"Yo're goin' to answer fo' yo' crime--that's what I'm goin' to do about it!" The Kid declared.

The half-breed's yell was wild and unearthly, when the grip at his throat was released. All the fight was taken out of him. Kid Wolf shook him until his teeth rattled, picked him up bodily and hurled him across his saddle.

"I'm takin' yo' to the law," he drawled. "I might kill yo' now and be justified, too. But I believe in doin' things in the right way."

At the mention of "law," the half-breed snarled contemptuously.

"Ain't no law," he grunted, "southwest o' Dodge. Yuh no take me there.

Too far."

Kid Wolf knew that the killer was right. Still, on the prairie, men make their own commandments.

"Theah's a new town, I hear, not far from heah--Midway, I think they call it," he drawled. "Yo're goin' theah with me, and if theah's no law in Midway, I'll see that some laws are pa.s.sed. And yo' won't need that, eithah!" he added suddenly.

The knife that the half-breed had attempted to draw tinkled to the ground as The Kid gave the treacherous wrist a quick twist.

"Step along, Blizzahd," sang out Kid Wolf in his Southern drawl. "Back to the trail, as soon as we get a drink of watah, then no'th!"

At the mention of Midway, the half-breed's expression had changed to one of snakelike cunning. But if The Kid noted his half-concealed smile, he paid no attention to it. They were soon on their way.

Always, even in the savage lands beyond civilization, Kid Wolf tried to take sides with the weak against the strong, with the right against the wrong. And on more than one occasion he had found himself in hot water because of it.

The average man of the plains, upon seeing the murder committed, would have considered it none of his business, and would have let well enough alone. Another type would have killed the half-breed on general principles. Kid Wolf however, determined that the murderer would be given a fair trial and then punished.

Again striking the Chisholm Trail--a well-beaten road several hundred yards wide--he veered north. Thousands upon thousands of longhorns from Texas and New Mexico had beaten that trail. This was the halfway point. Kid Wolf had heard of a new settlement in the vicinity, and, judging from the landmarks, he estimated it to be only a few miles distant.

In the meantime, the sun went down, creeping over the level horizon to leave the world in shadows which gradually deepened into dusk. All the while, the half-breed maintained a stoical silence. Kid Wolf, keeping a careful eye on him, but ignoring him otherwise, hummed a fragment of song:

"Oh, theah's hombres poison mean, on the Rio!

And theah's deadly men at Dodge, no'th o' Rio!

And to-day, from what I've seen, Theah's some bad ones in between, And I aim to keep it clean, beyond the Rio!"

Stars began to twinkle cheerily in the black vault overhead. Then The Kid made out a few points of yellow light on the plain ahead of them.

"That must be Midway," he mused to himself. "Those aren't stahs, or camp fiahs. Oil lamps mean a settlement."

Camps of any size were few and far between on the old Chisholm Trail.

The moon was creeping up as Kid Wolf and his prisoner arrived, and by its light, as well as the few lights of the town, he could see that the word "town" flattered the place known as "Midway."

There were a few scattered sod houses, and on the one street were two large buildings, facing each other on opposite sides of the road. The first was a saloon, brilliantly lighted in comparison to the semidarkness of the other, which seemed to be a general store. A sign above it read:

THE IDEL HOUR SALOONE

Below it, in similar letters, the following was spelled out, or rather misspelled:

JACK HARDY OWNER AND PROPRIATER

As the only life of Midway seemed to be centered here, Kid Wolf drew up his horse, Blizzard, dismounted, and dragged his prisoner to the swinging green doors that opened into the Idle Hour Saloon.

Pushing the half-breed through by main strength, he found himself in a big room, lighted by three oil lamps and reflectors suspended from beams in the roof. For all the haze of tobacco smoke, the place was agleam with light. For a moment Kid Wolf stood still in astonishment.

To find such a group of men together at one place, and especially such a remote place, was surprising. A score or more of booted-and-spurred loungers were at the bar and at the gambling tables. A roulette wheel was spinning at full clip, its little ivory ball dancing merrily, and at other tables were layouts of faro and various games of chance.

Cards were being riffled briskly at a poker game near the door, and a little knot of men were in a corner playing California Jack.

Kid Wolf took in these details at a glance. What puzzled him was that these men did not appear to be cattlemen or followers of any calling, unless possibly it was the profession of the six-gun. All were heavily armed, and although that fact in itself was by no means unusual, The Kid did not like the looks of several of the men he saw there. Some were half-breeds of his prisoner's own stripe.

At The Kid's entrance with his still-struggling prisoner, every one stared. The bartender--a bulky fellow with a scarred face--paused in the act of pouring a drink, his eyes widening. The quiet shuffle of cards ceased, the wheel of fortune slowed to a clicking stop, and every one looked up in sudden silence.

Kid Wolf dragged the half-breed to the center of the room, holding him by the scruff of the neck.

"Men," he said quietly, "this man is a murderah!" In a few more words, he told the gathering what had happened.

From the very first, something seemed to warn The Kid of approaching trouble. Was it his imagination, or was a look flashed between the half-breed and several of the men in the room? He sensed an alert tenseness in the faces of those who were listening. One of the men, whom the Kid immediately put down as the owner of the saloon--Jack Hardy--was staring insolently.

Hardy was flashily dressed, wearing fancy-st.i.tched riding boots, a fancy vest, and a short black coat, under which peeped the b.u.t.t of a silver-mounted .44. Kid Wolf's intuition told him that he was the man he must eventually deal with.

The saloon owner had been watching the faro game. Now, having heard Kid Wolf out, he turned his back and deliberately faced the layout again.

"Go on with the game," he sneered to the dealer.

There was a world of contempt in his silky voice, and Kid Wolf flushed under his tan. Hardy pretended to ignore the visitor completely. The faro dealer slid one card and then another from his box; the case keeper moved a b.u.t.ton or two on his rack. Then the dealer raked in the winnings from the losers. The game was going on as usual. The gamblers, taking their cue from Jack Hardy, turned to their games again. It was as if Kid Wolf had never existed.

The Kid took a firmer hold on the wriggling half-breed. "Do yo' know this man?" he demanded of the proprietor.

Hardy turned in annoyance, his black brows elevated sarcastically.

"It's 'Tuc.u.mcari Pete,'" he mocked. "What is it to yuh?"

Looking at the faro lookout, perched on his high stool, he winked. The lookout returned it knowingly.

Kid Wolf's eyes blazed. He had told his story so that all could hear.

None had paid it any attention. All these men, then, were dishonest and unfriendly toward law and order.

"I want yo' to understand me," he said in a voice he tried to make patient. "This hombre--Tuc.u.mcari Pete, yo've called him--shot and killed a man from ambush. Isn't there any law heah?"

With long, tapered fingers, Jack Hardy rolled a cigarette, placed it between his lips and leered insultingly.

"There's only one law in Midway," he laughed evilly, "and that law is that all strangers must attend to their own business. Now I don't know who yuh are, but----"

"I'm Kid Wolf," came the soft-spoken drawl, "from Texas. My enemies usually call me by mah last name."

A man brushed near the Kid; his eye caught the Texan's significantly.

But instead of speaking, he merely thrust a wadded cigarette paper in the Kid's hand as he pa.s.sed by. So quickly was it done that n.o.body, it seemed just then, had seen the movement. Kid Wolf's heart gave a little leap. There was some mystery here! If he had made a friend, was that friend afraid to speak to him? Was there a note in that paper ball?

Hardy's eyes met the Texan's. They were insect eyes, beady and glittering black.