"Certainly. The road swings back, down that same coulee, and we'll
pass right by it. Then I'll get out and pick him up, while you hold
the horses."

"You'll hold those horses yourself," returned Miss Whitmore, with
considerable spirit. "I'd much rather pick up the coyote, thank you."

Chip said nothing to this, whatever he may have thought. He drove up
to the coyote with much coaxing of Pet and Polly, who eyed the gray
object askance. Miss Whitmore sprang out and seized the animal by its
coarse, bushy tail.

"Gracious, he's heavy!" she exclaimed, after one tug.

"He's been fattening up on Flying U calves," remarked Chip, his foot
upon the brake.

Miss Whitmore knelt and examined the cattle thief curiously.

"Look," she said, "here's where I hit him the first time; the bullet
took a diagonal course from the shoulder back to the other side. It
must have gone within an inch of his heart, and would have finished
him in a short time, without that other shot--that penetrated his brain,
you see; death was instantaneous."

Chip had taken advantage of the halt to roll a cigarette, holding the
reins tightly between his knees while he did so. He passed the loose
edge of the paper across the tip of his tongue, eying the young woman
curiously the while.