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Updated: April 30, 2025
There was a sharp report, and a streak of flame leaped from the desk front, followed by a puff of blue smoke. The bullet, however, knocked a slab of plaster from the opposite wall. Just in time, Kid Wolf had moved his chair from the range of the trap gun. Quiroz's death-dealing apparatus had failed. The Texan's cleverness had matched his own.
We sashayed into the kitchen an' theah, jus' sittin' easylike an' waitin' right on the table, was two or three pies! Ain't had me a taste since as good as them theah pies. But maybe with a blue coat on us we could do as well heah 'bouts." There was merit in the Texan's suggestion. Drew, from past experience, knew that. His only hesitation was Boyd. The youngster was right.
The elements of the situation were simple enough, the Texan's jaded mount, the fresh horses of the pursuers, the desperation of the prisoner for whom the gallows was waiting in Los Angeles, but most men would have wasted some time in determining on a solution.
From all sides sounded the scuffling of straining men who breathed heavily as they fought in the blackness. A thin red flame cut the air and a shot rang sharp. Someone screamed and a string of Spanish curses blended into the hubbub of turmoil. "De hosses, queek, m's'u!" The cool air of the street fanned the Texan's face as he leaped across the sidewalk, and vaulted into the saddle.
A man brushed near the Kid; his eye caught the Texan's significantly. But instead of speaking, he merely thrust a wadded cigarette paper in the Kid's hand as he passed by. So quickly was it done that nobody, it seemed just then, had seen the movement. Kid Wolf's heart gave a little leap. There was some mystery here! If he had made a friend, was that friend afraid to speak to him?
He threw one far down the hillslope; he dropped one on the ground beside him; he tossed the last one in the sand at the Texan's feet. Jim, from Texas, looked at the cartridge without animation; he looked into Pete Johnson's frosty eyes; he kicked the cartridge back. "I lay 'em down right here," he stated firmly. "I like a damned fool; but you suit me too well."
During the palmy days of the Cherokee Strip, a Texan invited Captain Stone, a Kansas City man, to visit his ranch in Tom Green County and put up a herd of steers to be driven to Stone's beef ranch in the Cherokee Outlet. The invitation was accepted, and on the arrival of the Kansas City man at the Texan's ranch, host and guest indulged in a friendly visit of several days' duration.
Alice saw that the Texan's face was drawn into a tense, puzzled frown. A sudden fear gripped her heart. She leaned forward and the words fairly shrieked from her lips. "It's the reservoir!" The Texan whirled to face the others whose horses had crowded close and stood with drooping heads. "The reservoir's let go!" he shouted, and pointed into the grey wall of water at right angles to their course.
At last the bottle was empty, and, replacing the blanket, he returned to the Texan's side. "She wouldn't have taken it if she had known," he whispered. "She would have made us drink some." Tex nodded, with his eyes on the other's face. "An' you're nothin' but a damned pilgrim!" he breathed, softly. Minutes passed as the two men sat silently side by side.
Suspicion began to burn strongly in the back of the Texan's brain. Was Quiroz playing a crafty game? He was supposed to be friendly toward those from the States, but once before, in California, Kid Wolf had had dealings with a Spanish governor. Instantly he was on his guard, although he did not allow his face to show it. "I am an American, sah," he replied.
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