There was an old mission at the outskirts of the town of Skull, established many years before there were any other buildings in the vicinity. The Spanish fathers had built it for the Indians, and it remained a sanctuary, in spite of the roughness and badness of the new cow town.
Early on the morning after Kid Wolf's arrival in the town, the old padre was astonished to find a package of money inside his door. It was addressed simply: "For the poor." It was a windfall and a much-needed addition to the mission's meager finances.
The padre considered it a gift from Heaven, and where it had come from remained a mystery. The package contained two thousand dollars. Needless to say, it was Kid Wolf's gift, and the money had been taken from the town's dishonest gamblers.
The Texan remained several days in Skull. He was in no hurry, and the town interested him. Although he heard threats, he was left alone. He saw no more of Gentleman John, nor did he see Blacksnake McCoy. They had disappeared from town, probably on evil business of their own.
A note thrust under The Kid's door at the hotel two mornings later threatened him and advised him to leave the country. The Texan, however, paid no attention to the warning.
The next day, he scouted about the country, sizing up the cattle situation. The honest cattlemen, he found, were very much in the minority. By force, murder, and illegal methods, Gentleman John had obtained most of the land and practically all of the vast cattle herds that roamed the rich rangelands surrounding the town on all sides. Yet to most of the honest element, Gentleman John's true colors were not known. He shielded himself, hiring others to do his unclean work. There was no law as yet in the county. Gentleman John had managed to keep it out. And even if there had been, it was doubtful if his crimes could be pinned to him, for he had covered his tracks well. Many thought him honest. Only The Kid's keen mind could sense almost immediately what was going on.
The country stretching out from Skull was wild and beautiful. It was an unsettled land, and the trails that led into it were faint and difficult to follow.
One morning, Kid Wolf saddled Blizzard and rode into the southwest toward the purple mountains tipped with snow. It was a beautiful day, cool and crisp. The tang of the air in that high altitude was sharp and invigorating. The big white horse swung into a joyous lope, and the Texan hummed a Southern melody.
Crossing a wide stretch of plain, they mounted a rise, and the character of the country changed. The smell of sage gave way to the penetrating odor of small pine, as they climbed into the broken foothills that led, in a series of steps, toward the jagged peaks. Splashing through a little creek of pure, cold water, The Kid turned Blizzard's head up a pass between two ridges of piñon-covered buttes.
"A big herd's passed this way," The Kid muttered, "and lately, too."