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 pa.s.sing 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 hors.e.m.e.n--two dozen strong--charged! In a breath, they had struck and had been driven back. So quickly had it happened that n.o.body 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 l.u.s.tily.

"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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "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 Tuc.u.mcari Pete, and in a draw a few yards away was his pony.

CHAPTER X

TUc.u.mCARI'S HAND

Jack Hardy was annoyed. He had planned carefully, expecting to have no difficulty in wiping out the hated McCays and those who sympathized with them.