Kid Wolf of Texas Part 21

DESPERATE MEASURES

Nightfall found the quartet established in the S Bar bunk house. The joyful thanks of Ma Thomas was enough reward for any of them. She hadn't expected to see Kid Wolf again, she said, and to have him return with help was a wonderful surprise.

She was a woman transformed and had taken new heart and courage. The supper she prepared for them, according to Kid Wolf, was the best he had eaten since he had left Texas.

All four of them were exceedingly hungry, and they made short work of Ma Thomas' enchiladas, crisp chicken _tacos_, peppers stuffed, and her marvelous _menudo_--a Mexican soup.

"With such eats as this," sighed The Kid, "I know the S Bar is saved."

They were gathered now in the long, whitewashed adobe bunk house, and had finished their sad task of burying Thomas, victim of an a.s.sa.s.sin's bullet.

The Kid obtained the bullet that had taken the old rancher's life. It was a .45 slug, and while the others believed it useless as evidence, The Kid carefully put it away in his pocket.

"It's hard to say who done it," Fred Wise said doubtfully.

"Yes," The Kid agreed. "I believe Ma Thomas was right when she said the hand of every one in San Felipe seemed to be raised against her.

How much do yo' suppose the S Bar is wo'th, Anton?"

"Well, with five good springs--two rock tanks and three gravel ones, she's a first-cla.s.s layout. The pick of the country. I'd say twenty thousand."

"The robbers!" muttered Kid Wolf.

"What's on the program?" asked Frank Lathum. "We can't do much ranchin' without cattle."

"No," admitted The Kid. "We must get those cattle back."

"But who ever heard o' gettin' cattle out o' Old Mexico after they've once been driven in?" Anton growled. "It can't be done!"

"Money in cattle can't be hid like money in jewels or cash," said The Kid. "Theah not so easy to get rid of, even in Mexico. The town of Mariposa lies just over the bordah, am I right? And the only good cattle lands for a hundred miles are just south of theah, isn't that so?"

"Yes, but----"

"Men, this is a time fo' desperate measures. We must stake all on one turn of the cards. Boldness might win. I want yo' hombres to be in Mariposa the day _pasado_ manana."

"The day after to-morrow!" Wise repeated. "What's yore plan, Kid?"

"I don't know exactly," Kid Wolf admitted. "I make mah plans as I go along. But I'm ridin' into Mexico to-morrow to see what I can see.

I'll try to have the six hundred head of S Bar cattle in Mariposa the next day, some way or anothah."

Bold was the word! The quartet talked until a late hour. The three riders had caught some of The Kid's own enthusiasm and courage.

"Ma Thomas sure needs us now," said Anton.

"Hasn't she any relatives?" Kid Wolf asked.

"A son," muttered Wise in a tone of disgust. "Small good he is."

"Where is he?"

"n.o.body knows," growled Lathum. "Somewhere in Mexico, I guess. He was practically run out o' San Felipe. He's no _bueno_."

Kid Wolf learned that the son--Harry Thomas--had nearly broken his parents' hearts. He had become wild years before, and was now nothing more or less than a gambler, suspected of being a cheat and a "short-card operator."

"He was a tinhorn, all right," said Wise, "and fer the life of me I don't know how a woman like Ma Thomas could have such a worthless rake fer a son. He was a queer-lookin' hombre--one brown eye and one black eye."

"Ma loves him, though. Yuh can tell thet," put in Lathum.

"Oh, yes," pointed out Anton soberly. "Mothers always do. Great things, these mothers."

He blew his nose violently on his red bandanna, and shortly afterward went to bed. Soon all four were in the bunks, resting for the hard work that awaited them on the morrow--manana--and many days after manana.

Kid Wolf was up very early the next morning, and saddled Blizzard after a hasty breakfast. He had much to do.

The three S Bar men went part way with him--to a point beyond the south corral. It was here that Mrs. Thomas had found the body of her murdered husband. There seemed to be no clew as to who had performed the deliberate killing. Before The Kid left, however, he did a little scouting around. In the sand behind a mesquite, fifty yards from the spot where the body had been found, he discovered significant marks.

"Come ovah heah, yo' men," he sang out.

Distinct in the sand were the prints made by a pair of low-heeled, square-toed boots.

"Well," Anton grunted.

"Know those mahks?"

All shook their heads. They had certainly been made by an unusual pair of boots. In a country where high-heeled riding footgear was the thing, such boots as these were seldom seen. All three admitted that they had seen such boots somewhere, but, although they racked their brains, they were unable to say just who had worn them.

"Well, take a good look at them," drawled The Kid. "I want yo' to be witnesses to the find. Some day this info'mation might be of use. In the meantime, adios, boys!"

"Good luck!" they shouted after him. "We'll be on hand at Mariposa manana morning."

Kid Wolf hit the trail for Mexico at a hammer-and-tongs gallop.

The Mexican town of Mariposa was scattered over ten blazing acres of sand just south of the Rio Grande. It was an older city than San Felipe, and its buildings were more elaborate.

One in particular, just off the Plaza, attracted the eye of Spanish ranchman and peon alike. It was the meeting place of the thirsty--the famed El Chihuahense, a saloon and gambling house known from El Paso to California.

Built of brown adobe originally, it had been painted a bright red. The carved stone with which it was trimmed shone in white contrast to the vivid walls. An archway was the entrance to the establishment and many a bullet hole within its shadow testified to the dark deeds that had happened there.

Now, as on every night, the place was ablaze with light. Big oil lamps by the score, backed by polished reflectors, illumined the interior.

From within came the strains of guitars and the gay sc.r.a.pings of a fiddle, mingled with the hum of Spanish voices, an occasional oath in English, and the rattle of chips and coins.

At the hitch rack outside the saloon stood a big white horse--waiting.

Kid Wolf was playing poker in the El Chihuahense, and he had been at it for two solid hours. Those who knew The Kid better would have wondered at this. Ordinarily, Kid Wolf was not a gamester. He played cards rarely, never for any personal gain, and only when there seemed to be a good reason for so doing. But the Texan knew the game.

A trio of Mexican landowners who thought they were skilled at it had quickly found out their error--and withdrew, more or less gracefully.

Now a crowd of swarthy-faced men, numbering more than a score, were ma.s.sed around the draw-poker table near the door. They were watching the masterful play of this slow-drawling hombre--this gringo stranger who had been seen about Mariposa all day, and who now was "bucking heads" with a lone antagonist.