Kid Wolf of Texas Read online

  "Nevah mind that," the Texan murmured. "Just considah yo' troubles mine, too. And I'm downright curious to know what's happened to yo' steers. Let's go!" He whistled for Blizzard.

  For several hours the quartet of horsemen pressed southward, following the trail left by the stolen beef herd. The four quickly became friends. Kid Wolf liked them all from the first, and the Diamond D men were overjoyed to have him enlisted in their cause. He learned that Red Morton and his older brother, Joe, had worked hard to make the Diamond D a success. The ranch had been left them by their father a few years before, heavily burdened with debt. Now, until the catastrophe of the day before, they were at the point of clearing it. Evidently the brothers did not know of Gentleman John's criminal methods, and the Texan said nothing. He was waiting for better proof.

  "The ranch is in Joe's name," said Red proudly, "but we're partners. He could sell it to Gentleman John, all right, without my consent, but he wouldn't. I'm not quite twenty-one, but I'm a man, and Joe knows it."

  "Will yo' have to sell the Diamond D now?" the Texan asked.

  "I hope not. Joe and two riders still have the south herd—at least, they have if nothin's happened. It might pull us through. Eight hundred head."

  After a time, they swung off the trail they had been following, in order to reach the sod house. Here Red expected to find his brother and the other two Diamond D riders.

  "With them, that'll make seven of us," young Morton said. "Then we can show that Blacksnake gang a fight that is a fight! There's over a dozen of 'em, though I think Lefty here wounded one, just after Whiteman was killed. We saw red stains on the sagebrush for a hundred yards along the cattle trail."

  Mounting a long rise, they began to descend again. A fertile valley stretched out beneath them, green with grass and watered by the bluest little stream that Kid Wolf had ever seen. It was a lovely spot; it was small wonder that Gentleman John wished to add the Diamond D to his holdings.

  "That's Blue-bottle Creek," announced Red Morton. "Queer that we don't see any cattle. There's not a steer in sight. They ought to be feedin' through here."

  There was no sign of anything moving throughout all the basin, either human or cattle. The silence was unbroken, save for the steady drumming of the little party's pony hoofs.

  "There's the sod house—over there in those trees," said Red, after another mile.

  He was worried. The two other Diamond D men, too, were showing signs of nervousness. Had the south herd gone the way of the other?

  They neared the sod house—a structure crudely built of layers of earth. It had one door and one window, and near it was a corral—empty. There was no sign of any one about, and there was no reply to Red's eager shout.

  "Oh, Joe!" he hailed.

  His face was a shade paler, as he quickly swung himself out of his saddle. He entered the sod house at a half run.

  "Is anything wrong?" Train shouted.

  Then they heard Red Morton cry out in grief and horror. Without waiting for anything more, The Kid and the two Diamond D riders dismounted and raced toward the sod hut. None of them was prepared for the terrible thing they found there.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  ON BLACKSNAKE'S TRAIL

  At first, they could see little, for not much light filtered through the small door and window. Then details of the interior began to grow more distinct in the hut's one room. A tarp had been tacked over the dirt ceiling to keep scorpions and centipedes from dropping down on the bunks below. There was only a little furniture, and that of a crude sort. Some of it was smashed, as if in a scuffle.

  These things, however, were not noticed until later. What the visitors saw was the form of a man with legs and arms outstretched at queer angles.

  Kid Wolf was accustomed to horrible sights, but he remembered this one ever afterward. The scene was stamped on his mind like a fragment of some wild nightmare.

  The body was that of a man a few years older than Red Morton, and the features, though set and twisted, were the same. A rope had been tied to one wrist and fastened to one wall; another rope had been knotted about his other wrist and secured to the opposite side of the hut. The legs had been served the same way at the ankles. On the body of the suspended figure rocks had been piled. They were of many sizes, varying from a few pounds to several hundred. It was easy to see how the unhappy man had met his end—by slow torture. One by one, the rocks had been placed on his chest and middle, the combined weight of them first slowly pulling his limbs from their sockets and then crushing out the life that remained.

  Red, after his first outcry of agony, took it bravely. The Kid threw his arm sympathetically around the youth's shoulders and drew him away, while the others cut the ropes that held the victim of the rustler gang's cruelty. In a few minutes, Red got a grip on himself and could talk in a steady voice.

  "Reckon I'm alone now, Kid," he blurted. "Joe was all I had—and they got him! I swear I'll bring those hounds to justice, or die a-tryin'!"

  "Yo're not alone, Red," said the Texan grimly. "I'm takin' a hand in this game."

  Near the body they found a piece of paper—a significant document, for it explained the motive for the crime. Kid Wolf read it and understood. It was written in straggling handwriting:

  I, Joe Morton, do hereby sell and turn over all interest in the Diamond

  D Ranch property, for value received. My signature is below, and

  testifies that I have sold said ranch to Gentleman John, of Skull, New

  Mexico.

  There was, however, no signature at the space left at the bottom of the paper. Joe Morton had died game!

  "He refused to sign," said The Kid quietly, "and that means that yo're the lawful heir to the Diamond D. Yo' have a man's job to do now, Red."

  "But I don't savvy this," burst out the red-haired youth. "Surely this

  Gentleman John isn't——"

  "He's the man behind it all, mah boy," the Texan told him. And in a few words, he related how he had been approached by the self-styled cattle king, and something of his shady dealings. "He wanted to buy me," he concluded, "not knowin' that I had nevah abused the powah of the Colt fo' mah own gain. Blacksnake is his chief gunman, actin' by Gentleman John's ordahs."

  "Where's the other men—the two riders on duty with Joe?" Lefty Warren wanted to know.

  It did not take much of a search to find them. One had fallen near the little corral, shot through the heart. The other lay a few hundred yards away, at the river bank. He, too, was dead.

  "Mo' murdah," snapped the Texan grimly. "Well, we must make ouah plans."

  In this sudden crisis, the other three left most of the planning to Kid Wolf himself. First of all, the bodies were buried. Rocks were piled on the hastily made graves to keep the coyotes out, and they were ready to go again.

  The Texan decided to follow the trails left by the stolen cattle, for both herds were gone now, driven off the Diamond D range. Failing in their attempt to get Joe Morton's signature, the outlaws had evidently decided to take what they could get.

  There was one big reason why Gentleman John wished to get his hands on the Diamond D. Although land was plentiful in that early day, Red's father had obtained a land grant from a Spanish governor—a grant that still held good and kept other herds from the rich grazing land and ample water along Blue-bottle Creek.

  As they started down the trail again toward the broken, mountainous country to the southwest, The Kid sent Red a quick glance.

  "Are yo' all right, son?" he asked.

  "Fine," said young Morton, now sole owner of the Diamond D.

  The Texan was glad to see that he had braced himself. Like his brother, Red was a man.

  "We'll soon overtake 'em," old Mike Train muttered, savagely twirling the cylinder of his ancient .45. "Blacksnake's gang can't make fast time with those steers. He's probably drivin' 'em to Gentleman John's headquarters at Agua Frio."

  "Why," asked Kid Wolf slowly, "do they call that hombre 'Blacksnake'?"

&n
bsp; "Because he carries one with him—that's how he got his name," spoke up Lefty Warren. "He's a whipper. He's beaten more'n one Mex to death with it, and they say a white man or two. He can handle a blacksnake like a demon."

  Kid Wolf smiled grimly. To have Blacksnake McCoy for an enemy was by no means a pleasant thing to think about, especially when the desperado was backed by all the power that his employer—Gentleman John—possessed. And yet The Kid was afraid of neither of them.

  "It's shore great of yuh to help us this way," Red told him. "But I'm afraid we haven't a chance. If Gentleman John is behind all this, we're buckin' mighty big odds."

  "I like a game like that," said The Kid. "Unlike pokah, it's perfectly legitimate to scratch the aces with yo' fingah nail."

  They were soon off the limits of the Diamond D and on the Casas Amarillas—a ranch owned by Gentleman John and taking its Spanish name from two yellow houses of adobe several miles distant. They saw scattered cattle branded with a Lazy J—one of Gentleman John's many brands—but discovered no stragglers from the stolen Morton herds.

  Following the trail was easy, and they struck a hot pace down through and out of the grassy valley, climbing through a pass and up on a rolling mesa dotted with thirsty-looking sage. For two full hours they rode, while the sun crept toward the west. Their horses were beginning to tire. A line of cedar-sprinkled hills loomed up ahead of them, but by keeping to the plateau they could circle them.

  "I think we'd bettah keep to the mesa," The Kid advised.

  "But we're about on 'em," put in Red. "They'll see us comin', miles away. If we cut down through those hills, we'll gain time, too, and keep hid."

  "It's a fine place to be trapped in," mused the Texan. "Well, Red, yo' know this country, an' I don't, so use yo' own judgment."

  Against the far horizon they could make out a faint yellow haze—dust from the trampling hoofs of many cattle. They could cut off a full mile by riding down into the cedars, and Red decided to do so. The Kid was dubious, but said nothing more. If Blacksnake had a rear guard of any kind, they might have been sighted. In that case, they would run into trouble—ambushed trouble.

  Kid Wolf rode in the lead, the three others drumming along behind him. He was grimly wary. A chill gust of wind hit them, as they entered the depths of the notch between the hills. The straggling growth of cedars and stumpy evergreens loomed up ahead of them, and they crashed through. For several hundred yards they tore their way and found their pace slowed by the difficult going. The trees began to thin out. Then they heard a spring tinkling down among the red rocks, and the cedars began to thicken again, as the little canyon narrowed and climbed steeply.

  "Stick 'em up!"

  Kid Wolf fired at the sound of the voice while the loud shout was still echoing. His double draw was lightning fast. Before the others knew what was taking place, his two guns had flashed. At the dull boom of the twin explosions, a crashing sound was heard in the brush, as if something was wildly threshing about. Then bullets began to rip and smash their way through the undergrowth. Cedar twigs flew.

  With a yell, Mike Train slumped down over his saddle pommel and rolled off his horse. At the same instant, the two others—Lefty Warren and Red Morton—reached for their guns. The thing had happened so quickly that until now they had not thought of drawing their weapons.

  But Kid Wolf stopped them.

  "Don't pull 'em, boys!" he cried. And at the same time, he dropped both his own guns. It was a surprising thing for the Texan to do, but his mind had worked quickly. His sharp eyes had taken in the situation. They were covered, and from all sides. His first quick shots had brought one man down, but there were at least six others, and all were behind shelter and had a deadly drop. If The Kid had been alone, he would, no doubt, have shot it out there and then, using his own peculiar tactics. But he had the others to think of. If they touched their guns, they would be killed instantly.

  The Texan's doubts had been well founded. They should have kept to the mesa top. They had jumped into a trap. Surrender was the only thing to do now, for while there was life, there was hope. The Kid had slipped from tight situations before.

  Lefty Warren, Red Morton, and The Kid elevated their hands. A low laugh came from behind the cedar thicket, and a group of desperadoes on foot slipped through, holding drawn and leveled Colts. In the lead was Blacksnake McCoy. His eyes fell on Kid Wolf and widened with surprise. Then his teeth showed through his close-cropped beard in a snarl of hate.

  "Well, if it ain't the gamblin' Cotton-picker!" he ejaculated. "I didn't know I was goin' to have such luck as this! Keep yore mitts up, the three of yuh. Pedro, collect their guns!"

  A grinning desperado disarmed Lefty and Red and picked up The Kid's two

  Colts.

  "It'd 'a' been better fer yuh if yuh'd shot it out," sneered Blacksnake, "because Gentleman John will have somethin' in store fer yuh that yuh won't like. Wait till he sets eyes on yuh, Cotton-picker! Boilin' alive will seem like a picnic! I knew we'd get yuh sooner or later, if yuh kept stickin' yore nose in other folks' business."

  "Blacksnake," said The Kid softly, "yo're a cheap, fo'-flushin' bully."

  Blacksnake's evil eyes went hard. His face reddened with anger, then paled. He was trembling with fury and deadly hate. He turned to his men.

  "Take the others up to the Yellow Houses and wait for me there," he rasped. "Pedro, my whip's on my pony; bring it to me. I'm havin' this out with Cotton-picker, alone! When I'm through with him, I'll bring him on up. One of yuh ride up to the herd and tell Slim to let Gentleman John know we've got 'em. He'll finish with Cotton-picker when I'm done with him. Savvy?"

  A blacksnake was brought to McCoy, and the others roughly surrounded

  Lefty and Red, herding them through the timber and out of sight.

  "Take the skin offn him, Black!" an outlaw yelled back.

  The others laughed. And then Kid Wolf and his captor were left alone.

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE FANG OF THE WOLF

  "Well, yuh'd better get ready to take yore medicine," sneered the outlaw, his voice shaking with rage. "I'm goin' to make yuh crawl on yore hands and knees, Cotton-picker!"

  He holstered his gun, watching Kid Wolf cunningly, and drew back a little to give himself leeway with his whip. Then he began to roll up his sleeve.

  "I'll make yuh beg, Cotton-picker," he taunted insultingly, as he bared his brawny right arm. "And if yuh run, I'll shoot—not to kill; that'd be too easy. I'll blow yore legs in two!"

  Kid Wolf had been pulled from his horse by the others, and the faithful snow-white animal had been taken along up the pass with the two prisoners. There seemed no way of escape. Blacksnake had him, and the gang leader grinned confidently.

  "Yo're a bully, sah," drawled the Texan. It was as if he were deliberately trying to get his enemy aroused to white-hot fury.

  The words seemed to have that effect. With a loud oath, Blacksnake cracked his whip like a pistol shot. The whip was as strong and tough as a bull whip, with a loaded stock and a long, braided lash, thick in the middle, like a snake. The outlaw had aimed for The Kid's thigh, and he was an expert with it. The lash landed with such cutting force that it cut through the Texan's clothing and tore into his flesh.

  "Now take off yore shirt!" Blacksnake bellowed. "I'm goin' to flay yuh alive! Take it off!"

  There was no sign of pain in Kid Wolf's face. He was still smiling agreeably. Blacksnake McCoy did not know what was coming. The Texan was not entirely disarmed. True, his Colts had been taken away, and he was apparently helpless. The Kid, however, had his hole card that was always in the deck. This was his keen bowie knife, which more than once had saved his life. Cleverly concealed in its sheath sewn down the back of his shirt collar, it had been overlooked in the outlaws' quick search. Pretending to remove his shirt, The Kid's right hand went to his throat and closed on the handle of the knife.

  Blacksnake, showing his teeth in a laugh of hate, stood a half dozen feet away from him, swinging
his cruel whip slowly from side to side, waiting. He was holding the whipstock in his right hand, and that favored the Texan. For in order to draw the gun that swung at his hip, Blacksnake would first have to drop his implement of torture.

  "Heah's wheah yo' get it!" snapped The Kid crisply.

  Blacksnake's eyes bulged with sudden, startled terror, for he had a glimpse of the shining blade for one brief instant. His whip hand moved toward the butt of his gun. But he was too late. Kid Wolf could draw and throw his bowie as swiftly as he could pull his firearms. It flashed through the air—a streak of dazzling light! The fang of the wolf was striking!

  Ping! The steel tore its way through the outlaw's right wrist. The Texan's throw had been as true as a rifle bead. Blacksnake yelled and tried to reach for his Colt with his left hand.

  Then The Kid leaped in. Blacksnake was still squirming about and clawing for his .45 when the Texan's first blow landed. Blacksnake was burly, powerful. He weighed well over two hundred, and his shoulders were as broad as a gorilla's. But his bullet head went back with a jerk, as the Texan's hard fist thudded heavily on his cheek bone.

  In the quick scuffle, the Big Colt slipped from Blacksnake's holster and fell to the ground. With all his fury now, the outlaw was lashing terrific, belting swings at Kid Wolf's head. The Texan dodged, elusive as a shadow. He leaped in, bored with his right and jolted Blacksnake from top to toe with a smashing left. The big outlaw staggered, then jumped back and tried to scoop up his gun. His right hand was helpless, however, and his left clumsy. His fingers missed it, and The Kid hit him again, bringing Blacksnake to his knees, groggy-headed and bleary-eyed. His hand closed over the whip. The stock was heavily loaded with lead, and it was a terrible weapon when held reversed. One blow from it could crush a skull like an eggshell.

  "I'm a-goin' to brain yuh, Cotton-picker!" Blacksnake grated furiously.

  He reeled to his feet, shook his head to get his tangled hair out of his eyes and came in, whip swung back! Kid Wolf had no time to duck down for the gun. The heavy stock was humming through the air in a swish of death!