Part 41 (1/2)

”Too bad we had to leave that twenty thousand, Kid,” said Robbins.

The Kid's white teeth flashed in a smile.

”Really, Dave,” he drawled, ”do yo' think I'd let Garvey get away with that? That express box was just a blind. Don't yo' know what I did while the rest of yo' were tippin' back the stagecoach? No? Well, I transferred the twenty thousand to Blizzahd's saddlebags, so the money”--he tapped the bulges on each side of the big saddle--”is right heah!”

Kid Wolf, ever since he had taken charge of the express money, had realized his responsibility and trust. He would protect it with his life. If he could reach Mexican Tanks with it, the money would be safe, for a small post of soldiers and government scouts guarded the place.

They had not gone a half mile, however, when a sound of distant shouting broke out behind them.

”That means they've discovahed ouah absence,” said the Texan, grimly.

”We'll have ouah hands full befo' long!”

Robbins, and the Texan as well, had been through the country before, and knew the lay of the land. The former had learned the location of a water hole west of them in the hills, and they decided to head for that, as they were suffering from intense thirst. Blizzard, too, had not taken water for thirty-six hours.

The Apache is one of the best trailers in the world. They were under a terrible handicap, and both realized it. With the great white horse, strong as it was, carrying double, they could not hope to out-distance pursuit.

”Yuh'd better leave me, Kid,” Robbins begged.

”Befo' I'd leave yo',” returned the Texan, ”I'd leave _me_!”

Dawn began to glow pink and orange behind them, and gradually the dim, star-studded vault overhead became gray with the new day. Shortly afterward, they reached the water hole. It was nearly dry, but enough moisture remained to refresh both horse and riders.

Then they went on again. Kid Wolf could, tell by Blizzard's actions that they were being followed. Before long he himself saw signs.

Little dust clouds began to show behind them, scattered over a line miles long.

”Garvey and his Apaches!” the Texan jerked out. ”And they're gainin'

fast.”

”Can we beat 'em to Mexican Tanks?”

”No,” The Kid drawled, ”but we can fight!”

They soon saw the hopelessness of it all. The horizon behind them swarmed with moving dots--dots that grew larger and more distinct with every fleeting minute. Garvey had obtained reenforcements, without doubt, for there seemed to be no end to the pursuing Apaches.

Blizzard ran like the thoroughbred he was. But even his iron muscles could not stand the strain for long. The ponies behind were fresh, and the snow-white charger was tremendously handicapped with the added weight which had been placed upon it.

Puffs of white smoke blossomed out behind them. A bullet, spent and far short, dropped away to their left, sending up a geyser of sand.

”I guess we'll fight now,” Kid Wolf said, drawing his six-guns.

The grim-faced fighter from Texas knew the ways of the Apaches and was prepared for what followed. It was not his first encounter with renegade red men of the Southwest. He was also aware of what awaited them if they were taken captive. Death with lead would be far more merciful.

The line of Apache warriors spread out even farther. Blizzard was speeding over a flat table-land now, flanked by two ridges of iron-gray hills. A file of Indians separated from the main body and raced along the left-hand ridge. Another file of copper-brown, half-naked savages drummed along to the right.

Rifle fire crackled and flashed. Bullets now began to buzz and whine like infuriated insects. Arrows, falling far short, whistled an angry tune. The Kid held his fire and bade Dave Robbins follow his example.

It was no time to waste lead.

”Go, Blizzahd, like yo' nevah went befo'!” cried the Texan.

The beautiful white horse seemed to realize its master's danger. It ran on courage alone. Its nostrils were expanded wide, its flanks and neck foam-flecked. The steel muscles rippled under its snowy hide, until it seemed to fly like a winged thing. But it is one thing to carry a hundred and sixty pounds; another thing to bear nearly three hundred. The pace could not last.