neatly into
Kid Wolf's right hand! All had happened so quickly that the youth
hadn't time to squeeze the trigger. Before the amazed young man could
recover himself, the Texan handed over the gun, butt first.

"Here yo' are," he drawled humorously. "To show yo' I mean well, I'm
givin' it back. I do wish, though, that yo'd kindly point it some
other way while I'm talkin'."

The manner of the other changed at this. After losing his gun, he had
expected a quick bullet.

"Guess yo're all right," he grinned slowly. "Come on in."

Passing through the door, Kid Wolf noted the thick loophole-pierced
walls and other provisions for defense. Rifles stood on their stocks
at intervals, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice.

"Oh, dad!" the youth called in a low voice, as they entered the big
main room of the building.

Six men were in the place, and The Kid took stock of them with one
appraising glance. Although just as heavily armed as the faction
across the street in the Idle Hour had been, they were of a different
type. They were cattlemen, some old, some young. All looked up,
startled. One of them got to his feet. He was a huge man and very
fat. His face was round and good-humored, although his puckered blue
eyes told of force and character.

"What's the matter, 'Tip'?" he asked of Kid Wolf's escort. "Who is
this man?"

The Texan smiled and bowed courteously. "Maybe I should explain, sah,"
he drawled. "And aftah I'm done, perhaps yo'll have some information
to give me."

He began his story, but was soon interrupted by an exclamation of anger
and grief from the boy's father.

"A man on a strawberry roan, yuh say? And murdered! Why, that was
Hodgson--one of my best men! Go on, young man! Go on with yore story!"

In a few words, the Texan told of bringing the half-breed to the saloon
across the street, and of his reception there.

"They-all told me to cleah out," he finished whimsically, "so I cleahed
out the Idle Hour. Or rathah, I got the job started. Some one theah,"
he added, "handed me this note. That's why I'm heah."

The big man looked at it, and his face lighted. "A short fella gave
yuh that? I thought so! That was George Durham--one o' my men. He's
there as a spy."

"As a spy?" the Texan repeated blankly. "I'm afraid this is gettin'
too deep fo' me, Mistah----"

"McCay is the name. 'Old Beef McCay, they call me," he chuckled.
"This lad, yuh've already met. He's Tip Mc