Dave Robbins had struck one of the amazed Apaches and had jerked his rifle away from him. Clubbing it, he smashed two others as fast as they dived in.
Shank rushed, his gun winking spurts of fire.
Kid Wolf could not spare his enemies now. His own life depended on his flashing Colt. He lined the tip of his front sight and thumbed the hammer.
Thr-r-r-rup! Shank gasped, as lead tore through him. He dropped headfirst, arms outstretched.
"Get on the hoss!" The Kid yelled at Robbins. Then he turned his gun on Garvey.
In his rage, the Lost Springs desperado fired too quickly. His aim was bad, and the slug sang over the Texan's head.
"Reckon yo' are about to get the law that's west of the Pecos now,
Garvey—justice!"
With his words, The Kid threw down on Garvey and suddenly snapped the hammer. The bullet found its mark. If Garvey had no heart, Kid Wolf's bullet found the spot where it ought to be. With his glazing eyes, Gil Garvey—wholesale murderer—saw justice at last. Dropping his gun, he swayed for a moment on his feet, then fell heavily.
"Look out, Kid!" Robbins yelled.
The Texan whirled just in time. A pace behind him was Yellow Skull, his hideous face distorted with mad fury. In his thin hand was a long leather thong, to which was attached a round stone. A second more, and Kid Wolf's skull would have been smashed!