Kid Wolf of Texas Read online

  Smash! Blacksnake rocked on his feet. His teeth had come together with a click. He wabbled, swayed. His whip fell from his relaxed fingers. The Kid's footwork had been as swift and cunning as a mountain cat's! He had stepped aside, rocked his body in a pivot from the hips and landed a knock-out punch full on the point of the big-chested outlaw's jaw! With a grunt, Blacksnake went down, first to his knees, and then face thudding the ground. He landed with such force that he plowed the sand with his nose like a rooting hog.

  Taking a deep breath, Kid Wolf walked over and picked up Blacksnake's .45. Then he turned the outlaw face up, none too gently, by jerking his tangled hair. "All right. Snap out of it," he drawled.

  Blacksnake was out for a full two minutes. Gradually consciousness began to show on his ugly, bruised face. He stared at the Texan, blinking his eyes in bewilderment.

  "Blast yuh!" he said thickly, when he could speak. "Guess yuh got me,

  Cotton-picker. I don't know yet how yuh done it."

  He tried to seize the gun, but The Kid was too quick for him.

  "None o' that," he drawled. "Get up! Yo're takin' me to the othahs.

  Move pronto to the Yellow Houses!"

  A cunning look mingled with the hate in Blacksnake's swollen eyes.

  "They'll kill yuh," he sneered. "Yuh ain't out o' this yet, blast yuh!

  My men will pull yuh to pieces."

  "I'm thinkin' they won't." The Texan smiled. "If they do, it won't be very healthy fo' yo'. Now listen to what I say."

  Half an hour later, Kid Wolf strolled up the hill to the Yellow Houses, arm in arm with his enemy—Blacksnake McCoy!

  The outlaw was swearing under his breath. Kid Wolf was chuckling. For he had his hand under Blacksnake's vest, and that hand held a .45! In his left hand, the outlaw carried his whip. The other, wounded, was in his trousers pocket. The Texan had ordered him to keep it there, out of sight.

  The two adobes, crumbling to ruins, dated from the Spaniards. For many years they had been used only as occasional stopping places for passing riders. It was here that Blacksnake had ordered Red Morton and Lefty Warren taken.

  Kid Wolf was free now, and had he wished, he could have made his escape. That thought, however, did not enter the Texan's mind. He must rescue his friends if possible.

  "Walk with me as if nothing had happened," he told Blacksnake softly. "If they suspect anything befo' I'm ready fo' 'em to know, you'll be sorry."

  With the cold end of the six-gun pressing his ribs inside his shirt, the outlaw dared not disobey.

  The sun had set, and twilight was deepening. The faint dust haze on the far horizon had disappeared. That meant that the stolen Diamond D herd had been driven on. Blacksnake had been staying some distance in the rear to keep off any possible pursuit. Kid Wolf had five other outlaws to contend with—no, four. For Blacksnake had sent one of them ahead with the herd.

  Odds meant nothing, however, to the Texan. He knew that surprise and quick action always counted more than numbers. Everything now depended on boldness. As they neared the two adobes, he pretended to reel and stagger close against Blacksnake for support, as if he had been beaten until he could hardly stand. This, too, allowed him to keep the gun against the outlaw's side without arousing suspicion.

  At tile edge of the little cleared space surrounding the two adobes, one of the bandits was saddling a horse. The others seemed to be inside with the prisoners.

  "Hello, Black!" the outlaw yelled. "Did yuh tear the hide offn him?

  From his looks, I reckon yuh did."

  "Tell him to go inside," murmured Kid Wolf softly, "and be careful how yo' tell him."

  Blacksnake opened his lips to shout a warning, but felt the touch of steel against his ribs and quickly changed his mind.

  "Go into the dobe with the others," he commanded gruffly.

  The walls of one of the mud huts had crumbled utterly. Only one of

  them was habitable, and it was to this one that the outlaw went, with

  Blacksnake and Kid Wolf following close behind. A yell greeted

  Blacksnake's arrival with his supposed prisoner.

  "I thought yuh'd have to carry him back, Black, or drag him by the heels," one voice shouted. "Yuh must've got tired."

  The time for action was at hand! The Kid and the outlaw stood framed for a brief second in the doorway. The Texan's eyes swept the room. The four outlaws were lazing comfortably about the ruined interior. Two were playing cards, and two were engaged in taking a drink from a whisky flask, one of these being the man Blacksnake had sent inside. The two prisoners—Lefty Warren and young Morton—were securely bound in lariat rope, sitting against one wall. The Kid saw their eyes light up as they recognized him. Evidently they had not expected to see him again alive. Kid Wolf jerked the revolver from Blacksnake's side, tripped him suddenly and sent him headlong into the room.

  "Up with yo' hands!" the Texan sang out.

  The outlaws were taken entirely by surprise. Only Blacksnake had known what was coming, and he was unarmed. Kid Wolf was no longer reeling and staggering. The desperadoes looked up to stare into the sinister muzzle of a .45!

  "Shoot him to pieces!" Blacksnake yelled, picking himself up on all fours and whirling to make a jump for The Kid's ankles.

  The Texan dodged to one side, his gun sweeping the room. A jet flame darted from the barrel, and there was a crash of broken glass. He had fired at the liquor flask that one of the outlaws still held at his lips.

  "That's a remindah," he said crisply. "Put up yo' hands!"

  Guns blazed suddenly. Two of the bandits had reached for their weapons at the same moment. The walls of the adobe shook under blended explosions, and powder smoke drifted down like a curtain, turning the figures of the men into drifting shadows.

  The firing was soon over. The Kid's gun had roared a swift tattoo of hammering shots. Dust flew from the wall near his head, but he had spoiled the aim of both outlaws by fast, hair-trigger shooting. One sank against a broken-down bunk in one corner, reamed through the upper right arm and chest. The other fired again, but his gun hand was dangling, and he missed by a foot. Playing cards were scattered, as the other pair of bandits jumped up with their hands over their heads.

  "We got enough!" they yelped. "Don't shoot!"

  Kid Wolf lashed out at Blacksnake, who was rushing him again. The short, powerful blow to the jaw sent the leader down for good. He rolled over, stunned.

  "Bueno." The Texan smiled. "Keep yo' hands right theah, please, caballeros."

  Before the powder fumes had cleared away, he had liberated Lefty and

  Red with quick strokes of his bowie.

  "I reckon we've got the uppah hand now, boys." He smiled. "Let's try and keep it. Take their guns, Red."

  The two Diamond D men had been as surprised as the outlaws had been. They had watched the gun fight fearfully and hopefully, and it was an enthusiastic pair that shook off their severed bonds to clap The Kid across the back. There was no time for conversation now, however, and they busied themselves with disarming their five prisoners and binding them with rope.

  "Gee, Kid!" Red whistled. "We thought we were done, and when yuh came in and made sparks fly—whew!"

  "Theah'll be moah spahks fly, I'm afraid," the Texan drawled. "How'd yo' like to make some spahks fly yo'selves?"

  The others showed their eagerness. The fighting fever was in their veins, especially since the death of poor Mike Train. And now, with Blacksnake and half the outlaw gang captured, they felt that they had a good part of the battle won. Red tried to question Blacksnake about his brother's death, but the outlaw was stubborn and refused to talk. Had it not been for Kid Wolf, Red would have fallen on his enemy and beaten him with his fists. And none of them could blame him.

  It was nearly dark, and they made quick plans The stolen herd was not far ahead, and with it were not more than seven of Gentleman John's riders.

  "We'll take those cattle away from 'em," said Red fiercely, "and head the steers back to t
he Diamond D!"

  It was decided that the prisoners could be left where they were for the time being, although Lefty Warren was for stringing them up there and then. Kid Wolf shook his head at this suggestion, however, and they armed themselves, "borrowing" the guns of the Blacksnake gang. Then they mounted their horses and headed south through the deepening dusk.

  CHAPTER XX

  BATTLE ON THE MESA

  "Oh, the cowboy sings so mournful on the Rio!

  To the dark night herd, so mournful and so sad,

  And I'd like to be in the moonlight on the Rio,

  Wheah good men are good, and bad men are bad!"

  Kid Wolf sang the tune softly to the whispering wind, as the trio climbed under a New Mexican moon to the top of a vast mesa.

  "Guess yuh'll find some plenty bad ones here in Skull County, eh, Kid?" laughed Red grimly.

  The Texan, brightly outlined on his beautiful horse in the moonlight, looked like a ghost on a moving white shadow.

  "Bad men," mused Kid Wolf, "aren't so plentiful. Usually theah's some good in the blackest. The men we're goin' to fight to-night, fo' instance, are probably just driftahs who've drifted the wrong way. But Gentleman John—well, he's one of the few really bad men I've met. He's really the one we want."

  The splendor of the night had a sobering effect on them. To be thinking of possible bloodshed in all that dream beauty seemed terrible. Yet it was necessary. It was a hard land. A man had to be his own law. And in Kid Wolf's case, he had to be the law for others, in a fight for the weak against the strong.

  "Listen!" cried Lefty suddenly.

  "And look!" whispered Red. "See those black dots against the sky over there? And there's a camp fire, too."

  He was right. The glow of a fire reddened the horizon and the distant bawling of uneasy cattle could be heard on the night wind.

  The rustlers had made a camp on the mesa until the dawn. The big herd was shifting, restless and milling.

  "A gun fight will stampede that herd," observed Red.

  "Then," said The Kid, "we'll be sure to stampede them in the right direction. Let's make a wide circle heah."

  They rode to the west, so that they would not be outlined against the moon. A full, curving mile slipped under their horses' pounding hoofs before The Kid gave the signal for the turn. He had the outlaws spotted, every one, and all depended now on his generalship. He knew that the two riders on the far side of the night herd would be out of it—for the time, at least. When the herd started their mad stampede toward the Diamond D, they would have a high time just taking care of themselves. The others, five in number, would be dealt with first.

  The trio slipped closer as silently as moving phantoms. The Kid saw three mounted men—two blocking their path, and the other on the far wing. Two other outlaws were at the fire. The Texan sniffed and smiled. They were making coffee.

  "The two at the fiah make excellent tahgets," murmured Kid Wolf. "I'll leave them to yo', Red. Lefty, start now and ride toward the fah ridah. I'll try mah hand with these two. We'll count to fifty, Lefty; that'll give yo' time to get in range of yo' man. And then I'll give the coyote yell, and we'll start ouah little row. Don't kill unless necessary, but if they show fight, shoot fast."

  Lefty grinned in the moonlight, roweled his horse lightly and drifted.

  Red and the Texan waited—ten seconds—twenty—thirty—forty——

  "Yipee yip-yipee-ee!" The coyote cry rose, mournful and lonely.

  Then came a terrific rattle of gunfire, with the dull drum of horses' hoofs as a bass accompaniment. Red spurred his horse toward the fire, shouting his battle cry and throwing down on the two startled men who leaped to their feet, reaching for their guns. Kid Wolf's great white charger burned the breeze at the two guards on the west wing.

  "Throw up yo' hands!" The Kid invited.

  But they didn't. Lead began to hum viciously. Bending low in their saddles, they drew and opened up a splattering fire. Their guns winked red flashes.

  Lefty's man had shown fight, Lefty had bowled him over with a double trigger pull, and Lefty came racing back to help Red with the two rustlers at the camp fire.

  There were fireworks, and plenty of them! The herd, mad with fear, started moving away—a frantic rush that became a wild stampede. Their plunging bodies milled about, and with uplifted tails and tossing horns, they were on the run northward toward the home range—the Diamond D!

  Although it was a case of shoot or be killed now, The Kid was aiming to cripple. A leaden slug burned a flesh wound just below his left armpit, as he opened up on the two rustlers. His gun hammers stuttered down, throwing bullets on both sides of him, as he drove Blizzard between his two enemies at full tilt. One, raked with lead through both shoulders, thudded from his pony to the ground. The other leaned over his saddle and dropped his Colt. Two bullets, a few inches apart, had nipped his gun arm.

  The two rustlers at the fire were giving trouble. They had dashed out of the dangerous firelight and had opened up on Lefty and Red. Kid Wolf's heart gave a little jump. Red was down! Lefty and one of the bandits were engaged in a hand-to-hand scuffle, for Warren's horse had been shot under him. The other outlaw had lifted his gun to finish Red, who was crawling along the ground. The range was a good fifty yards, but Kid Wolf fired three times. The rustler standing over Red dropped. Lefty broke away from his man, just as The Kid rode up with lariat swinging.

  "Don't shoot!" the Texan sang out. "I've got him!"

  The rope hummed through the air, spread out and tightened. The last of the outlaws went off his feet with a jerk.

  "One of 'em's runnin' away!" yelled Lefty, pointing to the man Kid Wolf had shot through the arm. He was making a hot race in the direction of Skull.

  "Let him go," said The Kid. "We don't want him. See how bad Red's hurt."

  Outlined against the eastern sky were three riders now, far away and becoming rapidly smaller. The two north riders were making their get-away, also. The victory was complete.

  To their relief, Lefty and The Kid found that Red had received only a flesh wound above the knee.

  Kid Wolf tied the man he had caught with his lariat, then caught Red's horse and one of the loose outlaw ponies for Lefty.

  "Now yo' ought to be able to ease those Diamond D cattle on home," he drawled. "I'll see how yo' are makin' it in the mo'ning."

  "Why, where are yuh goin'?" Red asked in surprise.

  "Goin' after Gentleman John." Kid Wolf smiled. "How far is it to his headquartahs at Agua Frio?"

  "About nine miles straight west, over the mesa. But say, yuh'd better let one of us go with yuh."

  The Texan shook his head. "I'm playin' a lone hand, Red. Yo' job is to line out yo' steers and get 'em back to the Diamond D feedin' grounds. Adios, amigos!"

  And Kid Wolf, on his fleet white horse, swung off to the westward.

  Gentleman John sat up suddenly in his bed and opened his eyes. The moon had gone down, and all was pitch dark. It was nearly morning.

  He had heard something—for Gentleman John was a light sleeper. He listened intently, then sat on the edge of his bed to draw on his boots. The sound came again from the direction of the patio. Had his man, José, forgotten to lock the gate? Surely he had heard the chain rattling! Some horse, no doubt, or possibly a mule, had strayed into the little courtyard. Perhaps it was some of his men returning. And yet hardly that, for they would not dare disturb him at such an hour, but would go to their quarters behind the house until daybreak. Tiptoeing to the door, he put his ear to it. He heard faint noises, as if some one were moving about.

  "José!" Gentleman John called angrily. "What are yuh fumblin' at in there? What's the matter? Me oye usted?"

  There was no reply, and Gentleman John went to one corner of his room, scratched a sulphur match, and with its sputtering flame he lighted a small lamp by his bedside. Then he slyly drew a derringer from under his pillow. Again he went to the door, putting his hand on the knob.

  "José! Come here!" h
e cried, with an oath.

  The door swung open, and the lamplight shone on a human face—a face that was not José's, but a stern white one with glinting blue eyes!

  "José can't come," said a voice in a soft drawl. "He's tied up. But if I will do as well, I am at yo' service, sah!"

  The color fled from Gentleman John's amazed face.

  "Kid Wolf!" he almost screamed, and at the words he whirled up his black and ugly double-barreled pistol!

  Span-ng-g-g-g! Br-r-rang! Both barrels of the derringer exploded in two quick roars. The leaden balls, however, went wild. A steel hand had closed lightning-swift on Gentleman John's right wrist.

  "Be careful," the Texan mocked. "Yo' almost put out the lamp."

  A terrific wrench made the bones pop in the cattle king's hand, and with a yell of pain he let go. Kid Wolf took the derringer, empty now, and tossed it contemptuously to one side.

  "I'm ashamed of yo'," he drawled, with a slow smile. "Yo' ought to know bettah than to use a toy like that. Sit down on the bed, sah. I have a few things to say to yo'."

  In his left hand The Kid held a big Colt .45. Gentleman John obeyed.

  "My men will kill yuh fer this!" he raged.

  "Yo' haven't any men, sah. They're done. And now yo' are done." Kid Wolf rolled a cigarette and lighted it over the lamp chimney. "Gentleman John," he drawled, "whoevah named yo' suah had a sense of humah. Yo' are a murderah, and a cowardly one, because yo' have othahs do yo' dirty work."

  "Kill me and get it over!" jerked Gentleman John.

  "Really, yo' shouldn't judge me by what yo' would do yo'self undah the circumstances," said The Kid mildly. "I'm not heah to kill yo'. I'm heah to take yo' back to Skull fo' trial and punishment."

  "Fer trial!" repeated the cattle king. "Why, there ain't any law——"