e, three times,
four--five--six! Dust flew from Modoc's coat sleeve as the bullets
landed with a series of terrific smashes. As he had torn the
rattlesnake bit by bit, Kid Wolf ripped Modoc's gun arm.

Each bullet took effect, and Modoc staggered from the impacts, knees
slumping to the ground. The traitor would never use that gun arm
again. It dangled from his body, broken and useless. The others would
have literally torn Modoc limb from limb had not the Texan ordered
otherwise.

"He doesn't deserve hangin'," he said, "so let him be. We've got work
to do. The Terror and his gang will be here at any minute. Now listen
carefully to what I say."

Quietly he gave his orders, and just as carefully, the wagon men
carried them out. Under Kid Wolf's masterly leadership they had
regained their nerve. Panic left them, and they became grim and
determined.

The Kid learned that there were thirty-four men in the outfit.
Thirty-four against at least a hundred! The odds were great, but the
Texan had faced greater ones alone. With the train in the hands of
Modoc--one of their own men--the marauders expected to take the outfit
by surprise. Thanks to the Texan, all that was changed now. He gave
orders that the wagons be shifted into a circle, with the children and
women on the inside behind shelter. The men were posted in the wagons
and behind them, Kid Wolf giving each man his station.

"Do not fiah until I give the coyote yell," he said. "And then keep
yo' sights down. Shoot low!"

Kid Wolf himself took a position between two of the covered wagons, his
horse Blizzard within quick call. In the narrow chink, just wide
enough for him to ride his horse through, he placed three loaded Sharps
.50-caliber rifles, ready for quick use.

They had not long to wait. Only a few minutes had elapsed after the
wagons had been shifted when Kid Wolf saw a body of horsemen
approaching from the west. It was The Terror's band! Dust stirred by
the hoofs of a hundred galloping horses rose in the air like brown
thunderclouds.

As the grim defenders watched, the band split up, divided into two
rapidly moving lines, and began to surround the train in a sweeping
circle. The circle formed, began to close in. Kid Wolf peered along
the barrel of one of the Sharps rifles. Then, after what seemed
minutes, he uttered his coyote cry:

"Yip, yip, yip-ee!"

It was followed by a terrific burst of fire from the wagon train. The
signa