Kid Wolf of Texas

by Paul S. Powers

  CHAPTER V

  THE CAMP OF THE TERROR

  Kid Wolf knew that the camp fire was many miles away. He gave hishorse just a touch of the spur--that was always enough forBlizzard--and they proceeded to split the wind. The horse was assure-footed as a cat, and was not an animal to step into a prairie-doghole, even on a black night. Blizzard had ample rest and water, andwas never fresher. He ran like a greyhound.

  Kid Wolf never forgot that gallop across the Llano by night. It waslike running full tilt against an ever-opening velvet curtain. Hecould hardly see his horse's head.

  Blizzard's hoofs pounded on and on across the level plateau. Milesdisappeared under his flying feet, while Kid's keen eyes were fastenedon the horizon ahead. Finally he made out an orange glow--a light thatchanged to a redder and redder hue until it became a point of fire.The Texan approached it rapidly, more and more cautious.

  That was no small camp! Many men were around that flickering fire.Kid Wolf dismounted, whispering for Blizzard to remain where he was.Then, like a slinking Apache Indian, he approached on foot, making nosound. Not once did his high-heeled boots snap a weed or rustle thedried grass. He would not have been more silent had he been wearingmoccasins.

  There were a hundred or more men in the camp. It was a small city.Kid Wolf could hear the champing and stamping of countless restlesshorses, and the men were thick around the fire. A conference of somekind was being held.

  The Texan approached closer and closer, all eyes and ears. If he coulddiscover the identity of this band and something of their plans----

  Suddenly a sentry rose up from the grass not a yard from him. His eyesfell upon the intruder, and his mouth flew open. In his hand was ashort-barreled carbine.

  The Texan seized him, dodged under the half-raised weapon and cut offthe man's cry with the pressure of a muscular hand. He foughtnoiselessly, and the sentry--a Mexican--was no match for him. Throwinghim to the ground, Kid Wolf gagged him with the man's own gayly coloredscarf. Then he bound him securely, using the sentry's sash and carbinestrap.

  Kid Wolf exchanged his hat for the Mexican's steep-crowned sombrero andpicked up the carbine. In this guise he could approach the camp withcomparative safety. Pulling the sombrero over his eyes, he came incloser to the camp fire. As he did so, a trio of men--two white menand one half-breed--came into the camp from another direction. The Kidheard one of the other sentries hail the newcomers.

  "What color will the moon be to-night?" was the challenge.

  Thrills raced up Kid Wolf's spine. That was the question Modoc hadasked him! What deep plot was behind that seemingly meaningless query?Then the Texan heard the response.

  "The moon will be red!" was the countersign, and the trio passed andapproached the ring around the fire.

  There was no doubt now that he was in the camp of The Terror! The menoutlined in the ruddy fire-light were desperadoes. Never had the Texanseen such a gathering. Some were American gunmen, evil-faced andheavily armed. Others were Mexicans and Indians. There was atenseness in the very atmosphere. As Kid Wolf came closer to the fire,he was hailed in turn:

  "What color will the moon be to-night?"

  "The moon will be red," Kid Wolf replied softly.

  No one paid him any attention. All eyes were on a figure near theglowing fire.

  The man was talking and seemed to be in authority. He was dressed in ared Mexican coat, rich silver-trimmed pantaloons, and carried a braceof gold-mounted pistols. His face was covered with a mask of blackvelvet. Instinctively Kid Wolf knew that he was looking at the dreadscourge of the Llano Estacado--The Terror of the Staked Plains! Thebandit, then, kept himself masked even in front of his own men! KidWolf, as he listened, grew tense. His eyes were shining with snappingblue fire. The Terror was planning a raid upon the wagon train! Hisvoice, cold and deadly, came to Kid Wolf's ears:

  "Everything, then, caballeros, is arranged. We strike at dawn and wipethem out, sparing nobody. If a man escapes, you are all running arisk, for some of you might be identified. Man, woman, and child, theymust die! Our man, of course, you all know. Do not fire on him."

  Kid Wolf listened to that sinister voice and wondered what the facebehind the mask looked like. The bandit leader had no more soul than arattler, and one might expect more mercy from a wolf. And Kid Wolfalready knew whom The Terror meant when he spoke of "our man." Angershook the Texan from head to foot. He had learned enough. The banditswere already about to mount their horses in order that they might reachthe wagon train at daybreak. There was no time to lose. He must getback to the helpless outfit ahead of them.

  Sauntering carelessly, he slipped out of the circle about the fire andmade his way out of the camp without being noticed. Once out of therange of the firelight, he raced into the darkness for his horse.

  Blizzard was waiting patiently. He had not moved from his tracks. Anordinary animal might have nickered upon scenting other horses, butBlizzard had been trained otherwise. Kid Wolf leaped into the saddle,slapped his mount gently on the neck, and was swallowed up in the nightas Blizzard answered the summons.

  The east was a pale line against the dark of the prairie night whenBlizzard drummed up to the sleeping wagon train with his rider. Itstill lacked a half hour until the dawn.

  The Texan sent the sentries to arouse every available fighting man inthe wagon train.

  "Is it The Terror?" one of them questioned, paling.

  "It is," replied Kid Wolf. "We must act quickly."

  In a few minutes men were pouring out of the wagons, weapons in theirhands. It was just light enough now to see. Modoc ran out of hiswagon, strapping on his Colt .45 as he came. He advanced toward theTexan sneeringly. The others gathered about to see what would happen.Something in Kid Wolf's eyes warned them of impending trouble.

  "What's the idea now?" Modoc snarled, showing his stained teeth like awolf. "Has this four-flusher been up to his tricks again?"

  Kid Wolf's voice came cool and calm. "Modoc," he drawled, "what colorwill the moon be to-night?"

  Modoc's face went the color of putty. Like a flash, the insolence hadgone out of his eyes, to be replaced with fear. He moistened his lipsfeverishly.

  "I--I don't know what yo're talkin' about," he stammered.

  "Are yo' sure," said Kid Wolf with deadly quietness, "that the moonwon't be red?"

  Modoc began to tremble like a leaf. His gun hand moved part way to hiship, then stopped. Beads of perspiration stood out on his clammyforehead.

  "Afraid to draw like a man?" the Texan drawled. "I wouldn't doubt it.Men, this man is a betrayah. He is one of The Terror's bandits.That's why he led yo' off the track. He brought yo' here to die likerats."

  Modoc's face was blue-white as Kid Wolf continued:

  "When I first showed up, Modoc thought I might be one of The Terror'smessengahs. I didn't come through with the password, and he learneddifferent. I didn't know what he meant, then, but I know now!"

  The wagon men surged around Modoc threateningly. Fury was written overthe faces of them all. There were cries of "Kill him!" "Hang thetraitor!"

  Kid Wolf still faced the fear-frozen Modoc, smiling coolly. There wasquiet menace in that easy smile.

  "I usually shoot the head off a rattlesnake when I see one," he saidsoftly. "One day, yeahs ago, a rattlah killed a favorite dawg of mine.I blew that snake apart, bit by bit. Modoc, that snake was a gentlemanalongside of yo'. I'm givin' yo' an even chance to kill me. Fill yo'hand!"

  Modoc, with a wheezing, gasping breath, decided upon action. His handstreaked for his hip. But Kid Wolf had drawn a split second later andmore than a split second faster. The fingers of his right hand closedupon the handle of one of his twin Colts. In the same instant, fireflew!

  With the first explosion, Modoc grunted with pain, dropping his gun.The bullet had caught him squarely in the wrist, rendering his fingersuseless. But Kid Wolf kept firing, although he did not aim for Modoc'shead or body. His gun fl
ashed and stuttered twice, three times,four--five--six! Dust flew from Modoc's coat sleeve as the bulletslanded with a series of terrific smashes. As he had torn therattlesnake bit by bit, Kid Wolf ripped Modoc's gun arm.

  Each bullet took effect, and Modoc staggered from the impacts, kneesslumping to the ground. The traitor would never use that gun armagain. It dangled from his body, broken and useless. The others wouldhave literally torn Modoc limb from limb had not the Texan orderedotherwise.

  "He doesn't deserve hangin'," he said, "so let him be. We've got workto do. The Terror and his gang will be here at any minute. Now listencarefully to what I say."

  Quietly he gave his orders, and just as carefully, the wagon mencarried them out. Under Kid Wolf's masterly leadership they hadregained their nerve. Panic left them, and they became grim anddetermined.

  The Kid learned that there were thirty-four men in the outfit.Thirty-four against at least a hundred! The odds were great, but theTexan had faced greater ones alone. With the train in the hands ofModoc--one of their own men--the marauders expected to take the outfitby surprise. Thanks to the Texan, all that was changed now. He gaveorders that the wagons be shifted into a circle, with the children andwomen on the inside behind shelter. The men were posted in the wagonsand behind them, Kid Wolf giving each man his station.

  "Do not fiah until I give the coyote yell," he said. "And then keepyo' sights down. Shoot low!"

  Kid Wolf himself took a position between two of the covered wagons, hishorse Blizzard within quick call. In the narrow chink, just wideenough for him to ride his horse through, he placed three loaded Sharps.50-caliber rifles, ready for quick use.

  They had not long to wait. Only a few minutes had elapsed after thewagons had been shifted when Kid Wolf saw a body of horsemenapproaching from the west. It was The Terror's band! Dust stirred bythe hoofs of a hundred galloping horses rose in the air like brownthunderclouds.

  As the grim defenders watched, the band split up, divided into tworapidly moving lines, and began to surround the train in a sweepingcircle. The circle formed, began to close in. Kid Wolf peered alongthe barrel of one of the Sharps rifles. Then, after what seemedminutes, he uttered his coyote cry:

  "Yip, yip, yip-ee!"

  It was followed by a terrific burst of fire from the wagon train. Thesignal had been given at the opportune time. The bandits faltered.They hadn't expected this! The Terror had hoped to find the wagontrain still asleep and defenseless. The rolling powder smoke clearedaway somewhat, and it could be seen that a dozen or more of theattackers had melted out of their saddles, like butter on a hot stove.

  But the raiders, outnumbering the defenders and realizing it, stillcame on. Kid Wolf threw aside the rifle and drew his twin .45s.Deliberately stepping out into the open, he fanned the hammers from thelevel of his hip. His waistline, as he swung the thundering Colts fromside to side, seemed to be alive with sputtering red sparks. Smokerolled around him. The bandits in front of him dropped by twos andthrees.

  Holes appeared in this side of the bandits' circle--holes that did notclose up. Riderless mounts dashed about frantically, their reinstrailing; wounded horses added to the uproar with their death screams.It was a battle!

  Seeing that the force of the charge had been broken on this flank, KidWolf ran across to reenforce the other sides of the circle. At onepoint the outlaws had already broken through the circle of wagons. KidWolf sent three screaming slugs toward them, and they fell back indisorder, leaving one desperado stretched out behind them.

  Reloading his guns, Kid Wolf climbed upon one of the wagons and againopened fire; this time with such an effect that all sides of theattacking circle began to break and fall back to safety. Mere force ofnumbers does not always count in a gun fight. Not more than half adozen of the defenders had been hit. The survivors raised a heartycheer. Kid Wolf's generalship had beaten back the first outlaw charge!

  It was then that Modoc played his final card. Hoping to gain theprotection of the outlaws, and fearing the wagon train's vengeance, heslipped out of the circle of covered wagons and, on foot, beganrunning. His goal was ahead of him, but he never reached it. His latecomrades--the bandits--evidently thought he had played the traitor withthem, for they fired on him relentlessly. He fell, then rose again toscramble on. Bullets kicked up the sod around him. Others plumpedinto his body. Again he fell, this time to stay. His body was riddledwith scores of bullets. So died the traitor.

  Kid Wolf knew that a certain advantage always lies with the offensive.Defenders haven't the power of attackers. The Texan decided to risk acounter-charge. He knew that it might break down the courage of thebandit band. At least it would be a surprise. He called forvolunteers.

  "I want a dozen men who can shoot straight from the back of a runnin'hoss," he said. "It'll be dangerous. Who's with me?"

  Immediately more men than he wanted spoke up. Quickly choosing twelve,he gave them their orders.

  "At the next chahge," the Texan drawled, "we'll ride out theah and give'em somethin' to think about. If I'm right, I think they'll scattah.If I'm wrong--well, they'll probably wipe us out. Are yo' game?"

  The men were game, as the Texan soon found out. They were fighting fortheir families, as well as their own lives and possessions.

  Again the attacking line of horsemen formed, and in a cloud of dust,they came at the wagon train. Their bullets cut slashes in thecovered-wagon tops, smashed into wheels and wagon trees, and kicked upgeysers of sand. They would be hard to stop this time!

  But Kid Wolf gave the word for his own charge. He had several reasonsfor doing this. It amounted to folly in the eyes of some, but theTexan knew the value of a countercharge. And if he could bring downThe Terror himself, he knew the battle was as good as won. Out of thewagon circle they came, saddle leather creaking and guns blazing! TheKid, on his snow-white charger, was in the lead. A lane opened in thebandit ranks as if by magic.

  Kid Wolf pressed his quick advantage. His movement had taken theoutlaw band by surprise. The utter recklessness of it shook theirnerve.

  Two of the wagon men fell. The others kept on, clearing a swathe withtheir sputtering Colts.

  The bandits hesitated. The defenders who had remained behind thewagons kept up their deadly barrage. They were dropping accuratelyplaced shots where they would be sure to do the most good. Then TheTerror's band retreated, broke formation. The retreat became a rout--amad get-away with every man for himself. Outnumbered as they were, thedefenders were making more than a good account of themselves.

  Kid Wolf's eyes sought for The Terror himself--and found him. His redcoat and gay trappings were easy to locate, even in that mad stampede.The bandit chief was attempting to make his get-away. The Texan,however, cut him off after a hard, furious ride.

  Separated from his men, The Terror turned in his saddle, wildlyattempting to get the drop on Kid Wolf as he came in. One of hisgold-mounted pistols flashed. The bullet hissed over the Texan's head.He had dropped low in the saddle.

  The Terror whirled his horse at Kid Wolf's. He realized that it was afight to the end. He fired his other weapon almost in the Texan'sface. The Kid, however, had pulled the trigger of his own gun just afraction of a second before. The Terror's aim was spoiled just enoughso that the bullet whined wide. The bandit chief collapsed in hissaddle. He had been hit in the shoulder.

  The Texan closed in. There was a violent shock as Blizzard thuddedinto the bandit's horse. The Terror, eyes glittering wickedly throughthe openings in his velvet mask, slid from his horse, landing feetfirst. With a glittering knife in his unwounded hand, he made a springtoward Kid Wolf. The blade would have buried itself in the Texan'sthigh had not The Kid whirled his horse just in time.

  "All right," said the Texan coolly. "We have it out with ouah hands."

  Holstering his guns, he leaped from his horse. He scorned even to usehis bowie knife, as he advanced toward the bandit at a half crouch.The Terror thought he had t
he advantage. The Kid's hands were bare ofany weapons. With a snarl, the bandit chief leaped forward, knifeswishing aloft. Never had Kid Wolf struck so hard a blow as he struckthen! Added to the power of his own tremendous strength and leveragewas The Terror's own speed as he lunged in. Fist met jaw with asickening thud.

  The Terror was a big and heavy man. His weight was added to Kid Wolf'sas both men came together. There was a snap as his head wentback--went back at too great an angle. His neck was broken instantly.Without a moan, the bandit chief dropped limply to the sand, deadbefore he ever reached it!

  Kid Wolf took a deep breath. Then he bent over the fallen man andjerked the velvet mask from his features. He gasped in amazement. Itwas Quiroz! For a moment the Texan could not believe his eyes. Thenthe truth began to dawn on him. The Terror and the tyrannical governorof Santa Fe were one and the same! Quiroz had led a double life foryears, and had covered his tracks well. So powerful had he become thathe had received the appointment as governor. No wonder he had refusedKid Wolf aid! And no wonder he had sought his life!

  "Well, I guess his account is paid," said Kid Wolf grimly. "The Terrorof the Staked Plains is no more."

  He looked about him. The remainder of the bandits had made a thoroughretreat, leaving a large number of their companions on the plain behindthem. Their defeat had been complete and decisive.

  "_Bueno_," said Kid Wolf.

  "Oh, the cows stampede on the Rio Grande! The Rio! The sand do blow, and the winds do wail, But I want to be wheah the cactus stands! The Rio! And the rattlesnake shakes his ornery tail!"

  The buckskin-clad singer raised his hat in happy farewell. The peopleof the wagon train answered his shout:

  "Shore yo' won't go on with us?"

  "We shore thank yuh for what yuh done, Kid!"

  Others took up the cry. They hated to lose this smiling young Texan'scompany. He had saved them from death--and worse. Not only that, butthey had learned to like him and depend on him.

  The Texan, however, declined to stay longer. Nor would he listen toany thanks.

  "Adios," he called, "and good luck! Wheahevah the weakah side needs achampion, theah yo'll find Kid Wolf. Somehow I always find lots to do.Heah's hopin' yo' won't evah need mah services again."

  He caught sight of a golden-haired child beaming at him from one of thewagons.

  "Good-by, Jimmy Lee!" he called.

  He whirled in his saddle, touched Blizzard with the reins, and rodeaway at a long lope.