LITMIR.BIZ

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threatened them, and it was his duty to be of what assistance he could. Touching his big white horse with the spur, he came upon the long train's flank.

      Ahead of the train were the scouts, or pathfinders. In the rear was the beef herd, on which the outfit depended for food. Behind that was the rear guard, armed with Winchesters.

      The Texan neared the horseman at the head of the train, raising his arm in the peace signal. To his surprise, one of the scouts threw up his rifle! There was a puff of white smoke, and a bullet whistled over Kid Wolf's head.

      "The fools!" muttered the Texan. "Can't they see I'm a friend?"

      Setting his teeth, he rode ahead boldly, risking his life as he did so, for by this time several others had lifted their guns.

      The six men who made up the advance party, eyed him sullenly as he drew up in front of them. The Texan found himself covered by half a dozen Winchesters.

      "Who are yuh, and what do yuh want?" one of them demanded.

      "I'm Kid Wolf, from Texas, sah. I have impo'tant news fo' the leader of this outfit."

      One of the sextet separated himself from the others and came so close to the Texan that their horses almost touched.

      "I'm in command!" he barked. "My name's Modoc. I'm in charge o' this train, and takin' it to Sante Fe."

      The man, Modoc, was an impressive individual, bulky and stern. His face was thinner than the rest of his body, and Kid Wolf was rather puzzled to read the surly eyes that gleamed at him from under the bushy black brows. He was more startled still, however, when Modoc whispered in a voice just loud enough for him to hear:

      "What color will the moon be to-night?"

      Kid Wolf stared in astonishment. Was the man insane?

CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

      A THANKLESS TASK

      Modoc waited, as if for an answer, and when it did not come, his face took on an expression of anger, in which cunning seemed to be mingled.

      "What's yore message?" he rasped.

      It took Kid Wolf several seconds to recover his composure. Was the wagon train being led to its doom by a madman? What did Modoc mean by his low-voiced, mysterious query? Or did he mean anything at all? The Texan put it down as the raving of a mind unbalanced by hardship and peril.

      "I suppose yo'-all know," he drawled loudly enough for them all to hear, "that yo're on the most dangerous paht of the Llano, and that yo're off the road to Santa Fe."

      "Yo're a liar!" the train commander snarled.

      Kid Wolf tried to keep his anger from mounting. This was the thanks he got for trying to help these people!

      "I'll prove it," sighed the kid patiently. "What rivah was that yo' crossed a few days ago?"

      "Why, the Red River; we crossed it long ago," Modoc sneered. "Yo're either a liar or a fool, Kid! And I'd advise yuh to mind yore own business."

      "Call me 'Wolf,'" said the Texan, a ring of steel in his voice. "I'm just 'The Kid' to friends. Others call me by mah last name. And speakin' of the trail, that wasn't the Red Rivah yo' crossed. It was the Wichita. And yo' must have gone ovah the Wichita Mountains, too."

      "The Wichita!" ejaculated one of the other men. "Why, Modoc, yuh told us——"

      "And I told yuh right!" said the leader furiously. "I've been over this route before, and I know just where we are."

      "Yo're in The Terror's territory," drawled The Kid softly. "And I've heahd from a reliable source that he's planned to raid yo'."

      The others paled at the mention of The Terror. But Modoc raised his voice in fury.

      "Who are yuh goin' to believe?" he shouted. "This upstart, or me? Why, for all we know"—his voice dropped to a taunting sneer—"he might be a spy for The Terror himself—probably measurin' the strength of our outfit!"

      The other men seemed to hesitate. Then one of them spoke out:

      "Reckon we'll believe you, Modoc. We don't know this man, and we've trusted yuh so far."

      Modoc grinned, showing a line of broken and tobacco-stained teeth. He looked at Kid Wolf triumphantly.

      "Now I'll tell you a few things, my fine young fellow," he leered. "Burn the wind out o' here and start pronto, before yuh get a bullet through yuh. Savvy?"

      Kid Wolf decided to make one last appeal. If Modoc were insane, it seemed terrible that these others should be led to their doom on that account. Only the Texan could fully appreciate their peril. The wagon train was loaded with valuable goods, for these men were traders. The Terror would welcome such plunder, and it was his custom never to leave a man alive to carry the tale.

      "Men," he said, "yo'-all got to believe me! Yo're in terrible danger, and off the right road. One man has already given his life to save yo', and now I'm ready to give mine, if necessary. Let me stay with yo' and guide yo' to safety, fo' yo' own sakes! Mah two guns are at yo' service, and if The Terror strikes, I'll help yo' fight."

      The advance guard heard him out. Unbelief was written on all their faces.

      "I think yuh'd better take Modoc's advice," one of them said finally, "and git! We can take care of ourselves."

      His heart heavy, Kid Wolf shrugged and turned away. The rebuff hurt him, not on his own account, but because these blindly trusting men were being deceived. Modoc, whether purposely or not, had led them astray.

      He was about to ride away when his eyes fell upon the foremost of the wagons, which was now creaking up, pulled by its straining team. Kid Wolf gave a start. Thrust out of the opening in the canvas was a child's head, crowned with golden hair. There were women and children, then, in this ill-fated outfit!

      The Texan rode his horse over to the wagon and smiled at the youngster.

       It was a boy of three, chubby-faced and brown-eyed.

      "Hello, theah," Kid called. "What's yo' name?"

      The baby returned the smile, obviously interested in this picturesque stranger.

      "Name's Jimmy Lee," was the lisped answer. "I'm goin' to Santa Fe.

       Where you goin'?"

      Kid Wolf gulped. He could not reply. There was small chance that this little boy would ever reach Santa Fe, or anywhere else. Tears came to his eyes, and he wheeled Blizzard fiercely.

      "Good-by!" came the small voice.

      "Good-by, Jimmy Lee," choked the Texan.

      When he looked back again at the wagon train, he could still see a small, golden head gleaming in the first prairie schooner.

      "Blizzahd," muttered Kid Wolf, "we've just got to help those people, whethah they want it or not."

      He pretended to head eastward, but when he was out of sight of the wagon train, he circled back and drummed west at a furious clip. The only thing he could do, he saw now, was to go to Santa Fe for help. With the obstinate traders headed directly across the Llano, they were sure to meet with trouble. If he could bring back a company of soldiers from that Mexican settlement, he might aid them in time. "If they won't let me help 'em at this end," he murmured, "I'll have to help 'em at the othah."

      The town of Santa Fe—long rows of flat-topped adobes nestling under the mountain—was at that day under Spanish rule. Only a few Americans then lived within its limits.

      It was a thriving, though sleepy, town, as it was the gateway to all Chihuahua. A well-beaten trail left it southward for El Paso, and its main street was lined with cantinas—saloons where mescal and

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