CHAPTER X
TUCUMCARI'S HAND
Jack Hardy was annoyed. He had planned carefully, expecting to have nodifficulty in wiping out the hated McCays and those who sympathizedwith them.
His plans had only partially succeeded. The elder McCay was dead, butTip and some of the others had slipped through his clutches. To havethe McCay faction wiped out of Midway forever meant money and power tohim. And now his job was only half finished.
"They'll get 'em," he muttered to himself.
He was alone in his place, the Idle Hour. He had sent every availableman, even his bartender, out on the chase. He wanted to finish, at allcosts, what he had begun.
"It was all due to that blasted hombre from Texas!" he groaned. "Iwish I had him here, curse him! It would've all gone smooth enough ifhe hadn't meddled. Well, he'll pay! The boys will get him. And whenthey do----" Hardy thumped the bar with his fist in fury.
He paced the floor angrily. The deserted building seemed to be gettingon his nerves, for he went behind the bar several times and, withshaking fingers, poured stiff drinks of red whisky. Then he walked toone of the deserted card tables and began to riffle the cards aimlessly.
There were two reasons why the rustling saloon keeper had not joined inthe search for his victims. One was that he hated to leave unprotectedthe big safe in his office, which always contained a snug sum of money.The other was that Jack Hardy was none too brave when it came to gunfighting. He was still seated at the card table, laying out a game ofsolitaire, when the swinging doors of the saloon opened quietly. Thefirst inkling Hardy had of a stranger's presence, however, was the softdrawl of a familiar voice:
"Good mohnin', Mistah Hahdy! Enjoyin' a little game o' cahds?"
Hardy's body remained stiff and rigid for a breathless moment, frozenwith surprise. Then he turned his head, and his right hand movedsnakelike downward. Just a few inches it moved, then it stopped.Hardy had thought he had a chance, and then he suddenly decided that hehadn't. At his first glance, he had seen Kid Wolf's hands carelesslyat his sides; at his second, he saw them holding two .45s!
Kid Wolf's smile was mocking as he sauntered into the room. His thumbswere caressing the gun hammers.
"No, it wouldn't be best," he drawled, "to monkey with that gun o'yo'n. They say, yo' know, that guns are dangerous because they go off.But the really dangerous guns are those that don't go off quick enough."
The rustler leader rose to his feet on shaking legs. His face hadpaled to the color of paper, and beads of perspiration stood out on hispasty forehead.
"Yuh--yuh got the drop, Mr. Wolf," he pleaded. "Don't kill me!"
"Nevah mind," the Texan said softly. "When yo' die, it'll be on arope. It's been waitin' fo' yo' a long time. But now I have somebusiness with yo'. First thing, yo'd bettah let me keep that gun o'yo'n."
The Kid pulled Hardy's .44 from its holster beneath the saloon man'sblack coat.
"Next thing," he drawled, "I want yo' to take that body down from infront o' yo' do'."
Kid Wolf referred to the corpse of the unfortunate McCay spy whom Hardyhad hanged. It still hung outside the Idle Hour, blocking the door.
The Texan made him get a box, stand on it and loosen the rope from thedead man's neck. Released from the noose, the body sagged to theground.
"Just leave the noose theah," ordered The Kid. "It may be that thesheriff will have some use fo' it."
"The sheriff!" Hardy repeated blankly.
"Yes, he'll be heah soon," murmured Kid Wolf softly. "I have somebusiness with yo' first. Maybe we'd bettah go to yo' office."
Jack Hardy's office was a little back room, divided off from the mainone of the Idle Hour. In spite of his protests, Hardy was compelled tounlock this apartment and enter with his captor.
"Tip has recovahed his fathah's cattle," The Kid told him pointedly,"but theah's the little mattah of the burned sto' to pay fo'. Inbehalf of Tip and his mothah, I'm demandin'--well, I think ten thousanddollahs in cash will just about covah it."
"I haven't got ten thousand!" Hardy began to whine.
But The Kid cut him off. "Open that safe," he snapped, "and we'll see!"
Hardy took one look at his captor and decided to obey and to lose notime in doing so. The Texan's eyes were crackling gray-blue.
A large sheaf of bills was in an inner drawer, along with a canvas bagof gold coins. Ordering Hardy to take a chair opposite, Kid Wolf beganto count the money carefully. To allow himself the free use of hishands, he holstered both his guns.
"When this little mattah is settled," the Texan drawled, "I have alittle personal business with yo', man to man."
Jack Hardy moistened his lips feverishly. Although he was not nowcovered by The Kid's guns, he lacked the courage to begin a fight. Heknew how quick Kid Wolf could be, and he was a coward.
The Texan was stacking the gold into neat piles.
"Fo'teen thousand two hundred dollahs," he announced finally. "The oddfo' thousand, two hundred will go to the families of the men yo'murdahed yestahday. And now, Mistah Jack Hahdy, my personal businesswith yo' will be----"
He did not finish. The door of the little office had suddenly opened,and Tucumcari Pete stood in the entrance! His evil face was gloating,his snaky eyes glittering with the prospect of quick revenge. In hisdirty hands was a rifle, and he was raising it to cover The Kid's heart!
Kid Wolf's hands were on the table. There was no time for him to drawhis Colts! It seemed that the half-breed had taken a hand in the gameand that he held the winning cards! In a second it would be over. Thehalf-breed's finger was reaching for the trigger; his mouth was twistedinto a gloating, vicious smile.
But while The Kid was seated in such a position at the table that hecould not hope to reach his guns quickly enough, he had his holecard--the bowie knife in a sheath concealed inside his shirt collar.The Kid could draw and hurl, if necessary, that gleaming blade asrapidly as he could pull his 45s. His hand darted up and back.Something glittered in the air for just a breath, and there was asinging _twang_!
Tucumcari Pete gasped. His weird cry ended in a gurgle. He loweredhis rifle and teetered on his feet. The flying knife had found itsmark--the half-breed's throat! The keen-pointed blade had burieditself nearly to the guard! Clawing at the steel, Tucumcari staggered,then dropped to the floor with his clattering rifle. His body jerkedfor a moment, then stiffened. Justice had dealt with a murderer.
"The thirteenth ace," The Kid drawled softly, "is always in the deck!"
But Hardy had taken advantage of Tucumcari's interruption. Jumping upwith an oath, he hurled the table over upon The Kid and leaped for thedoor. The Texan scrambled from under the heavy table and darted afterhim. Hardy was running for his life. He raced into the main room ofthe Idle Hour with The Kid at his heels.
Kid Wolf could have drawn his guns and shot him down. But it was tooeasy. Unless forced to do so, that was not the Texan's way.
Snatching open a drawer in one of the gambling tables, Hardy seized alarge-bore derringer and whirled it up to shoot. But The Kid's steelfingers closed on his wrist. The ugly little pistol exploded into theceiling--once, and then the other barrel.
"There'll be no guns used!" said The Kid, with a deadly smile. "I toldyo' we'd have this out man to man!"
Hardy's lips writhed back in a snarl of hatred. He sent a smashingright-hand jab at the Texan's heart. Kid Wolf blocked it, stepped toone side and lashed the rustler king under the eye. Hardy staggeredback against the table, clutching it for support. The Kid pressedcloser, and Hardy dodged around the table, placing it between him andhis enemy. The Texan hurled it to one side and smashed his way throughthe saloon owner's guard.
Hardy, head down to escape The Kid's terrific blows, bucked ahead withall his power and weight advantage and seized him about the waist. Itwas apparent that he was trying to get his hands on one of the Texan'sguns. At close range, Kid Wolf smashed at him with both hands, hisfists smacking in sha
rp hooks that landed on both sides of Hardy's jaw.To save himself, Hardy staggered back, only to receive a mighty blow inthe face.
"I'll kill yuh for that, blast yuh!" he cried with a snarl.
Hardy was strong and heavy, but the punishment he was receiving wastelling on him. His breath was coming in jerky gasps. Seizing thehigh lookout stool from the faro layout, he advanced toward The Kid,his eyes glittering with fury.
"I'll pound yore head to pieces!" he rasped.
"Pound away," Kid Wolf said.
Hardy whirled it over his head. Kid Wolf, however, instead of jumpingbackward to avoid it, darted in like a wild cat. While the stool wasstill at the apex of its swing, he struck, with the strength of hisshoulder behind the blow. It landed full on the rustler's jaw, andHardy went crashing backward, heels over head, landing on the wreckageof the stool. For a moment he lay there, stunned.
"Get up!" snapped The Kid crisply. "Theah's still mo' comin' to yo'."
Staggering to his feet, Hardy made a run for the front door. Kid Wolf,however, met him. Putting all the power of his lean young musclesbehind his sledgelike fists, he hit Hardy twice. The first blowstopped Hardy, straightened him up with a jolt and placed him inposition for the second one--a right-hand uppercut. Smash! It landedsquarely on the point of Hardy's weak chin. The blow was enough tofell an ox, and the rustler chief went hurtling through the door,carried off his feet completely.
What happened then was one of those ironies of fate. The rope on whichHardy had hanged the McCay spy, George Durham, still hung before thedoor, its noose swaying in the wind some five feet from the ground.Hardy hit it. His head struck the rope with terrific force--caught inthe loop for an instant. There was a sharp snap, and Hardy dropped tothe wooden sidewalk. For a few moments, his body twitchedspasmodically, then lay still and rigid. His neck had been broken bythe shock!
For a minute Kid Wolf stared in unbelief. Then he smiled grimly.
"Guess I was right," he murmured, "when I said it was on the books fo'Hahdy to die by the rope!"
Cattle were approaching Midway on the Chisholm Trail--hundreds of them,bawling, milling, and pounding dust clouds into the air with theirsharp hoofs.
The Texan, watching the dark-red mass of them, smiled. McCay cattle,those! And there was a woman in Dodge City who was cared fornow--Tip's mother.
"I guess we've got the job done, Blizzard." He smiled at the big whitehorse that was standing at the hitch rack. "Heah comes the boys!"
It was a wondering group that gathered, a few minutes later, in theill-fated Idle Hour. They listened in amazement to Kid Wolf's recitalof what had taken place since he left them.
"And so Hardy hanged himself!" the sheriff from Limping Buffaloejaculated, when he could find his voice. "Well, I must say that savesme the trouble o' doin' it! But there's some reward comin' to yuh, Mr.Wolf."
The Texan smiled. "Divide it between Scotty, Caldwell, and White," hedrawled. "And, Tip, heah's the ten thousand Mistah Hahdy donated.Present it to yo' good mothah, son, with mah compliments."
Tip could not speak for a minute, and when he did try to talk, hisvoice was choked with emotion.
"I can't begin to thank yuh," he said.
Kid Wolf shook his head. "Please don't thank me, Tip. Yo' see, Ialways try to make the troubles of the undah dawg, mah troubles. Solong as theah are unfohtunates and downtrodden folks in this world,I'll have mah work cut out. I am, yo' might say, a soldier ofmisfohtune."
"But yo're not goin'?" Tip cried, seeing the Texan swing himself intohis saddle.
"I'm just a rollin' stone--usually a-rollin' toward trouble," said theTexan. "Some time, perhaps, we'll meet again. Adios!"
Kid Wolf swung his hat aloft, and he and his white horse soon blurredinto a moving dot on the far sweeps of the Chisholm Trail.