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What a tyrant Quiroz had proved to be! Strangely enough, The Kid's thoughts were not of his own terrible plight, but of the peril that awaited the wagon train. If he could only escape this place, he might at least help them. What a mistake he had made in going to the governor for aid! His next thought was of his horse, Blizzard. What would become of him, if he, Kid Wolf, died?
Although it did not occur to him that Quiroz would reject his plea for aid, he was filled with foreboding. He had a premonition that made him uneasy, although there seemed nothing at which to be alarmed. Dismounting, he walked up the stone flags toward the presidio entrance a huge, grated door guarded by two flashily dressed but barefooted soldiers.
"My dear señor," the governor said with suave courtesy, "the people you wish to rescue are not subjects of mine." Kid Wolf tried not to show the irritation he felt. "Surely, sah, yo' are humane enough to do this thing. I thought I told yo' theah's women and children in the wagon train." Quiroz rubbed his chin as if in thought.
If the señor would return later, Governor Quiroz would be highly pleased to see him. There was nothing to do but wait, and the Texan decided to be patient. He spent an hour in caring for his horse and eating his own hasty meal. Then, finding some time on his hands, he walked through the plaza, watching the crowds with eyes that missed nothing.
Then the truth began to dawn on him. The Terror and the tyrannical governor of Santa Fe were one and the same! Quiroz had led a double life for years, and had covered his tracks well. So powerful had he become that he had received the appointment as governor. No wonder he had refused Kid Wolf aid! And no wonder he had sought his life! "Well, I guess his account is paid," said Kid Wolf grimly.
They nodded for him to pass, and the Texan found himself in a long, half-lighted passage. Another guard directed him into the office of Governor Quiroz, and Kid Wolf stepped through another carved door, hat in hand. He found that he had entered a large, cool room, lighted softly by windows of brightly colored glass and barred with wrought iron.
No, while there was life, there was hope. Slowly he took his hands away from his gun handles and raised them aloft. Turning, he saw six soldiers, each with a rifle aimed at his breast. In all probability they had had their eyes on him during his audience with the governor. Quiroz snarled an order to them. "Take away his guns!" he cried.
The Texan quickly told his sentinels. "I'm ridin' out to see what it is," he said. "Keep a close watch while I'm gone. I'm on a little scoutin' pahty of mah own. It might be that Quiroz has followed me which I doubt. And it might be The Terror!" Mounting Blizzard, he was quickly swallowed up in the darkness. Kid Wolf knew that the camp fire was many miles away.
"Some have called me a soldier of misfohtune. Anyway, I try and do good. What good I have done fo' the weak and oppressed, sah, I've done with these." The Kid tapped his twin Colts and went on: "I've twelve lead aces heah, sah, and I'm not in the habit of layin' 'em down." "We're not playing cards, señor." Quiroz smiled pleasantly. "No." Kid Wolf's quick smile flashed.
There was a snap as his head went back went back at too great an angle. His neck was broken instantly. Without a moan, the bandit chief dropped limply to the sand, dead before he ever reached it! Kid Wolf took a deep breath. Then he bent over the fallen man and jerked the velvet mask from his features. He gasped in amazement. It was Quiroz! For a moment the Texan could not believe his eyes.
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