succeed in having her swallow another bait with a small dose of poison,
but she knew what to do now and had almost no suffering.

Later on, a relative sent Lincoln a Bull-terrier, and the new
combination was a fresh source of spectacular interest for the boy, and
of tribulation for the Coyote. It all emphasized for her that old idea
to "lay low"--that is, to be quiet, unobtrusive, and hide when danger
is in sight. The grown-ups of the household at length forbade these
persecutions, and the Terrier was kept away from the little yard where
the Coyote was chained up.

[Illustration]

It must not be supposed that, in all this, Tito was a sweet, innocent
victim. She had learned to bite. She had caught and killed several
chickens by shamming sleep while they ventured to forage within the
radius of her chain. And she had an inborn hankering to sing a morning
and evening hymn, which procured for her many beatings. But she learned
to shut up, the moment her opening notes were followed by a rattle of
doors or windows, for these sounds of human nearness had frequently been
followed by a "_bang_" and a charge of bird-shot, which somehow did no
serious harm, though it severely stung her hide. And these experiences
all helped to deepen her terror of guns and of those who used them. The
object of these musical outpourings was not clear. They happened usually
at dawn or dusk, but sometimes a loud noise at high noon would set her
going. The song consisted of a volley of short barks, mixed with doleful
squalls that never failed to set the Dogs astir in a responsive uproar,
and once or twice had begotten a far-away answer from some wild Coyote
in the hills.