"Yes?" drawled Kid Wolf.
"You will have men there to receive them?"
"Without fail," replied the Texan, a strange inflection in his tones.
"It is well, my friend. With the cattle are four of my men. They will not turn over the herd, of course, until"—he paused significantly—"the money is paid."
Kid Wolf smiled. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
"One does not pay for stolen cattle, Don Floristo," he drawled.
The muscles of the don's body stiffened. Kid Wolf's face was a smiling mask. The show-down had come. There was a long pause. The Kid's arms were folded easily on his breast.
"Who are you?" the don snarled suddenly.
"Kid Wolf of Texas, sah," was the quiet reply.
A cold smile was on the sallow face of the don. He made no move to draw the jeweled revolver that hung at his hip. He sneered as he spoke: