zzard and charged with head low directly
into the amazed Apaches. The others, too, followed the Texan's
example, but it was Kid Wolf who turned the trick. It was the deciding
card, and without their chief, the redskins were panic-stricken. The
only thing they thought of now was escape. The little hoofs of their
ponies began to drum madly. But instead of rushing in the direction of
the whites, they drummed away from them. Kid Wolf ordered his men not
to follow. Nor would he allow any more firing.

"No slaughter, men," he said. "Save yo' bullets till yo' need them.
Let's take a look at the stage."

Wheeling their mounts, the posse, who had lost not a man in the
encounter, raced back to the overturned coach. The vehicle, riddled
with bullets and arrows, resembled a butcher's shop. On the ground
near it was the body of the driver, while the guard, hit in a dozen
places, lay half in and half out of the coach, dead.

Young Robbins had left four men alive when he made his escape toward
Lost Springs. There now remained only two. And one of these, it could
be seen, was dying.

"Dad!" Robbins cried. "Are yuh hurt?"

"Got a bullet in the shoulder and one in the knee," replied his father,
crawling out with difficulty. "Good thing yuh got here when yuh did!
See to Claymore. He's hit bad. I'm all right."

Kid Wolf drew out the still breathing form of the other survivor. He
was quick to note that the man was beyond any human aid. The
frontiersman, his six-gun still emitting a curl of blue smoke, was
placed in the shade of the coach, and water was given to him.

"I'm all shot to pieces, boys," he gasped. "I'm goin' fast--but I'm
glad the Apaches won't have me to--chop up afterward. Take my word for
it--there's some white man--behind this. There's twenty thousand
dollars in the express box----"

His words trailed off, and with a moan, he breathed his last. Kid Wolf
gently drew a blanket over his face and then turned to the others.

"I think he's right," he mused, as he took off his wide-brimmed hat.
"When Indians murdah, theah's usually a white man's brains behind them."

Garvey, when Kid Wolf had left with his quickly gathered posse, went to
the bar and took several drinks of his own liquor. It was a fiery red
whisky distilled from wheat, and of the type known to the Indians as
"fire water." It did not put Garvey in any better humor. Wiping his
lips, he left his saloon and crossed the road to a tin