em.

"Well, take a good look at them," drawled The Kid. "I want yo' to be
witnesses to the find. Some day this info'mation might be of use. In
the meantime, adios, boys!"

"Good luck!" they shouted after him. "We'll be on hand at Mariposa
manana morning."

Kid Wolf hit the trail for Mexico at a hammer-and-tongs gallop.

The Mexican town of Mariposa was scattered over ten blazing acres of
sand just south of the Rio Grande. It was an older city than San
Felipe, and its buildings were more elaborate.

One in particular, just off the Plaza, attracted the eye of Spanish
ranchman and peon alike. It was the meeting place of the thirsty--the
famed El Chihuahense, a saloon and gambling house known from El Paso to
California.

Built of brown adobe originally, it had been painted a bright red. The
carved stone with which it was trimmed shone in white contrast to the
vivid walls. An archway was the entrance to the establishment and many
a bullet hole within its shadow testified to the dark deeds that had
happened there.

Now, as on every night, the place was ablaze with light. Big oil lamps
by the score, backed by polished reflectors, illumined the interior.
From within came the strains of guitars and the gay scrapings of a
fiddle, mingled with the hum of Spanish voices, an occasional oath in
English, and the rattle of chips and coins.

At the hitch rack outside the saloon stood a big white horse--waiting.

Kid Wolf was playing poker in the El Chihuahense, and he had been at it
for two solid hours. Those who knew The Kid better would have wondered
at this. Ordinarily, Kid Wolf was not a gamester. He played cards
rarely, never for any personal gain, and only when there seemed to be a
good reason for so doing. But the Texan knew the game.

A trio of Mexican landowners who thought they were skilled at it had
quickly found out their error--and withdrew, more or less gracefully.
Now a crowd of swarthy-faced men, numbering more than a score, were
massed around the draw-poker table near the door. They were watching
the masterful play of this slow-drawling hombre--this gringo stranger
who had been seen about Mariposa all day, and who now was "bucking
heads" with a lone antagonist.

Kid Wolf's opponent was also an American, but one well known to the
Mariposans. A stack of gold coins was piled in front of him, and he
riffled the cards as he dealt in the manner of a professional. This
man was young, also. He w