“The hipwiggler,” says Magpie, “eats anything and is fond of children. It is of the hootchie-kootchie family. Hootchie, meaning hip, and kootchie, meaning to wiggle. The great difference between it and anything else is in its shape, size, actions, color and odor.”

“Hootchie-kootchie?” asks Ajax. “Is that—er—an Indian word?”

“Uh-huh. The Camelpunchers.”

“Has the hipwiggler a distinctive odor?”

“You dang well know it has. You look for something that you never seen nor smelled before. Sabe? Catch it and bring it here, and if it ain’t a hipwiggler we’ll tell you.”

“I see. We will have an elimination proceedings.”

“Somebody will be, that’s a cinch,” grins Magpie.

Ajax tightens the rope around his waist, picks up his sack and faces the east.

“I gird up my loins and fare forth. Today I will complete my quest. I bid you good morning, gentlemen.”

We watches the blamed fool pilgrim across the hills.

“You’ve got to admire him for sticking,” says I, but Magpie snorts:

“Yeah? Might as well give three cheers for a cactus, Ike.”

“Doughgod” Smith comes past about dinner-time and stops to smoke a cigaret.

“Seen a posse today,” grins Doughgod. “Some bunch. Scenery Sims, Mighty Jones and Doleful Doolittle. Put them three on a two-by-four island and they couldn’t find each other.”

“Where did you see ’em, Doughgod?” asks Magpie.

“They left town about an hour before I started. Pointed towards Mighty’s place.”

Doughgod rode on, and me and Magpie ponders things. That’s some posse to go after anybody. Pretty soon Magpie sniffs the air. I sniff a little too, and then we hear Scenery Sims’ squeaky voice.

“Halt! You darn fool—halt!”

We steps around the corner of the cabin and sees a queer sight. In the middle of the trail stands Ajax. Standing between his long legs is a goat—a 

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