seat as best she might, and hope that the driver knew what he was about--
which he certainly did.

"There he goes, sneaking down that coulee! He'll get into one of those
washouts and hide, if we don't head him off. I'll drive around so you
can get another shot at him," cried Chip. He headed up the hill again
until the coyote, crouching low, was fully revealed.

"That's a fine shot. Throw another shell in, quick! You better kneel
on the seat, this time--the horses know what's coming. Steady, Polly,
my girl!"

Miss Whitmore glanced down the hill, and then, apprehensively, at the
creams, who were clanking their bits, wild-eyed and quivering. Only
their master's familiar voice and firm grip on the reins held them there
at all. Chip saw and interpreted the glance, somewhat contemptuously.

"Oh, of course if you're AFRAID--"

Miss Whitmore set her teeth savagely, knelt and fired, cutting the
sentence short in his teeth and forcing his undivided attention to
the horses, which showed a strong inclination to bolt.

"I think I got him that time," said she, nonchalantly, setting her hat
straight--though Chip, with one of his quick glances, observed that she
was rather white around the mouth.

He brought the horses dexterously into the road and quieted them.

"Aren't you going to get my coyote?" she ventured to ask.