The five defenders saw to their utter amazement that a large band of horsemen was riding in from the east at a hot gallop, guns spitting fire. As a rescue, it was timed perfectly. The rustlers had been about to charge the corral, and now they reined up in panic, undecided what to do. Two others fell. And in the meantime, the newcomers, whoever they were, were circling so as to surround them on all sides.
"It's the law!" Kid Wolf smiled.
"The what?" Caldwell demanded. "Why, there ain't no law between here an'——"
But the Texan knew he was right. He had seen the sun glittering on the silver badge that one of the strange riders wore.
The rustlers themselves were outnumbered now. The posse included a score of men, and they handled their guns in a determined way. The outlaws fired a wild shot or two, then signified their surrender by throwing up their hands. While the sullen renegades were being searched and disarmed, the leader of the posse came over to where the Texan and the others were watching.
"Who in blazes are you?" he shot out.
"That's the question I was goin' to ask yo', sheriff," returned The Kid politely.
"Humph! How d'ye know I'm a sheriff?" grunted the leader.
"Yo're wearin' yore stah in plain sight."
"Oh!" The officer grinned. "Well, I'm Sheriff Dawson, o' Limpin Buffalo County. I've brought my posse over two hundred miles to get my hands on one o' the worst gangs o' rustlers in the Injun Nations. I don't know who you are, but the fact that yuh were fightin' 'em is enough fer me. I know yo're all right."