Next day the Hen was again put out, and late that afternoon Saddleback
came trotting by. As soon as his eye fell on the white Hen he stopped
short, his head on one side, and gazed. Then he circled to get the wind,
and went cautiously sneaking nearer, very cautiously, somewhat puzzled,
till he got a whiff that reminded him of the place where he had found
those Turkeys. The Hen took alarm, and tried to run away; but Saddleback
made a rush, seized the Hen so fiercely that the string was broken, and
away he dashed toward the home valley.
Jake had fallen asleep, but the squawk of the Hen happened to awaken
him, and he sat up in time to see her borne away in old Saddleback's
jaws.
As soon as they were out of sight Jake took up the white-feather trail.
At first it was easily followed, for the Hen had shed plenty of plumes
in her struggles; but once she was dead in Saddleback's jaws, very few
feathers were dropped except where she was carried through the brush.
But Jake was following quietly and certainly, for Saddleback had gone
nearly in a straight line home to the little ones with the dangerous
tell-tale prize. Once or twice there was a puzzling delay when the
Coyote had changed his course or gone over an open place; but one white
feather was good for fifty yards, and when the daylight was gone, Jake
was not two hundred yards from the hollow, in which at that very moment
were the nine little pups, having a perfectly delightful time with the
Hen, pulling it to pieces, feasting and growling, sneezing the white
feathers from their noses or coughing them from their throats.
If a puff of wind had now blown from them toward Jake, it might have
carried a flurry of snowy plumes or even the merry cries of the little
revellers, and the den would have been discovered at once. But, as luck
would have it, the evening lull was on, and all distant sounds were
hidden by the crashing that Jake made in trying to trace his feather
guides through the last thicket.
About this time Tito was returning home with a Magpie that she had
captured by watching till it went to feed within the ribs of a dead
Horse, when she ran across Jake's trail. Now, a man on foot is always
a suspicious character in this country. She followed the trail for a
little to see where he was going, and that she knew at once from the
scent. How it tells her no one can say, yet all hunters know that it
does. And Tito marked that it was going straight toward her home.
Thrilled with new fear, she hid the bird she was carrying, then followed
the trail of the man. Within a few minutes she could hear him in the
thicket, and Tito realized the terrible danger that was threatening. She
went swiftly, quietly around to the den hollow, came on the heedless
little roisterers, after giving the signal-call, which prevented them
taking alarm at her approach; but she must have had a shock when she
saw how marked the hollow and the den were now, all drifted over with
feathers white as snow. Then she gave the danger-call that sent them all
to earth, and the little glade was still.
Her own nose was so thoroughly and always her guide that it was not
likely she thought of the white-feathers being the telltale. But now she
realized that a man, one she knew of old as a treacherous character, one
whose scent had always meant mischief to her, that had been associated
with all her own troubles and the cause of nearly all her desperate
danger, was close to her darlings; was tracking them down, in a few
minutes would surely have them in his merciless power.
Oh, the wrench to the mother's heart at the thought of what she could
foresee! But the warmth of the mother-love lent life to the mother-wit.
Having sent her little ones out of sight, and by a sign conveyed to
Saddleback her alarm, she swiftly came back to the man, then she crossed
before him, thinking, in her half-reasoning way, that the man _must_
be following a foot-scent just as she herself would do, but would, of
course, take the stronger line of tracks she was now laying. She did not
realize that the failing daylight made any difference. Then she trotted
to one side, and to make doubly sure of being followed, she uttered the
fiercest challenge she could, just as many a time she had done to make
the Dogs pursue her:
Grrr-wow-wow-wa-a-a-a-h,
and stood still; then ran a little nearer and did it again, and then
again much nearer, and repeated her bark, she was so determined that the
wolver should follow her.
Of course the wolver could see nothing of the Coyote, for the shades
were falling. He had to give up the hunt anyway. His understanding of
the details was as different as possible from that the Mother Coyote
had, and yet it came to the same thing. He recognized that the Coyote's
bark was the voice of the distressed mother trying to call him away. So
he knew the brood must be close at hand, and all he now had to do was
return in the morning and complete his search. So he made his way back
to his camp.