WHERE SPRING COMES LATE 19 



est foes : the coyote or prairie wolf. The latter's 

 tireless, unending trot, trot, trot is shown well 

 by the directness with which he travels. He 

 very knowingly avoids the woods where the snow 

 is deep and unpacked. As the trail is heading 

 south it is probable that he has spent the night 

 hunting for mice around the stacks in the fields 

 out on the flats, to the northward, and then re- 

 turned to the hills for safety during the day — 

 safety from the only thing that can put the fear 

 of death into the coyote heart and keep it there 

 — the wolf hounds that so many farmers now 

 keep. Slave to habit, as are all creatures, this 

 wolf crosses as usual along the same little flat. 

 Probably in his nightly prowlings, he has passed 

 this same clump of snowberry, hundreds of 

 times. Here he went aside and, at the foot of a 

 ridge, dug out an ant-hill, though what he got 

 for his pains must remain a mystery. 



A few hundred yards farther on, a thawed 

 spot amid some foot-prints, on the point of a hill, 

 shows up plainly and invites investigation. It 

 proves to be the fresh bed of the wolf. He has 

 lain curled up on the southern side of the hill, 

 where the sun could beam kindly upon him, and 

 where also he had a good view of his surround- 



