re. His face was tanned to the color of the
buckskin shirt he wore, and a vast experience, born of hardship and
danger on desert and mountain, was in his eyes--eyes that were
sometimes gray and sometimes steely blue. Just now they were as
carefree as the skies above.

A stranger might have wondered just what Kid Wolf's business was. He
did not appear to be a cow-puncher, or a trapper or an army scout. A
reata was coiled at his saddle, and two big Colts swung from a beaded
Indian belt. No matter how curious the stranger might be, he would
have thought twice before asking questions.

The horse, in color like snow with the sun on it, was splitting the
breeze--and yet the stride was easy and tireless. Blizzard, big and
immensely strong, was as fast as the winds that swept the Panhandle.

The stream, Kid Wolf discovered, was a fairly large creek bordered with
a wild tangle of bushes, vines, and creeper-infested trees. It was no
easy matter to force one's way through the choked growth, especially
without making a great deal of noise.

But The Kid never believed in advertising his presence unnecessarily.
He had the uncanny Apache trick of slipping silently through
underbrush, even while on horseback. The country of the Indian
Nations, at that time, was a territory infested with peril. And even
now, although he seemed to be alone on the prairie, he was cautious.

Some distance before he reached it, he saw the creek, swollen and brown
from rains above. So quiet was his approach that even a water
moccasin, sunning itself on the river bank, did not see him.

Suddenly the white horse pricked up its ears. Kid Wolf, too, had heard
the sound, and he pulled up his mount to watch and listen, still as a
statue.

Splash! Splash! A rider was bringing his horse down to the creek at a
walk. The sounds came from above and from across the stream. The
water on that side had overflowed its bank and lay across the sand in
blue puddles. In a few minutes Kid Wolf caught sight of a man on a
strawberry roan, coming at a leisurely gait. As it was a white man,
and apparently a cattleman, The Kid's vigilance relaxed a little.

In another moment, though, his heart gave a jump. And then, even
before his quick muscles could act in time to save the newcomer it had
happened. From behind a bush clump, a figure had popped up, rifle
leveled. A thin jet of flame spat out of the rusty gun barrel,
followed by a cracking report and a li