Kid Wolf of Texas Part 41

"Too bad we had to leave that twenty thousand, Kid," said Robbins.

The Kid's white teeth flashed in a smile.

"Really, Dave," he drawled, "do yo' think I'd let Garvey get away with that? That express box was just a blind. Don't yo' know what I did while the rest of yo' were tippin' back the stagecoach? No? Well, I transferred the twenty thousand to Blizzahd's saddlebags, so the money"--he tapped the bulges on each side of the big saddle--"is right heah!"

Kid Wolf, ever since he had taken charge of the express money, had realized his responsibility and trust. He would protect it with his life. If he could reach Mexican Tanks with it, the money would be safe, for a small post of soldiers and government scouts guarded the place.

They had not gone a half mile, however, when a sound of distant shouting broke out behind them.

"That means they've discovahed ouah absence," said the Texan, grimly.

"We'll have ouah hands full befo' long!"

Robbins, and the Texan as well, had been through the country before, and knew the lay of the land. The former had learned the location of a water hole west of them in the hills, and they decided to head for that, as they were suffering from intense thirst. Blizzard, too, had not taken water for thirty-six hours.

The Apache is one of the best trailers in the world. They were under a terrible handicap, and both realized it. With the great white horse, strong as it was, carrying double, they could not hope to out-distance pursuit.

"Yuh'd better leave me, Kid," Robbins begged.

"Befo' I'd leave yo'," returned the Texan, "I'd leave _me_!"

Dawn began to glow pink and orange behind them, and gradually the dim, star-studded vault overhead became gray with the new day. Shortly afterward, they reached the water hole. It was nearly dry, but enough moisture remained to refresh both horse and riders.

Then they went on again. Kid Wolf could, tell by Blizzard's actions that they were being followed. Before long he himself saw signs.

Little dust clouds began to show behind them, scattered over a line miles long.

"Garvey and his Apaches!" the Texan jerked out. "And they're gainin'

fast."

"Can we beat 'em to Mexican Tanks?"

"No," The Kid drawled, "but we can fight!"

They soon saw the hopelessness of it all. The horizon behind them swarmed with moving dots--dots that grew larger and more distinct with every fleeting minute. Garvey had obtained reenforcements, without doubt, for there seemed to be no end to the pursuing Apaches.

Blizzard ran like the thoroughbred he was. But even his iron muscles could not stand the strain for long. The ponies behind were fresh, and the snow-white charger was tremendously handicapped with the added weight which had been placed upon it.

Puffs of white smoke blossomed out behind them. A bullet, spent and far short, dropped away to their left, sending up a geyser of sand.

"I guess we'll fight now," Kid Wolf said, drawing his six-guns.

The grim-faced fighter from Texas knew the ways of the Apaches and was prepared for what followed. It was not his first encounter with renegade red men of the Southwest. He was also aware of what awaited them if they were taken captive. Death with lead would be far more merciful.

The line of Apache warriors spread out even farther. Blizzard was speeding over a flat table-land now, flanked by two ridges of iron-gray hills. A file of Indians separated from the main body and raced along the left-hand ridge. Another file of copper-brown, half-naked savages drummed along to the right.

Rifle fire crackled and flashed. Bullets now began to buzz and whine like infuriated insects. Arrows, falling far short, whistled an angry tune. The Kid held his fire and bade Dave Robbins follow his example.

It was no time to waste lead.

"Go, Blizzahd, like yo' nevah went befo'!" cried the Texan.

The beautiful white horse seemed to realize its master's danger. It ran on courage alone. Its nostrils were expanded wide, its flanks and neck foam-flecked. The steel muscles rippled under its snowy hide, until it seemed to fly like a winged thing. But it is one thing to carry a hundred and sixty pounds; another thing to bear nearly three hundred. The pace could not last.

Kid Wolf pinned his hopes on reaching a deep arroyo ahead of them.

Already the range was becoming deadly. A bullet ripped through the Texan's hat. Another burned his side. Directly behind them, Garvey and his gunmen--the two Arnolds, Henry Shank, and Stephenson--pounded furiously, gaining at every jump. Their mounts were better than those of the Indians, and Kid Wolf saw that they must be stopped at all costs.

For the first time, his guns belched flame. The two Arnolds went down, unhorsed. Even in that desperate moment, Kid Wolf hesitated to kill until it was necessary. The Arnolds, however, were out of the chase for good and all. Stephenson also felt the crippling sting of the Texan's lead and toppled from his mount, drilled high in the shoulder.

Henry Shank and Gil Garvey, shaken at The Kid's marksmanship, drew in their horses, unwilling to press closer. That gave Blizzard his chance to make the shelter of the arroyo. Suddenly it yawned at their feet--a terrific jump. Would Blizzard take it? A rea.s.suring pressure of a knee was all the inspiration the horse needed. They seemed to rush through the air. Then they were sliding down the bank in a cloud of dust, Blizzard tense and stiff-legged. By a miracle, they reached the bottom unhurt, and without losing a second, Kid Wolf headed his faithful mount into a thick paloverde clump.

"We'll have to stand 'em off heah," he panted.

The Texan's eyes surveyed his exhausted horse. They seemed to light with an idea. Even in that desperate plight, his mind worked rapidly.

"I've got a hunch, Dave," he said. "It may not help us, but----"

He quickly loaded one of his .45s and stuck it down in one of Blizzard's stirrups in such a way that it could not jolt out. Then he gave the horse a sharp pat on the neck.

"Go, Blizzahd," he urged, "until I call!"

The horse seemed to understand perfectly, for it wheeled and ran with all its speed down the arroyo. It was soon lost to sight among the mesquites.

"He'll stay out of sight and within call," explained the Texan. "We may need him worse than we do now. Anyway, Garvey will have plenty trouble gettin' that express money."

They prepared to fight it out until the last, for already the Indians were forcing their ponies down into the arroyo. A triumphant shout went up--a shout that became an elated, bloodthirsty war cry. The Apaches saw that the two white men were almost within their grasp.

"Good-by, Dave," said The Kid.

They grasped hands for a moment. There was no fear in their faces.

Then they confronted the renegades. It was to be their last stand!

"Here's hopin' we get Garvey before we go!" said Robbins fiercely.

A storm of bullets tore through the paloverdes, sending twigs and leaves flying. Kid Wolf smiled coolly along the barrel of his remaining gun, and he deliberately lined the sights.

The impact of the explosions kicked the heavy weapon about in his hand, but every shot brought grief to some savage. Robbins' gun also blazed.

A half dozen screaming Apaches rushed their position in the thicket.

The charge failed, stopped by lead. Another came, almost in the same breath. It faltered, then came on, reenforced. There were too many of them for two men to check.

Kid Wolf understood their guttural cries as they advanced.

"They mean to take us alive!" he cried. "Don't let 'em do it, son!

It's better to die fightin'!"

But the Apaches seemed to have more than an ordinary reason for wanting to capture them. They came on, a coppery swarm, clubbing their guns.

There was no time to reload! The two young white men found themselves fighting hand to hand in desperate battle. Kid Wolf smashed two of the Indians, sending them sprawling back into their companions with broken heads. But still they came--dozens of them!

Robbins was down, then up again. He felt hands seize him. Kid Wolf felt the impact of a gun stock on his head. The world seemed to sway crazily. Even while falling to the ground he still fought, his hard fists landing on the faces and chests of the red warriors in smashing blows. His feet were seized, then one arm. In vain he tried to tear himself loose.