"Yuh won a couple o' thousand to-night, Kid. But that won't last forever. Think what a hundred in gold a day means. And all yuh have to do is ter——"
"Murdah!" snapped the Texan. "Yo've mistaken yo' man, sah. Mah answah is 'no'! I'm not a hired killah, and the man who tries to hire me had bettah beware. Why, yo're nothin' but a cheap cutthroat!"
The cold eyes of the other suddenly blazed. He made a quick motion toward his waistcoat with his thin hand.
Kid Wolf laughed quietly. "Heah's yo' gun, sah," he said, handing the astonished Gentleman John a small, ugly derringer. "When I bumped into yo' in the doorway, I took the liberty to remove it. I nevah trust an hombre with eyes like yo's. Nevah mind tryin' to use it, fo' I've unloaded it."
The face of the man in black was white with fury. His gimlet eyes had narrowed to slits, and his mouth was distorted with rage. It was the face of a killer—a murderer without conscience or pity.
"I'll get yuh for this, Wolf!" he bellowed. "Yuh'll find out how strong I am here. This country isn't big enough to hold us both, blast yuh! When our trails meet again, take care!"
The Kid raised one eyebrow. "I always do take care," he drawled. "And while I'm heah in Skull County, yo'd bettah keep yo' dirty work undah covah. Adios!"
And humming musically under his breath, The Kid strolled toward the hitch rack where he had left his horse.