ace was a smiling
mask. The show-down had come. There was a long pause. The Kid's arms
were folded easily on his breast.

"Who are you?" the don snarled suddenly.

"Kid Wolf of Texas, sah," was the quiet reply.

A cold smile was on the sallow face of the don. He made no move to
draw the jeweled revolver that hung at his hip. He sneered as he spoke:

"You will never escape from here alive, my friend," he leered. "What
you have told me is not exactly news. At this moment you are covered."

"Yes?" mocked The Kid.

"Come in, major!" cried Don Floristo.

A door at one end of the room, which had been standing half ajar, now
opened. Framed in the doorway was the bloated, fat figure of Major
Stover. In his hand was a derringer. Its twin black muzzles were
leveled at Kiel Wolf's heart.

The major's face twisted into an exulting grin as his piglike eyes fell
on Kid Wolf.

"We meet again," he grated.

"You see, Senor Keed Wolf," said Don Floristo, "that we have you. By
accident, Senor Wolf, your plans miscarried. Thinking I could sell you
a ranch, as you were buying cattle, I sent a rider _al instante_ for my
friend, the Major Stover. He came at once, and when I described
you----" He laughed harshly.

The Don removed The Kid's revolvers and threw them on the table. The
major's derringer did not waver.

"I see that yo' have prepared quite a surprise pahty fo' me," said The
Kid calmly. "Remember that theah are all sorts of surprises. I didn't
have to come back heah, yo' know. The cattle I want are at Mariposa."

"Then why are you here, fool?" the don sneered.

"To find out who is at the bottom of the cattle stealin'--this
persecution against Mrs. Thomas' ranch!" Kid Wolf snapped.

"What good is it to know?" asked Stover, laughing. "Yo're goin' to
die!"

"Shoot him, major," said the don, baring his white teeth.

"There's no hurry," replied the major. "I want to see him pray for
mercy first. I've got a score to settle with him."

The Kid remained unmoved in the presence of this peril. He was still
smiling.

"Yuh'll never live to get those cattle across the line, blast yuh!"
snarled Stover, trembling with rage. "It was a pretty little scheme,
but it failed to work. And we've got the S Bar where we want it, too.
No, yuh don't! Just keep yore hands over yore head."

"_El Lobo Muchacho_," the don sneered. "_El Lobo Muchacho_--Keed Wolf.
I think we have your fangs drawn now, Senor Wolf!