He looked about him. The remainder of the bandits had made a thorough
retreat, leaving a large number of their companions on the plain behind
them. Their defeat had been complete and decisive.

"_Bueno_," said Kid Wolf.

"Oh, the cows stampede on the Rio Grande!
The Rio!
The sand do blow, and the winds do wail,
But I want to be wheah the cactus stands!
The Rio!
And the rattlesnake shakes his ornery tail!"

The buckskin-clad singer raised his hat in happy farewell. The people
of the wagon train answered his shout:

"Shore yo' won't go on with us?"

"We shore thank yuh for what yuh done, Kid!"

Others took up the cry. They hated to lose this smiling young Texan's
company. He had saved them from death--and worse. Not only that, but
they had learned to like him and depend on him.

The Texan, however, declined to stay longer. Nor would he listen to
any thanks.

"Adios," he called, "and good luck! Wheahevah the weakah side needs a
champion, theah yo'll find Kid Wolf. Somehow I always find lots to do.
Heah's hopin' yo' won't evah need mah services again."

He caught sight of a golden-haired child beaming at him from one of the
wagons.

"Good-by, Jimmy Lee!" he called.

He whirled in his saddle, touched Blizzard with the reins, and rode
away at a long lope.

CHAPTER VI

ON THE CHISHOLM TRAIL

From the sweeps of high country bordering close upon Santa Fe, it was
no easy journey to the Chisholm Trail, even for a trail-eating horse of
Blizzard's caliber. But The Kid had taken his time. His ultimate
destination, unless fate altered his plans, was his own homeland--the
sandy Rio Grande country.

More than anything else, it was the thirst for adventure that led the
buckskin-clad rider to the beaten cattle road which cut through
wilderness and prairie from Austin to the western Kansas beef markets.

And now, after following the trail for one uneventful day, Kid Wolf had
left it--in search of water. A line of lofty cottonwoods on the
eastern horizon marked the course of a meandering stream and The Kid
had been glad of the chance to turn Blizzard's head toward it. Horse
and rider, framed in the intense blue of the western sky, formed a
picture of beauty and grace as they drummed through the unmarked
wastes. The Kid, riding "light" in his saddle, his supple body rising
and falling with the rhythm of his loping mount and yet firm in his
seat, dominated that pictu