outhed and overbearing kind of waddy--a gunman first and a cowman
afterward. His beefy face was flushed as red as his flannel shirt.
His eyes were fixed boldly on the Texan.

"The barkeeper tells me yuh were inquirin' fer me," he said heavily.
"What's on yore mind?"

Mullhall was directly behind him, insolent of face and bearing. The
two seemed to be paying no attention to the trio of men behind The Kid.

"I was just goin' to offah yo' a chance to come back to the S Bar,"
explained Kid Wolf. "These three caballeros have already signed the
pay roll again."

It was putting up the issue squarely, with no hedging. Both Stacy and
Mullhall darkened with fury.

"What's yore little game? I guess it's about time to put an extra
spoke in yore wheel!" snarled Mullhall, coming forward.

"Who in blazes are you?" sneered Stacy.

"Just call me The Wolf!" The Kid barked. "I'm managin' the S Bar right
now, and if yo' men don't want to be friends, I'll be right glad to
have yo' fo' enemies!"

Mullhall had pressed very close. It was as if the whole thing had been
prearranged. His hands suddenly shot out and seized Kid Wolf's
arms--pinning them tightly.

It was an old and deadly trick. While Mullhall pinioned the Texan,
Steve Stacy planned to draw and shoot him down. The pair had worked
together like the cogwheels of a machine, and all was perfectly timed.
Stacy drew like a flash, cocking his .45 as it left the holster.

The play, however, was not worked fast enough. Kid Wolf was not to be
victimized by such a threadbare ruse. He was too fast, too strong. He
whirled Mullhall about, his left boot went behind Mullhall's legs.
With all his force he threw his weight against him, tearing his arms
free.

Mullhall went backward like a catapult, directly at Stacy. The gun
exploded in the air, and as the slug buzzed into the roof, both
Mullhall and the exforeman went down like bags of meal--a tangled maze
of legs and arms.

"Get up," The Kid drawled. "And get out!"

Kid Wolf had not bothered to draw his guns, but Anton, Wise, and Lathum
had reached for theirs, and they had the angry pair covered. Stacy
changed his mind about whirling his gun on his forefinger as he
recovered it, and sullenly shoved it into its holster.

"We'll get yuh!" snarled Stacy, his furious eyes boring into The Kid's
cool gray ones. "San Felipe is too small to hold both of us!"

"_Bueno,_" said The Kid calmly. "I wish yo' luck--yo'll need