. First thing, yo'd bettah let me keep that gun o'
yo'n."

The Kid pulled Hardy's .44 from its holster beneath the saloon man's
black coat.

"Next thing," he drawled, "I want yo' to take that body down from in
front o' yo' do'."

Kid Wolf referred to the corpse of the unfortunate McCay spy whom Hardy
had hanged. It still hung outside the Idle Hour, blocking the door.

The Texan made him get a box, stand on it and loosen the rope from the
dead man's neck. Released from the noose, the body sagged to the
ground.

"Just leave the noose theah," ordered The Kid. "It may be that the
sheriff will have some use fo' it."

"The sheriff!" Hardy repeated blankly.

"Yes, he'll be heah soon," murmured Kid Wolf softly. "I have some
business with yo' first. Maybe we'd bettah go to yo' office."

Jack Hardy's office was a little back room, divided off from the main
one of the Idle Hour. In spite of his protests, Hardy was compelled to
unlock this apartment and enter with his captor.

"Tip has recovahed his fathah's cattle," The Kid told him pointedly,
"but theah's the little mattah of the burned sto' to pay fo'. In
behalf of Tip and his mothah, I'm demandin'--well, I think ten thousand
dollahs in cash will just about covah it."

"I haven't got ten thousand!" Hardy began to whine.

But The Kid cut him off. "Open that safe," he snapped, "and we'll see!"

Hardy took one look at his captor and decided to obey and to lose no
time in doing so. The Texan's eyes were crackling gray-blue.

A large sheaf of bills was in an inner drawer, along with a canvas bag
of gold coins. Ordering Hardy to take a chair opposite, Kid Wolf began
to count the money carefully. To allow himself the free use of his
hands, he holstered both his guns.

"When this little mattah is settled," the Texan drawled, "I have a
little personal business with yo', man to man."

Jack Hardy moistened his lips feverishly. Although he was not now
covered by The Kid's guns, he lacked the courage to begin a fight. He
knew how quick Kid Wolf could be, and he was a coward.

The Texan was stacking the gold into neat piles.

"Fo'teen thousand two hundred dollahs," he announced finally. "The odd
fo' thousand, two hundred will go to the families of the men yo'
murdahed yestahday. And now, Mistah Jack Hahdy, my personal business
with yo' will be----"

He did not finish. The door of the little office had suddenly opened,
and Tucumcari Pete stood in the ent