Anderson went to Maria’s cantina, gave some directions to Mac Kennedy, and seated himself at a table with a Mexican girl. He had noted Sam Hogg’s rather unskillful trailing. A few minutes later he saw Hogg peer in for an instant.

As soon as the cattleman’s head disappeared, Anderson went out the rear door. He, who always claimed he went unarmed, now slipped his hand beneath his armpit and withdrew a short-barreled Colt. He tiptoed warily along the alley to the corral behind the Red Queen. At the small door in the barn he stood listening for a moment before he unlocked it and entered. He climbed to the loft and unlocked the second door which led to the short passage. With this door locked behind him he lost his air of caution. The third door—that same door behind which Allen had listened—opened into a room comfortably furnished with table, chairs, and a bed. Anderson lit a lamp and pressed a button near its other door.

Down in the Red Queen a big game progressed at the faro table. Francisco Garcia sat in his usual place on the platform. The Yuma Kid lounged near him, and Baldy sprawled on the platform at his feet.

Garcia leaned forward, his protruding eyes fixed on the dealer’s hands. A mining man had just placed a large bet, and the dealer was about to flip the cards. Behind them a buzzer sounded. The Toad frowned impatiently and shrugged his massive shoulders. The dealer turned the cards and the mining man won.

Again the buzzer sounded imperiously. The mining man doubled his bet, and the dealer glanced over his shoulder for mute instructions. The Toad shook his head. He never allowed a dealer to turn a crooked card unless he was present, and now he had to obey the summons of that buzzer.

He heaved himself to his feet and waddled toward the rear door. Grunting at each step, he climbed the stairs and made his way to the secret room in the barn.

“You took your time,” Anderson said coldly in Spanish.

“Big game,” the Toad replied. “What was your hurry?”

“A big game! Let me tell you, brother mine, that big game may be your last,” Anderson snapped.

Brothers! One was heavy-set, with the swarthy features of a Mexican; the other was blond, well formed, with the features of a Nordic. Yet they were brothers.

“I saw the Wolf to-night,” Anderson said slowly.

“You killed him?” the big man asked eagerly.

Anderson shook his head.

The Toad’s swarthy face flushed, his eyes bulged more prominently than ever, and his features contorted with furious rage.

“You saw the Wolf—the man who killed our father—and he lives?”

Anderson’s soft brown eyes became coldly contemptuous. Here lay the reason for Anderson’s dominance over his brother. He never lost his temper and he possessed a cold, calculating ruthlessness. He never made a move unless he had thought out the consequences in advance. The Toad was given to quick rages in which he acted without thought.

“Stop glaring at me! You are like Pete! If he had not lost his temper we would not be in this mess now. He had to go savage and kill a man instead of waiting and having him killed outside.”

With an effort the Toad recovered his composure and dropped into a chair.

“Let me tell you, brother mine, you also have seen the Wolf many times,” Anderson said.

The Toad shook his heavy head and growled a denial.

“Jim Anson is the Wolf!”

Francisco Garcia stared in unbelief. The color drained from his face.

“Dios!” he muttered. “Then it was he who was in the barn that night?”

Anderson nodded and related the events of that evening.

“He knows or suspects a lot, but he has no proof, or the sheriff would have acted. We have got to get Allen and get him quick,” Anderson added.

“How?”

“That girl—Snippets McPherson, the judge’s niece. She’s in love with him, and he with her. She knows where he has been holing out for the last few days. Get her and make her tell. If she won’t we’ll get him when he trails her. That will be the Yuma Kid’s job,” Anderson said rapidly.

The Toad closed his eyes, and thought for a moment. “We’ll do it to-night,” he said.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice as he explained his plan. When the Toad had finished, Anderson nodded.

“That should work. Have the Yuma Kid and Baldy cover them. And you had better start having the others cleaned up. Sam Hogg and the judge must be ‘accidents.’ The others, any way you can get them. Good night, my brother, I am off.”

Anderson slipped out the rear door and left the Toad brooding. Ten minutes later he arose and pressed the buzzer.

Sam Hogg had been reporting the result of his trailing. The sheriff stared through the window at the bright lights of the Red Queen Saloon. Suddenly he fell flat on the floor as a windowpane splintered and a bullet thudded into the inner wall. He leaped to his feet and yanked the shade down.

“That was a fool thing to do, and he warned me to watch out,” the sheriff said ruefully as he eyed the bullet hole in the wall.

“Ain’t no good chasin’ that fellow; he’s a mile away by this time,” Sam Hogg advised. “Who tole yuh to watch out?”

“Jim Allen.”

“When did yuh see him?” the cattleman asked in surprise. “Yuh seen him afore or since to-night?”

“Both,” the sheriff replied shortly. He seemed to be pondering something, then he threw himself in a chair opposite the ex-Ranger.

“Seein’ you’re on the list marked for slaughter, I figure you got a right to know,” he began. “Right after this Jim Anson turned up I knowed he was Jim-twin Allen. Toothpick comes here the first night and tells me about it. Allen tells me to trust no one but Dutchy and Snippets. He says Toothpick is all right but talks too much. He left here now just a minute before you got here. He tells me he don’t know where they got the judge’s cows and not to bother to meet him to-morrow. He sends Toothpick ridin’ off somewhere, then he goes out hisself, and he don’t tell me one dang thing he’s doin’,” the sheriff cried in disgust.

“Does he know who the Lava Gang is?” Sam Hogg asked eagerly.

“Yeah, but he only tol’ me a couple. The Toad and his killers, the Yuma Kid, and Baldy Flynn; then there’s that greaser Pedro, who bought Pete Cable’s cantina.”

“The Toad! Let’s go get him!” The little cattleman yanked out his Colt and whirled the cylinder. His eyes were snapping with excitement.

The sheriff shook his head. “We got to wait until we line up the rest—we got to catch the big boss.”

“Well, I don’t like this slaughter list,” Sam Hogg complained.

“I guess the Toad’s behind it. Me and you is on it, the judge, Dutchy, Toothpick, your brother, an’ Tim Lynch. Doc Robinson was, and they got him. The Lava Gang figures if they downs us they can elect a new sheriff and judge and run things to suit themselves. Allen went to the judge’s to-night deliberate, to sorta let them know he was onto them. He figures they’ll get nervous and give themselves away. I got to raise about twenty men right quick and keep ’em handy,” the sheriff concluded.

“Leave that to me. I got about thirty of the best boys along the border out at the Frying Pan what’s just spoiling for a fight,” Sam Hogg said with enthusiasm.

“They’ll do fine,” the sheriff agreed.

The ex-Ranger thought for a moment. “The Wolf goes to the judge’s deliberate! Then he figures some one what was there to-night is playing with the Lava Gang?”

“Yeah,” the sheriff muttered miserably.

“Yuh mean Ace Cutts!”

The sheriff nodded.

“Why, the judge brought him up, the dirty coyote!” The cattleman was bristling with anger. “An’ he tips off the Toad to have Allen killed.”

“He’s a bad one,” Tom Powers said heavily.

“I’m goin’ to hunt up ‘Big Dick,’ my foreman, and have him tip off the boys to stay sober,” the ranchman cried, starting for the door.

The sheriff stopped him. “You better go out the back way.”

At this reminder that he was on the “slaughter list,” Sam Hogg smiled grimly.

The sheriff let him out on a vacant lot behind the courthouse, and a few minutes later he was on brightly lighted Main Street. He knew that no attempt against his life would be made in public, for the man who brought him down would have every puncher on the Frying Pan to deal with later. Still, he was in danger, and a very real danger, for a warning from Jim-twin Allen was something no man could disregard.

“Bein’ him,” Sam Hogg mused, “he wouldn’t think a gent was in danger until he had both feet in a grave.”

The Lone Star Saloon stood at the corner, and he paused in the shadow of its walls and glanced up and down Main Street. Tim Lynch, the owner of the Lone Star, was one of the men on the Toad’s list, and Sam Hogg decided to drop a warning to him to be on the lookout. As he stepped up on the board sidewalk he saw the Yuma Kid and Baldy saunter out of the Red Queen.

“I ain’t hankerin’ to meet them jaspers,” he grunted and hastily slid through the doors of the saloon. He waited a moment and peered out. The two killers were standing on the corner opposite the judge’s house. They made no effort to conceal their presence. Obviously they were waiting for something.

As he watched he saw two figures, followed by a third, come out of the judge’s gate and head toward the outskirts of the town.

“Darn it, why do they let Snippets go roamin’ with that Kennedy dude fer? Reckon they is all right, ’cause Dutchy is followin’ ’em. Huh! For a minute I thinks them killers was waitin’ for the gal,” he grumbled.

The Lone Star was empty, and Tim Lynch, acting as bartender, watched Sam Hogg peer through the door for a time, then rounded the bar and suddenly clapped his hand on his shoulder.

“You playin’ detective?” he asked, grinning. “Who you watchin’?”

“Them two jaspers standin’ on the corner,” Sam replied.

“They’re plumb dangerous. It ain’t safe to even watch them two killers. Come have a drink.”

Sam Hogg tossed down a drink, then leaning forward, whispered: “Tim, I can’t tell yuh how I know, but yuh been talkin’ loud agin’ a certain gent, and he’s out for your blood.”

Tim grinned and, reaching beneath the bar, brought up a sawed-off shotgun.

“Reckon I know who you mean, and the Toad don’t work in the open, but this scatters some, an’ I’m keepin’ it darned close to me.”

Before either could say more the screen doors swung open and two men entered. Both were strangers. One was drunk and the other was attempting to pacify him.

“If I lets yuh have one more drink, will yuh promise to go to bed?” the sober one demanded.

“Positively,” the other replied.

From somewhere outside there came a shot, followed by a shrill scream, then another shot. Sam Hogg ran to the door. As he emerged on the street it struck him as queer that the strangers’ curiosity was not strong enough to make them follow him.

Several men were running and pointing up Main Street beyond the judge’s house. The ex-Ranger saw the Yuma Kid and Baldy a block away. The running men also noticed the two killers and instantly dropped to a walk. It wasn’t safe to approach them at a run. The men halted for a moment, then edged across the road to circle them.

“That’s what they was waitin’ for, tryin’ to delay pursuit!” Sam Hogg growled.

Rage overcame him and he yanked out his gun, leaped off the board walk and charged down the road. For a moment he thought Baldy was going to intercept him, but the Yuma Kid spat out a sentence in Spanish and Baldy stepped aside.

As Sam Hogg ran, followed by several other men, he heard the pounding of hoofs slowly receding on the plain. They found Dutchy on the outskirts of town, lying face downward in the dust of the trail.

A brief examination by the light of a match convinced Sam Hogg that the grizzled puncher was dead. He had been shot through the head from behind. Even as death was upon him he had drawn one gun and fired. The little cattleman cursed with sorrow and rage.

A little later one of the crowd discovered the prone figure of Kennedy, the dude, at the side of the trail. Examination disclosed he had been stunned by the butt of a gun. He groaned and opened his eyes.

Sam Hogg seized him.

“Where’s the gal? Who downed Dutchy? What happened? Come alive and spill it.”

At each question the ex-Ranger shook the half-conscious man. Finally a lanky cow-puncher interfered.

“Hell, Sam, if yuh knock the breath out of the darned dude, how can he talk?”

At last Mac Kennedy told his story. He had called on Snippets and suggested they take a walk. He had done that many times before. Dutchy accompanied them. Just as they reached the fork in the trail he had heard a shot, and swung about in time to see Dutchy fall. Then something hit him on the head, and that was all he knew. He had seen none of the men who had attacked them. Sam Hogg was convinced that Kennedy was not trying to conceal anything, not even his own cowardice.

Sheriff Tom Powers arrived on the scene; without delay he formed a posse and started in pursuit. The crowd drifted back to town. Here they found more excitement. Tim Lynch had been knifed and killed by an unknown man. His body was discovered behind the bar of the Lone Star by one of the first excited men to return from the crossroads.

Sam Hogg walked slowly to his brother’s store. The two talked in whispers for a time, then Sam called in a passing cowboy and sent him across the street to the Red Queen to fetch Big Dick, his foreman.

A few minutes later, Big Dick was dusting it straight for the Frying Pan Ranch. He was to bring back Sam Hogg’s best fighters.