fo' the loss of his brothah, but it's
something. Yo' can do as yo' like about signin' it."

"Then of course I won't sign!" snarled the other.

"The honest cattlemen at Skull will probably hang yo'," reminded The
Kid softly.

Beads of sweat suddenly stood out on Gentleman John's forehead. His
own guilty conscience told him that what The Kid said was true. His
gimlet eyes grew big with fear. There was a long silence.

"If--if I sign, yo'll let me go?" he quavered.

The Texan's face grew hard and stern.

"No," he said. "I haven't any right to do that. Justice demands that
yo' face the ones yo' have wronged. And justice has always been my
guidin' stah. I'm a soldier of misfohtune, fightin' fo' the undah
dawg. I'm takin' yo' to Skull, sah."

Gentleman John groaned in terror. All the blustering bravado had gone
out of him.

"I can't promise yo' yo' life," Kid Wolf went on. "I can, howevah,
recommend banishment instead of death, and mah word carries some weight
in Skull, undah the new ordah of things. If yo' sign--thus doin' right
by Red Morton, whom yo' wronged--I'll do what I can to save yo' from
the rope, but I can't promise that yo'll escape it. Are yo' signin'?"

Gentleman John moistened his lips feverishly, and his hand trembled as
he reached for the pen.

"I'll sign," he groaned.

When he had scratched his signature, Kid Wolf took the paper, folded it
carefully and put it in his pocket.

"_Bueno,_" he said softly. "Now get yo' hat and coat. I hate to rob
yo' of yo' sleep, but I have some othah prisonahs to round up to-night."

And while binding Gentleman John's wrists, Kid Wolf hummed a new verse
to his favorite tune, "On the Rio."

CHAPTER XXI

APACHES

In the half light of the early morning, a stagecoach was rattling down
a steep hill near the New Mexico-Arizona boundary line. The team of
six bronchos fought against the weight of the lumbering vehicle behind,
with stiff front legs threw themselves back against their harness. The
driver, high on his box, sawed at the lines with his foot heavy on the
creaking brake.

"Whoa!" he roared. "Easy, yuh cow-faced loco-eyed broncs! Steady now,
or I'll beat the livin' tar outn yuh!"

The ponies seemed to disregard his bellowing abuse. They had heard it
before, and knew that he didn't mean a word he said. They were almost
at the foot of the hill now, and the thick white dust, kicked up in
choking spurts by the rumbling wheels, s