Instead, he rode directly toward the buckboard. The click of
a gun hammer did not stop him. One barrel of the shotgun remained
unfired and its muzzle had him covered.

But the Texan approached recklessly. He had doffed his big hat and now
he made a courteous, sweeping bow. He pulled his horse to a halt not
ten yards from the menacing shotgun.

"Pahdon me, ma'am," he drawled, "but is theah anything I can do fo'
yo', aside from bein' a tahget in yo' gun practice?"

The figure in the buckboard was that of a woman! There was a moment's
breathless pause.

"There's nine buckshot in the other barrel," said a feminine voice--a
voice that for all its courage faltered a little.

"Please don't waste them on me," Kid Wolf returned, in his soft,
Southern speech. "I'm afraid yo' have made a mistake. I can see that
yo' are in trouble. May I help yo'?"

Doubtfully, the woman lowered her weapon. She was middle-aged, kindly
faced, and her eyes were swollen from weeping. She looked out of place
with the shotgun--friendless and very much alone.

"I don't know whether to trust you or not," she said wearily. "I
suppose I ought to shoot you, but I can't, somehow."

"Well I'm glad yo' can't," drawled The Kid with contagious good humor.
His face sobered. "Who do yo' think I am, ma'am?"

"I don't know," the woman sighed, "but you're an enemy. Every one in
this cruel land is my enemy. You're an outlaw--and probably one of the
murderers who killed my husband."

"Please believe that I'm not," the Texan told her earnestly. "I'm a
strangah to this district. Won't yo' tell me yo' story? I want to
help yo'."

"There isn't much to tell," the driver of the buckboard said in a
quavering voice. "I'm on the way to town to sell the ranch--the S Bar.
I have my husband's body with me on the wagon. He was murdered
yesterday."

Not until then did Kid Wolf see the grim cargo of the buckboard. His
face sobered and his eyes narrowed.

"Do yo' want to sell, ma'am?"

"No, but it's all I can do now," she said tearfully. "Major Stover, in
San Felipe, offered me ten thousand for it, some time ago. It's worth
more, but I guess this--this is the end. I don't know why I'm tellin'
you all this, young man."

"This Majah Stovah--is he an army officer?" The Kid asked wonderingly.

The woman shook her head. "No. He isn't really a major. He never was
in the army, so far as any one knows. He just fancies the title and
calls himself