n, however, was now too bright, and he had to wait fully a quarter
of an hour more before the light faded to shadow again. When the
moment arrived, he squirmed through the doorway and across the sands on
his hands and knees.

Dave Robbins was frontier bred, and although his progress was slower
than the Texan's had been, he crept along as silently as one of the
redskins themselves. Not a mesquite twig snapped under his body; not a
pebble rattled. It seemed to take him hours to reach the hill which
Kid Wolf had pointed out to him. As he did so, the moonlight again
became so bright that it made the landscape nearly as white as day.
For a time, he lay flat against the ground; then he wriggled on.

Where was he? Would he find his friend, the Texan? He waited a while,
and then whistled, soft and low. There was no answer. He looked
around him, trying to decide where he was and what to do. His eyes
fell upon the two recently dug graves. Headboards stood at each of
them. Both were covered. Near the mounds lay a spade. The earth
clinging to it was moist.

With his heart in his throat, Dave Robbins again looked at the grave
markers. One read: "Bill Robbins." It was the grave of his father!
The other mound was marked "Kid Wolf"!

For a few minutes, Dave Robbins stood numbed. Something terrible had
happened; just what, he did not know. It seemed the end. Could his
friend, the gallant Texan, have met death? It didn't seem possible,
and yet the evidence was before his eyes. Anger against Garvey and his
hired killers suddenly overcame him. A hot wave seemed to sweep over
him. He turned about and faced, not the distant San Simon, but in the
direction of his enemies.

"I'll get some of 'em before I go, Kid!" he cried.

As if in answer, something came to his ears that brought a cry of joy
to the youth. It was a stanza of a familiar song, sung in the soft,
musical accents of the South:

"Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie-ee!"

Turning about, Dave Robbins saw Kid Wolf's face in the moonlight! The
shock of it left the youth weak for a moment. The two wrung hands, and
Robbins blurted:

"I thought yuh were dead! What happened? Why this covered grave?"

"A half-breed lookout," the Texan explained in a whisper. "Ugly, but
slow with a gun. He had the drop, so instead of reachin' fo' mah
Colts, I pretended to raise mah hands. Then I gave him this--mah hole
cahd, the thirteenth ace."

And Kid Wolf