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Updated: May 14, 2025
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.
"Yo're goin' theah with me, and if theah's no law in Midway, I'll see that some laws are passed. And yo' won't need that, eithah!" he added suddenly. The knife that the half-breed had attempted to draw tinkled to the ground as The Kid gave the treacherous wrist a quick twist. "Step along, Blizzahd," sang out Kid Wolf in his Southern drawl.
He wondered if in his endeavor to cheer up the despondent woman he had aroused hopes that might not materialize. The plight of Mrs. Thomas had stirred him deeply. His pulses had raced with anger at her persecutors whoever they were. His Southern chivalry, backed up by his own code the code of the West prompted him to promise what he had. "A gentleman, Blizzahd," he mused, "couldn't do othahwise.
Dismounting, the Texan found that the man was dead and had met with his wound probably twenty-four hours before. There was nothing with which to identify the body. "Seems to me, Blizzahd," Kid Wolf mused, "that Gentleman John is a deepah-dyed villain than we even thought." He continued on up the pass, eyes and ears open.
Then his smile disappeared and his eyes, blue-gray, took on frosty little glints. The Kid, after straightening out the troubled affairs of the Thomas family, was heading northwest again. It was the age-old wanderlust that led him out of the Rio country once more. "What do yo' say, Blizzahd?" he drawled. His tones held just a trace of sarcasm.
He ran like mad, clamping down on the bit, his muscles rippling under his glossy hide a hide that was already flecked with foam. "Go like yo' nevah went befo', Blizzahd boy," The Kid sobbed. Never had he been up against a plot so ruthless, a situation more terrible. A lone woman, Ma Thomas, had been selected for the next victim!
The two Spaniards cut in just as Kid Wolf leaped to the saddle. He fired the pistol's single barrel at one of the officers, and hurled the useless weapon into the other's face. "Come on, Blizzahd!" Kid Wolf sang out. "Let's go from heah!" The powerful animal's hoofs thundered against the flagstones, leaped a stone wall, and charged down the street. Behind them, already organized, came the pursuit.
Thomas' right. Her son, Harry, as happy as he had ever been in his life, sat on the other. Anton, Wise, and Lathum were grouped about the rest of the table, leaning back in their chairs. "When Blizzahd is rested," said The Kid, in a matter-of-fact tone, "we'll be strikin' westward. I'm kind of anxious to see what's doin' ovah in New Mexico and Arizona."
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.
When he looked back again at the wagon train, he could still see a small, golden head gleaming in the first prairie schooner. "Blizzahd," muttered Kid Wolf, "we've just got to help those people, whethah they want it or not." He pretended to head eastward, but when he was out of sight of the wagon train, he circled back and drummed west at a furious clip.
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