He lolled near the bunk house. Half an hour later, he saw Allen step from the cookhouse, glance about and then roll a cigarette. Allen sauntered toward the bunk house, where he started to joke with several riders, who were loitering there waiting for Spur to return from town, when they would take up that day's work of checking the cattle on the northeastern part of the range. A minute later, Lefty Simms grinned evilly. Allen had squatted on his heels against the bunk-house wall. It was practically impossible for him to draw with any speed while in that position. Lefty loosened his gun in his low-hung holster and walked slowly toward the outlaw. He stopped before him and looked down at the small, tattered figure, then grinned, for the thing was now sure. Allen was in the act of rolling a cigarette and had both hands raised before him. "So yuh're the Wolf!" Lefty said thinly. The grin left Allen's face. To the left of Simms, he saw three horsemen pounding toward the ranch from the direction of town. He knew the riders were Spur Treadwell and the twins, and something told him that their haste was due to him. He made no attempt to deny Lefty's accusation, for he was going to have to flee, anyway. "I ain't denyin' it," he replied flatly. The riders scrambled away and watched the two. From somewhere in the front of the house, Dot screamed. She also divined Lefty's purpose. From the direction of the corral, Bill McAllister pounded toward the two. His gun was in his hand. He realized that the little outlaw had been caught in a fatal position. "Yuh lost any trouble?" Allen asked, looking up at Lefty. Not a muscle in his body moved; he still held the cigarette paper and tobacco in his hands. Lefty crouched, his hand hovering like a claw above his gun. "I always swore to kill the Wolf on sight," he snarled. There came a spurt of orange flame, a whirl of smoke, a thunderous report, and Lefty sagged at the knees and sank to the ground. Even before the cigarette paper that Allen had held in his hand fluttered to the ground, he had sprung to his feet and was running toward his saddled horse. The spectators were still staring in stupefied amazement at Lefty's huddled body, when there came a thunder of hoofs and Allen flashed along the corral fence and vanished behind some outbuildings. "Gosh, he fooled Lefty clean--got a gun out with his left hand from a shoulder holster!" a rider cried in awe. "Fooled him, hell! He outspeeded him. Lefty was standing all set, and look--he didn't even get his gun out of the holster!" "Who is the little runt?" still another asked. Spur Treadwell and the twins swung into the lane and brought their horses to a sliding stop at the group by the bunk house. A babble of explanations greeted them. "That's the Wolf, Jim-twin Allen!" Spur roared. "Go get him! There's ten thousan' on his head, an' I'll clap another five on that to the man who brings me his scalp."