The splendor of the night had a sobering effect on them. To be thinking of possible bloodshed in all that dream beauty seemed terrible. Yet it was necessary. It was a hard land. A man had to be his own law. And in Kid Wolf's case, he had to be the law for others, in a fight for the weak against the strong.
"Listen!" cried Lefty suddenly.
"And look!" whispered Red. "See those black dots against the sky over there? And there's a camp fire, too."
He was right. The glow of a fire reddened the horizon and the distant bawling of uneasy cattle could be heard on the night wind.
The rustlers had made a camp on the mesa until the dawn. The big herd was shifting, restless and milling.
"A gun fight will stampede that herd," observed Red.
"Then," said The Kid, "we'll be sure to stampede them in the right direction. Let's make a wide circle heah."
They rode to the west, so that they would not be outlined against the moon. A full, curving mile slipped under their horses' pounding hoofs before The Kid gave the signal for the turn. He had the outlaws spotted, every one, and all depended now on his generalship. He knew that the two riders on the far side of the night herd would be out of it—for the time, at least. When the herd started their mad stampede toward the Diamond D, they would have a high time just taking care of themselves. The others, five in number, would be dealt with first.
The trio slipped closer as silently as moving phantoms. The Kid saw three mounted men—two blocking their path, and the other on the far wing. Two other outlaws were at the fire. The Texan sniffed and smiled. They were making coffee.
"The two at the fiah make excellent tahgets," murmured Kid Wolf. "I'll leave them to yo', Red. Lefty, start now and ride toward the fah ridah. I'll try mah hand with these two. We'll count to fifty, Lefty; that'll give yo' time to get in range of yo' man. And then I'll give the coyote yell, and we'll start ouah little row. Don't kill unless necessary, but if they show fight, shoot fast."