THE SHADOW OF THE DESERT 83 



other swimmers, such as terns and pelicans and 

 cormorants, escaping him, in most part, by tread- 

 ing down the tule islands in the middle of the 

 lake and on these rearing their young. 



But it takes the wide prairie, or the desert, to 

 bring out the best in the coyote. He is the hunter 

 of the plains, the rich grass or stunted sage or 

 scattered rocks hiding him equally well, and 

 yielding him his meager but sufficient meat. 

 Fitted for the plains, he lives where almost any 

 other carnivore would die, combining in himself 

 the physical and mental characteristics of both 

 fox and wolf. Sagacity and endurance mark him, 

 and a peculiar ingenuousness, inquisitiveness per- 

 haps, that leaves his face without a trace of sav- 

 agery. He is pretty nearly a dog, and in fact is 

 the one member of his wild tribe that has a well- 

 developed bark. And, like the dog, he loves to 

 bark, the dusk and moonlight filling his soul with 

 a solemn music that every sojourner on the plains 

 has listened to. No more weird or haunting note 

 was ever heard, eerie, wistful, melancholy, as if 

 the inarticulate tongue would utter things unut- 

 terable, dim brute desires that our human tongues 

 long since have clothed with words. I have never 



