Kid Wolf of Texas Part 43

"Get on the hoss!" The Kid yelled at Robbins. Then he turned his gun on Garvey.

In his rage, the Lost Springs desperado fired too quickly. His aim was bad, and the slug sang over the Texan's head.

"Reckon yo' are about to get the law that's west of the Pecos now, Garvey--justice!"

With his words, The Kid threw down on Garvey and suddenly snapped the hammer. The bullet found its mark. If Garvey had no heart, Kid Wolf's bullet found the spot where it ought to be. With his glazing eyes, Gil Garvey--wholesale murderer--saw justice at last. Dropping his gun, he swayed for a moment on his feet, then fell heavily.

"Look out, Kid!" Robbins yelled.

The Texan whirled just in time. A pace behind him was Yellow Skull, his hideous face distorted with mad fury. In his thin hand was a long leather thong, to which was attached a round stone. A second more, and Kid Wolf's skull would have been smashed!

A burst of flame stopped him. The chief sagged, dropped. The Kid had fired just as the stone was whirled aloft. The Indians, now that their chief and white allies had fallen, retreated. The almost miraculous appearance of the horse had dismayed them and filled them with superst.i.tious fear. A few more shots served to scatter them and send them flying for cover. Kid Wolf vaulted into the saddle. Robbins was already on Blizzard's back.

"Heads low!" sang out the Texan.

He headed the horse for the mesquites. Crashing through them, they found themselves on the mesa plain once more. Kid Wolf urged Blizzard to greater speed. Bullets buzzed around them, but it was evident that the Apaches had lost heart. Blizzard pounded on, and the cries behind soon grew fainter and fainter. Kid Wolf relaxed a little and grinned.

"That's what I'd call a narrow squeak," he chuckled. "How far to Mexican Tanks?"

"On over the mesa," panted Robbins, "five or six miles."

"Then we'll make it," decided The Kid.

A quarter of an hour later, they drew rein and looked behind. Whether the Indians feared to approach any nearer to the government post, or whether they had given up through superst.i.tious fear, would have been hard to tell. At any rate, there was nothing to be seen of them.

Two miles below the two men could see the little post known as Mexican Tanks, scattered out in a fertile, cottonwood-grown valley. With one accord, they shook hands.

"Now will yo' believe me," asked the Texan, "when I tell yo' that Blizzahd's a smaht hoss?"

Dave Robbins grinned. "So's his master," he chuckled. "And speakin'

o' Blizzard again, I guess we owe him some water and a peck of oats.

Reckon we'll find it down there." His face sobered. "It won't do me any good, Kid, to thank yuh."

"Don't try," drawled The Kid. "I'm a soldier of misfohtune, and excitement's mah business. I'll leave yo' down heah, son. Go to yo'

claim on the San Simon and make good--fo' yo' fathah's sake. And good luck!"

"Yuh won't come along?"

Kid Wolf shook his head and smiled.

"I'm just a rollin' stone," he confessed, "and I just naturally roll toward trouble. If yo' evah need me again, yo'll find me where the lead flies thickest. As soon as I turn this express money ovah to the authorities, I'll be on my way again. Maybe it'll be the Rio Grande, perhaps the Chisholm Trail, and maybe--well, maybe I'll stay west of the Pecos and see what I can see. Quien sabe?"

Blizzard c.o.c.ked his ears and turned his head to look his master in the eye. Blizzard savvied. He was "in the know."

THE END.