"I hope nobody else tries that," drawled The Kid. "When we go, let's go togethah. By the light of this fiah they can see the colah of ouah eyes. We haven't a chance in the world to escape that way."
"We can't stay here and burn to death!" groaned Terry White.
The heat and smoke were driving them out of the main room. Already flames were creeping down the walls, and the air was as hot as the breath of an oven. Their faces were blistered, their exposed hands cooked. Tip's coat was afire, as all five of them made a dash for the smaller room, taking the extra guns and ammunition with them.
This gave them a short respite. As yet the fire had not reached this apartment, although it would not take long. The smoke was soon so thick as nearly to be blinding. Stationing themselves at the loopholes, they began to work havoc with their rifles and revolvers. For the outlaws, bolder now, had ventured closer and made good targets in the glare of the burning building.
Suddenly there was a tremendous crash. The roof over the main room had come smashing in! Instantly the fire roared louder; tongues of it began to lick through the walls. Wood popped, and the heat became maddening. One side of the room became a mass of flames. The imprisoned men began to wet their clothing with the little water that was left.
"The stable!" ordered Kid Wolf. "Quick!"
The stable was built against the side of the store in the rear, and a door of the smaller room opened into it. There they must make their last stand.
The horses—and among them was Kid Wolf's white charger, Blizzard—were trembling with fear. They seemed to know, as well as their masters, that they were in terrible danger.
"We'll make ouah get-away with 'em, when the time comes," drawled the
Texan.
"Not a chance in the world, Kid!" Tip groaned.
"Just leave it to me," was the quiet reply. "We've got a slim chance, if mah idea works."
Fanned by the wind, the flames soon were eating at the stable. And once caught, it burned like tinder. The horses screamed as the fire licked at them, and all was confusion. To make matters worse, bullets ripped through continually.
The Hardy band had gathered about the burning buildings in a close ring, ready to shoot down any one the instant he showed himself. The situation looked hopeless.
"Stay in there if yuh want to!" a voice shouted outside. "Burn up, or take lead! It's all the same to us!"
The heat-tortured Scotty staggered to his feet and groped toward one of the plunging, screaming horses.
"Lead is the easiest way," he choked. "They'll get me, but I'm goin' to try and ride this hoss out o' here!"
"Wait a minute!" Kid Wolf cried. "All get yo' hosses ready and make the break when I say the word. But not until!"
Gritting their teeth, they prepared to endure the baking heat for a few minutes more. They did not know what Kid Wolf was going to do, but they had faith that he would do something. And they knew, as things stood, that they could not hope for anything but death if they tried to escape now.
The stable was a mass of flames. The walls were crumbling and falling in. The Texan gave his final orders.
"If any of us get through," he gasped, "we'll meet on the Chisholm
Trail—below heah. Ride hard, with heads low—when I say the word!"
Then Kid Wolf played his trump card. Upon leaving the store itself, he had taken a small keg with him—a powder keg. Until now, none of the others had noticed it. Holding it in his two hands, he darted through the door into the open! Bits of burning wood were all about him; flames licked at his boots as he stood upright, the keg over his head.
"Scattah!" he shouted at the astonished Hardy gang. "I'm blowin' us all to kingdom come!"
The Texan made a glorious picture as he stood there, framed in red and yellow. Fire was under his feet and on every side. The glow of it illuminated his face, which was stained with powder smoke and blackened by the flames. His eyes shone joyously, and a laugh of defiance and recklessness was on his lips as he swung the poised keg aloft.
The Hardy gang, frozen with terror for an instant, scattered. They ran like frightened jack rabbits. To shoot Kid Wolf would have been easy, but none of them dared to attempt it. For if the keg was dropped, one spark would set it off. Overcome with panic, the ring of outlaws melted into the night.
The Texan gave the signal, and Tip, Caldwell, Scotty, and White tore out of the doorway on their frightened horses, heads low, scattering as they came. Kid Wolf whistled sharply for Blizzard and pulled himself effortlessly into the saddle as the big white horse went by at a mad gallop. He tossed away the keg as he did so.
The Hardy faction began shooting then, but it was too late. Bullets hummed over the heads of the escaping riders, but not one found its mark.
Kid Wolf found himself riding alongside Tip McCay. The others had taken different routes. The sounds of guns behind them were rapidly growing fainter, and they were hidden by the pitch darkness. Kid Wolf heard Tip laughing to himself—a rather high-pitched, nervous laugh.
"Are yo' all right, Tip?" sang out the Texan.
"Great! Yore plan worked to a T! But do yuh know what was in that powder keg yuh used?"
"Yes, I knew all the time," chuckled The Kid. "It wasn't powdah at all. It was lime. I found that out when I tried to load a Sharps rifle from it. But just the same, Tip, the bluff worked!"
CHAPTER IX
THE NIGHT HERD
By the time the Hardy faction had given up the chase in disgust, Caldwell, White, and Scotty had joined Tip and the Texan some miles below Midway on the Chisholm Trail. The former three were jubilant over their unexpected release from the fire trap, but they agreed with the Texan's first proposal.
"We've got mo' work to do, boys," he drawled. "If we wanted to, we could give that gang the slip fo' good and make ouah get-away. I think, though, that yo' feel as I do. What do yo' say we rustle back that herd o' longhorns that Hardy stole from Tip's dad?"
It meant running into danger again, and lots of it, but none of them hesitated. Kid Wolf had made his promise, and the others vowed to see him through. It took them but a few moments to plan their reckless venture and get into action.
The Kid hated Hardy now, just as heartily as did Tip McCay. And even if he had not given his word to the dying cattleman, he would not have left a stone unturned to bring the rustling saloon keeper to justice. More than once before, Kid Wolf had used the law of the Colt when other measures failed to punish. And now, even although handicapped and outnumbered, he planned to strike. The stolen herd represented a small fortune, and rightfully belonged to Tip McCay and his mother. But where were the longhorns now?
Tip's suggestion was helpful. He thought the cattle could not be more than a few miles below. They quickly decided to ride south, and Tip and The Kid led the way. The moon was up now, and it lighted the open prairie with a soft glow. The five riders pounded down the old Chisholm cattle road at a furious clip, eyes open for signs. Presently Tip cried:
"We'll find 'em down there at Green Springs! I see a light! It's a camp fire!"
On the horizon they made out the feathery tops of trees against the sky, and riding closer, they could see a dark mass bunched up around them—little dots straying out at the edges. It was the stolen McCay herd!
No general on the field of battle planned more carefully than the Texan. The party came closer, warily and making no noise. As they did so, they could hear the bawling of the cattle. Some were milling and restless, and the cattleman could see four men on horses at different points, attempting to keep the animals quiet and soothed. At the camp fire, several hundred yards from the springs, were four other men. Two of these seemed to be asleep in their blankets; the other pair were talking and smoking.
"The odds," drawled Kid Wolf in a low tone, "are eight to five in theah favah. Tip, yo' take the man on the no'th. Scotty, yores is the hombre on the west, ridin' the pinto. Caldwell, take the south man, and yo', White, do yo' best with the gent ovah east."
"How about those four b
y the fire?" whispered White.
"I'm takin' them myself." The Texan smiled. "We must all work togethah. They won't know who we are at first, probably, and will think we're moah of Hardy's men. Don't shoot unless yo' have to."
One of the two bearded ruffians by the camp fire clutched his companion's sleeve. Two other men lay snoring on the other side of the crackling embers, and one of them stirred slightly.
"Bill," he muttered, "didn't yuh hear somethin'?"
"I hear a lot o' cows bawlin'." The other grinned. "But what I was tryin' to say is this: If Jack Hardy splits reasonable with us, why we——"
He was interrupted. Both men glanced up, to see a tall figure sauntering toward them into the ring of red firelight. Both stared, then reached for their guns.
"Sorry, gents," they were told in a soft and musical drawl, "but yo're a little late. Will yo' kindly poke yo' hands into the atmospheah?"
The two outlaws experienced a sudden wilting of their gun arms. It was quick death to attempt to draw while the round black eyes of this stranger's twin Colts were on them.
With a jerk, both threw up their hands. One gave a shout—a cry meant to warn his companions.
A shot from the direction of the herd told them, however, that the other outlaws were already aware of something unusual.
The two bandits in the blankets jumped up, rubbing their eyes in amazement. A kick from Kid Wolf's boot sent the .45 of one of them flying. The other, prodded none too gently with a revolver barrel, decided to surrender without further ado.
Lining them up, The Kid disarmed them. He was joined in a few minutes by Tip, White, Caldwell, and Scotty, who were driving two prisoners before them.
"Bueno!" said The Kid. "I see yo' got the job done without much trouble. But wheah's the othah two?"
Scotty smiled grimly, spat in the direction of the fire and said simply:
"They showed fight."
In five minutes, the six outlaws were tied securely with lariat rope, in spite of their fervent and profane protests.
"Jack Hardy will get yuh fer this, blast yuh!" snarled one.
"Maybe," drawled The Kid sweetly, "he won't want us aftah he gets us."
They planned to have the cattle moving northward by dawn. Once past Midway, the trail to Dodge was clear. But there was plenty of work to do in the meantime.
An hour after sunup, the herd of fifteen hundred steers was moving northward toward Midway. Kid Wolf and his four riders had them well under control, and had it not been for a certain alertness in their bearing, one would have thought it an ordinary cattle drive.
Kid Wolf was singing to the longhorns in a half-mocking, drawling tenor, as he rode slowly along:
"Oh, the desaht winds are blowin', on the Rio!
And we'd like to be a-goin', back to Rio!
But befo' we do,
We've got to see this through,
Like all good hombres do, from the Rio!"
The prisoners had been lashed securely to their horses and brought along. Already several miles had been traveled. And thus far the party had seen no signs of Jack Hardy's rustler gang. They were not, however, deceived. With every passing minute they were approaching closer to Midway, the Hardy stronghold. And not only that, but the outlaws were probably combing the country for them.
Reaching a place known as Stone Corral, they were especially vigilant. The place was a natural trap. It had been built of roughly piled stone and never entirely finished. Indians sometimes camped within the inclosure. It was, however, empty of life, and the adventurers were about to push on with the herd when the keen, roving eyes of Kid Wolf spotted something suspicious on the north horizon. He held his hand aloft, signaling a stop.
"Heah they come, boys!" he cried. "We'll have to stand 'em off heah!"
They had been expecting it, and they were hardly surprised or unprepared. They were favored, too, in having such a place for defense. Save for the low walls of the abandoned corral, there was no cover worth mentioning for miles. Among the cool-eyed five who prepared to make their stand, there was not one who hadn't faced death before and often. But never had the odds been more against them. They had slipped through the toils before, but now they were tightening again.
Watching the riders as they grew larger against the sky, they could count two dozen of them. There was no use to hide. They could not conceal the cattle herd, and the Hardy gang would surely investigate. Already they were veering in their course, riding directly toward the stone corral.
"Aweel," muttered Scotty, lapsing into his Scotch dialect for the moment, "there isn't mooch doot about how this thing will end. But I'm a-theenkin' we'll make it a wee bit hot for 'em before they get us!"
"Right yuh are, Scotty," said Tip savagely. "I'm goin' to try and pick Hardy out o' that gang o' killers, and if I do, I don't care much then what happens."
The prisoners had been herded within the corral, and their feet were lashed together.
"Yuh'll soon be listenin' to bullets," Caldwell told them. "Yuh'd better pray that yore pals shoot straight and don't hit you by mistake."
The Hardy gang had seen them! They saw the riders check their horses and then spread out in a cautious circle.
"Hardy ain't with 'em," sang out White, who had sharp eyes.
"They seem to be all there but him!" snapped Tip in disappointment.
"The coward's stayed behind!"
A bullet suddenly buzzed viciously over the corral and kicked up a shower of clods behind it. And as if this first shot were signal, a shattering volley rang out from the oncoming riders. Bits of stone and bursts of sand flew up from the low stone breastworks.
"We got yuh this time!" one of the rustlers shouted. "We're givin' yuh one chance to come out o' there!"
"And we're givin' yuh all the chances yo' want," replied Kid Wolf, "to come and get us!"
For answer, the horsemen—two dozen strong—charged! In a breath, they had struck and had been driven back. So quickly had it happened that nobody remembered afterward just how it had been done. The Texan's two Colts grew hot and cooled again. Three riderless horses galloped about the corral in circles, and the thing was over!
It had been sheer nerve and courage against odds, however. Three of the attackers fell from their horses before the stone walls had been gained, and three others had met with swift trouble inside. The rest had retreated hastily, leaving six dead and wounded behind. Only Caldwell had been hit, and his wound was a slight one in the shoulder. The defenders cheered lustily.
"Come on!" Tip shouted. "We're waitin'!"
Kid Wolf, however, was not deceived. The attacking party was made up largely of half-breeds and Indians. The Texan knew their ways. That first charge had been only half-hearted. The next time, the outlaws would fight to a finish, angered as they were to a fever heat. And although the defenders might account for a few more of the renegades, the end was inevitable. Kid Wolf did not lose his cool smile. He had been in tight situations before, and had long ago resigned himself to dying, when his time came, in action.
"Here they come again!" barked Scotty grimly. But suddenly a burst of rifle fire rang out in the distance—a sharp, crackling volley. Two of the outlaw gang dropped. One horse screamed and fell heavily with its rider.
The five defenders saw to their utter amazement that a large band of horsemen was riding in from the east at a hot gallop, guns spitting fire. As a rescue, it was timed perfectly. The rustlers had been about to charge the corral, and now they reined up in panic, undecided what to do. Two others fell. And in the meantime, the newcomers, whoever they were, were circling so as to surround them on all sides.
"It's the law!" Kid Wolf smiled.
"The what?" Caldwell demanded. "Why, there ain't no law between here an'——"
But the Texan knew he was right. He had seen the sun glittering on the silver badge that one of the strange riders wore.
The rustlers themselves were outnumbered now. The posse included a score of men, and they handled their guns in
a determined way. The outlaws fired a wild shot or two, then signified their surrender by throwing up their hands. While the sullen renegades were being searched and disarmed, the leader of the posse came over to where the Texan and the others were watching.
"Who in blazes are you?" he shot out.
"That's the question I was goin' to ask yo', sheriff," returned The Kid politely.
"Humph! How d'ye know I'm a sheriff?" grunted the leader.
"Yo're wearin' yore stah in plain sight."
"Oh!" The officer grinned. "Well, I'm Sheriff Dawson, o' Limpin Buffalo County. I've brought my posse over two hundred miles to get my hands on one o' the worst gangs o' rustlers in the Injun Nations. I don't know who you are, but the fact that yuh were fightin' 'em is enough fer me. I know yo're all right."
"Thanks, sheriff," said the Texan. "I'm leavin' Mr. Tip McCay heah to tell yo' ouah story, if yo'll excuse me fo' a while."
"Where yuh goin', Kid?" demanded young McCay, astonished.
"To Midway," drawled the Texan, swinging himself into Blizzard's saddle. "Looks like a clean sweep has been made of the Hahdy gang—except Hahdy himself. I reckon I'll ride in and get him, so's to make the pahty complete."
"Hardy!" the officer ejaculated. "I want that malo hombre—and mighty bad, dead or alive!"
"Let us go along!" burst out Tip.
"No," laughed the Texan quietly. "Yo' boys have had enough dangah and excitement fo' one day, not includin' yestahday. I'd rathah settle this little business with Jack Hahdy alone. Yo' drive the cattle on and meet me latah."
And lifting his hand in farewell, The Kid touched his white charger with the spur. In a few minutes he was a tiny spot on the horizon, bound for the lair of Jack Hardy, the rustler king.
There was one thing, however, that Kid Wolf was not aware of, and that was a pair of beady black eyes watching him from behind a prairie-dog hill! One of the renegade half-breeds had managed to slip away from the posse unseen. It was Tucumcari Pete, and in a draw a few yards away was his pony.
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