Skinny fired again and a brown arm flopped out into sight. Another
shot struck it and it jerked as though it were lifeless.

"He's cashed. See how she jumped? Like a rope," remarked Skinny with
a grin. The arm lay quiet.

Pete had gained his last cover and was all eyes and Colts. Lanky was
also very close in and was intently watching one particular rock.
Several shots echoed from the far side of the knoll and they knew that
Red was all right. Billy was covering a cluster of rocks that
protruded above the others and, as they looked, his rifle rang out and
the last defender leaped down and disappeared in the chaparral. He
wore yellow trousers and an old boiled shirt.

By an'-by, by all that's bad!" yelled Hopalong. "Th' measly coyote!
An' me a-fillin' his ornery hide with liquor. Well, they'll have to
find him all over again now," he complained, astounded by the
revelation. He fired into the chaparral to express his pugnacious
disgust and scared out a huge tarantula, which alighted on Skinny's
chaps, crawling rapidly toward the unconscious man's neck. Hopalong's
face hardened and he slowly covered the insect and fired, driving it
into the sand, torn and lifeless. The bullet touched the leathern
garment and Skinny remonstrated, knowing that Hopalong was in no
condition for fancy shooting.

"Huh!" exclaimed Hopalong. "That was a tarantula what I plugged. He
was headin' for yore neck," he explained, watching the chaparral with
apprehension.

"Go `way, was it? Bully for yu!" exclaimed Skinny, tarantulas being