ch?"

Anton knew the trails of the district like a memorized map, and he gave
The Kid detailed instructions. By following the mountain chain to the
westward he would reach a dry wash that would lead him to a point
within sight of Goliday's hacienda.

"Still set on it?"

The Kid nodded. "Adios! Yuh'll probably get through to the S Bar in
good time. Good-by, Harry."

"Good luck!" they shouted after him.

At the crest of a mesquite-dotted swell of white sand, several hours
later, The Kid paused to look over the situation that confronted him.

Ahead of him, to the westward, were the buildings of the Goliday ranch.
Strangely enough, there was no sign of life around it--save for the
horses in the large corral and the cattle meandering about the water
hole.

Was the entire ranch personnel in San Felipe? Impossible! And yet he
had seen no one. The Kid hoped that Goliday was not in town.

A desert wash led its twisting way to one side of him, and he saw that
by following its course he could reach the trees about the water hole
unobserved.

"Easy, Blizzahd," he said softly.

The sand deadened the sound of the big white horse's hoofs as it took
the dry wash at a speedy clip. Kid Wolf crouched low, so that his body
would not show above the edge of the wash. At the water hole he drew
up in the shelter of a cottonwood to listen. His ears had caught a
succession of steady, measured sounds. They came from one of the small
adobe outbuildings. Inside, some one was hammering leather. This was
the ranch's saddle shop evidently.

Very quietly The Kid dismounted. The saddle shop was not far away. He
strolled toward it, wading through the sand that reached nearly to his
ankles. He paused in the doorway, and the hammering sound suddenly
ceased.

"_Buenos dias_," drawled the Texan.

The man in the shop was Goliday! He had whirled about like a cat. The
hammer slipped from his right hand and dropped to the hard-packed earth
floor with a thud.

Kid Wolf's eyes went from Goliday's dark, amazed face, with its shock
of black hair, down to his boots. They were low-heeled, square-toed
boots, embellished with scrolls done in red thread. The Kid's quiet
glance traveled again back to Goliday's startled countenance. Dismay
and fury were mingled there. Kid Wolf had made no movement toward his
guns. His hands were relaxed easily at his sides. He was smiling.

Goliday's ivory-handled gun was in his pistol holster.