CHAPTER XI
A BUCKSHOT GREETING
"Oh, the cows stampede on the Rio Grande! The Rio! The sands do blow, and the winds do wail, But I want to be wheah the cactus stands! And the rattlah shakes his ornery tail!"
Kid Wolf sang his favorite verse to his favorite tune, and was happy.For he was on his beloved Rio.
He had left the Chisholm Trail behind him, and now "The Rollin' Stone"was rolling homeward, and--toward trouble.
The Kid, mildly curious, had been watching a certain dust cloud forhalf an hour. At first he had thought it only a whirling dervish--oneof those restless columns of sand that continually shift over the aridlands. But it was following the course of the trail below him on thedesert--rounding each bend and twist of it.
The Texan, astride his big white horse, had been "hitting the highplaces only," riding directly south at an easy clip, but scorning thetrail whenever a short cut presented itself.
Descending from the higher ground of the mesa now, by means of anarroyo leading steeply down upon the plain, he saw what was kicking upthe dust. It was a buckboard, drawn by a two-horse team, and travelingdirectly toward him at a hot clip. There was one person, as far as hecould see, in the wagon. And across this person's knees was a shotgun.The Kid saw that unless he changed his course he would meet thebuckboard and its passenger face to face.
Kid Wolf had no intention of avoiding the meeting, but something in thetenseness of the figure on the seat of the vehicle, even at thatdistance, caused his gray-blue eyes to pucker.
The distance between him and the buckboard rapidly decreased as KidWolf's white horse drummed down between the chocolate-colored walls ofthe arroyo. Between him and the team on the trail now was only astretch of level white sand, dotted here and there with low burrowweeds. Suddenly, the driver of the buckboard whirled the shotgun. Thedouble barrels swung up on a line with Kid Wolf.
Quick as the movement was, the Texan had learned to expect theunexpected. In the West, things happened, and one sought the reasonfor them afterward. His hands went lightning-fast toward the twin .45sthat hung at his hips.
But Kid Wolf did not draw. A look of amazement had crossed hissun-burned face and he removed his hands from his gun butts. Insteadof firing on the figure in the buckboard, Kid Wolf wheeled his horseabout quickly, and turned sidewise in his saddle in order to make assmall a target as possible.
The shotgun roared. Spurts of sand were flecked up all around The Kidand the big white horse winced and jumped as a ball smashed thesaddletree a glancing blow. Another slug went through the Texan's hatbrim. Fortunately, he was not yet within effective range.
Even now, Kid Wolf did not draw his weapons. And he did not beat aretreat. Instead, he rode directly toward the buckboard. The click ofa gun hammer did not stop him. One barrel of the shotgun remainedunfired and its muzzle had him covered.
But the Texan approached recklessly. He had doffed his big hat and nowhe made a courteous, sweeping bow. He pulled his horse to a halt notten yards from the menacing shotgun.
"Pahdon me, ma'am," he drawled, "but is theah anything I can do fo'yo', aside from bein' a tahget in yo' gun practice?"
The figure in the buckboard was that of a woman! There was a moment'sbreathless pause.
"There's nine buckshot in the other barrel," said a feminine voice--avoice that for all its courage faltered a little.
"Please don't waste them on me," Kid Wolf returned, in his soft,Southern speech. "I'm afraid yo' have made a mistake. I can see thatyo' are in trouble. May I help yo'?"
Doubtfully, the woman lowered her weapon. She was middle-aged, kindlyfaced, and her eyes were swollen from weeping. She looked out of placewith the shotgun--friendless and very much alone.
"I don't know whether to trust you or not," she said wearily. "Isuppose I ought to shoot you, but I can't, somehow."
"Well I'm glad yo' can't," drawled The Kid with contagious good humor.His face sobered. "Who do yo' think I am, ma'am?"
"I don't know," the woman sighed, "but you're an enemy. Every one inthis cruel land is my enemy. You're an outlaw--and probably one of themurderers who killed my husband."
"Please believe that I'm not," the Texan told her earnestly. "I'm astrangah to this district. Won't yo' tell me yo' story? I want tohelp yo'."
"There isn't much to tell," the driver of the buckboard said in aquavering voice. "I'm on the way to town to sell the ranch--the S Bar.I have my husband's body with me on the wagon. He was murderedyesterday."
Not until then did Kid Wolf see the grim cargo of the buckboard. Hisface sobered and his eyes narrowed.
"Do yo' want to sell, ma'am?"
"No, but it's all I can do now," she said tearfully. "Major Stover, inSan Felipe, offered me ten thousand for it, some time ago. It's worthmore, but I guess this--this is the end. I don't know why I'm tellin'you all this, young man."
"This Majah Stovah--is he an army officer?" The Kid asked wonderingly.
The woman shook her head. "No. He isn't really a major. He never wasin the army, so far as any one knows. He just fancies the title andcalls himself 'Major Stover'--though he has no right to do so."
"A kind of four-flushin' hombre--a coyote in sheep's clothin', I shouldjudge," drawled Kid Wolf.
"Thet just about describes him," the woman agreed.
"But yo' sho'ly aren't alone on yo' ranch. Wheah's yo' men?" asked TheKid.
"They quit last week."
"Quit?" The Kid's eyebrows went up a trifle.
"All of them--five in all, includin' the foreman. And soon afterward,all our cattle were chased off the ranch. Gone completely--six hundredhead. Then yesterday"--she paused and her eyes filled withtears--"yesterday my husband was shot while he was standing at the edgeof the corral. I don't know who did it."
No wonder this woman felt that every hand was turned against her. KidWolf's eyes blazed.
"Won't the law help yo'?" he demanded.
"There isn't any law," said the woman bitterly. "Now you understandwhy I fired at you. I was desperate--nearly frantic with grief. Ihardly knew what I was doing."
"Well, just go back home to yo' ranch, ma'am. I don't think yo' needto sell it."
"But I can't run the S Bar alone!"
"Yo' won't have to. I'll bring yo' ridahs back. Will I find them inSan Felipe?"
"I think so," said the woman, astonished. "But they won't come."
"Oh, yes, they will," said The Kid politely.
"But I can't ranch without cattle."
"I'll get them back fo' yo'."
"But they're over the line into Old Mexico by now!"
"Nevah yo' mind, ma'am. I'll soon have yo' place on a workin' basisagain. Just give me the names of yo' ridahs and I'll do the rest."
"Well, there's Ed Mullhall, Dick Anton, Fred Wise, Frank Lathum, andthe foreman--Steve Stacy. But, tell me, who are you--to do this for astranger, a woman you've never seen before? I'm Mrs. Thomas."
The Texan bowed courteously.
"They call me Kid Wolf, ma'am," he replied. "Mah business is rightin'the wrongs of the weak and oppressed, when it's in mah power. Thosewho do the oppressin' usually learn to call me by mah last name. Nowdon't worry any mo', but just leave yo' troubles to me."
Mrs. Thomas smiled, too. She dried her eyes and looked at the Texangratefully.
"I've known you ten minutes," she said, "and somehow it seems tenyears. I do trust you. But please don't get yourself in trouble onaccount of Ma Thomas. You don't know those men. This is a hardcountry--terribly hard."
Kid Wolf, however, only smiled at her warning. He remained just longenough to obtain two additional bits of information--the location ofthe S Bar and the distance to the town of San Felipe. Then he turnedhis horse's head about, and with a cheerful wave of his hand, struckout for the latter place. The last he saw of Mrs. Thomas, she wasturning her team.
Kid Wolf realized that he had quite a problem on his hands. The wor
kahead of him promised to be difficult, but, as usual, he had gone intoit impulsively--and yet coolly.
"We've got a big ordah to fill, Blizzahd," he murmured, as his whitehorse swung into a long lope. "I hope we haven't promised too much."
He wondered if in his endeavor to cheer up the despondent woman he hadaroused hopes that might not materialize. The plight of Mrs. Thomashad stirred him deeply. His pulses had raced with anger at herpersecutors--whoever they were. His Southern chivalry, backed up byhis own code--the code of the West--prompted him to promise what he had.
"A gentleman, Blizzahd," he mused, "couldn't do othahwise. We've gotto see this thing through!"
Ma Thomas--he had seen at a glance--was a plains-woman. Courage andcharacter were in her kindly face. The Texan's heart had gone out toher in her trouble and need.
Once again he found himself in his native territory, but in a countrygone strange to him. Ranchers and ranches had come in overnight, itseemed to him. A year or two can make a big difference in the West.Two years ago, Indians--to-day, cattle! Twenty miles below rolled themuddy Rio. It was Texas--stern, vast, mighty.
And, if what Mrs. Thomas had said was correct, law hadn't kept pacewith the country's growth. There was no law. Kid Wolf knew what thatmeant. His face was very grim as he left the wagon trail behind.
The town of San Felipe--two dozen brown adobes, through which asolitary street threaded its way--sprawled in the bottom of a canyonnear the Rio Grand. The cow camp had grown, in a few brief months,with all the rapidity of an agave plant, which adds five inches to itssize in twenty-four hours. San Felipe was noisy and wide awake.
It was December. The sun, however, was warm overhead. The sky wascloudless and the distant range of low mountains stood out sharp andclear against the sky. As Kid Wolf rode into the town, a hard wind wasblowing across the sands and it was high noon.
San Felipe's single street presented an interesting appearance. Mostof the long, flat adobes were saloons--The Kid did not need to read thesigns above them to see that. The loungers and hangers-on about theirdoors told the story. Sandwiched between two of the biggest bars,however, was a small shack--the only frame building in the place.
"Well, this Majah Stover hombre must be in the business," muttered TheKid to himself.
His eyes had fallen on the sign over the door:
MAJOR STOVER LAND OFFICE
Kid Wolf was curious. Strange to say, he had been thinking of themajor before he had observed the sign, and wondering about the man'soffer to buy the S Bar Ranch. The Texan whistled softly as hedismounted. He left Blizzard waiting at the hitch rack, and saunteredto the office door.
He opened the door, let himself in, and found himself in a dusty,paper-littered room. A few maps hung on the walls. Kid Wolf's firstimpression was the disagreeable smell of cigar stumps.
His eyes fell upon the man at the desk by the dirty window, and heexperienced a sudden start--an uncomfortable feeling. The Texan didnot often dislike a man at first sight, but he was a keen reader ofcharacter.
"Do yuh have business with me?" demanded the man at the desk.
Major Stover, if this were he, was a paunchy, disgustingly fat man.His face was moonlike, sensually thick of lip. His eyes, as they fellupon his visitor, were hoglike, nearly buried in sallow folds of skin.
The thick brows above them had grown close together.
"Well," The Kid drawled, "I don't exactly know. Yo' deal in lands, Ibelieve?"
"I have some holdings," said the fat man complacently. "Are yo'interested in the San Felipe district?"
"Very much," said The Kid, nodding. "I am quite attracted byRattlesnake County, and----"
"This isn't Rattlesnake County, young man," corrected the land agent."This is San Felipe County."
"Oh, excuse me," murmured the Texan, "maybe I got that idea because ofthe lahge numbah of snakes----"
"There's no more snakes here than----" the other began.
"I meant the human kind," explained Kid Wolf mildly.
Major Stover's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do yuh want with me?"he demanded.
"Did yo' offah ten thousand dollahs fo' the S Bar Ranch?"
"That is none of yore business!"
"No?" drawled Kid Wolf patiently. "Yo' might say that I am heah asMrs. Thomas' agent."
The major looked startled. "Where's yore credentials?" he snapped,after a brief pause.
Kid Wolf merely smiled and tapped the butts of his six-guns. "Heah,sah," he murmured. "I'm askin' yo'."
Major Stover looked angry. "Yes," he said sharply, "I did at one timemake such an offer. However, I have reconsidered. My price is nowthree thousand dollars."
"May I ask," spoke The Kid softly, "why yo' have reduced yo' offah?"
"Because," said the land dealer, "she has to sell now! I've got herwhere I want her, and if yo're her agent, yuh can tell her that!"
One stride, and Kid Wolf had fat Major Stover by the neck. For all hisweight, and in spite of his bulk, The Kid handled him as if he had beena child. An upward jerk dragged him from his chair. The Texan heldhim by one muscular hand.
"So yo' have her where yo' want her, have yo'?" he cried, giving themajor a powerful shake.
He passed his other hand over the land agent's flabby body, poking thefolds of fat here and there over Major Stover's ribs. At each thumpthe major flinched.
"Why, yo're as soft as an ovahripe pumpkin," Kid Wolf drawled,deliberately insulting. "And yo' dare to tell me that! No, don't trythat!"
Major Stover had attempted to draw an ugly-looking derringer. The Kidcalmly took it away from him and threw it across the room. He shookthe land agent until his teeth rattled like dice in a box.
"Mrs. Thomas' ranch, sah," he said crisply, "is not in the mahket!"
With that he hurled the major back into his chair. There was acrashing, rending sound as Stover's huge body struck it. The woodcollapsed and the dazed land agent found himself sitting on the floor.
"I'll get yuh for this, blast yuh!" gasped the major, his bloated facered with rage. "Yo're goin' to get yores, d'ye hear! I've got powerhere, and yore life ain't worth a cent!"
"It's not in the mahket, eithah," the Texan drawled, as he strolledtoward the door. At the threshold he paused.
"Yo've had yo' say, majah," he snapped, "and now I'll have mine. If Ifind that yo' are in any way responsible fo' the tragedies that haveovahtaken Mrs. Thomas, yo'd bettah see to yo' guns. Until then--adios!"
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