I0 8 Life in the Open 



hear his exuberant expressions of delight "Well 

 done, Mouse"; "Good Chiquita"; "Good boy, Ramon" 

 as the dogs shoot ahead. The ground is dangerous ; 

 there are badger holes, washes, and pitfalls made by 

 squirrels, out of which owls fly as we rush by. You 

 put your reliance on your mustang, and watch the dogs 

 and that spectral gray spot far ahead. The pace is in- 

 creasing ; the dogs are warming up. Your mustang has 

 the bit in his teeth, and you remember to have read 

 that only a race-horse can keep up with a coyote ; but 

 this pace and country would have killed a well trained 

 racer. Your clever, wiry horse leaps every hole ; he 

 knows them by intuition ; and takes everything as it 

 comes. 



Suddenly the dogs make a sharp turn ; the coyote 

 has changed his pace and we are well in. Old Ramon 

 has forced the turn. How they run ! like machines, 

 every movement telling of grace, springs of steel, and 

 beauty of motion. Across a rough field we go, 

 through a. high mustard patch, then out into a narrow 

 road. The best horses are well bunched behind the 

 dogs, and like a rush of mighty wind the hunt sweeps 

 down the road, gaining on the coyote at every leap. 

 The hounds had spread out and looked like streaks of 

 dun and blue. They appeared to make no effort to 

 see, but that they were pulling up on the ghostly form 

 was more than evident. Occasionally I saw the game 

 turn and glance over his shoulder, then with his big 

 ears well back he shot on again at marvellous speed. 



