feel that after dark I should like it even less, somehow. But,
gee, the Old Man...."

"Oh, I'm not thinking of quitting on the job. We don't do that on the
Journal." Perry smiled paternally at the photographer. Could it be he
had purposely raised the other's hopes in order to chaff him some more?
"But I was thinking that it might be a good idea to look about the
outbuildings a bit while we have a little daylight. Eh?"

Handlon looked disappointed, but nodded gamely. He delayed only long
enough to deposit his camera and traps behind a grossly overgrown
hydrangea by the steps, then, with a resigned air, declared himself
ready to follow wherever the other might lead.

Perry elected to explore the barn first. This was a depressing old pile,
unpainted in years, with what had once been stout doors now swinging and
bumping in the light breeze. As the two men drew nearer, this
breeze--which seemed to sigh through the place at will--brought foul
odors that told them the place was at least not tenantless. In some
trepidation they stepped inside and stood blinking in the half
darkness.

"Pretty Polly!"

"Good God! What was that?" Handlon whispered. He knew it was no parrot's
voice. This was a far deeper sound than that, a sound louder than
anything a parrot's throat could produce. It came from the direction of
a ruinous stall over near a cobwebbed window. As Perry started fearfully
toward this, there issued from it a curious scraping sound, followed by
a fall that shook the floor, and a threshing as of hoofs. Now the great
voice could be heard again, this time uttering what sounded strangely
like oaths roared out in a foreign tongue. Yet when the newspaper men
reached the stall they found it occupied only by a large mule.

* * * * *

The animal was lying on its side, its feet scraping feebly against the
side of the stall. The heaving, foam-flecked body was a mass of hideous
bruises, some of which were bleeding profusely. The creature seemed to
be in the last stage of exhaustion, lying with lips drawn back and eyes
closed. Beneath it and scattered all over the stall floor was a thick
layer of some whitish seeds.

"That's--why that's sunflower seed, Horace!" Handlon almost whimpered.
"And look! Look in that crib! It's full of the same stuff! Where's the
hay, Horace? Does this thing--"

He was interrupted by a mighty movement of the beast--a threshing that
nearly blinded the men in the cloud