THE CLOWN OF THE PRAIRIES 97 



times relayed for miles. A leader mounts a lonely 

 butte and proclaims his orders over the silent 

 prairie. This proclamation is answered by re- 

 peating coyotes a mile or more away. Farther 

 away, at all points of the compass, it is repeated 

 by others. And so, within a fraction of a 

 minute, most of the coyotes within a radius of 

 miles have the latest news or the latest orders. 



Sometimes the stratum of air above the prairie 

 is a mellow sounding-board; it clearly and un- 

 resistingly transmits these wild wireless calls 

 far across the ravines and hills of the prairie. 

 The clear notes of a single coyote often ring 

 distinctly across a radius of two or three miles. 

 When groups congregate in valley concerts all 

 the air between the near and the far-off hills 

 vibrates with the wild, varying melody. This 

 may reach a climax in a roar like the wind, 

 then break up into a many-voiced yelping. 



I love to hear the shoutings and the far-off 

 cries of the coyote. These elemental notes 

 are those of pure gladness and wildness. To me 

 they are not melancholy. Their rollicking con- 

 certs remind me of the merry efforts of live 

 boys. 



The calls of the coyote have a distinct place in 

 the strangeness and wildness of the Great Plains. 



