Tito 



rarely bestirred themselves to run from Grey- 

 hounds, till it was too late. But Tito, brought 

 up at the end of a chain, was a poor runner. 

 She had no reason to trust her legs. She rather 

 trusted her wits, and so lived. 



During that summer she stayed about the 

 Little Missouri, learning the tricks of small- 

 game hunting that she should have learned 

 before she shed her milk-teeth, and gaining in 

 strength and speed. She kept far away from 

 all the ranches, and always hid on seeing a 

 man or a strange beast, and so passed the sum- 

 mer alone. During the daytime she was not 

 lonely, but when the sun went down she would 

 feel the impulse to sing that wild song of the 

 West which means so much to the Coyotes. 



It is not the invention of an individual nor of 

 the present, but was slowly built out of the feel- 

 ings of all Coyotes in all ages. It expresses 

 their nature and the Plains that made their na- 

 ture. When one begins it, it takes hold of the S^*™^^,, 

 rest, as the fife and drum do with soldiers, or 

 the ki-yi war-song with Indian braves. They 

 respond to it as a bell-glass does to a certain 

 note the moment that note is struck, ignoring 



287 



17 mi 



^\j 



,. 



