KING-THE CRAFTY COYOTE

DISCOVERY

SOMETHING moved in the brush. The old Indian's eyes flicked ever so slightly. "Um, coyote," he grunted.

Wesley's heart pounded with excitement. He almost shouted as he spoke the words, "King Hello, King old boy!"

The rustling stopped. Then, like a yellow shadow, the coyote materialized in the shadow of a greasewood bush, a bare ten yards away. "King, Come on old boy?"

The animal advanced cautiously, sampling the wind with his nose. Gaining confidence. He covered the intervening ground rapidly, until he stood in front of Wesley, all tensed, ready to spring. He strained his nose forward, dog-like, until it almost touched the tips of Wesley's outstretched fingers.

An unfamiliar sound vibrated the air. The coyote shied quickly away, vanished into the tangle of brush. The motionless Indian grunted again, "Him fine medicine dog."

Wesley scarcely heard the words. He had seen King Coyote again - his wild coyote. His memory flashed back over the denizen of the Wyoming wild had shown him things no white boy had ever seen before and which few men would ever see again. His mind went back to that day on the ranch when he had first seen King Coyote. The scene came alive in his mind's eye. His thoughts sped back through the years. Once again he and his cousin Matt were bursting into the cool darkness of the ranch house, and rushed over to where Cody was sitting eating breakfast.

"Oh, Uncle Cody," he shouted. "We've found a coyote's den" Cody looked up from his plate with a broad smile. He had boys of his own and understood their youthful excitement.

"Good for you!" he responded. "Where did you find it?"

"In a sandy cove up in the hills."

"Near the spring where the wildcat killed that young calf last year," chimed in Matt.

"Yes," went on Wesley breathlessly. "We saw a coyote come out of the brush and cross a ridge. It had a cottontail rabbit in its jaws. We watched it and pretty soon it disappeared in a little ravine by the spring."

"And we ran up there, and saw it leave the den," Wesley added. "We're going to dig it out after school."

"Very good" nodded Cody, rubbing his chin. "Sounds like a female. I suppose you closed the den."

"Oh, No!", Wesley said, his face falling, "Why?"

"The mother may remove the young ones, now that you've discovered her den," explained Uncle Cody. "However, you still have a chance. She may wait until after dark."

Wesley and Matt were hopeful, as Matt's brother Carson joined them.

"Maybe the teacher will let us out early - if we stay in at noon, and do extra chores," suggested Carson.

"An idea!" agreed Matt. "An extra hour will help us a lot."

Uncle Cody eyed the boys quizzically. "You were out hunting rather early this morning, weren't you?"

"Mr. Lietz said he saw tracks of a mountain lion in the south pasture yesterday," answered Matt. "We thought we might get a chance to see it."

Uncle Cody pushed his chair back from the table. Always a heavy eater, he had finished breakfast before the ranch hands at the table with him were half through. Usually he ate with them at five-thirty in the morning. The family gathered for their breakfast two hours later.

Wesley and Matt leaned against the rancher's chair. Their excitement had somewhat cooled by this time. The older man always had a calming effect upon them. Though ever ready to enter into their schemes, Cody was a man of perfect poise. He never lost his temper with person or animal. The boys adored him.

"Uncle Cody, how many cubs will be in the den?" asked Wesley.

"Seven or eight, perhaps. Sometimes there are ten, or even a dozen."

"Then that's another reason why there are plenty of coyotes."

"Yes, coyotes are prolific as well as cunning. What are you going to do with the cubs?"

"We'll keep some for pets. Give the others away."

Wesley's uncle smiled. He was thinking of his neighbor and good friend, George, a notorious hater of coyotes.

"I know someone who would like to get hold of all of them. Sometimes the coyotes take one of my calves, but it's usually a weak one. I'm glad old George can't kill them all. I'd keenly miss their evening serenades. Well, I must be off. I'm going to the city today. I'll tell you a coyote story tonight. Good luck, and good hunting."

The hired men, Ol' Red and Hap, were now leaving the table. Each in turn received a few words from the husky rancher, about the day's work. While Carolyn, the Rancher's wife cleaned the table, the three boys lay down on the rug in front of the fireplace. Though it was the middle of May, the mornings were crisp and cool until the sun rose above the mountains. It was cool enough for a small fire.

Matt was thirteen and the oldest was Wesley and he of course was the leader. Carson was two years younger.

Wesley was a born naturalist. From the time he could walk he had collected all kinds of outdoor pets - mice, horned toads, polliwogs, even rabbits. The proudest time of his life was when he owned a pet raccoon. It was his ambition to be the manager of a zoo when he grew up, and to have in it every kind of animal on the globe. He lived most of the time in the city, but for several months each year, during the school holidays, he visited Uncle Cody and Aunty Carolyn and his cousins Matt and Carson on the ranch. It was like a second home to him. Often in the spring, as now, he stayed a week or two extra and went to the country school with his cousins.

The boys dreamed and talked about their discovery. They enjoyed all the thrills over and over, and imagined those to come. In the little kingdom of the mind, ruled over by the spirit, they lived what we call happiness. Before they knew it the bell called them to breakfast.

The next five hours went slowly for Wesley and his cousins. Of course, two other boys, Rex and Richie, sons of a neighboring rancher were let into their secret. The whole school, however, knew that something strange was going to happen. The very essence of mystery and adventure was in the air. Wesley and his companions, by staying in at recess and noon, were released at two o'clock. Now that was some happy group when they came running out of the school house.

An hour later the boys were seen trudging through the prairie bushes on the ranch, headed for the south pasture up in the hills some three miles away from the ranch house. Wesley was in the lead, of course, carrying a pick; Matt came next with a shovel. The other three fell in behind, Indian fashion, where the road was narrow and rough. Carson carried a basket and Rex the youngest boy a pasteboard box. No explorers ever went forward with higher hopes - not even Lewis and Clark up the murky Missouri, nor Fremont through the passes of the Rocky Mountains. They looked like a group of cowboys with their western hats and dirty jeans.