ON THE STAMPING-GROUND 67 



his victim. Either in the dusk of morning or of 

 evening, when his neutral-tinted coat faded into 

 the shadowy grays of the dead grass on the knoll, 

 he had stalked up to the birds, now so dance-crazy 

 and reckless, and two sharp-tails had paid the 

 price. 



Now to go a little ahead of my story — on this 

 particular morning I had no further reason to 

 think again of the coyote and his relations to the 

 grouse ; but it was a matter of but a few days till 

 it was all forcibly brought to mind, when a neigh- 

 bor lad told me that he and his father had dug 

 out a coyote den right in front of my blind on 

 the stamping-ground. When I returned to the 

 place I found that he spoke truth to the let- 

 ter, for there, a hundred paces from the spot 

 where I had lain for hours, and also in the direc- 

 tion in which I always faced, was the remains of 

 the ravaged den. 



For several years this mother coyote had 

 nested in the sandhills; and each time, her pups 

 had drawn bounty money; so now with the dar- 

 ing and strategy of a reasoning head, she had 

 chosen the field for her den. The despoiler as- 

 sured me that it was by the merest chance that 

 he had found it; and so skillfully had she kept 



