“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.