The End of a Trail
seep hillside when he heard it. As he cleared a big rock he landed almost upon a slinking coyote, which instantly destroyed distance at an unbelievable speed. It shot up the hill, over the crest, and sped like an arrow of haze across the open table-land. Another shot rang out and a laughing voice shouted greeting.
"Hi-yi! Who-o-p-e-e-e! Scoot, you streak of lightnin'! Cookie's layin' for you with nine buckshot in each barrel. But I'm a drunk Injun if you didn't fool me."
A peeved voice raised loudly in the twilight. "Hey! D—n you! Look out where yo're shootin'! That slug ricochetted plumb between our heads! Ain't you got no sense a-tall?"
"That's right! Start kickin'!" retorted Gates at the top of his voice. "Didn't you ever hear a slug before? Don't you know that th' slug you can hear is past you?"
"That so? How'd you like to listen to one now?" angrily shouted the objector. "How do I know that th' next one is goin' past?"
"Ah, go to h—l!" jeered Gates. "Little things make big bumps on you, you sage hen!"
"Little things!" roared a second voice. "Little things! Would you lissen to him? It sounded like a train of cars to me, d—d if it didn't!"
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