sheriff," returned The Kid politely. "Humph! How d'ye know I'm a sheriff?" grunted the leader. "Yo're wearin' yore stah in plain sight." "Oh!" The officer grinned. "Well, I'm Sheriff Dawson, o' Limpin Buffalo County. I've brought my posse over two hundred miles to get my hands on one o' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928242 | the worst gangs o' rustlers in the Injun Nations. I don't know who you are, but the fact that yuh were fightin' 'em is enough fer me. I know yo're all right." "Thanks, sheriff," said the Texan. "I'm leavin' Mr. Tip McCay heah to tell yo' ouah story, if yo'll excuse me fo' a while." "Where yuh goin', Kid?" demanded | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928243 | young McCay, astonished. "To Midway," drawled the Texan, swinging himself into Blizzard's saddle. "Looks like a clean sweep has been made of the Hahdy gang--except Hahdy himself. I reckon I'll ride in and get him, so's to make the pahty complete." "Hardy!" the officer ejaculated. "I want that _malo hombre_--and mighty bad, dead or alive!" "Let us go along!" burst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928244 | out Tip. "No," laughed the Texan quietly. "Yo' boys have had enough dangah and excitement fo' one day, not includin' yestahday. I'd rathah settle this little business with Jack Hahdy alone. Yo' drive the cattle on and meet me latah." And lifting his hand in farewell, The Kid touched his white charger with the spur. In a few minutes he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928245 | was a tiny spot on the horizon, bound for the lair of Jack Hardy, the rustler king. There was one thing, however, that Kid Wolf was not aware of, and that was a pair of beady black eyes watching him from behind a prairie-dog hill! One of the renegade half-breeds had managed to slip away from the posse unseen. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928246 | was Tucumcari Pete, and in a draw a few yards away was his pony. TUCUMCARI'S HAND Jack Hardy was annoyed. He had planned carefully, expecting to have no difficulty in wiping out the hated McCays and those who sympathized with them. His plans had only partially succeeded. The elder McCay was dead, but Tip and some of the others had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928247 | slipped through his clutches. To have the McCay faction wiped out of Midway forever meant money and power to him. And now his job was only half finished. "They'll get 'em," he muttered to himself. He was alone in his place, the Idle Hour. He had sent every available man, even his bartender, out on the chase. He wanted to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928248 | finish, at all costs, what he had begun. "It was all due to that blasted hombre from Texas!" he groaned. "I wish I had him here, curse him! It would've all gone smooth enough if he hadn't meddled. Well, he'll pay! The boys will get him. And when they do----" Hardy thumped the bar with his fist in fury. He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928249 | paced the floor angrily. The deserted building seemed to be getting on his nerves, for he went behind the bar several times and, with shaking fingers, poured stiff drinks of red whisky. Then he walked to one of the deserted card tables and began to riffle the cards aimlessly. There were two reasons why the rustling saloon keeper had not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928250 | joined in the search for his victims. One was that he hated to leave unprotected the big safe in his office, which always contained a snug sum of money. The other was that Jack Hardy was none too brave when it came to gun fighting. He was still seated at the card table, laying out a game of solitaire, when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928251 | the swinging doors of the saloon opened quietly. The first inkling Hardy had of a stranger's presence, however, was the soft drawl of a familiar voice: "Good mohnin', Mistah Hahdy! Enjoyin' a little game o' cahds?" Hardy's body remained stiff and rigid for a breathless moment, frozen with surprise. Then he turned his head, and his right hand moved snakelike | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928252 | downward. Just a few inches it moved, then it stopped. Hardy had thought he had a chance, and then he suddenly decided that he hadn't. At his first glance, he had seen Kid Wolf's hands carelessly at his sides; at his second, he saw them holding two .45s! Kid Wolf's smile was mocking as he sauntered into the room. His | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928253 | thumbs were caressing the gun hammers. "No, it wouldn't be best," he drawled, "to monkey with that gun o' yo'n. They say, yo' know, that guns are dangerous because they go off. But the really dangerous guns are those that don't go off quick enough." The rustler leader rose to his feet on shaking legs. His face had paled to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928254 | the color of paper, and beads of perspiration stood out on his pasty forehead. "Yuh--yuh got the drop, Mr. Wolf," he pleaded. "Don't kill me!" "Nevah mind," the Texan said softly. "When yo' die, it'll be on a rope. It's been waitin' fo' yo' a long time. But now I have some business with yo'. First thing, yo'd bettah let | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928255 | me keep that gun o' yo'n." The Kid pulled Hardy's . from its holster beneath the saloon man's black coat. "Next thing," he drawled, "I want yo' to take that body down from in front o' yo' do'." Kid Wolf referred to the corpse of the unfortunate McCay spy whom Hardy had hanged. It still hung outside the Idle Hour, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928256 | blocking the door. The Texan made him get a box, stand on it and loosen the rope from the dead man's neck. Released from the noose, the body sagged to the ground. "Just leave the noose theah," ordered The Kid. "It may be that the sheriff will have some use fo' it." "The sheriff!" Hardy repeated blankly. "Yes, he'll be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928257 | heah soon," murmured Kid Wolf softly. "I have some business with yo' first. Maybe we'd bettah go to yo' office." Jack Hardy's office was a little back room, divided off from the main one of the Idle Hour. In spite of his protests, Hardy was compelled to unlock this apartment and enter with his captor. "Tip has recovahed his fathah's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928258 | cattle," The Kid told him pointedly, "but theah's the little mattah of the burned sto' to pay fo'. In behalf of Tip and his mothah, I'm demandin'--well, I think ten thousand dollahs in cash will just about covah it." "I haven't got ten thousand!" Hardy began to whine. But The Kid cut him off. "Open that safe," he snapped, "and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928259 | we'll see!" Hardy took one look at his captor and decided to obey and to lose no time in doing so. The Texan's eyes were crackling gray-blue. A large sheaf of bills was in an inner drawer, along with a canvas bag of gold coins. Ordering Hardy to take a chair opposite, Kid Wolf began to count the money carefully. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928260 | To allow himself the free use of his hands, he holstered both his guns. "When this little mattah is settled," the Texan drawled, "I have a little personal business with yo', man to man." Jack Hardy moistened his lips feverishly. Although he was not now covered by The Kid's guns, he lacked the courage to begin a fight. He knew | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928261 | how quick Kid Wolf could be, and he was a coward. The Texan was stacking the gold into neat piles. "Fo'teen thousand two hundred dollahs," he announced finally. "The odd fo' thousand, two hundred will go to the families of the men yo' murdahed yestahday. And now, Mistah Jack Hahdy, my personal business with yo' will be----" He did not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928262 | finish. The door of the little office had suddenly opened, and Tucumcari Pete stood in the entrance! His evil face was gloating, his snaky eyes glittering with the prospect of quick revenge. In his dirty hands was a rifle, and he was raising it to cover The Kid's heart! Kid Wolf's hands were on the table. There was no time | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928263 | for him to draw his Colts! It seemed that the half-breed had taken a hand in the game and that he held the winning cards! In a second it would be over. The half-breed's finger was reaching for the trigger; his mouth was twisted into a gloating, vicious smile. But while The Kid was seated in such a position at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928264 | the table that he could not hope to reach his guns quickly enough, he had his hole card--the bowie knife in a sheath concealed inside his shirt collar. The Kid could draw and hurl, if necessary, that gleaming blade as rapidly as he could pull his 45s. His hand darted up and back. Something glittered in the air for just | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928265 | a breath, and there was a singing _twang_! Tucumcari Pete gasped. His weird cry ended in a gurgle. He lowered his rifle and teetered on his feet. The flying knife had found its mark--the half-breed's throat! The keen-pointed blade had buried itself nearly to the guard! Clawing at the steel, Tucumcari staggered, then dropped to the floor with his clattering | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928266 | rifle. His body jerked for a moment, then stiffened. Justice had dealt with a murderer. "The thirteenth ace," The Kid drawled softly, "is always in the deck!" But Hardy had taken advantage of Tucumcari's interruption. Jumping up with an oath, he hurled the table over upon The Kid and leaped for the door. The Texan scrambled from under the heavy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928267 | table and darted after him. Hardy was running for his life. He raced into the main room of the Idle Hour with The Kid at his heels. Kid Wolf could have drawn his guns and shot him down. But it was too easy. Unless forced to do so, that was not the Texan's way. Snatching open a drawer in one | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928268 | of the gambling tables, Hardy seized a large-bore derringer and whirled it up to shoot. But The Kid's steel fingers closed on his wrist. The ugly little pistol exploded into the ceiling--once, and then the other barrel. "There'll be no guns used!" said The Kid, with a deadly smile. "I told yo' we'd have this out man to man!" Hardy's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928269 | lips writhed back in a snarl of hatred. He sent a smashing right-hand jab at the Texan's heart. Kid Wolf blocked it, stepped to one side and lashed the rustler king under the eye. Hardy staggered back against the table, clutching it for support. The Kid pressed closer, and Hardy dodged around the table, placing it between him and his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928270 | enemy. The Texan hurled it to one side and smashed his way through the saloon owner's guard. Hardy, head down to escape The Kid's terrific blows, bucked ahead with all his power and weight advantage and seized him about the waist. It was apparent that he was trying to get his hands on one of the Texan's guns. At close | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928271 | range, Kid Wolf smashed at him with both hands, his fists smacking in sharp hooks that landed on both sides of Hardy's jaw. To save himself, Hardy staggered back, only to receive a mighty blow in the face. "I'll kill yuh for that, blast yuh!" he cried with a snarl. Hardy was strong and heavy, but the punishment he was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928272 | receiving was telling on him. His breath was coming in jerky gasps. Seizing the high lookout stool from the faro layout, he advanced toward The Kid, his eyes glittering with fury. "I'll pound yore head to pieces!" he rasped. "Pound away," Kid Wolf said. Hardy whirled it over his head. Kid Wolf, however, instead of jumping backward to avoid it, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928273 | darted in like a wild cat. While the stool was still at the apex of its swing, he struck, with the strength of his shoulder behind the blow. It landed full on the rustler's jaw, and Hardy went crashing backward, heels over head, landing on the wreckage of the stool. For a moment he lay there, stunned. "Get up!" snapped | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928274 | The Kid crisply. "Theah's still mo' comin' to yo'." Staggering to his feet, Hardy made a run for the front door. Kid Wolf, however, met him. Putting all the power of his lean young muscles behind his sledgelike fists, he hit Hardy twice. The first blow stopped Hardy, straightened him up with a jolt and placed him in position for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928275 | the second one--a right-hand uppercut. Smash! It landed squarely on the point of Hardy's weak chin. The blow was enough to fell an ox, and the rustler chief went hurtling through the door, carried off his feet completely. What happened then was one of those ironies of fate. The rope on which Hardy had hanged the McCay spy, George Durham, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928276 | still hung before the door, its noose swaying in the wind some five feet from the ground. Hardy hit it. His head struck the rope with terrific force--caught in the loop for an instant. There was a sharp snap, and Hardy dropped to the wooden sidewalk. For a few moments, his body twitched spasmodically, then lay still and rigid. His | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928277 | neck had been broken by the shock! For a minute Kid Wolf stared in unbelief. Then he smiled grimly. "Guess I was right," he murmured, "when I said it was on the books fo' Hahdy to die by the rope!" Cattle were approaching Midway on the Chisholm Trail--hundreds of them, bawling, milling, and pounding dust clouds into the air with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928278 | their sharp hoofs. The Texan, watching the dark-red mass of them, smiled. McCay cattle, those! And there was a woman in Dodge City who was cared for now--Tip's mother. "I guess we've got the job done, Blizzard." He smiled at the big white horse that was standing at the hitch rack. "Heah comes the boys!" It was a wondering group | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928279 | that gathered, a few minutes later, in the ill-fated Idle Hour. They listened in amazement to Kid Wolf's recital of what had taken place since he left them. "And so Hardy hanged himself!" the sheriff from Limping Buffalo ejaculated, when he could find his voice. "Well, I must say that saves me the trouble o' doin' it! But there's some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928280 | reward comin' to yuh, Mr. Wolf." The Texan smiled. "Divide it between Scotty, Caldwell, and White," he drawled. "And, Tip, heah's the ten thousand Mistah Hahdy donated. Present it to yo' good mothah, son, with mah compliments." Tip could not speak for a minute, and when he did try to talk, his voice was choked with emotion. "I can't begin | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928281 | to thank yuh," he said. Kid Wolf shook his head. "Please don't thank me, Tip. Yo' see, I always try to make the troubles of the undah dawg, mah troubles. So long as theah are unfohtunates and downtrodden folks in this world, I'll have mah work cut out. I am, yo' might say, a soldier of misfohtune." "But yo're not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928282 | goin'?" Tip cried, seeing the Texan swing himself into his saddle. "I'm just a rollin' stone--usually a-rollin' toward trouble," said the Texan. "Some time, perhaps, we'll meet again. Adios!" Kid Wolf swung his hat aloft, and he and his white horse soon blurred into a moving dot on the far sweeps of the Chisholm Trail. A BUCKSHOT GREETING "Oh, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928283 | cows stampede on the Rio Grande! The Rio! The sands do blow, and the winds do wail, But I want to be wheah the cactus stands! And the rattlah shakes his ornery tail!" Kid Wolf sang his favorite verse to his favorite tune, and was happy. For he was on his beloved Rio. He had left the Chisholm Trail behind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928284 | him, and now "The Rollin' Stone" was rolling homeward, and--toward trouble. The Kid, mildly curious, had been watching a certain dust cloud for half an hour. At first he had thought it only a whirling dervish--one of those restless columns of sand that continually shift over the arid lands. But it was following the course of the trail below him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928285 | on the desert--rounding each bend and twist of it. The Texan, astride his big white horse, had been "hitting the high places only," riding directly south at an easy clip, but scorning the trail whenever a short cut presented itself. Descending from the higher ground of the mesa now, by means of an arroyo leading steeply down upon the plain, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928286 | he saw what was kicking up the dust. It was a buckboard, drawn by a two-horse team, and traveling directly toward him at a hot clip. There was one person, as far as he could see, in the wagon. And across this person's knees was a shotgun. The Kid saw that unless he changed his course he would meet the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928287 | buckboard and its passenger face to face. Kid Wolf had no intention of avoiding the meeting, but something in the tenseness of the figure on the seat of the vehicle, even at that distance, caused his gray-blue eyes to pucker. The distance between him and the buckboard rapidly decreased as Kid Wolf's white horse drummed down between the chocolate-colored walls | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928288 | of the arroyo. Between him and the team on the trail now was only a stretch of level white sand, dotted here and there with low burrow weeds. Suddenly, the driver of the buckboard whirled the shotgun. The double barrels swung up on a line with Kid Wolf. Quick as the movement was, the Texan had learned to expect the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928289 | unexpected. In the West, things happened, and one sought the reason for them afterward. His hands went lightning-fast toward the twin .45s that hung at his hips. But Kid Wolf did not draw. A look of amazement had crossed his sun-burned face and he removed his hands from his gun butts. Instead of firing on the figure in the buckboard, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928290 | Kid Wolf wheeled his horse about quickly, and turned sidewise in his saddle in order to make as small a target as possible. The shotgun roared. Spurts of sand were flecked up all around The Kid and the big white horse winced and jumped as a ball smashed the saddletree a glancing blow. Another slug went through the Texan's hat | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928291 | brim. Fortunately, he was not yet within effective range. Even now, Kid Wolf did not draw his weapons. And he did not beat a retreat. Instead, he rode directly toward the buckboard. The click of a gun hammer did not stop him. One barrel of the shotgun remained unfired and its muzzle had him covered. But the Texan approached recklessly. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928292 | He had doffed his big hat and now he made a courteous, sweeping bow. He pulled his horse to a halt not ten yards from the menacing shotgun. "Pahdon me, ma'am," he drawled, "but is theah anything I can do fo' yo', aside from bein' a tahget in yo' gun practice?" The figure in the buckboard was that of a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928293 | woman! There was a moment's breathless pause. "There's nine buckshot in the other barrel," said a feminine voice--a voice that for all its courage faltered a little. "Please don't waste them on me," Kid Wolf returned, in his soft, Southern speech. "I'm afraid yo' have made a mistake. I can see that yo' are in trouble. May I help yo'?" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928294 | Doubtfully, the woman lowered her weapon. She was middle-aged, kindly faced, and her eyes were swollen from weeping. She looked out of place with the shotgun--friendless and very much alone. "I don't know whether to trust you or not," she said wearily. "I suppose I ought to shoot you, but I can't, somehow." "Well I'm glad yo' can't," drawled The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928295 | Kid with contagious good humor. His face sobered. "Who do yo' think I am, ma'am?" "I don't know," the woman sighed, "but you're an enemy. Every one in this cruel land is my enemy. You're an outlaw--and probably one of the murderers who killed my husband." "Please believe that I'm not," the Texan told her earnestly. "I'm a strangah to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928296 | this district. Won't yo' tell me yo' story? I want to help yo'." "There isn't much to tell," the driver of the buckboard said in a quavering voice. "I'm on the way to town to sell the ranch--the S Bar. I have my husband's body with me on the wagon. He was murdered yesterday." Not until then did Kid Wolf | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928297 | see the grim cargo of the buckboard. His face sobered and his eyes narrowed. "Do yo' want to sell, ma'am?" "No, but it's all I can do now," she said tearfully. "Major Stover, in San Felipe, offered me ten thousand for it, some time ago. It's worth more, but I guess this--this is the end. I don't know why I'm | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928298 | tellin' you all this, young man." "This Majah Stovah--is he an army officer?" The Kid asked wonderingly. The woman shook her head. "No. He isn't really a major. He never was in the army, so far as any one knows. He just fancies the title and calls himself 'Major Stover'--though he has no right to do so." "A kind of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928299 | four-flushin' hombre--a coyote in sheep's clothin', I should judge," drawled Kid Wolf. "Thet just about describes him," the woman agreed. "But yo' sho'ly aren't alone on yo' ranch. Wheah's yo' men?" asked The Kid. "They quit last week." "Quit?" The Kid's eyebrows went up a trifle. "All of them--five in all, includin' the foreman. And soon afterward, all our cattle | 60 | gutenberg |
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