Iv THE HOUND OF THE PLAINS 105 
opened like a fan, while the whelps sank far into 
the rear. Scarcely had the last dog vanished in 
the undergrowth, nose and tail to earth, when a 
short challenge rang out. There was a moment’s 
pause, while the old dogs verified the fact, I sup- 
pose. A bolder cry proclaimed that all was well, 
and the pups, which had been standing still as 
statues in their place, dashed off into the wood. 
Then the music of the pack broke out again; they 
swept away under the mysterious trees and I saw 
them no more. 
“Certainly,” exclaimed the narrator, at the con- 
clusion of this brilliant and instructive story, “no 
training could have bettered that day’s run. To 
drive a grown buck back to his starting-place; to 
send on a portion of the pack to that point where 
he would strive to break cover; to head him again 
and again into the covert, where his speed could 
not be exerted to the full, were facts which might 
puzzle all the best dogs in England, and the human 
intelligence which directs them.” 
His game and its getting are not always so noble 
as this, however, and the coyote knows well the 
pinch of famine, especially in winter. It has been 
remarked that the main object of his life seems 
to be the satisfying of a hunger which is always 
craving; and to this aim all his cunning, impu- 
dence, and audacity are mainly directed. Noth- 
ing comes, amiss. Though by no means the 
swiftest-footed quadruped upon the plains, he runs 
