id stringlengths 16 16 | text stringlengths 151 2.3k | word_count int64 30 60 | source stringclasses 1 value |
|---|---|---|---|
twg_000012928800 | attempt to rush the adobe. Surrounding it was impossible, and for a while they contented themselves with sending lead humming through the small window on the exposed side of the hut. "We're in fo' a siege," Kid Wolf told the elder Robbins. "Maybe we'd better give in to 'em," said the other. Kid Wolf smiled and shook his head. "That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928801 | wouldn't save us. They'd butchah us, anyway. Nevah yuh worry. Before they get us, they'll find that The Wolf, from Texas, has teeth!" "Then we'll play out the hand," agreed Robbins. "To the last cahd," Kid Wolf drawled. "I have two hands heah that can turn up twelve lead aces fo' a show-down. And I have anothah ace--a steel one, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928802 | that's always in the deck." The Texan saw as well as the others how desperate the situation had become. He knew that death would be the probable outcome for all of them. Kid Wolf, however, was not a type of man who gave up. If they must go out, he decided, they would go out fighting. The sun climbed the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928803 | sky and disappeared over the distant blue range to the west, leaving the desert behind bathed in warm reds and soft purples. Then the shadows deepened, and night fell. With it came a full moon, riding high out of the southeast--a pumpkin-colored, gigantic Arizona moon that changed to shining silver. Its light illuminated the scene and turned the landscape nearly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928804 | as bright as day. This was a fact in favor of the three men cornered in the adobe. The attackers dared not show themselves in a rush. All night long their guns cracked, and they continued to do so when the east was beginning to lighten with the dawn. Another day, and it proved to be one of torment. There | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928805 | was no water. Before the hour of noon, the three besieged men were suffering from intense thirst. The little adobe was like an oven. The sun burned down pitilessly, distorting the air with waves of heat, and drawing mocking mirages in the sky. Bullets still hummed and buzzed about them. Every hissing slug seemed to whistle the mournful tune of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928806 | "Death--death--death!" Late in the afternoon, the elder Robbins could endure the torture no longer. "I'm goin' after water!" he cried. Neither his son nor Kid Wolf could reason with him. He would not listen. He reasoned that although it was death to venture to the spring, it was also death to remain. He was nearly crazed with thirst. "Let me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928807 | go, then," said the Texan. "No!" gasped Robbins. "Yuh stay with Dave. I'm old, anyway. Promise yuh'll stick with him, no matter what happens to me!" "I promise," said The Kid, and the two men shook hands. Getting to the water hole and back again was a forlorn hope, but Robbins was past reasoning. Lurching through the door, he ran | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928808 | outside the hut and toward the tulles. Young Robbins cried after his father, and then covered his eyes. There was a sudden crackling of revolver fire. Spurts of bluish smoke blossomed out from the high grass--half a score of them! Bill Robbins staggered on his feet, reeled on a few steps, and then fell. His body had been riddled. Kid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928809 | Wolf's touch was tender as he took the orphaned youth's hand in his own. But his voice, when he spoke, was like his eyes--hard as steel: "Garvey will join him, Dave, or we will! And if we do, let's hope we'll meet it as bravely. I have a plan. If we escape, we must do it to-night. Can yo' stick | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928810 | it out till then?" Young Robbins nodded. The death of his father had been a great shock to him, but he did not flinch. In that desperate hour, Kid Wolf knew that he no longer had a boy at his side, but a man! How the day wore its way through to a close was ever afterward a mystery to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928811 | them. Their throats were parched, and their eyes bloodshot. To make matters worse, their horses, too, were suffering. Blizzard nickered softly from time to time, but quieted when Kid Wolf called to him through the wall. Night brought some relief. Again the moon rose upon the tragic scene, and it grew cooler. Before the twilight had quite faded, Kid Wolf | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928812 | and Dave Robbins saw something that made them boil inwardly--the burial of Bill Robbins on Boot Hill! Out of revolver range, a group of the bandits was filling up the grave. Garvey had made half of his threat good. And he was biding his time to complete his boast. The Texan's grave still waited! A thin bank of clouds rolled | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928813 | up to obscure somewhat the light of the moon. This was what Kid Wolf had been waiting for. It was their only chance. "I'm goin' to try and get through on foot," he whispered. "Befo' I go, I'll unloose Blizzahd. He's trained to follow, and he'll find me latah, if I make it. I don't dare ride him, because he's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928814 | white and too good a tahget in the moon. I'll have to crawl toward Boot Hill. It's the only way out. In half an houah, yo' follow. Savvy?" Dave nodded. Then The Kid added a few terse directions: "I'll show yo' the way and meet yo' on the hill. Be as quiet and careful as an Indian, and take yo' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928815 | time. If anything should happen to me, strike fo' yo' place on the San Simon. The reason I'm goin' first is so that yo' can escape in the excitement if they spot me. Heah's luck! I'll turn my hoss loose now." They shook hands. Then, like a lithe moving shadow, the Texan crept out into the night. PURSUIT Fire flames | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928816 | darted occasionally from the high tulles, licking the darkness like the tongues of venomous serpents. Rifles cracked, and bullets, fired at random, buzzed across the sand flats. Kid Wolf had an uncomfortable few minutes ahead of him. Whenever the moon peeped out of its flying blanket of cloud, he was forced to lie flat and motionless on the ground. Lead | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928817 | often spattered uncomfortably close, but foot by foot he made his way toward Boot Hill. This rise in ground, he believed, would be free from his enemies. After once reaching this, Dave Robbins and he would be on the road to safety. Blizzard, well trained, would follow him if he managed to elude the bullets of the Garvey gang. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928818 | Texan was on Boot Hill now, and for the first time in many minutes, he breathed freely. The firing behind had become faint, and it was hardly likely that any watchers remained on the hill. But Kid Wolf received a thrill of horror and surprise. The moon drifted free of its cloud curtain for a moment. He was standing not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928819 | a dozen feet from the two freshly made graves. One, with Bill Robbins' headboard over it, was covered with a mound of earth. Standing near the other, with a cocked revolver in his hand, was the half-breed, Charley Hood! His cruel lips were parted in a terrible smile as he slowly raised the weapon to a level with his eyes! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928820 | While Kid Wolf had been creeping toward Boot Hill, Dave Robbins was in the adobe hut, counting the dragging minutes. The suspense, now that the time for action was at hand, was nerve-racking. Would the Texan make it? Robbins strained his ears for the triumphant yells that would announce The Kid's death or capture. As the seconds grew to minutes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928821 | he began to breathe easier. When it seemed to him that a half hour had passed, he prepared to follow. The moon, however, was now too bright, and he had to wait fully a quarter of an hour more before the light faded to shadow again. When the moment arrived, he squirmed through the doorway and across the sands on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928822 | his hands and knees. Dave Robbins was frontier bred, and although his progress was slower than the Texan's had been, he crept along as silently as one of the redskins themselves. Not a mesquite twig snapped under his body; not a pebble rattled. It seemed to take him hours to reach the hill which Kid Wolf had pointed out to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928823 | him. As he did so, the moonlight again became so bright that it made the landscape nearly as white as day. For a time, he lay flat against the ground; then he wriggled on. Where was he? Would he find his friend, the Texan? He waited a while, and then whistled, soft and low. There was no answer. He looked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928824 | around him, trying to decide where he was and what to do. His eyes fell upon the two recently dug graves. Headboards stood at each of them. Both were covered. Near the mounds lay a spade. The earth clinging to it was moist. With his heart in his throat, Dave Robbins again looked at the grave markers. One read: "Bill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928825 | Robbins." It was the grave of his father! The other mound was marked "Kid Wolf"! For a few minutes, Dave Robbins stood numbed. Something terrible had happened; just what, he did not know. It seemed the end. Could his friend, the gallant Texan, have met death? It didn't seem possible, and yet the evidence was before his eyes. Anger against | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928826 | Garvey and his hired killers suddenly overcame him. A hot wave seemed to sweep over him. He turned about and faced, not the distant San Simon, but in the direction of his enemies. "I'll get some of 'em before I go, Kid!" he cried. As if in answer, something came to his ears that brought a cry of joy to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928827 | the youth. It was a stanza of a familiar song, sung in the soft, musical accents of the South: "Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie-ee!" Turning about, Dave Robbins saw Kid Wolf's face in the moonlight! The shock of it left the youth weak for a moment. The two wrung hands, and Robbins blurted: "I thought yuh were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928828 | dead! What happened? Why this covered grave?" "A half-breed lookout," the Texan explained in a whisper. "Ugly, but slow with a gun. He had the drop, so instead of reachin' fo' mah Colts, I pretended to raise mah hands. Then I gave him this--mah hole cahd, the thirteenth ace." And Kid Wolf showed him the heavy bowie knife so carefully | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928829 | hidden in its sheath sewn to the inside of his shirt collar. "With this through his throat, he fell right in the grave they'd dug fo' me. Then I saw the shovel, and I couldn't resist throwin' some dirt ovah him. Well, that's that. I hated to take his life, but I had to do it to save mine. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928830 | thing to do now is to get out of this." "How do yuh expect yore hoss to get to us?" breathed Robbins. "Listen." The Texan smiled. "He knows this call." He waited for a lull in the rifle-popping below, and then he gave the coyote yell--a mournful cry that seemed to echo and recho. The sound was so perfect an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928831 | imitation that Robbins could scarcely believe his ears. And it even fooled the Indians. It did not, however, deceive the sagacious horse that waited patiently in the adobe. The Kid clutched his young companion's arm. Straining their eyes, they saw a white something moving up an arroyo. "That Blizzahd hoss is smahter than I am," chuckled the Texan. "He knows | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928832 | who his enemies are, and he knows how to keep out of their sight. Watch him climb that dry wash." They held their breath until Blizzard, moving so noiselessly that his hoofs seemed as cushioned as a cougar's, reached the top of the hill. Then Kid Wolf led him over it and down again into a gully a little distance | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928833 | to the west of it. Ahead of them now was safety, if they could make it. The Texan mounted and swung up Robbins behind the saddle. "Too bad we had to leave that twenty thousand, Kid," said Robbins. The Kid's white teeth flashed in a smile. "Really, Dave," he drawled, "do yo' think I'd let Garvey get away with that? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928834 | That express box was just a blind. Don't yo' know what I did while the rest of yo' were tippin' back the stagecoach? No? Well, I transferred the twenty thousand to Blizzahd's saddlebags, so the money"--he tapped the bulges on each side of the big saddle--"is right heah!" Kid Wolf, ever since he had taken charge of the express money, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928835 | had realized his responsibility and trust. He would protect it with his life. If he could reach Mexican Tanks with it, the money would be safe, for a small post of soldiers and government scouts guarded the place. They had not gone a half mile, however, when a sound of distant shouting broke out behind them. "That means they've discovahed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928836 | ouah absence," said the Texan, grimly. "We'll have ouah hands full befo' long!" Robbins, and the Texan as well, had been through the country before, and knew the lay of the land. The former had learned the location of a water hole west of them in the hills, and they decided to head for that, as they were suffering from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928837 | intense thirst. Blizzard, too, had not taken water for thirty-six hours. The Apache is one of the best trailers in the world. They were under a terrible handicap, and both realized it. With the great white horse, strong as it was, carrying double, they could not hope to out-distance pursuit. "Yuh'd better leave me, Kid," Robbins begged. "Befo' I'd leave | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928838 | yo'," returned the Texan, "I'd leave _me_!" Dawn began to glow pink and orange behind them, and gradually the dim, star-studded vault overhead became gray with the new day. Shortly afterward, they reached the water hole. It was nearly dry, but enough moisture remained to refresh both horse and riders. Then they went on again. Kid Wolf could, tell by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928839 | Blizzard's actions that they were being followed. Before long he himself saw signs. Little dust clouds began to show behind them, scattered over a line miles long. "Garvey and his Apaches!" the Texan jerked out. "And they're gainin' fast." "Can we beat 'em to Mexican Tanks?" "No," The Kid drawled, "but we can fight!" They soon saw the hopelessness of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928840 | it all. The horizon behind them swarmed with moving dots--dots that grew larger and more distinct with every fleeting minute. Garvey had obtained renforcements, without doubt, for there seemed to be no end to the pursuing Apaches. Blizzard ran like the thoroughbred he was. But even his iron muscles could not stand the strain for long. The ponies behind were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928841 | fresh, and the snow-white charger was tremendously handicapped with the added weight which had been placed upon it. Puffs of white smoke blossomed out behind them. A bullet, spent and far short, dropped away to their left, sending up a geyser of sand. "I guess we'll fight now," Kid Wolf said, drawing his six-guns. The grim-faced fighter from Texas knew | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928842 | the ways of the Apaches and was prepared for what followed. It was not his first encounter with renegade red men of the Southwest. He was also aware of what awaited them if they were taken captive. Death with lead would be far more merciful. The line of Apache warriors spread out even farther. Blizzard was speeding over a flat | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928843 | table-land now, flanked by two ridges of iron-gray hills. A file of Indians separated from the main body and raced along the left-hand ridge. Another file of copper-brown, half-naked savages drummed along to the right. Rifle fire crackled and flashed. Bullets now began to buzz and whine like infuriated insects. Arrows, falling far short, whistled an angry tune. The Kid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928844 | held his fire and bade Dave Robbins follow his example. It was no time to waste lead. "Go, Blizzahd, like yo' nevah went befo'!" cried the Texan. The beautiful white horse seemed to realize its master's danger. It ran on courage alone. Its nostrils were expanded wide, its flanks and neck foam-flecked. The steel muscles rippled under its snowy hide, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928845 | until it seemed to fly like a winged thing. But it is one thing to carry a hundred and sixty pounds; another thing to bear nearly three hundred. The pace could not last. Kid Wolf pinned his hopes on reaching a deep arroyo ahead of them. Already the range was becoming deadly. A bullet ripped through the Texan's hat. Another | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928846 | burned his side. Directly behind them, Garvey and his gunmen--the two Arnolds, Henry Shank, and Stephenson--pounded furiously, gaining at every jump. Their mounts were better than those of the Indians, and Kid Wolf saw that they must be stopped at all costs. For the first time, his guns belched flame. The two Arnolds went down, unhorsed. Even in that desperate | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928847 | moment, Kid Wolf hesitated to kill until it was necessary. The Arnolds, however, were out of the chase for good and all. Stephenson also felt the crippling sting of the Texan's lead and toppled from his mount, drilled high in the shoulder. Henry Shank and Gil Garvey, shaken at The Kid's marksmanship, drew in their horses, unwilling to press closer. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928848 | That gave Blizzard his chance to make the shelter of the arroyo. Suddenly it yawned at their feet--a terrific jump. Would Blizzard take it? A reassuring pressure of a knee was all the inspiration the horse needed. They seemed to rush through the air. Then they were sliding down the bank in a cloud of dust, Blizzard tense and stiff-legged. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928849 | By a miracle, they reached the bottom unhurt, and without losing a second, Kid Wolf headed his faithful mount into a thick paloverde clump. "We'll have to stand 'em off heah," he panted. The Texan's eyes surveyed his exhausted horse. They seemed to light with an idea. Even in that desperate plight, his mind worked rapidly. "I've got a hunch, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928850 | Dave," he said. "It may not help us, but----" He quickly loaded one of his .45s and stuck it down in one of Blizzard's stirrups in such a way that it could not jolt out. Then he gave the horse a sharp pat on the neck. "Go, Blizzahd," he urged, "until I call!" The horse seemed to understand perfectly, for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928851 | it wheeled and ran with all its speed down the arroyo. It was soon lost to sight among the mesquites. "He'll stay out of sight and within call," explained the Texan. "We may need him worse than we do now. Anyway, Garvey will have plenty trouble gettin' that express money." They prepared to fight it out until the last, for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928852 | already the Indians were forcing their ponies down into the arroyo. A triumphant shout went up--a shout that became an elated, bloodthirsty war cry. The Apaches saw that the two white men were almost within their grasp. "Good-by, Dave," said The Kid. They grasped hands for a moment. There was no fear in their faces. Then they confronted the renegades. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928853 | It was to be their last stand! "Here's hopin' we get Garvey before we go!" said Robbins fiercely. A storm of bullets tore through the paloverdes, sending twigs and leaves flying. Kid Wolf smiled coolly along the barrel of his remaining gun, and he deliberately lined the sights. The impact of the explosions kicked the heavy weapon about in his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928854 | hand, but every shot brought grief to some savage. Robbins' gun also blazed. A half dozen screaming Apaches rushed their position in the thicket. The charge failed, stopped by lead. Another came, almost in the same breath. It faltered, then came on, renforced. There were too many of them for two men to check. Kid Wolf understood their guttural cries | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928855 | as they advanced. "They mean to take us alive!" he cried. "Don't let 'em do it, son! It's better to die fightin'!" But the Apaches seemed to have more than an ordinary reason for wanting to capture them. They came on, a coppery swarm, clubbing their guns. There was no time to reload! The two young white men found themselves | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928856 | fighting hand to hand in desperate battle. Kid Wolf smashed two of the Indians, sending them sprawling back into their companions with broken heads. But still they came--dozens of them! Robbins was down, then up again. He felt hands seize him. Kid Wolf felt the impact of a gun stock on his head. The world seemed to sway crazily. Even | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928857 | while falling to the ground he still fought, his hard fists landing on the faces and chests of the red warriors in smashing blows. His feet were seized, then one arm. In vain he tried to tear himself loose. "Fine! Now throw some rope around 'em!" they heard Garvey say. A shower of blows fell upon the Texan's head. He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928858 | dropped, with a half dozen red warriors clinging to him. It was the end! BLIZZARD'S CHARGE Kid Wolf was so dazed for a time that he but dimly realized what was happening to him. Half stunned, he was carried, along with Dave Robbins, out of the arroyo. He was light-headed from the blows he had received. That torture was in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928859 | store for them, he well knew. He heard Gil Garvey's voice calling for Yellow Skull. Red faces, smeared with war paint, glared at him. He was being taken on a pony's back through a thicket of brush. They were up on the mesa again, for he felt the sun burn out and a hot wind sweep the desert. What were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928860 | they waiting for? Yellow Skull! Kid Wolf had heard of that terrible, insane Apache chief. He could expect about as much mercy from him as he could from Garvey. Some one was shaking his shoulder. It was the Lost Springs bandit leader. Kid Wolf looked about him. A score or more of warriors, naked save for breechcloths, stood around in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928861 | a hostile circle. Garvey was chuckling and in high good humor. With him was Shank, sneering and cold-eyed. "We want to know where that money is!" Garvey shouted. Kid Wolf's brain was clearing. On the ground, a few feet away, lay Dave Robbins, still stunned. "I'm not sayin'," the Texan returned calmly. Garvey's blotched face was convulsed with rage. "Yuh'll | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928862 | wish yuh had, blast yuh!" he snarled. "I'm turnin' yuh both over to Yellow Skull! He's got somethin' in store for yuh that'll make yuh wish yuh'd never been born! Yo're west o' the Pecos now, Mr. Wolf--and there's no law here but me!" The Kid eyed him steadily. "Theah's no law," he said, "but justice. And some of these | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928863 | times, sah, yo' will meet up with it!" "I suppose yuh think yuh can hand it to me yoreself," leered the bandit leader. "I may," said Kid Wolf quietly. Garvey laughed loudly and contemptuously. "Yellow Skull!" he called. "Come here!" The man who strode forward with snakelike, noiseless steps was horrible, if ever a man was horrible. He was the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928864 | chief of the renegade Apache band, and as insane as a horse that has eaten of the loco weed. Sixty years or more in age, his face was wrinkled in yellow folds over his gaunt visage. Above his beaked nose, his beady black eyes glittered wickedly, and his jagged fangs protruded through his animal lips. He wore a breechcloth of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928865 | dirty white, and his chest was naked, save for two objects--objects terrible enough to send a thrill of horror through the beholder. Suspended on a long cord around his neck were two shriveled human hands. Above this was a necklace made of dried human fingers. "Yellow Skull," said Garvey, pointing to Kid Wolf, "meet the man who slew yore son, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928866 | Bear Claw!" The expression of the chief's face became ghastly. His eyes widened until they showed rings of white; his nostrils expanded. With a fierce yell, he thumped his scrawny chest until it boomed like an Indian drum. Then he gave a series of guttural orders to his followers. Kid Wolf, who knew the Apache tongue, listened and understood. His | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928867 | sunburned face paled a bit, but his eyes remained steady. He turned his head to look at Robbins, who was recovering consciousness. "Keep up yo' nerve, son," he comforted. "I'm afraid this is goin' to be pretty terrible." The bonds of the two white men were loosened, and they were pulled to their feet and made to walk for some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928868 | distance. Garvey and Shank, grinning evilly, accompanied them. Kid Wolf felt the comforting weight of his hidden knife at the back of his neck. It would do him little good, however, to draw it, for he was hemmed in by the Apaches. He might get two or three, but in the end he would be beaten down. He was determined, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928869 | at any rate, to go out fighting. If he could only bring justice to Garvey before he died, he would be content. Tensely he waited for the opportune time. One of the redskins carried a comb of honey. The Texan knew what that meant. The most horrible torture that could have been devised by men awaited them. The torture party | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928870 | paused in a clear space in the middle of a high thicket of mesquite. Here in the sun-baked, packed sand were two ant hills. Kid Wolf had heard of the method before. What Yellow Skull intended to do was this: The two prisoners would be staked and tied so tightly over the ant hills that neither could move a muscle. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928871 | Then their mouths would be propped open and honey smeared inside. The swarming colonies of red ants would do the rest. For the first time, Dave Robbins seemed to realize what was in store for them. He turned his face to the Texan's, his eyes piteous. "Kid!" he gasped, horrified. "Steady, son," said Kid Wolf. "Steady!" Quick hope had suddenly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928872 | begun to beat in his breast. Deep within the mesquite thicket, he had caught sight of something white and moving. It was his horse! Blizzard had followed his master, and stood ready to do his bidding. Already the grinning Apaches were coming forward with the stakes and ropes. Not a second was to be lost. It was a forlorn hope, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928873 | but Kid Wolf knew that he could depend on Blizzard to do his best. Sharp and clear, the Texan gave the coyote yell!" "_Yip-yip-ee!_" What happened took place so suddenly that the Apaches never realized what it all was! Crash! Like a white, avenging ghost horse, the superb Texas charger leaped out of the mesquite, muscles bunched. It made the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928874 | distance to its master's side in two flashing leaps, bowling over a half dozen Indians as it did so! The Apaches fell back, overcome with astonishment. With a quick movement, Kid Wolf drew his knife, pulling it from his neck sheath like lightning. With it he felled the nearest warrior. Another step brought him to Blizzard's side. Garvey and Shank, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928875 | acting quicker than their red allies, drew their revolvers. "Get him! Shoot 'em down!" they yelled. But Kid Wolf had seized the gun he had placed in Blizzard's stirrup. He dropped to his knees to the sand, just as lead hummed over his head. Dave Robbins had struck one of the amazed Apaches and had jerked his rifle away from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928876 | him. Clubbing it, he smashed two others as fast as they dived in. Shank rushed, his gun winking spurts of fire. Kid Wolf could not spare his enemies now. His own life depended on his flashing Colt. He lined the tip of his front sight and thumbed the hammer. _Thr-r-r-rup!_ Shank gasped, as lead tore through him. He dropped headfirst, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928877 | arms outstretched. "Get on the hoss!" The Kid yelled at Robbins. Then he turned his gun on Garvey. In his rage, the Lost Springs desperado fired too quickly. His aim was bad, and the slug sang over the Texan's head. "Reckon yo' are about to get the law that's west of the Pecos now, Garvey--justice!" With his words, The Kid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928878 | threw down on Garvey and suddenly snapped the hammer. The bullet found its mark. If Garvey had no heart, Kid Wolf's bullet found the spot where it ought to be. With his glazing eyes, Gil Garvey--wholesale murderer--saw justice at last. Dropping his gun, he swayed for a moment on his feet, then fell heavily. "Look out, Kid!" Robbins yelled. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928879 | Texan whirled just in time. A pace behind him was Yellow Skull, his hideous face distorted with mad fury. In his thin hand was a long leather thong, to which was attached a round stone. A second more, and Kid Wolf's skull would have been smashed! A burst of flame stopped him. The chief sagged, dropped. The Kid had fired | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928880 | just as the stone was whirled aloft. The Indians, now that their chief and white allies had fallen, retreated. The almost miraculous appearance of the horse had dismayed them and filled them with superstitious fear. A few more shots served to scatter them and send them flying for cover. Kid Wolf vaulted into the saddle. Robbins was already on Blizzard's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928881 | back. "Heads low!" sang out the Texan. He headed the horse for the mesquites. Crashing through them, they found themselves on the mesa plain once more. Kid Wolf urged Blizzard to greater speed. Bullets buzzed around them, but it was evident that the Apaches had lost heart. Blizzard pounded on, and the cries behind soon grew fainter and fainter. Kid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928882 | Wolf relaxed a little and grinned. "That's what I'd call a narrow squeak," he chuckled. "How far to Mexican Tanks?" "On over the mesa," panted Robbins, "five or six miles." "Then we'll make it," decided The Kid. A quarter of an hour later, they drew rein and looked behind. Whether the Indians feared to approach any nearer to the government | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928883 | post, or whether they had given up through superstitious fear, would have been hard to tell. At any rate, there was nothing to be seen of them. Two miles below the two men could see the little post known as Mexican Tanks, scattered out in a fertile, cottonwood-grown valley. With one accord, they shook hands. "Now will yo' believe me," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928884 | asked the Texan, "when I tell yo' that Blizzahd's a smaht hoss?" Dave Robbins grinned. "So's his master," he chuckled. "And speakin' o' Blizzard again, I guess we owe him some water and a peck of oats. Reckon we'll find it down there." His face sobered. "It won't do me any good, Kid, to thank yuh." "Don't try," drawled The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928885 | Kid. "I'm a soldier of misfohtune, and excitement's mah business. I'll leave yo' down heah, son. Go to yo' claim on the San Simon and make good--fo' yo' fathah's sake. And good luck!" "Yuh won't come along?" Kid Wolf shook his head and smiled. "I'm just a rollin' stone," he confessed, "and I just naturally roll toward trouble. If yo' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928886 | evah need me again, yo'll find me where the lead flies thickest. As soon as I turn this express money ovah to the authorities, I'll be on my way again. Maybe it'll be the Rio Grande, perhaps the Chisholm Trail, and maybe--well, maybe I'll stay west of the Pecos and see what I can see. Quin sabe?" Blizzard cocked his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928887 | Produced by David Widger CORNELIUS ODOWD UPON MEN AND WOMEN AND OTHER THINGS IN GENERAL By Charles Lever Originally Published In Blackwoods Magazine CONTENTS: Myself. A Friend Of Gioberts: Being A Reminiscence Of Seventeen Years Ago. Garibaldis Worshippers. Something About Solferino And Ships. The Stranger At The Croce Di Malta. The Strange Mans Sorrow. Italian Law And Justice. The Organ | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928888 | Nuisance And Its Remedy. R. N. F. The Great Chevalier Dindustrie Of Our Day. Gribldi A New Investment. Italian Traits And Characteristics. The Decline Of Whist. One Of Our Two Puzzles. A Masterly Inactivity. A New Hansard. Foreign Clubs. A Hint For C. S. Examiners. Of Some Old Dogs In Office. Decline Of The Drama. Pensions For Governors. A Grumble. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928889 | Of Our Brothers Beyond The Border. The Rule Nisi. On Climbing Boys. Linguists The Old Conjurors And The New. Gambling For The Million. The Intoxicating Liquors Bill. TO JOHN ANSTER, ESQ., LL.D. My dear Anster, If you knew how often I have thought of you as I was writing this book,--if you knew how there rose before my mind memories | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928890 | of long ago--of those glorious evenings with all those fine spirits, to think of whom is a triumph even with all its sadness,--and if you knew how I long to meet once more the few soldiers who survive of that old guard,--you would see how naturally I dedicate my volume to him who was the best of us. Accept it, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928891 | I beg you, as a token of recollection and regard from your affectionate friend, CORNELIUS ODOWD. Lago Maggiore, July ,. NOTICE. AMIABLE AND ACCOMPLISHED READER, As I have very little to say for myself that is not said in some of my opening pages, there is no need that I should delay you on the threshold. You will learn, if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928892 | you take the trouble, by what course of events I came to my present pursuit, converting myself into what a candid, but not complimentary, friend has called a diverting Vagabond. The fact was, I gave the world every reasonable opportunity of knowing that they had a remarkable man amongst them, but, with a stupidity all their own, they wouldnt see | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928893 | it; so that when the solicitor who once gave me a brief died--I believe it was a softening of the brain--I burned my wig and retired from the profession. Now, let people say what they may, it is by no means easy to invent a new line of life; and even if you should, there are scores of people ready | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928894 | to start up and seize on your discovery; and as I write these lines I am by no means sure that to-morrow will not see some other Cornelius ODowd inviting the public to a feast of wisdom and life-knowledge, with perhaps a larger stock than my own of things not generally known. I will disparage no mans wares. There is, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928895 | I feel assured, a market for us all. My rivals, or my imitators, whichever you like to call them, may prove superior to me; they maybe more ingenious, more various, more witty, or more profound; but take my word for it, bland Header, there is always something in the original tap, whether the liquor be Harvey sauce or L.L. whisky, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928896 | and such is mine. You are, in coming to me, frequenting the old house; and if I could only descend to it, I could print you more testimonials to success than Mr Morrisons of the pills, or the other man of cod-liver oil, but I scorn to give the names, imparted as they were in secret gratitude. One only trick | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928897 | of the trade I will condescend to--it is to assure you that you had need to beware of counterfeits, and that no ODowderies are genuine except signed by me. My heart is broke with requests for my autograph. Will a sympathising public accept the above--which, of course, will be immediately photographed. CORNELIUS ODOWD MYSELF. Bland Reader,--If you ever look into | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928898 | the Irish papers--and I hope you are not so exclusive regarding them as is Mr Cobden with the Times--you will see that, under the title, Landed Estates Court, County Mayo, Judge Dobbs has just sold the town and lands of Kilmuray-nabachlish, Ballaghy, and Gregnaslattery, the property of Cornelius ODowd, Esq. of Dowds Folly, in the same county. Now the above-recited | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012928899 | lands, measuring seven hundred and fourteen acres, two roods, and eleven perches, statute measure, were mine, and I am the Cornelius ODowd, Esq., referred to in the same paragraph. Though it is perfectly true that, what between mortgages, settlement claims, and bonds, neither my father nor myself owned these lands any more than we did the island of Jamaica, it | 60 | gutenberg |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.