They could hear Song behind the house screaming in Chinese at the top of his voice, and in an ear-splitting falsetto, which showed that he was tremendously excited.

Thither they rushed, and for a moment the ludicrous scene far outbalanced the seriousness of what had happened.

On the ground was a young fellow about seventeen years of age.  He was writhing with pain, and the blood was oozing through his clothes in fifty places.

“Ha, ha!” shrieked Song.  “Me shootee wolf, turnee into man light away.  Ha, ha, me allee same plenty smart man, likee magician.”

“Yes, you’re a hot magician,” said Bud; “You’ve made this feller second cousin ter a porous plaster.  That’s what you’ve done.”

“Who is he, Song?” asked Ted.

“Me no savvy him.  Me comee out chicken house getee eggs fo’ bleakfast.  I cally gun, shotee plenty wolf all samee Mliss Stella say.”

“But this is not a wolf.”

“All samee wolf.  I open chicken house do’.  I see wolf.  Plenty glowl at Song.  I no likee gun.  Shutee my eye.  Pull tligger, an’ gun goee off.  All samee wolf no mo’ glowlee, him yellee like thundeh.  When smokee blow way wolf gonee, all samee man comee.  I plenty magician, I thinkee.”

Ted looked in the chicken house, and on the floor lay the dried hide of a big gray wolf.

Now he understood.  The message had come the third time from the Flying Demons.

“Kit, run around to the front door and see if there is a message there for us from our friends the Demons.”

In a moment Kit was back, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

Ted took it from him, and read it.

It was the third and last warning.  It said: 

“Ted strong:  We have warned you twice before to leave this part of the country, but you have made no move to do so.  This is the third warning.  If you are not away from here in a week the vengeance will fall upon you.  Beware!

     “The flying demons.”

“Did you bring this?” asked Ted, of the wretched youth, who still lay upon the ground groaning from his numerous wounds.

There was no reply.  The fellow could only toss his head from side to side and rub his legs, into which the bulk of the shot had been fired by the excited Chinaman.

“You won’t answer, eh?  Well, we’ll find a way to make you.  I’m glad you’ve given us a week,” said Ted, laughing.  “That will at least give us time to hold our round-up and festivities.”

“Oh, if I live through this I’ll never go into anything like it again,” moaned the youth upon the ground.

“Here, stand up,” said Ted to him.  “You’re not badly hurt.  You’re only stung, twice.  Get on your feet and we’ll see what we can do for you.  You’re a long way from dead yet.  What’s your name?”

“Jack Farley.  Oh, if I could only be sure that I wasn’t going to die!” exclaimed the youth.