On Blacksnake's Trail

: Kid Wolf Of Texas

At first, they could see little, for not much light filtered through

the small door and window. Then details of the interior began to grow

more distinct in the hut's one room. A tarp had been tacked over the

dirt ceiling to keep scorpions and centipedes from dropping down on the

bunks below. There was only a little furniture, and that of a crude

sort. Some of it was smashed, as if in a scuffle.



These
hings, however, were not noticed until later. What the visitors

saw was the form of a man with legs and arms outstretched at queer

angles.



Kid Wolf was accustomed to horrible sights, but he remembered this one

ever afterward. The scene was stamped on his mind like a fragment of

some wild nightmare.



The body was that of a man a few years older than Red Morton, and the

features, though set and twisted, were the same. A rope had been tied

to one wrist and fastened to one wall; another rope had been knotted

about his other wrist and secured to the opposite side of the hut. The

legs had been served the same way at the ankles. On the body of the

suspended figure rocks had been piled. They were of many sizes,

varying from a few pounds to several hundred. It was easy to see how

the unhappy man had met his end--by slow torture. One by one, the

rocks had been placed on his chest and middle, the combined weight of

them first slowly pulling his limbs from their sockets and then

crushing out the life that remained.



Red, after his first outcry of agony, took it bravely. The Kid threw

his arm sympathetically around the youth's shoulders and drew him away,

while the others cut the ropes that held the victim of the rustler

gang's cruelty. In a few minutes, Red got a grip on himself and could

talk in a steady voice.



"Reckon I'm alone now, Kid," he blurted. "Joe was all I had--and they

got him! I swear I'll bring those hounds to justice, or die a-tryin'!"



"Yo're not alone, Red," said the Texan grimly. "I'm takin' a hand in

this game."



Near the body they found a piece of paper--a significant document, for

it explained the motive for the crime. Kid Wolf read it and

understood. It was written in straggling handwriting:





I, Joe Morton, do hereby sell and turn over all interest in the Diamond

D Ranch property, for value received. My signature is below, and

testifies that I have sold said ranch to Gentleman John, of Skull, New

Mexico.





There was, however, no signature at the space left at the bottom of the

paper. Joe Morton had died game!



"He refused to sign," said The Kid quietly, "and that means that yo're

the lawful heir to the Diamond D. Yo' have a man's job to do now, Red."



"But I don't savvy this," burst out the red-haired youth. "Surely this

Gentleman John isn't----"



"He's the man behind it all, mah boy," the Texan told him. And in a

few words, he related how he had been approached by the self-styled

cattle king, and something of his shady dealings. "He wanted to buy

me," he concluded, "not knowin' that I had nevah abused the powah of

the Colt fo' mah own gain. Blacksnake is his chief gunman, actin' by

Gentleman John's ordahs."



"Where's the other men--the two riders on duty with Joe?" Lefty Warren

wanted to know.



It did not take much of a search to find them. One had fallen near the

little corral, shot through the heart. The other lay a few hundred

yards away, at the river bank. He, too, was dead.



"Mo' murdah," snapped the Texan grimly. "Well, we must make ouah

plans."



In this sudden crisis, the other three left most of the planning to Kid

Wolf himself. First of all, the bodies were buried. Rocks were piled

on the hastily made graves to keep the coyotes out, and they were ready

to go again.



The Texan decided to follow the trails left by the stolen cattle, for

both herds were gone now, driven off the Diamond D range. Failing in

their attempt to get Joe Morton's signature, the outlaws had evidently

decided to take what they could get.



There was one big reason why Gentleman John wished to get his hands on

the Diamond D. Although land was plentiful in that early day, Red's

father had obtained a land grant from a Spanish governor--a grant that

still held good and kept other herds from the rich grazing land and

ample water along Blue-bottle Creek.



As they started down the trail again toward the broken, mountainous

country to the southwest, The Kid sent Red a quick glance.



"Are yo' all right, son?" he asked.



"Fine," said young Morton, now sole owner of the Diamond D.



The Texan was glad to see that he had braced himself. Like his

brother, Red was a man.



"We'll soon overtake 'em," old Mike Train muttered, savagely twirling

the cylinder of his ancient .45. "Blacksnake's gang can't make fast

time with those steers. He's probably drivin' 'em to Gentleman John's

headquarters at Agua Frio."



"Why," asked Kid Wolf slowly, "do they call that hombre 'Blacksnake'?"



"Because he carries one with him--that's how he got his name," spoke up

Lefty Warren. "He's a whipper. He's beaten more'n one Mex to death

with it, and they say a white man or two. He can handle a blacksnake

like a demon."



Kid Wolf smiled grimly. To have Blacksnake McCoy for an enemy was by

no means a pleasant thing to think about, especially when the desperado

was backed by all the power that his employer--Gentleman

John--possessed. And yet The Kid was afraid of neither of them.



"It's shore great of yuh to help us this way," Red told him. "But I'm

afraid we haven't a chance. If Gentleman John is behind all this,

we're buckin' mighty big odds."



"I like a game like that," said The Kid. "Unlike pokah, it's perfectly

legitimate to scratch the aces with yo' fingah nail."



They were soon off the limits of the Diamond D and on the Casas

Amarillas--a ranch owned by Gentleman John and taking its Spanish name

from two yellow houses of adobe several miles distant. They saw

scattered cattle branded with a Lazy J--one of Gentleman John's many

brands--but discovered no stragglers from the stolen Morton herds.



Following the trail was easy, and they struck a hot pace down through

and out of the grassy valley, climbing through a pass and up on a

rolling mesa dotted with thirsty-looking sage. For two full hours they

rode, while the sun crept toward the west. Their horses were beginning

to tire. A line of cedar-sprinkled hills loomed up ahead of them, but

by keeping to the plateau they could circle them.



"I think we'd bettah keep to the mesa," The Kid advised.



"But we're about on 'em," put in Red. "They'll see us comin', miles

away. If we cut down through those hills, we'll gain time, too, and

keep hid."



"It's a fine place to be trapped in," mused the Texan. "Well, Red, yo'

know this country, an' I don't, so use yo' own judgment."





Against the far horizon they could make out a faint yellow haze--dust

from the trampling hoofs of many cattle. They could cut off a full

mile by riding down into the cedars, and Red decided to do so. The Kid

was dubious, but said nothing more. If Blacksnake had a rear guard of



any kind, they might have been sighted. In that case, they would run

into trouble--ambushed trouble.



Kid Wolf rode in the lead, the three others drumming along behind him.

He was grimly wary. A chill gust of wind hit them, as they entered the

depths of the notch between the hills. The straggling growth of cedars

and stumpy evergreens loomed up ahead of them, and they crashed

through. For several hundred yards they tore their way and found their

pace slowed by the difficult going. The trees began to thin out. Then

they heard a spring tinkling down among the red rocks, and the cedars

began to thicken again, as the little canyon narrowed and climbed

steeply.



"Stick 'em up!"



Kid Wolf fired at the sound of the voice while the loud shout was still

echoing. His double draw was lightning fast. Before the others knew

what was taking place, his two guns had flashed. At the dull boom of

the twin explosions, a crashing sound was heard in the brush, as if

something was wildly threshing about. Then bullets began to rip and

smash their way through the undergrowth. Cedar twigs flew.



With a yell, Mike Train slumped down over his saddle pommel and rolled

off his horse. At the same instant, the two others--Lefty Warren and

Red Morton--reached for their guns. The thing had happened so quickly

that until now they had not thought of drawing their weapons.



But Kid Wolf stopped them.



"Don't pull 'em, boys!" he cried. And at the same time, he dropped

both his own guns. It was a surprising thing for the Texan to do, but

his mind had worked quickly. His sharp eyes had taken in the

situation. They were covered, and from all sides. His first quick

shots had brought one man down, but there were at least six others, and

all were behind shelter and had a deadly drop. If The Kid had been

alone, he would, no doubt, have shot it out there and then, using his

own peculiar tactics. But he had the others to think of. If they

touched their guns, they would be killed instantly.



The Texan's doubts had been well founded. They should have kept to the

mesa top. They had jumped into a trap. Surrender was the only thing

to do now, for while there was life, there was hope. The Kid had

slipped from tight situations before.



Lefty Warren, Red Morton, and The Kid elevated their hands. A low

laugh came from behind the cedar thicket, and a group of desperadoes on

foot slipped through, holding drawn and leveled Colts. In the lead was

Blacksnake McCoy. His eyes fell on Kid Wolf and widened with surprise.

Then his teeth showed through his close-cropped beard in a snarl of

hate.



"Well, if it ain't the gamblin' Cotton-picker!" he ejaculated. "I

didn't know I was goin' to have such luck as this! Keep yore mitts up,

the three of yuh. Pedro, collect their guns!"



A grinning desperado disarmed Lefty and Red and picked up The Kid's two

Colts.



"It'd 'a' been better fer yuh if yuh'd shot it out," sneered

Blacksnake, "because Gentleman John will have somethin' in store fer

yuh that yuh won't like. Wait till he sets eyes on yuh, Cotton-picker!

Boilin' alive will seem like a picnic! I knew we'd get yuh sooner or

later, if yuh kept stickin' yore nose in other folks' business."



"Blacksnake," said The Kid softly, "yo're a cheap, fo'-flushin' bully."



Blacksnake's evil eyes went hard. His face reddened with anger, then

paled. He was trembling with fury and deadly hate. He turned to his

men.



"Take the others up to the Yellow Houses and wait for me there," he

rasped. "Pedro, my whip's on my pony; bring it to me. I'm havin' this

out with Cotton-picker, alone! When I'm through with him, I'll bring

him on up. One of yuh ride up to the herd and tell Slim to let

Gentleman John know we've got 'em. He'll finish with Cotton-picker

when I'm done with him. Savvy?"



A blacksnake was brought to McCoy, and the others roughly surrounded

Lefty and Red, herding them through the timber and out of sight.



"Take the skin offn him, Black!" an outlaw yelled back.



The others laughed. And then Kid Wolf and his captor were left alone.



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