shack—one of the best of the group—and hammered on the door (which was closed) with the butt of his pistol.
"Hullo, in there!" he growled.
Ruth was not a little startled. "Why was the coyote trying to get in?" she asked.
"You wait out here, Miss," said Jib. "Don't come too close. Kiotes don't usually try to dig into a camp when the owner's at home."
"But you spoke as though you thought he might be there!" whispered the girl.
"I—don't—know," grunted Jib, climbing out of his saddle.
He tried the latch. The door swung open slowly. Whatever it was he expected to see in the shack, he was disappointed. When he had peered in for half a minute, he stuck the pistol back into its holster and strode over the threshhold.
"Oh! what is it?" breathed Ruth again.
He waved her back, but went into the hut. There was some movement there; then a thin, babbling voice said something that startled Ruth more than had the puma's yell.
"Gee!" gasped Jib, appearing in the doorway, his face actually pale under its deep tan. "It's the 'bug'."
"The man I want to see?" cried Ruth.
"But you can't see him. Keep away," ad-
