"Oh," said The Kid softly, "yo're that kind of a cattle king."

"Out here," Gentleman John leered, "the Colt is power. I've got ranches, cattle. I've managed to do well. I need gunmen--men who can shoot fast and obey orders. I can see that yo're a better man than Blacksnake. I'm payin' him fifty a day. Take his job, and yuh'll get a hundred."

Kid Wolf did not seem in the least enthusiastic, and the man in black went on eagerly:

"Yuh won a couple o' thousand to-night, Kid. But that won't last forever. Think what a hundred in gold a day means. And all yuh have to do is ter----"

"Murdah!" snapped the Texan. "Yo've mistaken yo' man, sah. Mah answah is 'no'! I'm not a hired killah, and the man who tries to hire me had bettah beware. Why, yo're nothin' but a cheap cutthroat!"

The cold eyes of the other suddenly blazed. He made a quick motion toward his waistcoat with his thin hand.

Kid Wolf laughed quietly. "Heah's yo' gun, sah," he said, handing the astonished Gentleman John a small, ugly derringer. "When I b.u.mped into yo' in the doorway, I took the liberty to remove it. I nevah trust an hombre with eyes like yo's. Nevah mind tryin' to use it, fo' I've unloaded it."

The face of the man in black was white with fury. His gimlet eyes had narrowed to slits, and his mouth was distorted with rage. It was the face of a killer--a murderer without conscience or pity.

"I'll get yuh for this, Wolf!" he bellowed. "Yuh'll find out how strong I am here. This country isn't big enough to hold us both, blast yuh! When our trails meet again, take care!"

The Kid raised one eyebrow. "I always do take care," he drawled. "And while I'm heah in Skull County, yo'd bettah keep yo' dirty work undah covah. Adios!"

And humming musically under his breath, The Kid strolled toward the hitch rack where he had left his horse.

CHAPTER XVII

POT SHOTS

There was an old mission at the outskirts of the town of Skull, established many years before there were any other buildings in the vicinity. The Spanish fathers had built it for the Indians, and it remained a sanctuary, in spite of the roughness and badness of the new cow town.

Early on the morning after Kid Wolf's arrival in the town, the old padre was astonished to find a package of money inside his door. It was addressed simply: "For the poor." It was a windfall and a much-needed addition to the mission's meager finances.

The padre considered it a gift from Heaven, and where it had come from remained a mystery. The package contained two thousand dollars.

Needless to say, it was Kid Wolf's gift, and the money had been taken from the town's dishonest gamblers.

The Texan remained several days in Skull. He was in no hurry, and the town interested him. Although he heard threats, he was left alone. He saw no more of Gentleman John, nor did he see Blacksnake McCoy. They had disappeared from town, probably on evil business of their own.

A note thrust under The Kid's door at the hotel two mornings later threatened him and advised him to leave the country. The Texan, however, paid no attention to the warning.

The next day, he scouted about the country, sizing up the cattle situation. The honest cattlemen, he found, were very much in the minority. By force, murder, and illegal methods, Gentleman John had obtained most of the land and practically all of the vast cattle herds that roamed the rich rangelands surrounding the town on all sides. Yet to most of the honest element, Gentleman John's true colors were not known. He shielded himself, hiring others to do his unclean work.

There was no law as yet in the county. Gentleman John had managed to keep it out. And even if there had been, it was doubtful if his crimes could be pinned to him, for he had covered his tracks well. Many thought him honest. Only The Kid's keen mind could sense almost immediately what was going on.

The country stretching out from Skull was wild and beautiful. It was an unsettled land, and the trails that led into it were faint and difficult to follow.

One morning, Kid Wolf saddled Blizzard and rode into the southwest toward the purple mountains tipped with snow. It was a beautiful day, cool and crisp. The tang of the air in that high alt.i.tude was sharp and invigorating. The big white horse swung into a joyous lope, and the Texan hummed a Southern melody.

Crossing a wide stretch of plain, they mounted a rise, and the character of the country changed. The smell of sage gave way to the penetrating odor of small pine, as they climbed into the broken foothills that led, in a series of steps, toward the jagged peaks.

Splashing through a little creek of pure, cold water, The Kid turned Blizzard's head up a pa.s.s between two ridges of pinon-covered b.u.t.tes.

"A big herd's pa.s.sed this way," The Kid muttered, "and lately, too."

They climbed steadily onward, while the Texan searched the trail with keen eyes that missed nothing. Suddenly he drew up his horse.

Blizzard had shied at something lying p.r.o.ne ahead of them, and The Kid's eyes had seen it at the same instant.

Stretched out on the sandy ground, The Kid saw, when he urged his horse closer, was the body of a man, face down and arms flung out. A blotch of red on the blue of the shirt told the significant story--a bullet had got in its deadly work. Dismounting, the Texan found that the man was dead and had met with his wound probably twenty-four hours before.

There was nothing with which to identify the body.

"Seems to me, Blizzahd," Kid Wolf mused, "that Gentleman John is a deepah-dyed villain than we even thought."

He continued on up the pa.s.s, eyes and ears open. The white horse took the climb as if it had been level ground, his hoofs ringing a brisk tattoo against the stones.

n.o.body was in sight. The land stretched out on all sides--a vast lonesomeness of rolling green and red, broken here and there by towering rocks, grotesque in shape and twisted by erosion into a thousand fanciful sculptures. But at the bottom of a dry wash, Kid Wolf received a surprise.

_Br-r-reee! Ping!_ A bullet breezed by his head, droning like a hornet, and glanced sullenly against a flat rock. Immediately afterward, The Kid heard the sharp bark of a .45. He knew by the sound of the bullet and by the elapsed time between it and the sound of the gun that he was within dangerous range. Crouching low in his saddle, he wheeled Blizzard--already turned half around in mid-air--and cut up the arroyo at a hot gallop.

Flinging himself from his horse when he reached shelter, he touched Blizzard lightly on the neck. The wise animal knew what that meant.

Without slackening its pace, it continued onward, its hoofs drumming a rapid _clip-clop_, while its master was running in another direction with his head low.

Breaking up the ambush was easy. The Kid took advantage of every bit of cover and went directly toward the sounds of the shots, for guns were still barking. The men, whoever they were, were shooting in the direction of the riderless horse. Squirming through a little pinon thicket, Kid Wolf saw three men stationed behind a low ledge of red sandstone. The guns of the trio were still curling blue smoke.

"Will yo' kindly stick up yo' hands, gentlemen," the Texan drawled, "while yo're explainin'?"

The three whirled about--to find themselves staring into the two deadly black muzzles of The Kid's twin six-shooters. Automatically they thrust their arms aloft.

"Well, I guess yuh got us! Go ahead and shoot, yuh killer!"

Kid Wolf looked at the speaker in surprise. He was a little younger, perhaps, than the Texan himself--a slim, red-headed youth with a wide, determined mouth. The blue eyes, snapping angrily now, seemed frank and open. Then the Texan's eyes traveled to the youth's two companions. Both were older men, typical cow-punchers, rough and ready, and yet hardly of the same type of the men The Kid had noticed in the Longhorn Saloon in Skull.

"I'm not sure that I even want to shoot." The Kid smiled slowly.

"Maybe yo'd like to explain why yo' were tryin' to shoot me."

"I guess we won't need to explain that," snapped the redhead. "Yuh know as well as we do that yo're one o' Blacksnake's thievin' gunmen!"

"What makes yo' think so?" the Texan laughed.

The other opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He was looking The Kid up and down.

"Come to think about it," he muttered, "we've never seen you before.

And yuh don't look like one o' that rustler gang."

"Take my word fo' it," said the Texan earnestly, "I'm not. I thought yo' were Blacksnake and his gang myself." He reholstered his guns.

"Put yo' hands down," he said, as he came toward them, "and we'll talk this thing ovah."

Rea.s.sured, the trio did so with sighs of relief. A few questions by each helped to clear things up. The Kid told them who he was, and in return he was told that the three were members of the Diamond D outfit.

"It's just half an outfit now," said the red-haired youth bitterly.

"They've run off our north herd. Yuh see, Mr. Wolf----"