side
the house they'd have more chances--and he went to work trying to open
the door. When he found he couldn't--it being locked so good there was
no budging it--he got worse jolted, and his breath seemed to be coming
hard.

The Hen got a-hold of him again and done some more shivers, and then
she says: "It all will be over, one way or the other, in a very few
moments now. And oh, how thankful I am--since so needlessly and so
foolishly I have placed myself in this deadly peril--that I have for
my protector a brave man! If salvation is possible, you will save me I
am sure!"

Boston tried to say something, but he'd got so he was beyond talking
and only gagged; and while he was a-gagging there come a queer
noise--sounding like it was a critter crawling around in among the
bushes--that made him most jump out of his skin! Down went his guns on
the ground all in a clatter; and he was scared so limp he'd a-gone
down a-top of 'em if the Hen hadn't got a good grip on him with both
arms. They stood that way more'n a minute, with him a-shaking all over
and the Hen doing some shaking for company--and then she hiked him
round so he pointed right and says: "Look! Look! There by those little
bushes! Oh how horrible!" And the Hen give a groan.

What was wanted to be looked at was on hand, right enough--and I
reckon it showed to most advantage by about as much light as it got
from the stars. All they could make sure of was something alive,
moving sort of awkward and jumpy, coming out from a tangle of mesquite
bushes not more'n three rods off and heading straight for 'em; and
seeing it the way they did--just a black splotch all mixed in with the
shadows of the bushes--it looked to be most as big as a cow! Limp as
he was--so you'd a-thought there wasn't any yell in him--Boston let
off a yell that likely was heard clear across the mesa at San Juan!

"Shoot!" says the Hen. "I can't. I'm too frightened. Shoot quick--or
we are lost!" She let go of him, so he could reach down to where he'd
spilled his gun-shop and get a weepon; but Boston wasn't on the shoot,
and he hadn't no use for weepons just then. All he wanted to do was to
run; and if the Hen hadn't got a fresh grip on him and held him--she
was a strapping strong woman, the Hen was--he would a-made a bolt for
it certain sure.

"No! No! Don't attempt to run!" says the Hen, talking scared and
desprit. "In an instant, should we turn our backs on him, the terrible
creature would be upo