barely drag. Then he made himself comfortable on a look-out that was
near, and lay still to watch. The Hen, of course, ran to the end of the
string, and then lay on the ground flopping stupidly. Presently the log
gave enough to ease the strain, she turned by mere chance in another
direction, and so, for a time, stood up to look around.

The day went slowly by, and Jake lazily stretched himself on the blanket
in his spying-place. Toward evening Tito came by on a hunt. This was not
surprising, for the den was only half a mile away. Tito had learned,
among other rules, this, "Never show yourself on the sky-line." In
former days the Coyotes used to trot along the tops of the ridges for
the sake of the chance to watch both sides. But men and guns had taught
Tito that in this way you are sure to be seen. She therefore made a
practice of running along near the top, and once in a while peeping
over.

This was what she did that evening as she went out to hunt for the
children's supper, and her keen eyes fell on the white Hen, stupidly
stalking about and turning up its eyes in a wise way each time a
harmless Turkey-buzzard came in sight against a huge white cloud.

Tito was puzzled. This was something new. It _looked_ like game, but
she feared to take any chances. She circled all around without showing
herself, then decided that, whatever it might be, it was better let
alone. As she passed on, a fault whiff of smoke caught her attention.
She followed cautiously, and under a butte far from the Hen she found
Jake's camp. His bed was there, his Horse was picketed, and on the
remains of the fire was a pot which gave out a smell which she well knew
about men's camps--the smell of coffee. Tito felt uneasy at this proof
that a man was staying so near her home, but she went off quietly on her