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water. The outfit told him that as yet they had seen no sign of The Terror.

      "Probably we won't," said one.

      Kid Wolf was not so optimistic. That night he borrowed two .45 Colt revolvers from the wagon-train supplies. He selected them with extreme care, testing them by shooting at marks. So accurate was his shooting that the men of the outfit could not conceal their admiration. The first weapon he tried threw the shots an inch or two to one side, but he finally obtained a pair that worked perfectly. Then he sanded the wooden handles of the guns to roughen them slightly.

      "It nevah pays to have yo' hand slip when makin' a draw," he explained.

      The outfit's camp fire was shielded with canvas that night, at Kid's suggestion. On that wide plain a light showed for many miles, and it was poor policy to advertise one's position.

      Tired as he was, Kid Wolf rose at midnight, after sleeping a few hours. He wanted to be sure that everything was well. Making a tour of the wagon train, he suddenly stopped in his tracks and sniffed. There was no mistaking the delicious odor. It made Kid Wolf hungry. It was frying meat. The Texan quietly aroused some of the men and led them to one of the wagons.

      "I want yo'-all to see fo' yo'selves," he explained.

      The wagon was Modoc's own, and they entered it. The ex-wagon-train commander had a shielded lantern burning inside, and he was in the act of eating a big supper! When he saw that he had visitors, he tried to reach the gun belt he had hung up at one end of the wagon. Kid Wolf was too quick for him.

      "Yo' call yo'self a man!" he murmured in a voice filled with contempt.

       "Why, a low-down coyote is a gentleman alongside of yo'. I wondered

       why yo' looked so well fed, while the rest of the camp was starvin'.

       Men, search this wagon!"

      While Modoc swore, the search was made. It disclosed many pounds of dried beef and other provisions. It was Modoc's little private supply.

      "We'll divide it up with everybody in the mohnin'," suggested the

       Texan, "with a double allowance fo' the children and the women."

      The wagon men were so furious at Modoc's selfishness that they could have torn him to pieces. Kid Wolf, however, prevented the trouble that was brewing.

      "Every one to their blankets, men," he said. "We can't affohd to fight among ouahselves just now."

      When the camp was asleep again, he took up his lonely vigil. The night was pitch black, without moon or stars. A wind whispered softly across the great Llano.

      Suddenly The Kid's attention was attracted by something on the western horizon. It seemed to be in the sky—a faint red glow, across which shadows appeared to move like phantoms. Like a picture from the ghost world, it flickered for a few minutes like heat lightning, then disappeared, leaving the night as dark as before. It was a night mirage, and something more than an optical illusion. It was a rare thing on the plain. The Kid knew that it meant something. That glow was the reflection in the sky of a camp fire! Those shadows were men! The Texan quickly told his sentinels.

      "I'm ridin' out to see what it is," he said. "Keep a close watch while

       I'm gone. I'm on a little scoutin' pahty of mah own. It might be that

       Quiroz has followed me—which I doubt. And it might be—The Terror!"

      Mounting Blizzard, he was quickly swallowed up in the darkness.

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