By and by the camp tasks of the men appeared to be ended, and all gathered
near the fire to lounge and smoke and talk. Glenn and Hutter engaged in
interested conversation with two Mexicans, evidently sheep herders. If the
wind and cold had not made Carley so uncomfortable she might have found the
scene picturesque. How black the night! She could scarcely distinguish the
sky at all. The cedar branches swished in the wind, and from the gloom came
a low sound of waves lapping a rocky shore. Presently Glenn held up a hand.

"Listen, Carley!" he said.

Then she heard strange wild yelps, staccato, piercing, somehow infinitely
lonely. They made her shudder.

"Coyotes," said Glenn. "You'll come to love that chorus. Hear the dogs bark
back."

Carley listened with interest, but she was inclined to doubt that she would
ever become enamoured of such wild cries.

"Do coyotes come near camp?" she queried.

"Shore. Sometimes they pull your pillow out from under your head," replied
Flo, laconically.

Carley did not ask any more questions. Natural history was not her favorite
study and she was sure she could dispense with any first-hand knowledge of
desert beasts. She thought, however, she heard one of the men say, "Big
varmint prowlin' round the sheep." To which Hutter replied, "Reckon it was
a bear." And Glenn said, "I saw his fresh track by the lake. Some bear!"