I began to think that, like old Tom, he led a charmed life. Just then
he jerked loose, and once more the chase was on. I reloaded my
six-shooter and fired on the run, shouting excitedly. He ran on with
tireless, automatic motion, apparently as unperturbed as he was
impervious to bullets.

All at once I discovered my belt empty--I had exhausted my cartridges!
Disgusted, I shoved my gun back into its holster, and, picking up a
stout club, ran after the coyote. Several times I was close enough to
hit him, but he deftly dodged or else sprang forward beyond reach.
Once when the trap caught and prisoned him an instant, I swung my club,
sure of ending the race, but it collided on a limb overhead and went
wide of the mark! Again I overtook the coyote as he struggled through
hindering bush, and, reaching forward, swung my bludgeon with all my
might and fell headlong upon him! I gave a terrified yell; my battered
hat flew off; I dropped my club. The coyote was out of sight before I
gained my feet!

Suddenly we popped out of the forest on the edge of a canyon; its sides
were smooth and almost bare. On this open ground, my quarry gained on
me by leaps and bounds. I spied a rock-slide below--great slabs that
had slid down from the cliff above--between openings amply large to
admit almost any animal. Once the coyote reached that slide, he would
escape. Panting loudly, I sprinted forward to overtake him.

The trap chain wedged unexpectedly, the coyote changed ends, and came
up facing me. I could not put on brakes quickly enough and skidded
almost into him. He sprang at my throat. As he launched upward I
glimpsed his flaming eyes and wide-open, fang-filled mouth. I do not
know what saved me; whether my desperate effort to reverse succeeded,
whether I dodged, or whether the restraining trap chain thwarted him.
As it was, his teeth grazed my face, leaving deep, red scars across my
chin.... His was the handsomest skin that adorned the walls of my
cabin when that dream eventually became a reality. I did not sell the
skin as purposed--not, however, because my bullets had ruined it for
marketing!

[Illustration: I glimpsed his flaming eyes and wide-open, fang-filled
mouth.]

In common with all small boys, I was the hero of my dreams, and in my
fancy saw myself growing into a magnified composite of Nimrod, Robin
Hood, Kit Carson, and Buffalo Bill, all molded into one mighty man who
dwarfed the original individuals!