Kid Wolf's smile was deadly. His answer took the murderer by surprise.
The half-breed suddenly found his throat grasped in a grip of steel.
The fingers tightened relentlessly. The Indian's beady eyes began to
bulge; his tongue protruded. With all his strength he struggled, but
Kid Wolf handled him with one arm, as easily as if he had been a child!
"Yo're goin' to answer fo' yo' crime—that's what I'm goin' to do about it!" The Kid declared.
The half-breed's yell was wild and unearthly, when the grip at his throat was released. All the fight was taken out of him. Kid Wolf shook him until his teeth rattled, picked him up bodily and hurled him across his saddle.
"I'm takin' yo' to the law," he drawled. "I might kill yo' now and be justified, too. But I believe in doin' things in the right way."
At the mention of "law," the half-breed snarled contemptuously.
"Ain't no law," he grunted, "southwest o' Dodge. Yuh no take me there.
Too far."
Kid Wolf knew that the killer was right. Still, on the prairie, men make their own commandments.
"Theah's a new town, I hear, not far from heah—Midway, I think they call it," he drawled. "Yo're goin' theah with me, and if theah's no law in Midway, I'll see that some laws are passed. And yo' won't need that, eithah!" he added suddenly.
The knife that the half-breed had attempted to draw tinkled to the ground as The Kid gave the treacherous wrist a quick twist.
"Step along, Blizzahd," sang out Kid Wolf in his Southern drawl. "Back to the trail, as soon as we get a drink of watah, then no'th!"