Both of us quit blowing on our coffee and we put the cups down. I think I was the one who spoke.
"I beg your pardon," I asked, "but what did you say would be out tonight?"
"We were just speakin' to one another about them Hydrophoby Skunks," said Bill apologetically. "This here Cañon is where they mostly hang out and frolic 'round."
I laid down my cigar, too. I admit I was interested.
"Oh!" I said softly—like that. "Is it? Do they?"
"Yes," said Johnny. "I reckin there's liable to be one come shovin' his old nose into that door any minute. Or probably two—they mostly travels in pairs—sets, as you might say."
"You'd know one the minute you saw him, though," said Bill. "They're smaller than a regular skunk and spotted where the other kind is striped. And they got little red eyes. You won't have no trouble at all recognizin' one."
It was at this juncture that we both got up and moved back by the stove. It was warmer there and the chill of evening seemed to be settling down noticeably.
"Funny thing about Hydrophoby Skunks," went on Johnny after a moment of pensive thought—"mad, you know!"
"What makes them mad?" The two of us asked the question together.