Thus Tito escaped from man, and for the first time found herself face to
face with the whole problem of life; for now she had her own living to
get.
A wild animal has three sources of wisdom:
First, _the experience of its ancestors_, in the form of instinct, which
is inborn learning, hammered into the race by ages of selection and
tribulation. This is the most important to begin with, because it guards
him from the moment he is born.
Second, _the experience of his parents and comrades_, learned chiefly by
example. This becomes most important as soon as the young can run.
Third, _the personal experience_ of the animal itself. This grows in
importance as the animal ages.
The weakness of the first is its fixity; it cannot change to meet
quickly changing conditions. The weakness of the second is the animal's
inability freely to exchange ideas by language. The weakness of the
third is the danger in acquiring it. But the three together are a strong
arch.
Now, Tito was in a new case. Perhaps never before had a Coyote faced
life with unusual advantages in the third kind of knowledge, none
at all in the second, and with the first dormant. She travelled rapidly
away from the ranchmen, keeping out of sight, and sitting down once in a
while to lick her wounded tail-stump. She came at last to a Prairie-dog
town. Many of the inhabitants were out, and they barked at the intruder,
but all dodged down as soon as she came near. Her instinct taught her
to try and catch one, but she ran about in vain for some time, and then
gave it up. She would have gone hungry that night but that she found a
couple of Mice in the long grass by the river. Her mother had not taught
her to hunt, but her instinct did, and the accident that she had an
unusual brain made her profit very quickly by her experience.
In the days that followed she quickly learned how to make a living;
for Mice, Ground Squirrels, Prairie-dogs, Rabbits, and Lizards were
abundant, and many of these could be captured in open chase. But open
chase, and sneaking as near as possible before beginning the open chase,
lead naturally to stalking for a final spring. And before the moon had
changed the Coyote had learned how to make a comfortable living.
Once or twice she saw the men with the Greyhounds coming her way. Most
Coyotes would, perhaps, have barked in bravado, or would have gone up to
some high place whence they could watch the enemy; but Tito did no such
foolish thing. Had she run, her moving form would have caught the eyes
of the Dogs, and then nothing could have saved her. She dropped where
she was, and lay flat until the danger had passed. Thus her ranch
training to lay low began to stand her in good stead, and so it came
about that her weakness was her strength. The Coyote kind had so long
been famous for their speed, had so long learned to trust in their legs,
that they never dreamed of a creature that could run them down. They
were accustomed to play with their pursuers, and so rarely bestirred
themselves to run from Greyhounds, till it was too late. But Tito,
brought up at the end of a chain, was a poor runner. She had no reason
to trust her legs. She rather trusted her wits, and so lived.
During that summer she stayed about the Little Missouri, learning the
tricks of small-game hunting that she should have learned before she
shed her milk-teeth, and gaining in strength and speed. She kept far
away from all the ranches, and always hid on seeing a man or a strange
beast, and so passed the summer alone. During the daytime she was not
lonely, but when the sun went down she would feel the impulse to sing
that wild song of the West which means so much to the Coyotes. It is not
the invention of an individual nor of the present, but was slowly built
out of the feelings of all Coyotes in all ages. It expresses their
nature and the Plains that made their nature. When one begins it, it
takes hold of the rest, as the fife and drum do with soldiers, or the
ki-yi war-song with Indian braves. They respond to it as a bell-glass
does to a certain note the moment that note is struck, ignoring other
sounds. So the Coyote, no matter how brought up, must vibrate at the
night song of the Plains, for it touches something in himself.
{Illustration}
They sing it after sundown, when it becomes the rallying cry of their
race and the friendly call to a neighbour; and, they sing it as one boy
in the woods holloas to another to say, "All's well! Here am I. Where
are you?" A form of it they sing to the rising moon, for this is the
time for good hunting to begin. They sing when they see the new
camp-fire, for the same reason that a Dog barks at a stranger. Yet another
weird chant they have for the dawning before they steal quietly away
from the offing of the camp--a wild, weird, squalling refrain:
Wow-wow-wow-wow-wow-w-o-o-o-o-o-o-w, again and again; and doubtless with
many another change that man cannot distinguish any more than the Coyote
can distinguish the words in the cowboy's anathemas.
Tito instinctively uttered her music at the proper times. But sad
experiences had taught her to cut it short and keep it low. Once or
twice she had got a far-away reply from one of her own race, whereupon
she had quickly ceased and timidly quit the neighbourhood.
One day, when on the Upper Garner's Creek, she found the trail where
a piece of meat had been dragged along. It was a singularly inviting
odour, and she followed it, partly out of curiosity. Presently she came
on a piece of the meat itself. She was hungry; she was always hungry
now. It was tempting, and although it had a peculiar odour, she
swallowed it. Within a few minutes she felt a terrific pain. The memory
of the poisoned meat the boy had given her, was fresh. With trembling,
foaming jaws she seized some blades of grass, and her stomach threw off
the meat; but she fell in convulsions on the ground.
The trail of meat dragged along and the poison baits had been laid the
day before by Wolfer Jake. This morning he was riding the drag, and on
coming up from the draw he saw, far ahead, the Coyote struggling. He
knew, of course, that it was poisoned, and rode quickly up; but the
convulsions passed as he neared. By a mighty effort, at the sound of the
Horse's hoofs the Coyote arose to her front feet. Jake drew his revolver
and fired, but the only effect was fully to alarm her. She tried to run,
but her hind legs were paralysed. She put forth all her strength,
dragging her hind legs. Now, when the poison was no longer in the
stomach, will-power could do a great deal. Had she been allowed to lie
down then she would have been dead in five minutes; but the revolver
shots and the man coming stirred her to strenuous action. Madly she
struggled again and again to get her hind legs to work. All the force of
desperate intent she brought to bear. It was like putting forth tenfold
power to force the nervous fluids through their blocked-up channels as
she dragged herself with marvellous speed downhill. What is nerve but
will? The dead wires of her legs were hot with this fresh power,
multiplied, injected, blasted into them. They had to give in. She felt
them thrill with life again. Each wild shot from the gun lent vital
help. Another fierce attempt, and one hind leg obeyed the call to duty.
A few more bounds, and the other, too, fell in. Then lightly she loped
away among the broken buttes, defying the agonizing gripe that still
kept on inside.
{Illustration}
Had Jake held off then she would yet have laid down and died; but he
followed and fired and fired, till in another mile she bounded free from
pain, saved from her enemy by himself. He had compelled her to take the
only cure, so she escaped.
And these were the ideas that she harvested that day: That curious smell
on the meat stands for mortal agony. Let it alone! And she never forgot
it; thenceforth she knew strychnine.
Fortunately, Dogs, traps, and strychnine do not wage war at once, for
the Dogs are as apt to be caught or poisoned as the Coyotes. Had there
been a single Dog in the hunt that day Tito's history would have ended.