Part 3 (2/2)

”My dear senor,” the governor said with suave courtesy, ”the people you wish to rescue are not subjects of mine.”

Kid Wolf tried not to show the irritation he felt. ”Surely, sah, yo'

are humane enough to do this thing. I thought I told yo' theah's women and children in the wagon train.”

Quiroz rubbed his chin as if in thought. His eyes, however, seemed to smolder with an emotion of which Kid Wolf could only guess the nature.

The Spaniard's face was that of a hypnotist, with its thin, high-bridged nose and its chilling, penetrating gaze.

”Your name, senor?”

”Kid Wolf, from Texas, sah.”

Spanish governors of that day had no reason to like gunmen from the Lone Star State. From the time of Santa Anna, Texas fighters had been thorns in their sides. But if Quiroz was thinking of this, he made no sign. He smiled with pleasure, either real or a.s.sumed.

”That is good,” he said. ”Senor Wolf, to show your good faith, will you be kind enough to lay your weapons on my desk? It is a custom here not to come armed in the presence of the governor.”

Suspicion began to burn strongly in the back of the Texan's brain. Was Quiroz playing a crafty game? He was supposed to be friendly toward those from the States, but once before, in California, Kid Wolf had had dealings with a Spanish governor. Instantly he was on his guard, although he did not allow his face to show it.

”I am an American, sah,” he replied. ”Some have called me a soldier of misfohtune. Anyway, I try and do good. What good I have done fo' the weak and oppressed, sah, I've done with these.” The Kid tapped his twin Colts and went on: ”I've twelve lead aces heah, sah, and I'm not in the habit of layin' 'em down.”

”We're not playing cards, senor.” Quiroz smiled pleasantly.

”No.” Kid Wolf's quick smile flashed. ”But if a game is stahted, I want a hand to play with.”

His eyes were fixed on the carved front of the governor's desk. There seemed something strange about the carved design. He was seated directly in front of it, in the chair Quiroz had pointed out to him, and for the last few minutes he had wondered what it was that had attracted his attention.

The desk was carved with a series of squares chiseled deep into the dark wood. In one of the squares was a black circle about the size of a small silver piece. Somehow Kid Wolf did not like the looks of it.

What it could be, he could hardly guess. The Texan had learned not to take chances. Slowly, and with his eyes still on the official's smiling face, he edged his chair away from it, an inch at a time. His progress was slow enough not to attract Quiroz's attention.

”Then,” asked the governor slowly, ”you refuse, senor?”

”Yo'-all are a fine guessah, sah!” snapped the Texan, alert as a steel spring.

The governor moved his knee. There was a sharp report, and a streak of flame leaped from the desk front, followed by a puff of blue smoke.

The bullet, however, knocked a slab of plaster from the opposite wall.

Just in time, Kid Wolf had moved his chair from the range of the trap gun.

Quiroz's death-dealing apparatus had failed. The Texan's cleverness had matched his own. Concealed in the desk had been a pistol, the trigger of which had been pressed by the weight of the official's knee on a secret panel. Quick as a flash, Kid Wolf was on his feet, hands flas.h.i.+ng down toward his two .45s!

The governor, however, was not in the habit of playing a lone hand against any antagonist. Behind Kid Wolf rang out a command in curt Spanish:

”Hands up!”

Kid Wolf's sixth sense warned him that he was covered with a dead drop.

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