IIo WILD NEIGHBORS CHAP. 
Ay! there’s cause for fear when one is alone and 
the pack is out. They’re worse then than tigers 
or the cowardly pumas, though there are few who 
believe it. They come sneaking up through the 
black glades, noiseless and silent, and they squat 
on their haunches and their eyes shine like stars. 
They wait and watch and will not be driven off. 
You shoot one, but others come. They sit like 
ghosts — like pale devils —round your fire. Ah! I 
tell you, sefior, it is terrible to be beset by coyotes! 
“ Hour by hour they sit there, just out of reach, 
in a circle around you. Itisa nightmare! From 
very weariness you doze off, and, waking with a 
horrid start, you shout to see how near the devils 
have crept. As you spring up, they slink back 
again, and take the former ring, licking their foxy 
jaws, but making no sound. And you— you rush 
at them; and they glide away and vanish on the 
instant in the black undergrowth. But, as you 
return, they come forth again, they sit down, and 
stare with never a wink in their green eyes. It is 
terrible, sefior!” 
As a rule, on our western plains, they are cow- 
ardly to the last degree, and trust to superior num- 
bers and well-laid plans to effect their object. I 
remember at a place where I once encamped for 
two or three days in southwestern Wyoming, the 
rough ledge of a butte-face, just across the creek, 
was the home of a family of these wolves, and I 
often saw them,—the mother lying at the mouth 
