"To find out who is at the bottom of the cattle stealin'—this persecution against Mrs. Thomas' ranch!" Kid Wolf snapped.
"What good is it to know?" asked Stover, laughing. "Yo're goin' to die!"
"Shoot him, major," said the don, baring his white teeth.
"There's no hurry," replied the major. "I want to see him pray for mercy first. I've got a score to settle with him."
The Kid remained unmoved in the presence of this peril. He was still smiling.
"Yuh'll never live to get those cattle across the line, blast yuh!" snarled Stover, trembling with rage. "It was a pretty little scheme, but it failed to work. And we've got the S Bar where we want it, too. No, yuh don't! Just keep yore hands over yore head."
"El Lobo Muchacho," the don sneered. "El Lobo Muchacho—Keed Wolf. I think we have your fangs drawn now, Señor Wolf! The Wolf is in a bad way. Alas, he cannot bite." He finished with a cruel laugh.
But The Kid could bite—and did! One of the fangs of the wolf, and a deadly one, remained to him. He used it now!
Major Stover did not know how it happened. Kid Wolf's arms were lifted. Apparently he was helpless. But suddenly there was a swish—a lightning-like gleam of light. Something hit Stover's gun arm like a thunder smash.
Kid Wolf has used his "ace in the hole"—had hurled the bowie knife hidden in a sheath sewn inside the back of his shirt collar.