The bottle was passed around. Then Bud and his tipsy followers gathered up their winnings and struck off whooping down the road, while the Bar B boys returned to the old shack. CHAPTER II NEW TRAILS While the rest of the boys were discussing the fun, Fred took his shotgun, mounted Brownie and rode away toward the old ford to hunt chickens. Who was this Alta Morgan, he began to wonder. The daughter of some rancher, no doubt. But she gave signs of a greater culture and a wider experience than the ranch life of those days afforded. Perhaps she was some city visitor to the valley. This seemed improbable, however; no untrained city girl could have ridden a race with such skill. Who was she? Brownie broke the reverie with a sudden start. Her rider glanced up to catch a glimpse of a yellowish gray object slinking through the sage just a few rods ahead. It was a coyote, trotting sleepily along. Jerking loose his lasso, the boy tapped his mare lightly with his spurs. She leaped in response straight towards the unsuspecting animal. A few bounds brought them within rope’s length. Fred flung his lasso, just as the coyote, catching sight of his pursuers, gave a terrified yelp and leaped, one breath too quick for the whizzing rope. Fred let out a joyful whoop, as Brownie bounded to bring her eager rider close enough for another fling; but the coyote was flying for his life, and he simply turned himself into a twisting streak of yellow, as he sped through the brush. The little mare held her own well, but she could not close the gap between them; and when the foothills were reached, the coyote, having no burden to carry, gradually slipped up the hills and away. With one more whoop to relieve his feelings, Fred slowed down. As he sat watching the terrified animal dive into the bigger brush along the creek, he saw a big flock of sage hens, frightened by the coyote, take wing and fly away over the flat. “There’s my chance,” he thought, following them with his keen eyes until they settled down again among the sage brush. Then he rode away toward them. When he came within about a hundred yards, he jumped from his mare, tied her rather carelessly to a brush, and, cocking his gun, began to step watchfully through the sage toward the place where the chickens had lighted. Suddenly, with a sputtering cluck, a big hen sprang into the air. The excited hunter fired at the flying bird and missed. The report of the gun brought the flock out of the brush. He fired again and down tumbled one of them. Watching where it dropped, he reloaded his gun and began to walk about to scare up others; but evidently the whole flock had risen at the first shot; so he picked up the fallen bird and turned to carry it back to Brownie.