“Wansfell, you’re wrong,” came the reply, with that old mockery which always hurt Adam. “You should not insult a burro—not to speak of a panther.”
“What?” queried Adam, blankly.
“It is another kind of an animal.”
But for that subtle mockery of voice Adam would have been persuaded the woman was out of her head, or at least answering him in her sleep.
“Mrs. Virey, please——”
“Wansfell, it’s a sneaking coyote,” she called, piercingly, and then she actually uttered a low laugh.
Adam was absolutely dumfounded. “Coyote!” he ejaculated.
“Yes. It’s my husband. It’s Virey. He found out the rolling rocks frightened me at night. So he climbs up there and rolls them.... Sees how close he can come to hitting the shack!... Oh, he’s done that often!”
An instant Adam leaned there with his head bent
