Part 12 (1/2)

”I'm done--all right,” he grunted. ”Listen, Tip. And you, Kid Wolf.

I know yo're a true-blue friend. I want yuh to recover those cattle, if yuh ever get out of here alive. Yuh promise to try?” He turned glazing eyes at the Texan. ”The cattle should go--to Tip's mother.

She's in Dodge City.”

”Believe me, sah,” promised Kid Wolf earnestly, ”if we evah get out of this trap alive, Tip and I will do ouah best.”

The stricken man's face lighted. He grasped his son, Tip, with one hand, the Texan with the other.

”I'll pa.s.s on easier now.”

Suddenly he drew himself up to his full height of well over six feet, squared his enormous shoulders, and with crimson welling from his wound, walked firmly and steadily to the door and began kicking the barricade aside.

”What are yuh doin'?” one of the defenders cried, thinking he was delirious from his hurt.

McCay, fighting against the weakness that threatened to overcome him, turned with a smile, grim and terrible.

”I'm goin' out there,” he said, ”to take some of those devils--with me!”

In vain Kid Wolf and Tip attempted to restrain him. The old man waved them back.

”I'm done for, anyway,” he said. ”I haven't got ten minutes to live.

What if they do fill me with lead? I'll get one or two while they're doin' it!”

He seemed stronger now than ever. Sheer will power was keeping him on his feet. Seizing two revolvers, one in each big fist, he wabbled through the door.

With horror-widened eyes, they watched his reeling progress. He faltered to the hitch rack with bullets humming all around him. He clung to it for a moment, then went on, stalking toward the Idle Hour like grim vengeance! His guns sputtered red fire and bursts of black powder smoke. Hit time after time--they could see the dust fly from his clothing as he staggered along under the dreadful impacts--he kept going. It was glorious, terrible!

Tip hid his eyes, with a despairing cry. Kid Wolf watched, his face white under his sunburn.

Up to the very door of the Hardy refuge, the old man walked, his guns hammering claps of thunder. Hit several times in the body, he sprawled once and fell, but was on his feet again before the smoke drifted away.

He plunged through the door, and The Kid saw two men drop under his blazing guns. Then McCay, too, fell--for the last time.

”Yo' dad was one game hombre, Tip,” murmured the Texan, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. ”Let's hope that when ouah turn comes, we can go as bravely.”

He had never seen such an exhibition of undaunted courage. Although the tragedy had clutched at his heart, the spectacle had thrilled him, too. He knew that if he should escape, he would do his best to make good his promise to Old Beef McCay!

The McCay store was surrounded on all sides, and its four walls were scarred and pitted with bullet holes. And night was coming on rapidly.

Kid Wolf saw the peril of their position. He knew, only too well, that the darkness would add to their troubles.

Twilight was deepening into dusk. Soon it became dark, and the moon would not be up for an hour. Kid Wolf, Tip McCay, and their four companions were never more alert. But even their keen eyes could not watch everything.

Young McCay was very pale. His father's death had touched him deeply, and fury against his killers burned in his glance. The others, too, were grim, thinking not of their own peril, but of the murderous Hardy gang. Thirsty for vengeance, they kept their eyes glued to their peepholes, fingers on gun triggers.

Tip had found a friend in Kid Wolf. No words were wasted on sympathy now, or regrets, but Tip knew that the drawling Texan understood.

There was little shooting being done now, and the suspense was telling on the nerves of all of them. What was Hardy up to? Would he again attempt to batter down the door and force a way in, under cover of darkness this time? But they were not left long in doubt.

”I smell smoke!” cried Blake.

Immediately afterward a sharp, crackling sound came to their ears.