r when suddenly I felt a severe bite on my shoulder. I
imagined an ant had bitten me through my shirt. In a moment or so
afterward I received, this time on my breast, another bite that left
no room for imagination. There was some kind of an animal inside my
shirt, and one that made a mosquito, black-fly, or flea seem tame.

Suddenly a thought swept on the heels of my indolent and rather
annoying realization. Could I have gotten from the Navajo what Jim and
Jones so characteristically called "'em"? I turned cold all over. And
on the very instant I received another bite that burned like fire.

The return of my companions prevented any open demonstration of my
fears and condition of mind, but I certainly swore inwardly. During
the dinner hour I felt all the time as if I had on a horsehair shirt
with the ends protruding toward my skin, and, in the exaggerated
sensitiveness of the moment, made sure "'em" were chasing up and down
my back.

After dinner I sneaked off into the woods. I remembered that Emett
had said there was only one way to get rid of "'em," and that was to
disrobe and make a microscopical search of garments and person. With
serious mind and murderous intent I undressed. In the middle of the
back of my jersey I discovered several long, uncanny, gray things.

"I guess I got 'em," I said gravely.

Then I sat on a pine log in a state of unadorned nature, oblivious
to all around, intent only on the massacre of the things that had
violated me. How much time flew I could not guess. Great loud
"Haw-haws!" roused me to consternation. There behind me stood Jones
and Emett shaking as if with the ague.

"It's not funny!" I shouted in a rage. I had the unreasonable
suspicion that they had followed me to see my humiliation. Jones, who
cracked a smile about as often as the equinoxes came, and Emett the
sober Mormon, laughed until they cried.

"I was--just wondering--what your folks would--think--if they--saw
you--now," gurgled Jones.

That brought to me the humor of the thing, and I joined in their
mirth.

"All I hope is that you fellows will get 'em' too," I said.

"The Good Lord preserve me from that particular breed of Navvy's,"
cried Emett.

Jones wriggled all over at the mere suggestion. Now so much from the
old plainsman, who had confessed to intimate relations with every
creeping, crawling thing in the West, attested powerfully to the
unforgettable singularity of what I got from Navvy.

I returned to