THE CLOWN OF THE PRAIRIES
Nine healthy coyote puppies were playing in the sunshine with all
their might. After days of searching I had at last discovered their
den. The puppies had not noticed me and I enjoyed watching their
training for the game of life. They wrestled, played at fighting,
rolled over and over, bit at one another’s feet and tails, and
occasionally all mixed in one merry heap.
Their mother came along the hillside above the den. She walked back
and forth on the skyline where I could not miss seeing her. Then she
came nearer and passed within thirty or forty feet of me. I kept my
eyes upon the puppies and pretended not to see their mother. She
turned and passed still closer to me. This time she was limping badly
on one forefoot and holding up one hind foot. She was making every
effort to have me follow her--to lure me away from her home and her
puppies.
A moving object down the slope caught the attention of the puppies. As
soon as they made out what this was they scampered racing away.
Going only a short distance, they sat down, as though at a dead line.
Evidently there is a small zone of safety surrounding the den beyond
which the puppies are not allowed to go. At this moment Mr. Coyote
appeared, from down the slope, with a jack rabbit in his jaws. He was
coming quickly along and had not suspected my presence. How eagerly
the puppies watched him! As he came up they commenced snapping and
tearing at the rabbit he carried. Mrs. Coyote hastily joined them, and
all scurried into the den. The following morning the den was deserted.
It is common for coyotes to move their puppies promptly to another den
when they think they are discovered.
[Illustration:
_Photo. by Enos A. Mills_
_A Beaver Canal_]
[Illustration: _A New Beaver Dam_]
[Illustration:
_Drawing by Will James_
_The Mountain Lion_]
Another mother coyote decoyed me into watching a vacant den. Her
children were in another den a quarter of a mile away. In carrying
food to them she went out of her way to enter the vacant den, then
left it by a different entrance and proceeded by a circuitous route to
the waiting puppies. Both of the old coyotes hunt and carry food to
the den for their puppies.
Repeatedly I have seen a mother or a father coyote lure a hunter or
trapper away from the den or spot where the young were hidden. I have
also seen one or more coyotes stay near a crippled coyote as though
taking care of him, and endeavour to lure away any hunter who
approached.
Someone has said that a beautiful coyote hide wraps up more deviltry
than any other hide of equal dimensions stretched over an animated
form. His successful cunning and his relentless ways of getting a
living cause him to be cursed by those whom he plunders. But he is
always interesting and appears to enjoy life even in the midst of lean
times.
The coyote is the Clown of the Prairie. He is wise, cynical, and a
good actor. He has a liking for action and adventure. He really is a
happy fellow, something of a philosopher and full of wit.
I have seen a coyote look at a deserted and tumble-down building and
strike an attitude of mockery at the failures of man. Sometimes he
catches a chicken while the family is away; and, carrying this to the
back porch to feast, leaves the unconsumed feathers there. Two nights
a coyote raided a settler’s hen roost and each time left the feathers
near my camp. I was ordered out of the country!
Once I tried for more than half a day to get a picture of a coyote. He
appeared to know that I was unarmed and harmless, and allowed me to
approach moderately close, but not quite close enough. At last he
laid down by a cliff and pretended to go to sleep. When I came almost
near enough to photograph him he rose, looked at me, yawned as though
bored, and ran away. A common prank of his is to lure a dog from a
camp or ranch to a point where the coyote is safe, then to pounce upon
the dog and chase him back in confusion.
As I sat one day on a hillside, watching the antics of calves among a
herd of cattle, two coyotes trotted into the scene. They caused no
alarm and did not receive even a second look from the cattle. Slowly
and knowingly the coyotes walked here and there among them, as though
selecting a victim or looking for one whose days were numbered. Near
me was a crippled old cow that plainly did not have long to live. The
instant the coyotes came within view of her one of them sat down,
plainly satisfied with the outlook; and the other laid down with the
easy, contemptuous air of a cynic before a waiting feast. To add to
the effectiveness of the scene a number of magpies, which usually are
watchful enough to arrive first at any promised feast, joined them.
On an Arizona desert I saw two coyotes walking along apparently
without any heads. What scheme are they up to now? was my first
thought as I stood looking at this magic scene. But off on the desert
was a suspended lake mirage. Two coyotes appeared just beneath the
near edge, their heads completely lost in the mirage, their headless
bodies walking--a most startling exhibit, even for a desert.
The coyote has a peculiar mental make-up. He has all the keen
alertness of the wolf and the audacious cunning of the fox. His
fox-like face at times takes on a serio-comic expression. At other
times he has a most expectant look as he sits and watches, or listens,
with head tilted on one side and sharp ears pointing slightly forward.
He has actions, characteristics, and attitudes that make him excel
even the fox for the purpose of fable making.
There are numerous Indian myths concerning the coyote; in fact, he
takes the place the fox has in primitive European folklore. Numerous
tribes pay the coyote tribute in daily food. Their belief accredits
him with the audacity and the cunning to seize fire from forbidden
sources and deliver this enduring comfort to the fireless red men.
Among most Indian tribes he is regarded with favour. Many Indian dogs
are descendants of the coyote.
The coyote is a small, fleet-footed, keen-witted animal, tawny or
yellowish brown in colour. He is, of course, a wolf; but he is only a
little more than half the weight of his large relative, the gray
wolf. Originally he was scattered over most of North America. Though
scientifically classified into a number of species and sub-species,
they are very much alike in colour and habit.
The home range of the coyote is rarely ten miles across, except on the
margin of mountains where sometimes it is twice this. In many
localities a pair will have three or four square miles to themselves;
in other localities there are a few pairs to the square mile.
Coyotes probably mate for life. A pair commonly hunt together, though
each often hunts alone. They are said to live from eight to fifteen
years. I kept track of one for eight years, who appeared mature when I
first met him and showed no signs of decay when I saw him last.
The coyote usually lies up in a den when not hunting; but at times he
simply hides in underbrush or in ravines. A den I measured lay nearly
four feet below the surface and had a length of fourteen feet. It was
expanded into a room-like place near the farther end and there were a
number of small pockets extending from it. The den may be made by the
coyotes themselves or it may be the den of a badger which they have
re-shaped. Occasionally they take advantage of cave-like places
between large stones. The den commonly is in an out-of-the-way place
and the entrance to it is concealed by stones or bushes.
Coyotes often have three or more dens. A change is probably helpful in
keeping down parasites, and I am certain that their use of more than
one den confuses and defeats their pursuers. Many a man has dug into a
coyote’s den and found it empty when only the day before he had seen
it used by the entire family.
The young are born in April or May, in litters of from five to ten.
They grow rapidly and in a few weeks show all the cunning ways and
playfulness of puppies. When safe they spend hours outside the den,
wrestling, digging, or sleeping in the sun. In two dens I examined
each youngster had a separate compartment or pocket for himself; and,
judging from claw marks, probably he had dug this himself. In July the
youngsters are taken out into the world, where they learn the tactics
of wresting a living from the fields.
The coyote is a swift runner and easily outstrips the gray wolf. The
average horse cannot catch him and probably the greyhound is the only
dog that can overtake him. Swift as he is, however, the jack rabbit
and the antelope leave him behind.
Coyotes often hunt in pairs and occasionally in packs. When hunting
in pairs one will leisurely hunt, or pretend to be hunting, in plain
view of a prairie dog or other animal. While this active coyote holds
the attention of the victim the other slips close and rushes or
springs upon it. They often save their legs and their lives with their
brains; they succeed by stealth instead of sheer physical endurance.
Antelopes, rabbits, and other animals are frequently captured by
several coyotes taking part in the chase. Commonly they scatter in a
rude circle and run in relays. Those near the place toward which the
animal is running lie in concealment close to its probable course. As
the victim weakens all unite to pull it down and are present at the
feast.
They are not always successful, however. I have seen jack rabbits
break the circle and escape across the prairie. Two pursuing coyotes
quickly gave up the race with an antelope when it turned at a sharp
angle and struck off at increased speed. A deer, which several coyotes
had frightened into running, suddenly stopped in a little opening
surrounded by bushes. Here he put up such an effective and successful
fight that two of the attackers received broken ribs and the others
drew off.
An antelope on the Wyoming plains started several times for water,
but, without reaching it, turned and hurried back to the starting
place. Going closer I discovered that she had a young kid with her.
This was being watched by a near-by coyote. A part of the time he laid
near. If the antelope drove him off he at once returned and paced back
and forth dangerously near the kid. Some animal had already secured
one of her young, and I fear that the coyote wore the mother out and
feasted on the other.
The gray wolf often kills wantonly--kills for fun, when food is not
needed. Rarely, I think, does the coyote do this. In times of plenty
he becomes an actor and gives plays and concerts; but if fate provides
an excess of food he is likely to cache or store it. A miner lost half
a sheep from his pack horse. Half an hour later I went along his trail
and discovered a coyote burying a part of this, covering it by means
of his nose, like a dog. He had eaten to roundness and had nothing in
his outlines to suggest the lean wolf.
He eats about everything that has any food value--meat, fruit,
grasses, and vegetables in all stages of greenness and ripeness. He
has the bad habit of killing young big game; capturing birds and
robbing their nests; raiding barnyards for chickens, ducks, and
turkeys; and sometimes he feeds on sheep and occasionally kills a
calf. Often he catches a fish or frog, eats roots, tender shoots, or
has a feast of fruit or melons.
The coyote is wise enough to keep near the trail and camp of hunters
and trappers. Here he gets many a rich meal of camp scraps and
cast-off parts of killed animals. I have known him to travel with a
mountain lion and to follow the trail of a bear. In certain localities
the chipmunks retire in autumn to their holes, fat and drowsy, and
temporarily fall into a heavy sleep. Before the earth is frozen they
are energetically dug out by the coyotes. But this is only one of the
many bits of natural history known and made use of by the coyote.
But the coyote’s food habits are not all bad. At some time in every
locality, and in a few localities at all times, he has a high rank in
economic biology, and may be said to coöperate silently with the
settlers in eradicating damaging pests. He is especially useful in
fruit-growing sections. He is at the head of the list of
mouse-catching animals. He is a successful ratter, and is the terror
of prairie dogs, ground squirrels, and rabbits.
If scavengers are helpful, then he is a useful member of society. He
has a liking for carcasses, no matter how smelly or ancient. I once
saw a coyote feeding on a dead mule along with ravens and buzzards. He
did appear to be a trifle ashamed of his companions; for, though he
seeks adventure and is almost a soldier of fortune, he has a pride
that does not sanction indiscriminate associates.
He is commonly considered a coward; but this does not appear to be a
proper classification of his characteristics. Being shy and cautious
is the very price of his existence. He displays both courage and
fighting blood whenever there is anything to be gained by such
display. Rarely is it cowardly to avoid being a target for the deadly
long-range rifle or to slip away from an attack by dogs at
overwhelming odds. Recklessness and rashness do not constitute
bravery.
The coyote constantly uses his wits. In a Utah desert I often saw him
watching the flights of buzzards. If the buzzards came down, the
coyote made haste to be among those at the feast. In returning from a
far-off expedition on plain or desert he seems to be guided by
landmarks; appears to recognize striking objects seen before and to
use them as guide posts.
That he is mentally above the average animal is shown in the quickness
with which he adjusts himself to changes or to the demands of his
environment. If constantly pursued with gun, dogs, and traps he
becomes most wary; but if no one in the neighbourhood attempts to swat
him he shows himself at close range, and is often bold.
Near Canon City, Colorado, an apple grower showed me a three-legged
coyote that used his orchard. The coyote had been about for four or
five years and was quite tame. He was fed on scraps and was wise
enough to stay in the small zone of safety round the house.
But the coyote never forgets. His keen senses and keen wits appear to
be always awake, even though surroundings have long been friendly. For
a time I stayed at an isolated cattle ranch upon which hunting was
forbidden. But one day a man carrying a gun strolled into the field.
While he was still a quarter of a mile away the coyotes became
watchful and alarmed. To me the appearance of the man and gun differed
little from that of the men carrying fishing poles; but the wise
coyotes either scented or could distinguish the gun. Presently all
hurried away. While the gunner remained, at least one of the coyotes
sat where he could overlook the field. But all came strolling back
within a few minutes after the gunner left.
In western Wyoming, not far from a ranch house, were three small
hills. On these the wolves and coyotes frequently gathered and howled.
One day a number of traps were set on each of these hills. That
evening the wolves and coyotes had their usual serenade; but they
gathered in the depressions between the hills. Quickly they adjusted
themselves to the new conditions, with “Safety first!” always the
determining factor.
The coyote has a remarkable voice. It gives him a picturesque part.
Usually his spoken efforts are in the early evening; more rarely in
early morning. Often a number, in a pack or widely separated, will
engage in a concert. It is a concert of clowns; in it are varying and
changing voices; all the breaks in the evening song are filled with
startling ventriloquistic effects. The voice may be thrown in many
directions and over varying distances at once, so that the sounds are
multiplied, and the efforts of two or three coyotes seem like those of
a numerous and scattered pack.
However, the coyote uses his voice for other things than pleasure. He
has a dialect with which he signals his fellows; he warns them of
dangers and tells of opportunities; he asks for information and calls
for assistance. He is constantly saving himself from danger or
securing his needed food by coöperating with his fellows. These united
efforts are largely possible through his ability to express the
situation with voice and tongue.
Through repetition a coyote’s signals are ofttimes relayed for miles.
A leader mounts a lonely butte and proclaims his orders over the
silent prairie. This proclamation is answered by repeating coyotes a
mile or more away. Farther away, at all points of the compass, it is
repeated by others. And so, within a fraction of a minute, most of the
coyotes within a radius of miles have the latest news or the latest
orders.
Sometimes the stratum of air above the prairie is a mellow
sounding-board; it clearly and unresistingly transmits these wild
wireless calls far across the ravines and hills of the prairie. The
clear notes of a single coyote often ring distinctly across a radius
of two or three miles. When groups congregate in valley concerts all
the air between the near and the far-off hills vibrates with the wild,
varying melody. This may reach a climax in a roar like the wind, then
break up into a many-voiced yelping.
I love to hear the shoutings and the far-off cries of the coyote.
These elemental notes are those of pure gladness and wildness. To me
they are not melancholy. Their rollicking concerts remind me of the
merry efforts of live boys.
The calls of the coyote have a distinct place in the strangeness and
wildness of the Great Plains.