He found a spring not far away, and, having given Spraddle a
good, deep drink, and filling his small canteen, which was tied to the
cantle of his saddle, he set forth again.
It was about two o'clock when he came in sight of the first real game of
the day. On the top of the rise ahead of him he saw an animal about the
size of a dog. As he rode toward it, it raised its head and gave a long,
low, mournful howl.
"Coyote," exclaimed Dick to himself breathlessly. "I'll get that fellow,
and take him back to camp. Won't Ted be surprised when he sees it?"
He took his Remington out of the boot, slipped in the necessary
cartridges to fill the magazine, and rode forward slowly and cautiously.
The coyote watched him sharply, occasionally raising its head to utter
its mournful cry. When Dick thought he had got within shooting distance,
he stopped Spraddle, took a good, long aim at the coyote, and fired.
The ball kicked up the dust several feet in advance of the coyote,
which, with another howl, this time one of derision, as it seemed to
Dick, turned and trotted away.
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