There was one little trick that she had developed which was purely
instinctive--that is, an inherited habit. In the back end of her kennel
she had a little _cache_ of bones, and knew exactly where one or two
lumps of unsavoury meat were buried within the radius of her chain, for
a time of famine which never came. If anyone approached these
hidden treasures she watched with anxious eyes, but made no other
demonstration. If she saw that the meddler knew the exact place, she
took an early opportunity to secrete them elsewhere.

After a year of this life Tito had grown to full size, and had learned
many things that her wild kinsmen could not have learned without losing
their lives in doing it. She knew and feared traps. She had learned to
avoid poison baits, and knew what to do at once if, by some mistake,
she should take one. She knew what guns are. She had learned to cut her
morning and evening song very short. She had some acquaintance with
Dogs, enough to make her hate and distrust them all. But, above all, she
had this idea: whenever danger is near, the very best move possible is
to lay low, be very quiet, do nothing to attract notice. Perhaps the
little brain that looked out of those changing yellow eyes was the
storehouse of much other knowledge about men, but what it was did not
appear.

[Illustration]

The Coyote was fully grown when the boss of the outfit bought a couple
of thoroughbred Greyhounds, wonderful runners, to see whether he could
not entirely extirpate the remnant of the Coyotes that still destroyed
occasional Sheep and Calves on the range, and at the same time find
amusement in the sport. He was tired of seeing that Coyote in the yard;
so, deciding to use her for training the Dogs, he had her roughly thrown