When spring was near, the annual love-season of the Coyotes came on.
Saddleback and Tito bad been together merely as companions all winter,
but now a new feeling was born. There was not much courting. Saddleback
simply showed his teeth to possible rivals. There was no ceremony. They
had been friends for months, and now, in the light of the new feeling,
they naturally took to each other and were mated. Coyotes do not give
each other names as do mankind, but have one sound like a growl and
short howl, which stands for "mate" or "husband" or "wife." This they
use in calling to each other, and it is by recognizing the tone of the
voice that they know who is calling.
The loose rambling brotherhood of the Coyotes was broken up now, for
the others also paired off, and since the returning warm weather was
bringing out the Prairie-dogs and small game, there was less need to
combine for hunting. Ordinarily Coyotes do not sleep in dens or in any
fixed place. They move about all night while it is cool, then during the
daytime they get a few hours' sleep in the sun, on some quiet hillside
that also gives a chance to watch out. But the mating season changes
this habit somewhat.
As the weather grew warm Tito and Saddleback set about preparing a den
for the expected family. In a warm little hollow, an old Badger abode
was cleaned out, enlarged, and deepened. A quantity of leaves and grass
was carried into it and arranged in a comfortable nest. The place
selected for it was a dry sunny nook among the hills, half a mile west
of the Little Missouri. Thirty yards from it was a ridge which commanded
a wide view of the grassy slopes and cottonwood groves by the river. Men
would have called the spot very beautiful, but it is tolerably certain
that that side of it never touched the Coyotes at all.
Tito began to be much preoccupied with her impending duties. She stayed
quietly in the neighbourhood of the den, and lived on such food as
Saddleback brought her, or she herself could easily catch, and also on
the little stores that she had buried at other times. She knew every
Prairie-dog town in the region, as well as all the best places for Mice
and Rabbits.
{Illustration}
Not far from the den was the very Dog-town that first she had
crossed, the day she had gained her liberty and lost her tail. If she
were capable of such retrospect, she must have laughed to herself to
think what a fool she was then. The change in her methods was now shown.
Somewhat removed from the others, a Prairie-dog had made his den in the
most approved style, and now when Tito peered over he was feeding on the
grass ten yards from his own door. A Prairie-dog away from the others
is, of course, easier to catch than one in the middle of the town, for
he has but one pair of eyes to guard him; so Tito set about stalking
this one. How was she to do it when there was no cover, nothing but
short grass and a few low weeds? The White-bear knows how to approach
the Seal on the flat ice, and the Indian how to get within striking
distance of the grazing Deer. Tito knew how to do the same trick, and
although one of the town Owls flew over with a warning chuckle, Tito set
about her plan. A Prairie-dog cannot see well unless he is sitting up
on his hind legs; his eyes are of little use when he is nosing in
the grass; and Tito knew this. Further, a yellowish-grey animal on a
yellowish-grey landscape is invisible till it moves. Tito seemed to
know that. So, without any attempt to crawl or hide, she walked gently
up-wind toward the Prarie-dog. Upwind, not in order to prevent the
Prairie-dog smelling her, but so that she could smell him, which came to
the same thing. As soon as the Prairie-dog sat up with some food in his
hand she froze into a statue. As soon, as he dropped again to nose in
the grass, she walked steadily nearer, watching his every move so that
she might be motionless each time he sat up to see what his distant
brothers were barking at. Once or twice he seemed alarmed by the calls
of his friends, but he saw nothing and resumed his feeding. She soon
cut the fifty yards down to ten, and the ten to five, and still was
undiscovered. Then, when again the Prairie-dog dropped down to seek more
fodder, she made a quick dash, and bore him off kicking and squealing.
Thus does the angel of the pruning-knife lop off those that are heedless
and foolishly indifferent to the advantages of society.
{Illustration: Their Evening Song.}