THE COYOTE OF PELICAN POINT 37 



running to the very edge of the point, as if he were 

 intending to leap off the cliff to death in the lake 

 below, and I saw Harris's face tighten as his hounds 

 topped the ridge, and senselessly tore on toward the 

 same fearful edge. But the race was not done yet. 

 The coyote hesitated, turned down the ledges on the 

 south slope, and leaping in among the cormorant nests, 

 started back toward us. 



He was surer on his feet than were the hounds, 

 but this hesitation on the point had cost him several 

 yards. The hounds would pick him up in the little 

 cove of smooth, hard sand that lay, encircled by 

 rough rocks, just ahead, unless no, he must cross 

 the cove, he must take the stretch. He was taking it 

 knowingly, too, and with a burst of power that he 

 had not shown upon the slopes. He was flinging away 

 his last reserve. 



The hounds were nearly across ; the coyote was 

 within fifty feet of the boulders, when the grey- 

 hound, lowering his long, flat head, lunged for the 

 spine of his quarry. 



The coyote heard him coming, spun on his fore 

 feet, offering his fangs to those of his foe, and threw 

 himself backward just as the jaws of the wolfhound 

 clashed at him and flecked his throat with foam. 



The two great dogs collided and bounded wide 

 apart, startling a jack rabbit that dived between them 

 into a hole among the rocks. The coyote, on his feet 

 in an instant, caught the motion of the rabbit, and 



