“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!”

The heat from the fire made Carley so drowsy that she could scarcely hold up her head.  She longed for bed even if it was out there in the open.  Presently Flo called her:  “Come.  Let’s walk a little before turning in.”

So Carley permitted herself to be led to and fro down an open aisle between some cedars.  The far end of that aisle, dark, gloomy, with the bushy secretive cedars all around, caused Carley apprehension she was ashamed to admit.  Flo talked eloquently about the joys of camp life, and how the harder any outdoor task was and the more endurance and pain it required, the more pride and pleasure one had in remembering it.  Carley was weighing the import of these words when suddenly Flo clutched her arm.  “What’s that?” she whispered, tensely.

Carley stood stockstill.  They had reached the furthermost end of that aisle, but had turned to go back.  The flare of the camp fire threw a wan light into the shadows before them.  There came a rustling in the brush, a snapping of twigs.  Cold tremors chased up and down Carley’s back.

“Shore it’s a varmint, all right.  Let’s hurry,” whispered Flo.

Carley needed no urging.  It appeared that Flo was not going to run.  She walked fast, peering back over her shoulder, and, hanging to Carley’s arm, she rounded a large cedar that had obstructed some of the firelight.  The gloom was not so thick here.  And on the instant Carley espied a low, moving object, somehow furry, and gray in color.  She gasped.  She could not speak.  Her heart gave a mighty throb and seemed to stop.

“What—­do you see?” cried Flo, sharply, peering ahead.  “Oh! . . .  Come, Carley.  Run!”

Flo’s cry showed she must nearly be strangled with terror.  But Carley was frozen in her tracks.  Her eyes were riveted upon the gray furry object.  It stopped.  Then it came faster.  It magnified.  It was a huge beast.  Carley had no control over mind, heart, voice, or muscle.  Her legs gave way.  She was sinking.  A terrible panic, icy, sickening, rending, possessed her whole body.