red Givens
readily. "It's a wonder the coyotes didn't scare him to death. You
see, Jim Webster, our horse wrangler, brought a little terrier pup
into camp last week. The pup made life miserable for Bill--he used to
chase him around and chew his hind legs for hours at a time. Every
night when bedtime came Bill would sneak under one of the boy's
blankets and sleep to keep the pup from finding him. I reckon he must
have been worried pretty desperate or he wouldn't have run away. He
was always afraid to get out of sight of camp."

Josefa looked at the body of the fierce animal. Givens gently patted
one of the formidable paws that could have killed a yearling calf with
one blow. Slowly a red flush widened upon the dark olive face of the
girl. Was it the signal of shame of the true sportsman who has brought
down ignoble quarry? Her eyes grew softer, and the lowered lids drove
away all their bright mockery.

"I'm very sorry," she said humbly; "but he looked so big, and jumped
so high that--"

"Poor old Bill was hungry," interrupted Givens, in quick defence of
the deceased. "We always made him jump for his supper in camp. He
would lie down and roll over for a piece of meat. When he saw you he
thought he was going to get something to eat from you."

Suddenly Josefa's eyes opened wide.

"I might have shot you!" she exclaimed. "You ran right in between. You
risked your life to save your pet! That was fine, Mr. Givens. I like a
man who is kind to animals."

Yes; there was even admiration in her gaze now. After all, there was a
hero rising out of the ruins of the anti-climax. The look on Givens's
face would have secured him a high position in the S.P.C.A.

"I always loved 'em," said he; "horses, dogs, Mexican lions, cows,
alligators--"

"I hate alligators," instantly demurred Josefa; "crawly, muddy
things!"

"Did I say alligators?" said Givens. "I meant antelopes, of course."

Josefa's conscience drove her to make further amends. She held out her
hand penitently. There was a bright, unshed drop in each of her eyes.

"Please forgive me, Mr. Givens, won't you? I'm only a girl, you know,
and I was frightened at first. I'm very, very sorry I shot Bill. You
don't know how ashamed I feel. I wouldn't have done it for anything."

Givens took the proffered hand. He held it for a time while he allowed
the generosity of his nature to overcome his grief at the loss of
Bill. At last it was clear that he had forgiven her.

"Pleas