undred Mexes
and Injuns with him before mornin'."

Kid Wolf accepted, and the coach was deserted. They buried the bodies
of the men they had brought in the stage, not in the Lost Springs
graveyard, but in an arroyo near it. Then they removed the valuable
express box and took it with them to the Johnson adobe.

The house was a two-room affair, not more than a quarter of a mile from
the Springs, and still closer to Boot Hill. On the side next to the
water hole, the grass and tulles grew nearly waist-high. On the other
three sides, barren ground swept out as far as eye could reach.

Kid Wolf placed the express box in the one living room of the hut. As
a great deal might depend upon having horses ready, Blizzard, along
with two pinto ponies, was quartered in the other apartment. This
redone, and with one of the four men standing watch at all times, they
prepared a hasty meal.

"One thing we lack that we got to have," stated Johnson. "It's water.
I'll take a bucket and go to the spring. I know the path through the
tulles."

They watched him proceed warily toward the water hole. The landscape
was peaceful. Not a moving thing could be seen. In a few moments,
Johnson was swallowed up in the high grass. He reappeared again,
carrying a brimming bucket. They could see the setting sun sparkling
on the water as he swung along. Then suddenly a shot rang out
sharply--the unmistakable crack of a Sharps .50-caliber rifle! Without
a cry, Johnson sank into the tulles, the bucket clattering beside him.
He had been shot in the back!

A cry of horror burst from the lips of the watchers in the adobe. It
was all that Kid Wolf could do to hold back the excitable younger
Robbins, who wanted to avenge their friend's death immediately.

"No use fo' us to show ouahselves until we know how the cahds are
stacked," the Texan said grimly. "Nevah mind, Dave. They'll pay fo'
it!"

It was hard to tell just how many of their enemies might be lurking in
the tulles or beyond them. They were soon to find that there were far
too many. Gunfire began to blaze out in sharp, reechoing volleys.
Bullets clipped the adobe shack, sending up spurts of gray dust.

"Don't show yo'selves," Kid Wolf warned.

His keen eyes lined out the sights of his own twin Colts, and he fired
twice, and then twice again. As far as the others could see, there was
nothing in view to shoot at; but agitated threshings about in the
tulles showed them that at