One by one, the prisoners drew. The opening in the olla was just large enough for a hand to be admitted. All was blind chance, and no one could see what he had drawn until his bean was out of the jug. Some of the peons screamed with joy after drawing their white beans. The black one was still in the jar.
The two white men were the last to draw. Both took their beans and stepped to one side to look at them. It was an even break. Kid Wolf was smiling; the other was trembling.
The eyes of Kid Wolf met the fear-stricken eyes of the other. They stood close together. Each had looked at his bean. The sick man's face had gone even whiter.
"I'll trade yo' beans," offered the Texan.
"Mine's—black!" gasped the other.
"I know," The Kid whispered in reply. "Trade with me!"
"It means that yuh give yore life for mine," was the agonized answer.
"I can't let yuh do that."
"Believe me or not, but I have a plan," urged the Texan in a low tone.
"And it might work. Hurry."
The color returned to the sick youth's face as the beans were cautiously exchanged. Then Kid Wolf turned to the soldiers and displayed a black bean.
"Guess I'm the unlucky one." He smiled whimsically. He turned to the sick boy for a final handshake. "Good luck," he whispered, "and if my plans fail, adios forever."