Part 36 (2/2)

Robbins' face went white. With clenched fists, he advanced toward Garvey.

”Yo're cowards, that's all!” he cried. ”Cowards! And yo're the biggest one of 'em all!”

Garvey drew back his huge arm and sent his fist cras.h.i.+ng into the youth's face. Robbins, weak and exhausted as he was, went sprawling to the floor.

And at that moment the swinging doors of the saloon opened wide. The man who stood framed there, sweeping the room with cool, calm eyes, was scarcely older than the youth who had been slugged down. His rather long, fair hair was in contrast with the golden tan of his face. He wore a s.h.i.+rt of fringed buckskin, open at the neck. His trousers were tucked into silver-studded riding boots, weighted with spurs that jingled in tune to his swinging stride. At each trim hip was the b.u.t.t of a .45 revolver.

The newcomer's eyes held the attention of the men in Garvey's Place.

They were blue and mild, but little glinting lights seemed to sparkle behind them. He was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, it was in a soft, deliberate Southern drawl:

”Isn't it rathah wahm foh such violent exercise, gentlemen?”

Robbins, crimsoned at the mouth, raised on one elbow to look at the stranger. Garvey's lips curled in a sneer.

”Are yuh tryin' to mind my business?” he leered.

”When I mind somebody else's business,” said the young stranger softly, ”that somebody else isn't usually in business any moah.”

Garvey caught the other's gaze and seemed to find something dangerous there, for he drew back a step, content with muttering oaths under his breath.

”What's the trouble?” the stranger asked Robbins quietly.

The youth seemed to know that he had found a friend, for he at once told the story of the ambushed stage.

”I came here for help,” he concluded, ”and was turned down. These men are afraid to go. My--my father's on that stage. Won't you help me?”

The stranger seemed to consider.

”Sho',” he drawled at length, ”I'll throw in with you.” He paused to face the gathered company. ”And these othah men are goin' to throw in with yo', too!”

The men in the saloon stood aghast, open-mouthed. But they didn't hesitate long. When the stranger spoke again, his words came like the crack of a whip:

”Get yo' hosses!”

Garvey's heavy-jawed face went purple with fury. That this young unknown dared to try such high-handed methods so boldly in Lost Springs--which he ruled--maddened him! His big hand slid down toward his hip with the rapidity of a lightning bolt.

There was a resounding crash--a burst of red flame. Garvey's hand never closed over his gun b.u.t.t. The stranger had drawn and fired so quickly that n.o.body saw his arm move. And the reason that the amazed Garvey did not touch the handle of his .44 was because there was no handle there! The young newcomer's bullet had struck the b.u.t.t of the holstered gun and smashed it to bits.

Garvey stared at the handleless gun as if stupefied. Then his amazed glance fell upon the stranger, who was smiling easily through the flickering powder fumes.

”Who--who are yuh?” he stammered.

The stranger smiled. ”Kid Wolf,” he drawled, ”from Texas, sah. My friends simply say 'Kid,' but to my enemies I'm The Wolf!”

CHAPTER XXII

THE RESCUE

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