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“It is right painful at the time,” said Johnny, taking up the thread of the narrative; “and then in nine days you go mad yourself. Remember that fellow the Hydrophoby Skunk bit down here by the rapids, Bill? Let’s see now–what was that hombre’s name?”

“Williams,” supplied Bill–“Heck Williams. I saw him at Flagstaff when they took him there to the hospital. That guy certainly did carry on regardless. First he went mad and his eyes turned red, and he got so he didn’t have no real use for water–well, them prospectors don’t never care much about water anyway–and then he got to snappin’ and bitin’ and foamin’ so’s they had to strap him down to his bed. He got loose though.”

“Broke loose, I suppose?” I said.

“No, he bit loose,” said Bill with the air of one who would not deceive you even in a matter of small details.

“Do you mean to say he bit those leather straps in two?”

“No, sir; he couldn’t reach them,” explained Bill, “so he bit the bed in two. Not in one bite, of course,” he went on. “It took him several. I saw him after he was laid out. He really wasn’t no credit to himself as a corpse.”

I’m not sure, but I think my companion and I were holding hands by now. Outside we could hear that little lost echo laughing to itself. It was no time to be laughing either. Under certain circumstances I don’t know of a lonelier place anywhere on earth than that Grand canyon.

Presently my friend spoke, and it seemed to me his voice was a mite husky. Well, he had a bad cold.

“You said they mostly attack persons who are sleeping out, didn’t you?”

“That’s right, too,” said Johnny, and Bill nodded in affirmation.

“Then, of course, since we sleep indoors everything will be all right,” I put in.

“Well, yes and no,” answered Johnny. “In the early part of the evening a Hydrophoby is liable to do a lot of prowlin’ round outdoors; but toward mornin’ they like to get into camps–they dig up under the side walls or come up through the floor–and they seem to prefer to get in bed with you. They’re cold-blooded, I reckin, same as rattlesnakes. Cool nights always do drive ’em in, seems like.”

“It’s going to be sort of coolish to-night,” said Bill casually.

It certainly was. I don’t remember a chillier night in years. My teeth were chattering a little–from cold–before we turned in. I retired with all my clothes on, including my boots and leggings, and I wished I had brought along my ear muffs. I also buttoned my watch into my lefthand shirt pocket, the idea being if for any reason I should conclude to move during the night I would be fully equipped for traveling. The door would not stay closely shut–the door-jamb had sagged a little and the wind kept blowing the door ajar. But after a while we dozed off.

It was one twenty-seven A. M. when I woke with a violent start. I know this was the exact time because that was when my watch stopped. I peered about me in the darkness. The door was wide open–I could tell that. Down on the floor there was a dragging, scuffling sound, and from almost beneath me a pair of small red eyes peered up phosphorescently.

“He’s here!” I said to my companion as I emerged from my blankets; and he, waking instantly, seemed instinctively to know whom I meant. I used to wonder at the ease with which a cockroach can climb a perfectly smooth wall and run across the ceiling. I know now that to do this is the easiest thing in the world–if you have the proper incentive behind you. I had gone up one wall of the tent and had crossed over and was in the act of coming down the other side when Bill burst in, his eyes blurred with sleep, a lighted lamp in one hand and a gun in the other.

I never was so disappointed in my life because it wasn’t a Hydrophobic Skunk at all. It was a pack rat, sometimes called a trade rat, paying us a visit. The pack or trade rat is also a denizen of the Grand canyon. He is about four times as big as an ordinary rat and has an appetite to correspond. He sometimes invades your camp and makes free with your things, but he never steals anything outright–he merely trades with you; hence his name. He totes off a side of meat or a bushel of meal and brings a cactus stalk in; or he will confiscate your saddlebags and leave you in exchange a nice dry chip. He is honest, but from what I can gather he never gets badly stuck on a deal.

Next morning at breakfast Johnny and Bill were doing a lot of laughing between them over something or other.