Part 17 (2/2)

”Well, there's Ed Mullhall, d.i.c.k Anton, Fred Wise, Frank Lathum, and the foreman--Steve Stacy. But, tell me, who are you--to do this for a stranger, a woman you've never seen before? I'm Mrs. Thomas.”

The Texan bowed courteously.

”They call me Kid Wolf, ma'am,” he replied. ”Mah business is rightin'

the wrongs of the weak and oppressed, when it's in mah power. Those who do the oppressin' usually learn to call me by mah last name. Now don't worry any mo', but just leave yo' troubles to me.”

Mrs. Thomas smiled, too. She dried her eyes and looked at the Texan gratefully.

”I've known you ten minutes,” she said, ”and somehow it seems ten years. I do trust you. But please don't get yourself in trouble on account of Ma Thomas. You don't know those men. This is a hard country--terribly hard.”

Kid Wolf, however, only smiled at her warning. He remained just long enough to obtain two additional bits of information--the location of the S Bar and the distance to the town of San Felipe. Then he turned his horse's head about, and with a cheerful wave of his hand, struck out for the latter place. The last he saw of Mrs. Thomas, she was turning her team.

Kid Wolf realized that he had quite a problem on his hands. The work ahead of him promised to be difficult, but, as usual, he had gone into it impulsively--and yet coolly.

”We've got a big ordah to fill, Blizzahd,” he murmured, as his white horse swung into a long lope. ”I hope we haven't promised too much.”

He wondered if in his endeavor to cheer up the despondent woman he had aroused hopes that might not materialize. The plight of Mrs. Thomas had stirred him deeply. His pulses had raced with anger at her persecutors--whoever they were. His Southern chivalry, backed up by his own code--the code of the West--prompted him to promise what he had.

”A gentleman, Blizzahd,” he mused, ”couldn't do othahwise. We've got to see this thing through!”

Ma Thomas--he had seen at a glance--was a plains-woman. Courage and character were in her kindly face. The Texan's heart had gone out to her in her trouble and need.

Once again he found himself in his native territory, but in a country gone strange to him. Ranchers and ranches had come in overnight, it seemed to him. A year or two can make a big difference in the West.

Two years ago, Indians--to-day, cattle! Twenty miles below rolled the muddy Rio. It was Texas--stern, vast, mighty.

And, if what Mrs. Thomas had said was correct, law hadn't kept pace with the country's growth. There was no law. Kid Wolf knew what that meant. His face was very grim as he left the wagon trail behind.

The town of San Felipe--two dozen brown adobes, through which a solitary street threaded its way--sprawled in the bottom of a canyon near the Rio Grand. The cow camp had grown, in a few brief months, with all the rapidity of an agave plant, which adds five inches to its size in twenty-four hours. San Felipe was noisy and wide awake.

It was December. The sun, however, was warm overhead. The sky was cloudless and the distant range of low mountains stood out sharp and clear against the sky. As Kid Wolf rode into the town, a hard wind was blowing across the sands and it was high noon.

San Felipe's single street presented an interesting appearance. Most of the long, flat adobes were saloons--The Kid did not need to read the signs above them to see that. The loungers and hangers-on about their doors told the story. Sandwiched between two of the biggest bars, however, was a small shack--the only frame building in the place.

”Well, this Majah Stover hombre must be in the business,” muttered The Kid to himself.

His eyes had fallen on the sign over the door:

MAJOR STOVER LAND OFFICE

Kid Wolf was curious. Strange to say, he had been thinking of the major before he had observed the sign, and wondering about the man's offer to buy the S Bar Ranch. The Texan whistled softly as he dismounted. He left Blizzard waiting at the hitch rack, and sauntered to the office door.

He opened the door, let himself in, and found himself in a dusty, paper-littered room. A few maps hung on the walls. Kid Wolf's first impression was the disagreeable smell of cigar stumps.

His eyes fell upon the man at the desk by the dirty window, and he experienced a sudden start--an uncomfortable feeling. The Texan did not often dislike a man at first sight, but he was a keen reader of character.

”Do yuh have business with me?” demanded the man at the desk.

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