Kid Wolf of Texas Part 23

Kid Wolf had found the S Bar cattle easily enough. The brands had been gone over, being burned to an 8 Bar J. The work had been done so recently, however, that he was not deceived. He had called on the don and told him that he was "interested in cattle," which was true. The don's l.u.s.t for gold had done the rest. He supposed that Kid Wolf was an American who desired to go into the ranching business near the boundary. A good chance to get rid of the "hot" herd of six hundred!

"Just the size of herd the senor needs to start," Floristo had said.

"Six hundred head at ten pesos--six thousand pesos. Ees it not cheap, amigo?"

"Very cheap," The Kid had told him. "Now if these cattle were delivered at Mariposa----"

"Easy to say, but no harder to do, senor," was the don's eager reply.

"I will give orders now to have them driven there. Do you wish to buy a ranch, senor? Or have you bought? Perhaps I could help."

"Perhaps. But I want cattle right now. I have friends just no'th of the bordah."

The don had smiled cunningly. This fool gringo would have trouble with those stolen cattle if he drove them back into the States. That, however, was no concern of Floristo's.

"Come back to-night, senor," he had begged. And now The Kid was on his way to the don's hacienda. He had purposely timed his visit so that he would reach Floristo's rancho at a late hour. Already it was after midnight.

Blizzard was unusually full of spirit. The slow pace to which The Kid held him was hardly an outlet for his restless energy.

"Steady, boy," The Kid whispered. "We're savin' our strength--they'll be plenty of fast ridin' to do latah."

The Kid could not resist the temptation to break into song. His soft chant rose above the faint whisper of the desert wind:

"Oh, theah's jumpin' beans and six-guns south o' Rio, And _muy malo_ hombres by the dozen, We're a-watchin' out fo' trouble south o' Rio, And when it comes, some lead will be a-buzzin'."

He smiled up at the stars, and turned Blizzard's head to the eastward.

Before them loomed the low, white adobe walls of Don Floristo's hacienda.

A dark-faced peon on guard outside, armed with a carbine, opened the door for him. Late as the hour was, lights were s.h.i.+ning inside and he heard the welcoming sound of Don Floristo's voice as he pa.s.sed through the entrance.

"Ah, come in, come in, amigo. I was afraid the senor was not coming.

_Como esta usted?_"

"_Buenas noches_," returned The Kid, with easy politeness. "I trust yo' are in good health?"

The conversation after that was entirely in Spanish, as Kid Wolf spoke the language like a native. His Southern accent made the Mexican tongue all the more musical. He followed his host into a rather large, square room with a beautifully tiled floor. The don motioned The Kid to a chair.

"The cattle of which we--ah--spoke, senor," said the don, as he lighted a long brown cigarette. "They are on the way to Mariposa. Are probably there even now, amigo."

"Yes?" drawled Kid Wolf.

"You will have men there to receive them?"

"Without fail," replied the Texan, a strange inflection in his tones.

"It is well, my friend. With the cattle are four of my men. They will not turn over the herd, of course, until"--he paused significantly--"the money is paid."

Kid Wolf smiled. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

"One does not pay for stolen cattle, Don Floristo," he drawled.

The muscles of the don's body stiffened. Kid Wolf's face was a smiling mask. The show-down had come. There was a long pause. The Kid's arms were folded easily on his breast.

"Who are you?" the don snarled suddenly.

"Kid Wolf of Texas, sah," was the quiet reply.

A cold smile was on the sallow face of the don. He made no move to draw the jeweled revolver that hung at his hip. He sneered as he spoke:

"You will never escape from here alive, my friend," he leered. "What you have told me is not exactly news. At this moment you are covered."

"Yes?" mocked The Kid.

"Come in, major!" cried Don Floristo.

A door at one end of the room, which had been standing half ajar, now opened. Framed in the doorway was the bloated, fat figure of Major Stover. In his hand was a derringer. Its twin black muzzles were leveled at Kiel Wolf's heart.

The major's face twisted into an exulting grin as his piglike eyes fell on Kid Wolf.

"We meet again," he grated.

"You see, Senor Keed Wolf," said Don Floristo, "that we have you. By accident, Senor Wolf, your plans miscarried. Thinking I could sell you a ranch, as you were buying cattle, I sent a rider _al instante_ for my friend, the Major Stover. He came at once, and when I described you----" He laughed harshly.

The Don removed The Kid's revolvers and threw them on the table. The major's derringer did not waver.

"I see that yo' have prepared quite a surprise pahty fo' me," said The Kid calmly. "Remember that theah are all sorts of surprises. I didn't have to come back heah, yo' know. The cattle I want are at Mariposa."

"Then why are you here, fool?" the don sneered.

"To find out who is at the bottom of the cattle stealin'--this persecution against Mrs. Thomas' ranch!" Kid Wolf snapped.

"What good is it to know?" asked Stover, laughing. "Yo're goin' to die!"

"Shoot him, major," said the don, baring his white teeth.

"There's no hurry," replied the major. "I want to see him pray for mercy first. I've got a score to settle with him."

The Kid remained unmoved in the presence of this peril. He was still smiling.

"Yuh'll never live to get those cattle across the line, blast yuh!"

snarled Stover, trembling with rage. "It was a pretty little scheme, but it failed to work. And we've got the S Bar where we want it, too.

No, yuh don't! Just keep yore hands over yore head."

"_El Lobo Muchacho_," the don sneered. "_El Lobo Muchacho_--Keed Wolf.

I think we have your fangs drawn now, Senor Wolf! The Wolf is in a bad way. Alas, he cannot bite." He finished with a cruel laugh.

But The Kid could bite--and did! One of the fangs of the wolf, and a deadly one, remained to him. He used it now!

Major Stover did not know how it happened. Kid Wolf's arms were lifted. Apparently he was helpless. But suddenly there was a swish--a lightning-like gleam of light. Something hit Stover's gun arm like a thunder smash.