Kid Wolf's voice came cool and calm. "Modoc," he drawled, "what color will the moon be to-night?"
Modoc's face went the color of putty. Like a flash, the insolence had gone out of his eyes, to be replaced with fear. He moistened his lips feverishly.
"I—I don't know what yo're talkin' about," he stammered.
"Are yo' sure," said Kid Wolf with deadly quietness, "that the moon won't be red?"
Modoc began to tremble like a leaf. His gun hand moved part way to his hip, then stopped. Beads of perspiration stood out on his clammy forehead.
"Afraid to draw like a man?" the Texan drawled. "I wouldn't doubt it.
Men, this man is a betrayah. He is one of The Terror's bandits.
That's why he led yo' off the track. He brought yo' here to die like
rats."
Modoc's face was blue-white as Kid Wolf continued:
"When I first showed up, Modoc thought I might be one of The Terror's messengahs. I didn't come through with the password, and he learned different. I didn't know what he meant, then, but I know now!"
The wagon men surged around Modoc threateningly. Fury was written over the faces of them all. There were cries of "Kill him!" "Hang the traitor!"
Kid Wolf still faced the fear-frozen Modoc, smiling coolly. There was quiet menace in that easy smile.