Kid Wolf of Texas - Paul S. Powers

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There were gambling houses of ill repute, an open court for cockfighting, and other pastimes. The few gringos who were there looked, for the most part, like outlaws and fugitives from the States.

      It lacked a few hours until sunset when Kid Wolf drummed into the town. The mountains were already beginning to cast long shadows, and the sounds of guitars and singing were heard in the gay streets.

      Galloping past the plazas, the Texan at once went to the presidio—the palace of the governor. It was of adobe, like the rest of the buildings, but the thick walls were ornately decorated with stone. It was a fortress as well as a dwelling place, and it contained many rooms. Several dozen rather ragged soldiers were loafing about the presidio when Kid Wolf reached it, for a regiment was stationed in the town.

      Kid Wolf sought an interview with the governor at once, but in spite of his pleading, he was told to return in two hours. "The most honored and respected Governor Manuel Quiroz," it seemed, was busy. If the señor would return later, Governor Quiroz would be highly pleased to see him.

      There was nothing to do but wait, and the Texan decided to be patient.

       He spent an hour in caring for his horse and eating his own hasty meal.

       Then, finding some time on his hands, he walked through the plaza,

       watching the crowds with eyes that missed nothing.

      He found himself in a street where frijoles, peppers, and other foods were being offered for trade or barter. Cooking was even being done in open-air booths, and the air was heavy with seasoning and spice. Here and there was a drinking place, crowded with revelers. It was evidently some sort of feast day in Santa Fe.

      In front of one of the wine shops a little knot of men and soldiers had gathered. All were flushed with drink and talking loudly in their own tongue. One of them—a captain in a gaudy uniform—saw the Texan and made a laughing remark to his companions.

      Kid Wolf's face flushed under its tan. His eyes snapped, but he continued his walk. He had too much on his mind just then to resent insults.

      But the captain had noticed his change of expression. The gringo, then, knew Spanish. His remarks became louder, more offensive. More than half intoxicated, he called jeeringly:

      "I was just saying, señor, that many men who wear two guns do not know how to use even one. You understand, señor? Or perhaps the señor does not know the Spanish?"

      Kid Wolf turned quietly.

      "The señor knows the Spanish," he said softly.

      The captain turned to his companions with a knowing wink. Then he addressed the Texan.

      "Then, amigo, that is well," he mocked. "Perhaps the señor can shoot also. Perhaps the señor could do this."

      A peon stood near by, and the captain pulled off the fellow's straw sombrero and tossed it into the street. The wind caught it and the hat sailed for some distance. With a quick movement the Spanish captain drew a pistol from his belt and fired. With a sharp report, a round, black hole appeared in the hat, low in the crown.

      The crowd murmured its admiration at this feat. The captain stroked his thin black mustache and smiled proudly.

      "Perhaps the señor might find that difficult to do," he mocked.

      "Quién sabe?" Kid Wolf shrugged and started to pass on. He did not care to make a public exhibition of his shooting, especially when he had graver matters on his mind. But the jeers and taunts that broke loose from the half-drunken assembly were more than any man could endure, especially a Texan with fiery Southern blood in his veins. He turned, smiling. His eyes, however, were as cold as ice.

      "Why," he asked calmly, "should I mutilate this po' man's hat?" His words were spoken in perfectly accented Spanish.

      "The hat? Ah," mocked the captain, "if the señor hits it, I will pay for it with gold."

      Kid Wolf drew his left-hand Colt so quickly that no man saw the motion. Before they knew it, there was a sudden report that rolled out like thunder—six shots, blended into one stuttering explosion. He had emptied his gun in a breath!

      A gust of wind blew away the cloud of black powder smoke, and the crowd

       stared. Then some one began to laugh. It was taken up by others.

       Even the customers in the booths chuckled at Kid Wolf's discomfiture.

       The captain's laugh was the loudest of all.

      "Six shots the señor took," he guffawed, "and missed with them all! Ah, didn't I tell you that the Americans are bluffers, like their game of poker? This one carries two guns and cannot use even one!"

      Kid Wolf smiled quietly. A faint look of amusement was in his eyes.

      "Maybe," he drawled, "yo'-all had bettah look at that hat."

      Curiously, and still smiling, some of the loiterers went over to examine the target. When they had done so, they cried out in amazement. It was true that just one bullet hole showed in the front of the sombrero. The captain's shot had drilled that one. Naturally all had supposed that the gringo had missed. Such was not the case. All of Kid Wolf's six bullets had passed through the captain's bullet mark! For the back of the hat was torn by the marks of seven slugs! Some one held the sombrero aloft, and the excited crowd roared its approval and enthusiasm. Never had such shooting been seen within the old city of Santa Fe.

      The Spanish captain, after his first gasp of surprise, had nothing to say. Chagrin and disgust were written over his face. If ever a man was crestfallen, the captain was. He hated to be made a fool of, and this quiet man from Texas had certainly accomplished it.

      He was about to slink off when Kid Wolf drawled after him:

      "Oh, captain! Pahdon, but haven't yo' forgotten somethin'?"

      "What do you mean?" snapped the other.

      "Yo' were goin' to pay for this man's sombrero, I believe," said Kid

       Wolf softly, "in gold."

      "Bah!" snarled the officer. "That I refuse to do!"

      The Texan's hand snapped down to his right Colt. A blaze of flame leaped from the region of his hip. Along with the crashing roar of the explosion came a sharp, metallic twang.

      The bullet had neatly clipped away the captain's belt buckle! A yell of laughter rang out on all sides. For the captain's trousers, suddenly unsupported, slipped down nearly to his knees. With a cry of dismay, the disgruntled officer seized them frantically and held them up.

      "Reach down in those," drawled the Texan, "and see if yo' can't find that piece of gold!"

      The officer, white with rage in which hearty fear was mingled, obeyed with alacrity, pulling out a gold coin and handing it, with an oath, to the peon whose hat he had ruined.

      "Muchas gracias," murmured Kid Wolf, reholstering his gun. "And now, if the fun's ovah, I must bid yo' buenas tardes. Adios!"

      And doffing his big hat, the Texan took his departure with a sweeping bow, leaving the captain glaring furiously after him.

       Table of Contents

      THE GOVERNOR'S ANSWER

      Judging that it was almost time for his interview with the governor, Kid Wolf saddled Blizzard in the public establo, or stable, and rode at once to the governor's palace.

      Although it did not occur to him that Quiroz would reject his plea for aid, he was filled with foreboding. He had a premonition that made him uneasy, although there seemed nothing at which to be alarmed.

      Dismounting, he walked up the stone flags toward the presidio entrance—a huge, grated door guarded by two flashily

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