Johnny Bear by E. T. Seton
E >>
E. T. Seton >> Johnny Bear
Tito had a curious fad, occasionally seen among the Wolves and Coyotes,
of carrying in her mouth, for miles, such things as seemed to be
interesting and yet were not tempting as eatables. Many a time had she
trotted a mile or two with an old Buffalo-horn or a cast-off shoe, only
to drop it when something else attracted her attention. The cow-boys who
remark these things have various odd explanations to offer: one,
that it is done to stretch the jaws, or keep them in practice, just as a
man in training carries weights. Coyotes have, in common with Dogs and
Wolves, the habit of calling at certain stations along their line of
travel, to leave a record of their visit. These stations may be a stone,
a tree, a post, or an old Buffalo-skull, and the Coyote calling there
can learn, by the odour and track of the last comer, just who the caller
was, whence he came, and whither he went. The whole country is marked
out by these intelligence depots. Now it often happens that a Coyote,
that has not much else to do will carry a dry bone or some other useless
object in its mouth, but sighting the signal-post, will go toward it to
get the news, lay down the bone, and afterwards forget to take it along,
so that the signal-posts in time become further marked with a curious
collection of odds and ends.
[Illustration]
This singular habit was the cause of a disaster to the Chimney-pot
Wolf-hounds, and a corresponding advantage to the Coyotes in the war.
Jake had laid a line of poison baits on the western bluffs. Tito knew
what they were, and spurned them as usual; but finding more later, she
gathered up three or four and crossed the Little Missouri toward the
ranch-house. This she circled at a safe distance; but when something
made the pack of Dogs break out into clamour, Tito dropped the baits,
and next day, when the Dogs were taken out for exercise they found and
devoured these scraps of meat, so that in ten minutes, there were four
hundred dollars' worth of Greyhounds lying dead. This led to an edict
against poisoning in that district, and thus was a great boon to the
Coyotes.
[Illustration]
Tito quickly learned that not only each kind of game must be hunted in a
special way, but different ones of each kind may require quite different
treatment. The Prairie-dog with the outlying den was really an easy
prey, but the town was quite compact now that he was gone. Near the
centre of it was a fine, big, fat Prairie-dog, a perfect alderman, that
she had made several vain attempts to capture. On one occasion she had
crawled almost within leaping distance, when the angry _bizz_ of a
Rattlesnake just ahead warned her that she was in danger. Not that the
Ratler cared anything about the Prairie-dog, but he did not wish to
be disturbed; and Tito, who had an instinctive fear of the Snake, was
forced to abandon the hunt. The open stalk proved an utter, failure with
the Alderman, for the situation of his den made every Dog in the town
his sentinel; but he was too good to lose, and Tito waited until
circumstances made a new plan.
All Coyotes have a trick of watching from a high look-out whatever
passes along the roads. After it has passed they go down and examine its
track. Tito had this habit, except that she was always careful to keep
out of sight herself.
One day a wagon passed from the town to the southward. Tito lay low and
watched it. Something dropped on the road. When the wagon was out of
sight Tito sneaked down, first to smell the trail as a matter of habit,
second to see what it was that had dropped. The object was really an
apple, but Tito saw only an unattractive round green thing like a
cactus-leaf without spines, and of a peculiar smell. She snuffed it,
spurned it, and was about to pass on; but the sun shone on it so
brightly, and it rolled so curiously when she pawed, that she picked it
up in a mechanical way and trotted back over the rise, where are found
herself at the Dog-town. Just then two great Prairie-hawks came skimming
like pirates over the plain. As soon as they were in sight the Prairie-
dogs all barked, jerking their tails at each bark, and hid below. When
all were gone Tito walked on toward the hole of the big fat fellow whose
body she coveted, and dropping the apple on the ground a couple of feet
from the rim of the crater that formed his home, she put her nose down
to enjoy the delicious smell of Dog-fat. Even his den smelled more
fragrant than those of the rest. Then she went quietly behind a
greasewood bush, in a lower place some twenty yards away, and lay flat.
After a few seconds some venturesome Prairie-dog looked out, and seeing
nothing, gave the "all's well" bark. One by one they came out, and in
twenty minutes the town was alive as before. One of the last to come out
was the fat old Alderman. He always took good care of his own precious
self. He peered out cautiously a few times, then climbed to the top of
his look-out. A Prairie-dog hole is shaped like a funnel, going straight
down. Around the top of this is built a high ridge which serves as a
look-out, and also makes sure that, no matter how they may slip in their
hurry, they are certain to drop into the funnel and be swallowed up by
the all-protecting earth. On the outside the ground slopes away gently
from the funnel. Now, when the Alderman saw that strange round thing at
his threshold he was afraid. Second inspection led him to believe that
it was not dangerous, but was probably interesting. He went cautiously
toward it, smelled it, and tried to nibble it; but the apple rolled
away, for it was round, and the ground was smooth as well as sloping.
The Prairie-dog followed and gave it a nip which satisfied him that the
strange object would make good eating. But each time he nibbled, it
rolled farther away. The coast seemed clear, all the other Prairie-dogs
were out, so the fat Alderman did not hesitate to follow up the dodging,
shifting apple.
This way and that it wriggled, and he followed. Of course it worked
toward the low place where grew the greasewood bush. The little tastes
of apple that he got only whetted his appetite. The Alderman was more
and more interested. Foot by foot he was led from his hole toward that
old, familiar bush and had no thought of anything but the joy of eating.
And Tito curled herself and braced her sinewy legs, and measured the
distance between, until it dwindled to not more than three good jumps;
then up and like an arrow she went, and grabbed and bore him off at
last.
It will never be known whether it was accident or design that led to the
placing of that apple, but it proved important, and if such a thing were
to happen once or twice to a smart Coyote,--and it is usually clever
ones that get such chances,--it might easily grow into a new trick of
hunting.
[Illustration]
After a hearty meal Tito buried the rest in a cold place, not to get rid
of it, but to hide it for future use; and a little later, when she was
too weak to hunt much, her various hoards of this sort came in very
useful. True, the meat had turned very strong; but Tito was not
critical, and she had no fears or theories of microbes, so suffered no
ill effects.
VIII.
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.
IX.
Oliver Jake had several plans for making a fortune, but each in turn was
abandoned as soon as he found that it meant work. At one time or other
most men of this kind see the chance of their lives in a poultry-farm.
They cherish the idea that somehow the poultry do all the work. And
without troubling himself about the details, Jake devoted an unexpected
windfall to the purchase of a dozen Turkeys for his latest scheme. The
Turkeys were duly housed in one end of Jake's shanty, so as to be well
guarded, and for a couple of days were the object of absorbing interest,
and had the best of care--too much, really. But Jake's ardour waned
about the third day; then the recurrent necessity for long celebrations
at Medora, and the ancient allurements of idle hours spent lying on the
tops of sunny buttes and of days spent sponging on the hospitality
of distant ranches, swept away the last pretence of attention to his
poultry-farm. The Turkeys were utterly neglected--left to forage for
themselves; and each time that Jake returned to his uninviting shanty,
after a few days' absence, he found fewer birds, till at last none but
the old Gobbler was left.
Jake cared little about the loss, but was filled with indignation
against the thief.
He was now installed as wolver to the Broadarrow outfit. That is, he was
supplied with poison, traps, and Horses, and was also entitled to all he
could make out of Wolf bounties. A reliable man would have gotten pay in
addition, for the ranchmen are generous, but Jake was not reliable.
Every wolver knows, of course, that his business naturally drops into
several well-marked periods.
In the late whiter and early spring--the love-season--the Hounds will
not hunt a She-wolf. They will quit the trail of a He-wolf at this time
--to take up that of a She-wolf, but when they do overtake her, they,
for some sentimental reason, invariably let her go in peace. In August
and September the young Coyotes and Wolves are just beginning to run
alone, and they are then easily trapped and poisoned. A month or so
later the survivors have learned how to take care of themselves, but in
the early summer the wolver knows that there are dens full of little
ones all through the hills. Each den has from five to fifteen pups, and
the only difficulty is to know the whereabouts of these family homes.
One way of finding the dens is to watch from some tall butte for a
Coyote carrying food to its brood. As this kind of wolving involved much
lying still, it suited Jake very well. So, equipped with a Broadarrow
arrow Horse and the boss's field-glasses, he put in week after week at
den-hunting--that is, lying asleep in some possible look-out, with an
occasional glance over the country when it seemed easier to do that than
to lie still.
The Coyotes had learned to avoid the open. They generally went homeward
along the sheltered hollows; but this was not always possible, and one
day, while exercising his arduous profession in the country west of
Chimney Butte, Jake's glasses and glance fell by chance on a dark spot
which moved along an open hillside. It was grey, and it looked like
this: and even Jake knew that that meant Coyote. If it had been a grey
Wolf it would have been so: with tail up. A Fox would have looked so:
the large ears and tail and the yellow colour would have marked it. And
a Deer would have looked so: That dark shade from the front end meant
something in his mouth--probably something being carried home--and that
would mean a den of little ones.
[Illustration]
He made careful note of the place, and returned there next day to watch,
selecting a high butte near where he had seen the Coyote carrying the
food. But all day passed, and he saw nothing. Next day, however, he
descried a dark Coyote, old Saddleback, carrying a large Bird, and by
the help of the glasses he made out that it was a Turkey, and then he
knew that the yard at home was quite empty, and he also knew where the
rest of them had gone, and vowed terrible vengeance when he should find
the den. He followed Saddleback with his eyes as far as possible, and
that was no great way, then went to the place to see if he could track
him any farther; but he found no guiding signs, and he did not chance on
the little hollow the was the playground of Tito's brood.
Meanwhile Saddleback came to the little hollow and gave the low call
that always conjured from the earth the unruly procession of the nine
riotous little pups, and they dashed at the Turkey and pulled and
worried till it was torn up, and each that got a piece ran to one side
alone and silently proceeded to eat, seizing his portion in his jaws
when another came near, and growling his tiny growl as he showed the
brownish whites of his eyes in his effort to watch the intruder. Those
that got the softer parts to feed on were well fed. But the three that
did not turned all then energies on the frame of the Gobbler, and over
that there waged a battle royal. This way and that they tugged and
tussled, getting off occasional scraps, but really hindering each other
feeding, till Tito glided in and deftly cut the Turkey into three or
four, when each dashed off with a prize, over which he sat and chewed
and smacked his lips and jammed his head down sideways to bring the
backmost teeth to bear, while the baby runt scrambled into the home den,
carrying in triumph his share--the Gobbler's grotesque head and neck.
X.
Jake felt that he had been grievously wronged, indeed ruined, by that
Coyote that stole his Turkeys. He vowed he would skin them alive when he
found the pups, and took pleasure in thinking about how he would do it.
His attempt to follow Saddleback by trailing was a failure, and all his
searching for the den was useless, but he had come prepared for any
emergency. In case he found the den he had brought a pick and shovel; in
case he did not he had brought a living white Hen.
The Hen he now took to a broad open place near where he had seen
Saddle-back, and there he tethered her to a stick of wood that she could
barely drag. Then he made himself comfortable on a look-out that was
near, and lay still to watch. The Hen, of course, ran to the end of the
string, and then lay on the ground flopping stupidly. Presently the log
gave enough to ease the strain, she turned by mere chance in another
direction, and so, for a time, stood up to look around.
The day went slowly by, and Jake lazily stretched himself on the blanket
in his spying-place. Toward evening Tito came by on a hunt. This was not
surprising, for the den was only half a mile away. Tito had learned,
among other rules, this, "Never show yourself on the sky-line." In
former days the Coyotes used to trot along the tops of the ridges for
the sake of the chance to watch both sides. But men and guns had taught
Tito that in this way you are sure to be seen. She therefore made a
practice of running along near the top, and once in a while peeping
over.
This was what she did that evening as she went out to hunt for the
children's supper, and her keen eyes fell on the white Hen, stupidly
stalking about and turning up its eyes in a wise way each time a
harmless Turkey-buzzard came in sight against a huge white cloud.
Tito was puzzled. This was something new. It _looked_ like game, but
she feared to take any chances. She circled all around without showing
herself, then decided that, whatever it might be, it was better let
alone. As she passed on, a fault whiff of smoke caught her attention.
She followed cautiously, and under a butte far from the Hen she found
Jake's camp. His bed was there, his Horse was picketed, and on the
remains of the fire was a pot which gave out a smell which she well knew
about men's camps--the smell of coffee. Tito felt uneasy at this proof
that a man was staying so near her home, but she went off quietly on her
hunt, keeping out of sight, and Jake knew nothing of her visit.
About sundown he took in his decoy Hen, as Owls were abundant, and went
back to his camp.
XI.
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: