strapping on his Colt .45 as he came. He advanced toward the
Texan sneeringly. The others gathered about to see what would happen.
Something in Kid Wolf's eyes warned them of impending trouble.

"What's the idea now?" Modoc snarled, showing his stained teeth like a
wolf. "Has this four-flusher been up to his tricks again?"

Kid Wolf's voice came cool and calm. "Modoc," he drawled, "what color
will the moon be to-night?"

Modoc's face went the color of putty. Like a flash, the insolence had
gone out of his eyes, to be replaced with fear. He moistened his lips
feverishly.

"I--I don't know what yo're talkin' about," he stammered.

"Are yo' sure," said Kid Wolf with deadly quietness, "that the moon
won't be red?"

Modoc began to tremble like a leaf. His gun hand moved part way to his
hip, then stopped. Beads of perspiration stood out on his clammy
forehead.

"Afraid to draw like a man?" the Texan drawled. "I wouldn't doubt it.
Men, this man is a betrayah. He is one of The Terror's bandits.
That's why he led yo' off the track. He brought yo' here to die like
rats."

Modoc's face was blue-white as Kid Wolf continued:

"When I first showed up, Modoc thought I might be one of The Terror's
messengahs. I didn't come through with the password, and he learned
different. I didn't know what he meant, then, but I know now!"

The wagon men surged around Modoc threateningly. Fury was written over
the faces of them all. There were cries of "Kill him!" "Hang the
traitor!"

Kid Wolf still faced the fear-frozen Modoc, smiling coolly. There was
quiet menace in that easy smile.

"I usually shoot the head off a rattlesnake when I see one," he said
softly. "One day, yeahs ago, a rattlah killed a favorite dawg of mine.
I blew that snake apart, bit by bit. Modoc, that snake was a gentleman
alongside of yo'. I'm givin' yo' an even chance to kill me. Fill yo'
hand!"

Modoc, with a wheezing, gasping breath, decided upon action. His hand
streaked for his hip. But Kid Wolf had drawn a split second later and
more than a split second faster. The fingers of his right hand closed
upon the handle of one of his twin Colts. In the same instant, fire
flew!

With the first explosion, Modoc grunted with pain, dropping his gun.
The bullet had caught him squarely in the wrist, rendering his fingers
useless. But Kid Wolf kept firing, although he did not aim for Modoc's
head or body. His gun flashed and stuttered twic