Part 13 (1/2)

The Hardy band had gathered about the burning buildings in a close ring, ready to shoot down any one the instant he showed himself. The situation looked hopeless.

”Stay in there if yuh want to!” a voice shouted outside. ”Burn up, or take lead! It's all the same to us!”

The heat-tortured Scotty staggered to his feet and groped toward one of the plunging, screaming horses.

”Lead is the easiest way,” he choked. ”They'll get me, but I'm goin'

to try and ride this hoss out o' here!”

”Wait a minute!” Kid Wolf cried. ”All get yo' hosses ready and make the break when I say the word. But not until!”

Gritting their teeth, they prepared to endure the baking heat for a few minutes more. They did not know what Kid Wolf was going to do, but they had faith that he would do something. And they knew, as things stood, that they could not hope for anything but death if they tried to escape now.

The stable was a ma.s.s of flames. The walls were crumbling and falling in. The Texan gave his final orders.

”If any of us get through,” he gasped, ”we'll meet on the Chisholm Trail--below heah. Ride hard, with heads low--when I say the word!”

Then Kid Wolf played his trump card. Upon leaving the store itself, he had taken a small keg with him--a powder keg. Until now, none of the others had noticed it. Holding it in his two hands, he darted through the door into the open! Bits of burning wood were all about him; flames licked at his boots as he stood upright, the keg over his head.

”Scattah!” he shouted at the astonished Hardy gang. ”I'm blowin' us all to kingdom come!”

The Texan made a glorious picture as he stood there, framed in red and yellow. Fire was under his feet and on every side. The glow of it illuminated his face, which was stained with powder smoke and blackened by the flames. His eyes shone joyously, and a laugh of defiance and recklessness was on his lips as he swung the poised keg aloft.

The Hardy gang, frozen with terror for an instant, scattered. They ran like frightened jack rabbits. To shoot Kid Wolf would have been easy, but none of them dared to attempt it. For if the keg was dropped, one spark would set it off. Overcome with panic, the ring of outlaws melted into the night.

The Texan gave the signal, and Tip, Caldwell, Scotty, and White tore out of the doorway on their frightened horses, heads low, scattering as they came. Kid Wolf whistled sharply for Blizzard and pulled himself effortlessly into the saddle as the big white horse went by at a mad gallop. He tossed away the keg as he did so.

The Hardy faction began shooting then, but it was too late. Bullets hummed over the heads of the escaping riders, but not one found its mark.

Kid Wolf found himself riding alongside Tip McCay. The others had taken different routes. The sounds of guns behind them were rapidly growing fainter, and they were hidden by the pitch darkness. Kid Wolf heard Tip laughing to himself--a rather high-pitched, nervous laugh.

”Are yo' all right, Tip?” sang out the Texan.

”Great! Yore plan worked to a T! But do yuh know what was in that powder keg yuh used?”

”Yes, I knew all the time,” chuckled The Kid. ”It wasn't powdah at all. It was lime. I found that out when I tried to load a Sharps rifle from it. But just the same, Tip, the bluff worked!”

CHAPTER IX

THE NIGHT HERD

By the time the Hardy faction had given up the chase in disgust, Caldwell, White, and Scotty had joined Tip and the Texan some miles below Midway on the Chisholm Trail. The former three were jubilant over their unexpected release from the fire trap, but they agreed with the Texan's first proposal.

”We've got mo' work to do, boys,” he drawled. ”If we wanted to, we could give that gang the slip fo' good and make ouah get-away. I think, though, that yo' feel as I do. What do yo' say we rustle back that herd o' longhorns that Hardy stole from Tip's dad?”

It meant running into danger again, and lots of it, but none of them hesitated. Kid Wolf had made his promise, and the others vowed to see him through. It took them but a few moments to plan their reckless venture and get into action.

The Kid hated Hardy now, just as heartily as did Tip McCay. And even if he had not given his word to the dying cattleman, he would not have left a stone unturned to bring the rustling saloon keeper to justice.