Kid Wolf of Texas Read online

  Mullhall went backward like a catapult, directly at Stacy. The gun exploded in the air, and as the slug buzzed into the roof, both Mullhall and the exforeman went down like bags of meal—a tangled maze of legs and arms.

  "Get up," The Kid drawled. "And get out!"

  Kid Wolf had not bothered to draw his guns, but Anton, Wise, and Lathum had reached for theirs, and they had the angry pair covered. Stacy changed his mind about whirling his gun on his forefinger as he recovered it, and sullenly shoved it into its holster.

  "We'll get yuh!" snarled Stacy, his furious eyes boring into The Kid's cool gray ones. "San Felipe is too small to hold both of us!"

  "Bueno," said The Kid calmly. "I wish yo' luck—yo'll need it. But in the meantime—vamose pronto!"

  Swearing angrily, the two men obeyed. It seemed the healthiest thing to do just then. They slunk out like whipped curs, but The Kid knew their breed.

  He would see them again.

  "Oh, the wintah's sun is shinin' on the Rio,

  I'm ridin' in mah homeland and I find it mighty nice;

  Life is big and fine and splendid on the Rio,

  With just enough o' trouble fo' the spice!"

  If Kid Wolf's improvised song was wanting from a poetical standpoint, the swinging, lilting manner in which he crooned it made up for its defects. His tenor rose to the canyon walls, rich and musical.

  "Our cake's plumb liable to be overspiced with trouble," Frank Lathum said with a laugh.

  Kid Wolf, with his three newly hired riders, were well on their way to the S Bar. His companions knew of a short route that would take them directly to the Thomas hacienda, and they were following a steep-walled canyon out of the mesa lands to the westward.

  "Look!" cried Wise. "Somebody's coming after us!"

  They turned and saw a lone horseman riding toward them from the direction of San Felipe. The rider was astride a fast-pacing Indian pony and overhauling them rapidly. Since leaving the town, Kid Wolf's party had been in no hurry, and this had enabled the rider to overtake them.

  "It's Goliday," muttered Anton, shading his weather-beaten eyes with a brown hand.

  "Just who is he?" The Kid drawled.

  "I think he's really the hombre behind Major Stover," Wise spoke up.

  "He owns the ranch to the north o' the S Bar, and from what I hear,

  Stover has been tryin' to buy it fer him."

  "Oh," The Kid murmured, "let's wait fo' him then, and heah what he has to say."

  Accordingly, the four men drew up to a halt and wheeled about to face the oncoming ranchman. They could see him raising his hand in a signal for them to halt. He came up in a cloud of dust, checked his pony, and surveyed the little party. His eyes at once sought out Kid Wolf.

  Goliday was a man of forty, black-haired and sallow of face. He wore a black coat and vest over a light-gray shirt. Beneath the former peeped the ivory handle of a .45.

  "Hello," panted the newcomer. "Are you the hombre that caused all the stir back in San Felipe?"

  "What can I do fo' yo'?" asked the Texan briefly.

  "Well," said Goliday, "let's be friends. I'll be quite frank. I want the S Bar. Is it true yo're goin' there to run the place for the old woman?"

  "It is," The Kid told him.

  "I'll pay yuh well to let the place alone," offered Goliday after a pause. "I'll give five thousand cash for the ranch, and if the deal goes through, why I'm willin' to ante up another thousand to split between you four.

  "I'm a generous man, and it'll pay to have me for a friend. Savvy? As an enemy I won't be so good. Now, Mr. Wolf, if that's yore name, just advise Mrs. Thomas to sell right away. Is it a bargain?"

  "It's mo' than that," murmured The Kid softly. "It's an insult."

  Goliday did not seem to hear this remark. He reached into his vest and drew out something that glittered in the sun.

  "Here's a hundred and twenty to bind the bargain—six double eagles.

  And there's more where these came from. Will yuh take 'em?"

  "I'll take 'em," drawled Kid Wolf. He reached out for the gold, and they clinked into his palm.

  "I'll take 'em," he repeated, "and beah's what I'll do with 'em!"

  With a sweeping movement, he tossed them high into the air. The sun glittered on them as they went up. Then, with his other hand, The Kid drew one of his guns.

  Before the handful of coins began to drop, The Kid was firing at them. He didn't waste a bullet. With each quick explosion a piece of gold flew off on a tangent. Br-r-rang, cling! Br-r-rang, ting! There were six coins, and The Kid fired six times. He never missed one! He picked the last one out of the air, three feet from the ground.

  Goliday watched this exhibition of uncanny target practice with bulging eyes. As the echoes of the last shot died away, he turned on The Kid with a bellow of wrath.

  "No, yo' don't!" Kid Wolf sang out.

  Goliday took his hand away from the butt of his ivory-handled gun. The Texan had pulled his other revolver with the bewildering speed of a magician. Goliday was covered, "plumb center."

  "That's our answah, sah!" The Kid snapped.

  Goliday's sallow face was red with rage.

  "I have power here!" he rasped. "And yuh'll hear from me! There's only one law in this country, and that's six-gun law—yuh'll feel it within forty-eight hours!"

  "Is that so?" said The Kid contemptuously. "I have a couple of lawyahs heah that can talk as fast as any in San Felipe County. The S Bar accepts yo' challenge. Come on, boys. Let's don't waste any mo' time with this."

  Grinning, the quartet struck out again westward, leaving the disgruntled ranchman behind. The last they saw of him, he was kicking about in the mesquite, looking for his gold.

  CHAPTER XIII

  DESPERATE MEASURES

  Nightfall found the quartet established in the S Bar bunk house. The joyful thanks of Ma Thomas was enough reward for any of them. She hadn't expected to see Kid Wolf again, she said, and to have him return with help was a wonderful surprise.

  She was a woman transformed and had taken new heart and courage. The supper she prepared for them, according to Kid Wolf, was the best he had eaten since he had left Texas.

  All four of them were exceedingly hungry, and they made short work of Ma Thomas' enchiladas, crisp chicken tacos, peppers stuffed, and her marvelous menudo—a Mexican soup.

  "With such eats as this," sighed The Kid, "I know the S Bar is saved."

  They were gathered now in the long, whitewashed adobe bunk house, and had finished their sad task of burying Thomas, victim of an assassin's bullet.

  The Kid obtained the bullet that had taken the old rancher's life. It was a .45 slug, and while the others believed it useless as evidence, The Kid carefully put it away in his pocket.

  "It's hard to say who done it," Fred Wise said doubtfully.

  "Yes," The Kid agreed. "I believe Ma Thomas was right when she said the hand of every one in San Felipe seemed to be raised against her. How much do yo' suppose the S Bar is wo'th, Anton?"

  "Well, with five good springs—two rock tanks and three gravel ones, she's a first-class layout. The pick of the country. I'd say twenty thousand."

  "The robbers!" muttered Kid Wolf.

  "What's on the program?" asked Frank Lathum. "We can't do much ranchin' without cattle."

  "No," admitted The Kid. "We must get those cattle back."

  "But who ever heard o' gettin' cattle out o' Old Mexico after they've once been driven in?" Anton growled. "It can't be done!"

  "Money in cattle can't be hid like money in jewels or cash," said The Kid. "Theah not so easy to get rid of, even in Mexico. The town of Mariposa lies just over the bordah, am I right? And the only good cattle lands for a hundred miles are just south of theah, isn't that so?"

  "Yes, but——"

  "Men, this is a time fo' desperate measures. We must stake all on one turn of the cards. Boldness might win. I want yo' hombres to be in Mariposa the day pasado mañana."

  "The day aft
er to-morrow!" Wise repeated. "What's yore plan, Kid?"

  "I don't know exactly," Kid Wolf admitted. "I make mah plans as I go along. But I'm ridin' into Mexico to-morrow to see what I can see. I'll try to have the six hundred head of S Bar cattle in Mariposa the next day, some way or anothah."

  Bold was the word! The quartet talked until a late hour. The three riders had caught some of The Kid's own enthusiasm and courage.

  "Ma Thomas sure needs us now," said Anton.

  "Hasn't she any relatives?" Kid Wolf asked.

  "A son," muttered Wise in a tone of disgust. "Small good he is."

  "Where is he?"

  "Nobody knows," growled Lathum. "Somewhere in Mexico, I guess. He was practically run out o' San Felipe. He's no bueno."

  Kid Wolf learned that the son—Harry Thomas—had nearly broken his parents' hearts. He had become wild years before, and was now nothing more or less than a gambler, suspected of being a cheat and a "short-card operator."

  "He was a tinhorn, all right," said Wise, "and fer the life of me I don't know how a woman like Ma Thomas could have such a worthless rake fer a son. He was a queer-lookin' hombre—one brown eye and one black eye."

  "Ma loves him, though. Yuh can tell thet," put in Lathum.

  "Oh, yes," pointed out Anton soberly. "Mothers always do. Great things, these mothers."

  He blew his nose violently on his red bandanna, and shortly afterward went to bed. Soon all four were in the bunks, resting for the hard work that awaited them on the morrow—mañana—and many days after mañana.

  Kid Wolf was up very early the next morning, and saddled Blizzard after a hasty breakfast. He had much to do.

  The three S Bar men went part way with him—to a point beyond the south corral. It was here that Mrs. Thomas had found the body of her murdered husband. There seemed to be no clew as to who had performed the deliberate killing. Before The Kid left, however, he did a little scouting around. In the sand behind a mesquite, fifty yards from the spot where the body had been found, he discovered significant marks.

  "Come ovah heah, yo' men," he sang out.

  Distinct in the sand were the prints made by a pair of low-heeled, square-toed boots.

  "Well," Anton grunted.

  "Know those mahks?"

  All shook their heads. They had certainly been made by an unusual pair of boots. In a country where high-heeled riding footgear was the thing, such boots as these were seldom seen. All three admitted that they had seen such boots somewhere, but, although they racked their brains, they were unable to say just who had worn them.

  "Well, take a good look at them," drawled The Kid. "I want yo' to be witnesses to the find. Some day this info'mation might be of use. In the meantime, adios, boys!"

  "Good luck!" they shouted after him. "We'll be on hand at Mariposa mañana morning."

  Kid Wolf hit the trail for Mexico at a hammer-and-tongs gallop.

  The Mexican town of Mariposa was scattered over ten blazing acres of sand just south of the Rio Grande. It was an older city than San Felipe, and its buildings were more elaborate.

  One in particular, just off the Plaza, attracted the eye of Spanish ranchman and peon alike. It was the meeting place of the thirsty—the famed El Chihuahense, a saloon and gambling house known from El Paso to California.

  Built of brown adobe originally, it had been painted a bright red. The carved stone with which it was trimmed shone in white contrast to the vivid walls. An archway was the entrance to the establishment and many a bullet hole within its shadow testified to the dark deeds that had happened there.

  Now, as on every night, the place was ablaze with light. Big oil lamps by the score, backed by polished reflectors, illumined the interior. From within came the strains of guitars and the gay scrapings of a fiddle, mingled with the hum of Spanish voices, an occasional oath in English, and the rattle of chips and coins.

  At the hitch rack outside the saloon stood a big white horse—waiting.

  Kid Wolf was playing poker in the El Chihuahense, and he had been at it for two solid hours. Those who knew The Kid better would have wondered at this. Ordinarily, Kid Wolf was not a gamester. He played cards rarely, never for any personal gain, and only when there seemed to be a good reason for so doing. But the Texan knew the game.

  A trio of Mexican landowners who thought they were skilled at it had quickly found out their error—and withdrew, more or less gracefully. Now a crowd of swarthy-faced men, numbering more than a score, were massed around the draw-poker table near the door. They were watching the masterful play of this slow-drawling hombre—this gringo stranger who had been seen about Mariposa all day, and who now was "bucking heads" with a lone antagonist.

  Kid Wolf's opponent was also an American, but one well known to the Mariposans. A stack of gold coins was piled in front of him, and he riffled the cards as he dealt in the manner of a professional. This man was young, also. He wore a green eye shade, and a diamond glittered in his fancy shirt. He was a gambler.

  The game seesawed for a time. First Kid Wolf would make a small winning, and then the man with the green eye shade. Most of the bets, however, were so heavy as to make the Mexicans about the table gasp with envy.

  But the crisis was coming. The deal passed from the gambler to The Kid and back to the gambler again. The pot was already swollen from the antes. The Kid opened.

  "I'm stayin'," said the gambler crisply. He pushed in a small pile of gold. "How many cards?"

  "Two," murmured The Kid.

  The gambler took one. The chances were, then, that he had two pairs, or was drawing to make a flush or a straight.

  Carefully the two men looked at their cards. Not a muscle of their faces twitched. The gambler's face was frozen—as expressionless as an Indian's. Kid Wolf was his easy self. His usual smile was very much in evidence, unchanged. He made a bet—a large one, and the gambler called and raised heavily. The Kid boosted it again. Then there was a silence, broken only by the tense breathing of the onlookers, who had pushed even closer about the table.

  "Five hundred more," said the gambler after a nerve-racking pause.

  "And five," The Kid drawled softly, pushing most of his gold into the center of the table.

  The gambler's hand shook the merest trifle. Again he looked at the pasteboards in his pale hands. Then he quickly pushed every cent he had into the pot.

  "I'm seeing it, and I'm elevatin' it every coin on me. It'll cost yuh—let's see—eight hundred and sixty more!"

  It was more than the Texan had—by four hundred dollars. He could, however, stay for his stack. The man in the green eye shade could take out four hundred to even the bet. The Kid, though, did not do this.

  "I'll just write an I O U fo' the balance," he drawled.

  "But supposin' yore I O U ain't good?"

  "Then this is good," said Kid Wolf.

  The gambler stared. The Texan had placed a .45 on the table near his right hand. And it had been done so quickly that the onlookers exchanged glances. Who was this hombre?

  "All right," growled the man in the green eye shade.

  Kid Wolf wrote something with a pencil stub on a bit of paper. When finished, he tossed it to the center of the gold pile, carefully folded.

  "That calls yo'," he said coolly. "What have yo'?"

  Nervously, the gambler spread his hand face up on the table. His hands were shaking more than ever.

  "A king full," he jerked out, wetting his lips.

  Three kings and a pair of tens—a very good layout in a two-handed game with a huge pot at stake!

  "Beats me," said The Kid. "I congratulate yo'."

  With a sigh of relief, the gambler began to pull the winnings toward him.

  "Better look at the I O U," The Kid drawled, "and see that it's all right and proper." As he spoke, he tossed his cards carelessly toward the gambler, face down.

  The youth in the green eye shade unfolded the paper and looked at the writing within. His eyes widened a little and he looked again, blinking.
Slowly the following words swam into his consciousness:

  Son, you can't gamble worth a cent, but rake in the money and follow me in five minutes. I'll meet you back of the saloon. I'm your friend, Harry Thomas, and your mother's happiness is at stake.

  The gambler's face went a bit paler. Only his poker face kept the astonishment out of his eyes. Slowly and furtively he looked at the cards Kid Wolf had tossed away so carelessly. The Texan had held four aces!

  CHAPTER XIV

  AT DON FLORISTO'S

  In the moonlight, behind the El Chihuahense Saloon, Kid Wolf and the gambler met. The latter found The Kid leaning silently against a ruined adobe wall in the deserted alleyway. The sound of the music from within the gambling hall could be heard faintly. There was a silence after the two men faced each other. Harry Thomas finally broke it:

  "How did yuh know me? I go by the name of Phil Hall here. And who are yuh?"

  "Just call me The Kid," was the soft answer. "I knew yo' by yo' one brown and one black eye."

  "What did yore note mean?"

  "Harry, the S Bar is in great danger. Yo' father is dead, and yo' mothah——" And then Kid Wolf told the story in full.

  Harry Thomas listened in agitation. He was overcome with grief and remorse. His voice trembled when he spoke:

  "I've been a fool," he blurted, "worse than a fool. Poor mother! What can I do now?"

  "It isn't too late to help her," The Kid told him kindly. "Yo' mothah needs yo' badly. Findin' those stolen cattle wasn't so hahd, aftah all. Theah on Don Floristo's ranch just below heah. I've talked to the don, and let the remahk drop that I'm interested in cattle. So I am, but the don doesn't know in what way. He thinks I'm a rich gringo wantin' to buy some."

  "Kid, I've learned my lesson. I'll never gamble again," said Harry earnestly.

  Kid Wolf took his hand warmly.