arkling clearness. The night seemed to be filled with the
vague whispering of the wind.

As we turned back to the dead village the wind rose; at first it came in
gusts and then it blew in steady and ever increasing volume, until it
rose to the fierceness of a gale.

Not a cloud was visible, it came from perfect clearness and it seemed to
have more power than if it had been accompanied with rolling clouds. The
gravel blew across the mesa, cutting our faces.

"Are we going to have a cyclone?" inquired Tom, anxiously, yelling into
Jim's ear.

"No!" he yelled back. "This country is too broken. It couldn't get
started before it's busted."

"We can't sleep here to-night," declared Tom, "we will be blown away."

By this time we had reached the shelter of the village. It seemed
uncannily quiet and dead within its walls.

"We can sleep here in the court yard," I said, "and we will be protected
from the wind."

"All right," replied Jim, "it's funny to have the horses inside the
houses and we out."

We made a comfortable bed on the ground of the courtyard with brush that
we had cut on the outer mesa. Jim made use of his Indian blanket and
said that it was all right.

In a short time Jim and Tom were sound asleep and their snoring rivaled
the wind, but I could not sleep. I was very restless and I turned and
tossed.

Overhead the stars were shining and the wind whistled and roared over
the silent roofs around us. I kept listening for every sound. But after
awhile I dropped off into a troubled doze. Then I heard a rustling near
my ear. It was crawling towards me in the darkness. A tarantula coming
straight for my face. I flung out one desperate hand and struck a horny
object. It was Jim's horned toad.

Thoroughly awake I threw off the blankets and stood up looking around.
The wind was still keeping up its furious gait and the sky was clear. I
judged it was about midnight.

It was a weird situation with those silent deserted houses all around
and the gaping blackness of the doors and windows. I moved cautiously
towards the center of the court. Then I stopped short. A long, pale
face was in the upper part of a dark door. I saw it with perfect
distinctness. Then it moved or rather moved slowly from side to side.

"Coyote, you rascal! What are you looking at!" I exclaimed, in decided
relief.

I could not sleep so I sat down on a rude box in the court yard
listening to the wind, my rifle across my knees. If ever a plac