Watched by Wild Animals Part 6

I was in the heights when a heavy snow came down and did not drift. It lay deeply over everything except pinnacles and sharp ridges. I made a number of snowshoe trips to see how sheep met this condition. During the storm one flock had stood beneath an overhanging cliff. When the snowfall ceased the sheep wallowed to the precipitous edge of the plateau and at the risk of slipping overboard had travelled along an inch or less wide footing for more than a mile. Where the summit descended by steep slope they ventured out. Steepness and snow weight before their arrival, perhaps with the a.s.sistance of their tramplings, had caused the snow at the top to slip. As the slide thus started tore to the bottom it sc.r.a.ped a wide swath free of snow. In this cleared strip the sheep were feeding contentedly.

Snowslides, large and small, often open emergency feeding s.p.a.ces for sheep. Long snowshoe excursions on the Continental Divide have often brought me into the presence of mountain sheep in the snow. They are brave, self-reliant, capable, and ever alert for every advantageous opportunity or opening.

One snowy time I searched the heights for hours without finding any sheep. But in descending I found a number upon a narrow sunny ledge that was free from snow; the trampling and the warmth of the sheep probably had helped clear this ledge. Here they could find scanty rations for a week or longer. I could not make out whether they had spent the storm time here or had come to it afterward.

In the heights are numerous ledges and knife-edge ridges on which but little snow can lodge. The cracks and niches of these hold withered gra.s.s, alpine plants, and moss, which afford an emergency food supply that often has saved snow-bound sheep.

Sheep are cool-headed fellows, as well befits those who are intimately a.s.sociated with precipices. But one day, while slowly descending a steep slope, I unintentionally threw a flock into confusion. Bunched and interested, they watched me approach within sixty or seventy feet.

I had been close to them before and this time while moving closer I tried to manipulate my camera. An awkward exhibition of a fall resulted. The sheep, lost in curiosity, fled without looking where they leaped. The second bound landed them upon an icy pitch where everyone lost footing, fell, and slid several yards to the bottom of the slope. All regained their feet and in regular form ran off at high speed.

Accidents do befall them. Occasionally one tumbles to death or is crushed by falling stone. Sometimes the weaker ones are unable to get out of deep snow. On rare occasions a mountain lion comes upon them and slays one or several, while they are almost helpless from weakness or from crusted snow. A few times I have known of one or more to be carried down to death by a snowslide.

While the sheep do not have many neighbours, they do have sunny days.

Often the heights, for long periods, are sunny and snowless. Sometimes a storm may rage for days down the slopes while the sheep, in or entirely above the upper surface of the storm cloud, do not receive any snow. Among their resident neighbours are the cony, the white weasel, and flocks of rosy finches and white ptarmigan. In these the sheep show no interest, but they keep on the watch for subtle foxes, bob-cats, and lions.

Snowfall, like rainfall, is unevenly distributed. At times a short distance below the snow-piled heights one or both slopes are snowless; at other times, the summits are bare while the lowlands are overburdened with snow. Sheep appear quickly to discover and promptly to use any advantage afforded by their range.

One snowy winter an almost famished flock of sheep started for the lowlands. Two thousand feet lower the earth in places lay brown and snowless in the sun. Whether this condition led the sheep downward, or whether the good condition of the lowland was unknown to them and they came in desperation, I know not. Already weak, they did not get down to timberline the first day. The night was spent against a cliff in deep snow. The following morning a dead one was left at the foot of the cliff and the others struggled on downward, bucking their way through the deep snow.

In snow the strongest one commonly leads. Sometimes sheep fight their way through snow deeper than their backs. The leading one rears on hind legs, extends front feet, leaps upward and forward, throwing himself with a lunge upon the snow. At an enormous cost of energy they slowly advance.

The flock that fought its way downward from the heights took advantage of outcropping rocks and, down in the woods, of logs which nearly lifted them above the snow. Six of the eleven who left the heights at last reached shallow snow where in a forest glade they remained for nearly a month.

One winter five sheep were caught in the lowlands by a deep snow. They had started homeward with the coming of the storm but were fired on by hunters and driven back. Becoming s...o...b..und they took refuge in a springy opening at the bottom of a forested slope. This open spot was not a stone's throw across. It was overspread by outpouring spring water which dissolved most of the snow. Here the sheep remained for several weeks. This place not only afforded a moderate amount of food, but in it they had enough freedom of movement successfully to resist an attack of wolves. Apparently wolves do not attack sheep in their wintry heights. Deer and elk as well as sheep have often made a stand in a springy place of this kind.

Sheep under normal conditions are serene and often playful. There appears to be most play when the flock is united. Commonly they play by twos, and in this play b.u.t.t, push, feint, jump, and spar lightly with horns, often rising to the vertical on hind legs. If a bout becomes particularly lively the others pause to look on. They give attention while something unusual is doing. One day I saw a flock deliberately cross a snowdrift when they could easily have gone around it. But the sheep were vigorous from good feed and a mild winter and this snowdrift was across the game trail on which they were slowly travelling.

No wild animal gra.s.s eater excels the bighorn sheep in climbing skill, alertness, endurance, and playfulness. They thrive on the winds and rations of the heights. Generally the sheep carry more fat when spring comes than the deer that winter down in the shelter of the woods or in the lowlands. Any healthy animal, human or wild, who understands the woodcraft of winter lives happily when drifts the snow.

CHAPTER VII

THE CLOWN OF THE PRAIRIES

Nine healthy coyote puppies were playing in the suns.h.i.+ne with all their might. After days of searching I had at last discovered their den. The puppies had not noticed me and I enjoyed watching their training for the game of life. They wrestled, played at fighting, rolled over and over, bit at one another's feet and tails, and occasionally all mixed in one merry heap.

Their mother came along the hillside above the den. She walked back and forth on the skyline where I could not miss seeing her. Then she came nearer and pa.s.sed within thirty or forty feet of me. I kept my eyes upon the puppies and pretended not to see their mother. She turned and pa.s.sed still closer to me. This time she was limping badly on one forefoot and holding up one hind foot. She was making every effort to have me follow her--to lure me away from her home and her puppies.

A moving object down the slope caught the attention of the puppies. As soon as they made out what this was they scampered racing away.

Going only a short distance, they sat down, as though at a dead line.

Evidently there is a small zone of safety surrounding the den beyond which the puppies are not allowed to go. At this moment Mr. Coyote appeared, from down the slope, with a jack rabbit in his jaws. He was coming quickly along and had not suspected my presence. How eagerly the puppies watched him! As he came up they commenced snapping and tearing at the rabbit he carried. Mrs. Coyote hastily joined them, and all scurried into the den. The following morning the den was deserted.

It is common for coyotes to move their puppies promptly to another den when they think they are discovered.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Photo. by Enos A. Mills_ _A Beaver Ca.n.a.l_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _A New Beaver Dam_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Drawing by Will James_ _The Mountain Lion_]

Another mother coyote decoyed me into watching a vacant den. Her children were in another den a quarter of a mile away. In carrying food to them she went out of her way to enter the vacant den, then left it by a different entrance and proceeded by a circuitous route to the waiting puppies. Both of the old coyotes hunt and carry food to the den for their puppies.

Repeatedly I have seen a mother or a father coyote lure a hunter or trapper away from the den or spot where the young were hidden. I have also seen one or more coyotes stay near a crippled coyote as though taking care of him, and endeavour to lure away any hunter who approached.

Someone has said that a beautiful coyote hide wraps up more deviltry than any other hide of equal dimensions stretched over an animated form. His successful cunning and his relentless ways of getting a living cause him to be cursed by those whom he plunders. But he is always interesting and appears to enjoy life even in the midst of lean times.

The coyote is the Clown of the Prairie. He is wise, cynical, and a good actor. He has a liking for action and adventure. He really is a happy fellow, something of a philosopher and full of wit.

I have seen a coyote look at a deserted and tumble-down building and strike an att.i.tude of mockery at the failures of man. Sometimes he catches a chicken while the family is away; and, carrying this to the back porch to feast, leaves the unconsumed feathers there. Two nights a coyote raided a settler's hen roost and each time left the feathers near my camp. I was ordered out of the country!

Once I tried for more than half a day to get a picture of a coyote. He appeared to know that I was unarmed and harmless, and allowed me to approach moderately close, but not quite close enough. At last he laid down by a cliff and pretended to go to sleep. When I came almost near enough to photograph him he rose, looked at me, yawned as though bored, and ran away. A common prank of his is to lure a dog from a camp or ranch to a point where the coyote is safe, then to pounce upon the dog and chase him back in confusion.

As I sat one day on a hillside, watching the antics of calves among a herd of cattle, two coyotes trotted into the scene. They caused no alarm and did not receive even a second look from the cattle. Slowly and knowingly the coyotes walked here and there among them, as though selecting a victim or looking for one whose days were numbered. Near me was a crippled old cow that plainly did not have long to live. The instant the coyotes came within view of her one of them sat down, plainly satisfied with the outlook; and the other laid down with the easy, contemptuous air of a cynic before a waiting feast. To add to the effectiveness of the scene a number of magpies, which usually are watchful enough to arrive first at any promised feast, joined them.

On an Arizona desert I saw two coyotes walking along apparently without any heads. What scheme are they up to now? was my first thought as I stood looking at this magic scene. But off on the desert was a suspended lake mirage. Two coyotes appeared just beneath the near edge, their heads completely lost in the mirage, their headless bodies walking--a most startling exhibit, even for a desert.

The coyote has a peculiar mental make-up. He has all the keen alertness of the wolf and the audacious cunning of the fox. His fox-like face at times takes on a serio-comic expression. At other times he has a most expectant look as he sits and watches, or listens, with head tilted on one side and sharp ears pointing slightly forward.

He has actions, characteristics, and att.i.tudes that make him excel even the fox for the purpose of fable making.

There are numerous Indian myths concerning the coyote; in fact, he takes the place the fox has in primitive European folklore. Numerous tribes pay the coyote tribute in daily food. Their belief accredits him with the audacity and the cunning to seize fire from forbidden sources and deliver this enduring comfort to the fireless red men.

Among most Indian tribes he is regarded with favour. Many Indian dogs are descendants of the coyote.

The coyote is a small, fleet-footed, keen-witted animal, tawny or yellowish brown in colour. He is, of course, a wolf; but he is only a little more than half the weight of his large relative, the gray wolf. Originally he was scattered over most of North America. Though scientifically cla.s.sified into a number of species and sub-species, they are very much alike in colour and habit.

The home range of the coyote is rarely ten miles across, except on the margin of mountains where sometimes it is twice this. In many localities a pair will have three or four square miles to themselves; in other localities there are a few pairs to the square mile.

Coyotes probably mate for life. A pair commonly hunt together, though each often hunts alone. They are said to live from eight to fifteen years. I kept track of one for eight years, who appeared mature when I first met him and showed no signs of decay when I saw him last.

The coyote usually lies up in a den when not hunting; but at times he simply hides in underbrush or in ravines. A den I measured lay nearly four feet below the surface and had a length of fourteen feet. It was expanded into a room-like place near the farther end and there were a number of small pockets extending from it. The den may be made by the coyotes themselves or it may be the den of a badger which they have re-shaped. Occasionally they take advantage of cave-like places between large stones. The den commonly is in an out-of-the-way place and the entrance to it is concealed by stones or bushes.

Coyotes often have three or more dens. A change is probably helpful in keeping down parasites, and I am certain that their use of more than one den confuses and defeats their pursuers. Many a man has dug into a coyote's den and found it empty when only the day before he had seen it used by the entire family.

The young are born in April or May, in litters of from five to ten.

They grow rapidly and in a few weeks show all the cunning ways and playfulness of puppies. When safe they spend hours outside the den, wrestling, digging, or sleeping in the sun. In two dens I examined each youngster had a separate compartment or pocket for himself; and, judging from claw marks, probably he had dug this himself. In July the youngsters are taken out into the world, where they learn the tactics of wresting a living from the fields.

The coyote is a swift runner and easily outstrips the gray wolf. The average horse cannot catch him and probably the greyhound is the only dog that can overtake him. Swift as he is, however, the jack rabbit and the antelope leave him behind.

Coyotes often hunt in pairs and occasionally in packs. When hunting in pairs one will leisurely hunt, or pretend to be hunting, in plain view of a prairie dog or other animal. While this active coyote holds the attention of the victim the other slips close and rushes or springs upon it. They often save their legs and their lives with their brains; they succeed by stealth instead of sheer physical endurance.

Antelopes, rabbits, and other animals are frequently captured by several coyotes taking part in the chase. Commonly they scatter in a rude circle and run in relays. Those near the place toward which the animal is running lie in concealment close to its probable course. As the victim weakens all unite to pull it down and are present at the feast.

They are not always successful, however. I have seen jack rabbits break the circle and escape across the prairie. Two pursuing coyotes quickly gave up the race with an antelope when it turned at a sharp angle and struck off at increased speed. A deer, which several coyotes had frightened into running, suddenly stopped in a little opening surrounded by bushes. Here he put up such an effective and successful fight that two of the attackers received broken ribs and the others drew off.

An antelope on the Wyoming plains started several times for water, but, without reaching it, turned and hurried back to the starting place. Going closer I discovered that she had a young kid with her.

This was being watched by a near-by coyote. A part of the time he laid near. If the antelope drove him off he at once returned and paced back and forth dangerously near the kid. Some animal had already secured one of her young, and I fear that the coyote wore the mother out and feasted on the other.