Lefty grinned in the moonlight, roweled his horse lightly and drifted.
Red and the Texan waited—ten seconds—twenty—thirty—forty——
"Yipee yip-yipee-ee!" The coyote cry rose, mournful and lonely.
Then came a terrific rattle of gunfire, with the dull drum of horses' hoofs as a bass accompaniment. Red spurred his horse toward the fire, shouting his battle cry and throwing down on the two startled men who leaped to their feet, reaching for their guns. Kid Wolf's great white charger burned the breeze at the two guards on the west wing.
"Throw up yo' hands!" The Kid invited.
But they didn't. Lead began to hum viciously. Bending low in their saddles, they drew and opened up a splattering fire. Their guns winked red flashes.
Lefty's man had shown fight, Lefty had bowled him over with a double trigger pull, and Lefty came racing back to help Red with the two rustlers at the camp fire.
There were fireworks, and plenty of them! The herd, mad with fear, started moving away—a frantic rush that became a wild stampede. Their plunging bodies milled about, and with uplifted tails and tossing horns, they were on the run northward toward the home range—the Diamond D!
Although it was a case of shoot or be killed now, The Kid was aiming to cripple. A leaden slug burned a flesh wound just below his left armpit, as he opened up on the two rustlers. His gun hammers stuttered down, throwing bullets on both sides of him, as he drove Blizzard between his two enemies at full tilt. One, raked with lead through both shoulders, thudded from his pony to the ground. The other leaned over his saddle and dropped his Colt. Two bullets, a few inches apart, had nipped his gun arm.
The two rustlers at the fire were giving trouble. They had dashed out of the dangerous firelight and had opened up on Lefty and Red. Kid Wolf's heart gave a little jump. Red was down! Lefty and one of the bandits were engaged in a hand-to-hand scuffle, for Warren's horse had been shot under him. The other outlaw had lifted his gun to finish Red, who was crawling along the ground. The range was a good fifty yards, but Kid Wolf fired three times. The rustler standing over Red dropped. Lefty broke away from his man, just as The Kid rode up with lariat swinging.
"Don't shoot!" the Texan sang out. "I've got him!"