Part 24 (1/2)

Kid Wolf has used his ”ace in the hole”--had hurled the bowie knife hidden in a sheath sewn inside the back of his s.h.i.+rt collar.

The major's hand went suddenly numb. He dropped the derringer. The blade had thudded into his forearm and sliced deeply upward. Dazed, he emitted a wild cry.

The don was not slow to act. He did not know exactly what had happened, but he saw the major's gun fall and heard his frightened yell. Floristo reached hastily for his jewel-studded revolver.

But the Texan had closed in on him. Kid Wolf hit him full in the face and Floristo went sprawling down. He was still jerking at his gun b.u.t.t as he hit the floor.

The major had recovered somewhat. With his left hand he scooped up the derringer and swung it up desperately to line the barrel on Kid Wolf's heart.

”All right, Harry!” sang out The Kid.

Gla.s.s flew out of the window at the south wall and clattered to the tiled floor as an arm, holding a leveled .45, broke through. It was young Thomas.

”Put 'em up!” he cried.

Don Floristo, however, had also raised his gun. A report shook the adobe walls and sent a puff of blue fumes ceilingward. But Harry Thomas had fired first. Floristo collapsed with a moan, rolled over and stiffened.

Kid Wolf sent Major Stover's derringer flying with a contemptuous kick, just as the fear-crazed fat man pulled the trigger.

”Good work, Harry,” The Kid approved.

He stepped to the table, returned his own six-guns to their holsters and then reached out and seized Major Stover by the collar. He shook him like a rat as he jerked him to his feet.

”Well, majah, as yo' calls yo'self,” he drawled, ”looks like the surprise worked the othah way round!”

Stover's flabby face was blue-gray. His knees gave way under him and his coa.r.s.e lips were twitching. His eyes rolled wildly.

”Don't kill me,” he wheezed in an agony of fright. ”It wasn't my fault. I--I--Goliday made me do it. He's the man behind me. D-don't kill--me.”

Suddenly his head rolled to one side and his bulky body wilted. He sagged to the floor with a hiccupping sound.

”Get up!” snapped the Texan.

There was no response. The Kid felt of Stover's heart and straightened up with a low whistle.

”Dead,” he muttered. ”Scared to death. Weak heart--just as I thought.”

”Did yuh shoot the big brute?” asked Harry, who had pushed his body through the window and slipped into the room.

”His guilty conscience killed him,” explained the Texan. ”Yo' saved my life, son, by throwin' down on Don Floristo. Yo' got him between the s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons.”

”I wanted to shoot long before,” said Harry, ”but I remembered--and waited until yuh said the word. Yuh sh.o.r.e stopped that derringer o'

Stover's.”

”Wheah's the guard?”

”Tied up outside.”