The lovely Hiawathan spring was touching all things in the fairy
Badlands. Oh, why are they called Badlands? If Nature sat down
deliberately on the eighth day of creation and said, "Now work is done,
let's play; let's make a place that shall combine everything that is
finished and wonderful and beautiful--a paradise for man and bird and
beast," it was surely then that she made these wild, fantastic hills,
teeming with life, radiant with gayest flowers, varied with sylvan
groves, bright with prairie sweeps and brimming lakes and streams. In
foreground, offing, and distant hills that change at every step, we find
some proof that Nature squandered here the riches that in other lands
she used as sparingly as gold, with colourful sky above and colourful
land below, and the distance blocked by sculptured buttes that are built
of precious stones and ores, and tinged as by a lasting and unspeakable
sunset. And yet, for all this ten tunes gorgeous wonderland enchanted,
blind man has found no better name than one which says, _the road to it
is hard_.
{Illustration}
The little hollow west of Chimney Butte was freshly grassed. The
dangerous-looking Spanish bayonets, that through the bygone winter
had waged war with all things, now sent out their contribution to the
peaceful triumph of the spring, in flowers that have stirred even the
chilly scientists to name them _Gloriosa_; and the cactus, poisonous,
most reptilian of herbs, surprised the world with a splendid bloom as
little like itself as the pearl is like its mother shell-fish. The sage
and the greasewood lent their gold, and the sand-anemone tinged the
Badland hills like bluish snow; and in the air and earth and hills on
every hand was felt the fecund promise of the spring. This was the end
of the winter famine, the beginning of the summer feast, and this I
was the time by the All-mother, ordained when first the little Coyotes
should see the light of day.
A mother does not have to learn to love her helpless, squirming brood.
They bring the love with them--not much or little, not measurable, but
perfect love. And in that dimly lighted warm abode she fondled them and
licked them and cuddled them with heartful warmth of tenderness, that
was as much a new epoch in her life as in theirs.
{Illustration}
But the pleasure of loving them was measured in the same measure as
anxiety for their safety. In bygone days her care had been mainly for
herself. All she had learned in her strange puppyhood, all she had
picked up since, was bent to the main idea of self-preservation. Now she
was ousted from her own affections by her brood. Her chief care was to
keep their home concealed, and this was not very hard at first, for she
left them only when she must, to supply her own wants.
She came and went with great care, and only after spying well the land
so that none should see and find the place of her treasure. If it were
possible for the little ones' idea of their mother and the cow-boys'
idea to be set side by side they would be found to have nothing in
common, though both were right in their point of view. The ranchmen
{Illustration: Tito and her Brood.} knew the Coyote only as a pair
of despicable, cruel jaws, borne around on tireless legs, steered by
incredible cunning, and leaving behind a track of destruction. The
little ones knew her as a loving, gentle, all-powerful guardian. For
them her breast was soft and warm and infinitely tender. She fed and
warmed them, she was their wise and watchful keeper. She was always at
hand with food when they hungered, with wisdom to foil the cunning of
their foes, and with a heart of courage tried to crown her well-laid
plans for them with uniform success.
{Illustration}
A baby Coyote is a shapeless, senseless, wriggling, and--to every one
but its mother--a most uninteresting little lump. But after its eyes are
open, after it has developed its legs, after it has learned to play in
the sun with its brothers, or run at the gentle call of its mother when
she brings home game for it to feed on, the baby Coyote becomes one of
the cutest, dearest little rascals on earth. And when the nine that
made up Coyotito's brood had reached this stage, it did not require the
glamour of motherhood to make them objects of the greatest interest.
The summer was now on. The little ones were beginning to eat flesh-meat,
and Tito, with some assistance from Saddleback, was kept busy to supply
both themselves and the brood. Sometimes she brought them a Prairie-dog,
at other times she would come home with a whole bunch of Gophers
and Mice in her jaws; and once or twice, by the clever trick of
relay-chasing, she succeeded in getting one of the big Northern
Jack-rabbits for the little folks at home.
{Illustration}
After they had feasted they would lie around in the sun for a time. Tito
would mount guard on a bank and scan the earth and air with her keen,
brassy eye, lest any dangerous foe should find their happy valley; and
the merry pups played little games of tag, or chased the Butterflies, or
had apparently desperate encounters with each other, or tore and worried
the bones and feathers that now lay about the threshold of the home.
One, the least, for there is usually a runt, stayed near the mother and
climbed on her back or pulled at her tail. They made a lovely picture as
they played, and the wrestling group in the middle seemed the focus
of it all at first; but a keener, later look would have rested on the
mother, quiet, watchful, not without anxiety, but, above all, with a
face full of motherly tenderness. Oh, she was so proud and happy, and
she would sit there and watch them and silently love them till it was
time to go home, or until some sign of distant danger showed. Then, with
a low growl, she gave the signal, and all disappeared from sight in a
twinkling, after which she would set off to meet and turn the danger, or
go on a fresh hunt for food.