Part 26 (1/2)

Paying no more attention to him, Kid Wolf holstered his own smoking .45 and bent over and picked up Goliday's ivory-handled weapon. He smiled grimly as he peered into the muzzle. A very peculiar gun! There were five grooves and five lands, which are the s.p.a.ces between the grooves, the uncut metal.

Goliday, with a bullet just below his heart, was not quite dead. He realized what had happened. He was done for. Rapidly, as if afraid that he could not finish what he wished to say, he began to speak:

”Yuh--were right. I killed Thomas. I wanted the S Bar. I'm afraid to go like this, Kid Wolf. I tell yuh I'm afraid!” His voice rose to a shriek. ”There's murder on my soul, and there'll--be more. Quick!

Quick!”

”Is there anything I can do?” The Kid asked, generous even to a fallen enemy such as Goliday.

”Yes,” Goliday groaned. ”All my men aren't in town. I sent Steve Stacy and Ed Mullhall--down to the S Bar--a little while ago--to do away with Mrs. Thomas. Stop 'em! Stop 'em! I don't want to die with this on my soul. I--I----”

His words ended in a gurgling moan. His face twitched and then relaxed. He was dead.

His dying words had thrilled Kid Wolf with horror. Steve Stacy and Ed Mullhall on their way to murder Ma Thomas! Perhaps they were at the S Bar already! Perhaps their terrible work was done! The Kid went white.

But he wasted no time in wringing his hands. At a dead run he left the saddle shop and the dead villain within it. He whistled for Blizzard.

The horse raced to meet him. With a bound The Kid was in the saddle.

He knew of no trail to the S Bar. He must cut across country. There was no time to hunt for one. Then, too, he must cut off as much as he could. In that way, if the two killers followed a more or less winding trail, he might overtake them.

The country was rough and broken. And, worse still, Blizzard was tired. He had been on the go for many hours. There was a limit even to the creamy-white horse's superb strength. It seemed hopeless.

Southeast they tore at breakneck speed. Blizzard seemed to sense what was required of him. He ran like mad, clamping down on the bit, his muscles rippling under his glossy hide--a hide that was already flecked with foam.

”Go like yo' nevah went befo', Blizzahd boy,” The Kid sobbed.

Never had he been up against a plot so ruthless, a situation more terrible. A lone woman, Ma Thomas, had been selected for the next victim!

As they pounded along, a thousand thoughts tortured the mind of The Kid. In a way, it was his fault. It was by his suggestion that Mrs.

Thomas had returned to the ranch. Already, possibly, she was dead!

Kid Wolf had never been angrier. The emotion that gripped him was more than anger. If he could only reach that S Bar in time!

He rode over hills of sand, across stretches of soft, yielding sand that slowed even Blizzard's furiously drumming hoofs, over treacherous fields of lava rock, through cactus forests. Up and down he went, but always on, and always heading southward toward the ranch. Very rarely did The Kid use the spurs, but he used them now, roweling Blizzard desperately. And the white horse responded like a machine.

There is a limit to the endurance of any animal, however strong.

Blizzard could not keep up that pace forever. He had begun to pant.

He was running on sheer courage now. Then The Kid mounted a rise.

Ahead of him he saw two moving dots--hors.e.m.e.n, bound toward the S Bar!

They were Stacy and Mullhall, without a doubt!

Kid Wolf's heart leaped. They had not reached the ranch yet, at any rate. There was still hope. Again and again he raked Blizzard with the spurs. The horse was living up to his name now, running like a white snowstorm. Already the distance between Kid Wolf and the other hors.e.m.e.n was lessened. But they had seen him! Before, they had been riding at a leisurely pace. Now they broke into a gallop!

”Get 'em, Blizzahd,” cried The Kid. ”We've got to get those men, boy!”

Suddenly before The Kid a deep arroyo yawned. The walls were steep.

There was no time to go around, or seek a place to make the crossing.

It looked like the end. A full twenty feet! A tremendous leap, and for a tired horse----

”Jump it, boy! Jump it!”