H. Bedford-Jones

“ There is nothing swifter than the strike of a sidewinder—but the coyote saw the lurking death just in time. A frantic yap of fear broke from his jaws. He gave a desperate twist sidewise in mid-leap—a doubling-up of his body that evaded the reptile's blow—and in mad panic came down and leaped again, blindly. He landed squarely in the matted cholla.
Agonized howls rent the air, and sticks and bones and odd objects from the pack-rat's nest were hurled about; the coyote became a whirlwind of furry agony from which proceeded howl upon howl of anguish. ”

“ To Tompkins, as to every other naturalist, it was an unsolved mystery how the pack-rat, with delicate and unprotected paws, could handle these joints of cactus. No other living creature can face the cholla cactus, whose spines, as the Indians declare, jump at one, inflicting acute agony; even the rattler avoids it gingerly. Here for a space of ten feet around the nest were heaped the matted cholla joints, while the pack-rat who owned the establishment sat out in full sight and insulted the hovering coyote with angry taunts. ”

“ There was no direct evidence against Sidewinder Crowfoot, but Tompkins brushed this impatiently aside; he was perfectly convinced that Crowfoot was the man behind everything going on here. "At the same time, I've got to be sane—got to be!" he thought desperately, fighting for self-control. "I can't go off half-cocked. They've got brains. They'll get me if I let out a peep. Nothing but my own brains will save me now, and if I don't go slow, I'm a goner sure! ”