ut on all sides--a vast
lonesomeness of rolling green and red, broken here and there by
towering rocks, grotesque in shape and twisted by erosion into a
thousand fanciful sculptures. But at the bottom of a dry wash, Kid
Wolf received a surprise.

_Br-r-reee! Ping!_ A bullet breezed by his head, droning like a
hornet, and glanced sullenly against a flat rock. Immediately
afterward, The Kid heard the sharp bark of a .45. He knew by the sound
of the bullet and by the elapsed time between it and the sound of the
gun that he was within dangerous range. Crouching low in his saddle,
he wheeled Blizzard--already turned half around in mid-air--and cut up
the arroyo at a hot gallop.

Flinging himself from his horse when he reached shelter, he touched
Blizzard lightly on the neck. The wise animal knew what that meant.
Without slackening its pace, it continued onward, its hoofs drumming a
rapid _clip-clop_, while its master was running in another direction
with his head low.

Breaking up the ambush was easy. The Kid took advantage of every bit
of cover and went directly toward the sounds of the shots, for guns
were still barking. The men, whoever they were, were shooting in the
direction of the riderless horse. Squirming through a little pinon
thicket, Kid Wolf saw three men stationed behind a low ledge of red
sandstone. The guns of the trio were still curling blue smoke.

"Will yo' kindly stick up yo' hands, gentlemen," the Texan drawled,
"while yo're explainin'?"

The three whirled about--to find themselves staring into the two deadly
black muzzles of The Kid's twin six-shooters. Automatically they
thrust their arms aloft.

"Well, I guess yuh got us! Go ahead and shoot, yuh killer!"

Kid Wolf looked at the speaker in surprise. He was a little younger,
perhaps, than the Texan himself--a slim, red-headed youth with a wide,
determined mouth. The blue eyes, snapping angrily now, seemed frank
and open. Then the Texan's eyes traveled to the youth's two
companions. Both were older men, typical cow-punchers, rough and
ready, and yet hardly of the same type of the men The Kid had noticed
in the Longhorn Saloon in Skull.

"I'm not sure that I even want to shoot." The Kid smiled slowly.
"Maybe yo'd like to explain why yo' were tryin' to shoot me."

"I guess we won't need to explain that," snapped the redhead. "Yuh
know as well as we do that yo're one o' Blacksnake's thievin' gunmen!"

"What makes yo' think so