rison was
constructed of adobe with tremendously thick walls and no windows. The
only place light and air could enter the sinister building was through
a grating the size of a man's hand in the huge, rusty iron door.

Kid Wolf was marched to the prison by his sextet of guards. While the
door was being opened, he glanced around him, taking what might prove
to be his last look at the sky. His eyes fell upon one of the walls of
the jail. It was pitted with hundreds of little holes. The Texan
smiled grimly. He knew what had made them--bullets. It was the
execution place!

The door clanged behind him, and a scene met The Kid's eyes that caused
him to shudder. In the big, dank room were huddled fourteen prisoners.
Most of them were miserable, half-naked peons. It was intolerably hot,
and the air was so bad as almost to be unbreathable.

The prisoners kept up a wailing chant--a hopeless prayer for mercy and
deliverance. A guttering candle shed a ghastly light over their thin
bodies.

So this was what his audience with the governor had come to! What a
tyrant Quiroz had proved to be! Strangely enough, The Kid's thoughts
were not of his own terrible plight, but of the peril that awaited the
wagon train. If he could only escape this place, he might at least
help them. What a mistake he had made in going to the governor for aid!

His next thought was of his horse, Blizzard. What would become of him,
if he, Kid Wolf, died? The Texan knew one thing for certain, that
Blizzard was free. Nobody could touch him save his master. He was
also sure that the faithful animal awaited his beck and call. The
white horse was somewhere near and on the alert. Kid Wolf had trained
it well.

He soon saw that escape by ordinary means from the prison was quite
hopeless. There was no guard to overpower, the walls were exceedingly
thick, and the door impregnable.

Only one of the prisoners, Kid Wolf noted, was an American--a sickly
faced youth of about the Texan's own age. A few questions brought out
the information that all the inmates of the jail were under sentence of
death.

The hours passed slowly in silent procession while the dying candle
burned low in the poison-laden air. Kid Wolf paced the floor, his eyes
cool and serene.

His mind, however, was wide awake. When was he to be shot? In the
morning? Or would his execution be delayed, perhaps for days?

The Texan never gave up hope, and he was doing more than h