Coyote and Jack Rabbit
The “ky-o-tey,” as he is called in Texas, is the pest of all new prairie settlements in the West; and his lean, grizzled figure and his nightly yelps are almost as familiar local characteristics, in the natural-history attainments of the Western boy, as are the dapper form and shrill cry of the blue jay in those of the boy who lives further East.
In regard to latitude, the coyote has probably the widest range of any of our North American animals. From the head waters of the Mackenzie River to the plains of Central America, he inhabits all the prairie country, and prowls among the foothills and passes of nearly the whole Rocky Mountain system.
He is the inveterate foe of all the rabbit species, and wherever these little creatures are exposed to his visits, the tireless and persistent energy with which they are hunted renders their life a burden—a perpetual struggle and race for bare existence.
There is one species, however, known as the jack-rabbit, or “mule-ear,” which inhabit the great plains on each side the Rocky Mountains, that generally prove more than a match, in speed, endurance and cunning, for their wary foe.
Give the jack-rabbit a good road, and he is proverbially the best runner of the West, even the fleet-footed antelope being compelled to yield the palm to his long-eared neighbor, and the greyhound must be both well-bred and well-trained if he succeeds in “taking in” the jack.
The coyote has learned better than to hunt alone, when he gets so desperately hungry as to undertake the catching of the mule-ear. The hunting is done by twos or threes, and a set of tactics adopted which are often, though not always, successful.
In Northern Texas the conditions are peculiarly favorable to the chase of the jack—much more so than further out upon the plains, where the short buffalo and mesquit grass offer no impediment to the swing or spring of his long hind legs. The mesquit patches, upon which he lives and feeds, are surrounded on all sides by the tangled bunch grass, or, still worse, by acres of broom grass tall as a man’s waist.
All through this great grazing tract south of the Red River may be found, scattered here and there, small lots of from one to fifty acres of mesquit grass, and also a scattered growth of prickly mesquit bush, the rest of the prairie being covered, as mentioned before, by two varieties of tall grasses, known as bunch and broom.
Thus the poor mule-ear is circumscribed in his range, and if hotly pursued, and cut off by the angles of his small run-way, must either trust to his dodging abilities, or take to the tall grass, which continually obstructs the play of his long legs; for the jack, unlike his smaller neighbor, jumps high with a wide swing of the hind limbs, catching the long, waving blades as he goes, and exposing his body at every leap to the keen eyes of the pursuer, while the little “cotton-tail” scoots through among the bunches or stalks and easily escapes.
But with these advantages in his favor, the coyote finds that the cost in exertion fully equals the gain of catching a jack, for, even when there are three of them together, it will take a half hour’s hard run, whereas by a little patient watchfulness, each one might have secured a fat prairie dog at some one of the numerous towns about.
Nevertheless, I have seen two coyotes manage to race after a fleet-footed jack with such consumate skill that they had all but won, and would, indeed, had I not interrupted the game.
It happened in this wise:
I had been out with my gun and secured quite a bag of quail and small rabbits, both of which are to be found very numerous among the oak groves which dot the prairie, or along the timbered streams which empty into Red River.
About sundown I started on my return to the cabin of my friends, some three-quarters of a mile distant, and was wading through a belt of broom grass, when I heard the sharp yip! yip! of a coyote just in advance. I knew there was a patch of mesquit just ahead, as I could see the tops of the bushes above the crown of a slight “rise,” and divining that my yelping friend had “jumped” a jack from a bunch of mesquit, I hastened forward in order to witness the tactics of which I had often been told.
A few hurried steps brought me within full view of the scene, and dropping out of sight in the edge of the tall grass, I watched the flying animals with the keenest interest.
There were two coyotes, and they had started a large jack, as big as four common rabbits, and clinging to his favorite beat, the frightened animal was making a circle that would bring him along the edge of the mesquit, within a dozen yards of my hiding place.
His relentless pursuers were rapidly cutting him off by running in a straight line.
One of them was about twenty yards behind the other, and the head hunter yipped with excitement as he saw the advantage of the chase. Evidently this was going to be an easy victory, and the hind runner probably licked his chops in anticipation as he saw his friend nearing the poor mule-ear at every leap.
“Why doesn’t the rabbit cut through the grass and take to another mesquit patch?” thought I.
But the poor fellow knew better than myself that there was no other spot within his reach.
On they came, the foremost pursuer keeping the inside track, as if he knew that the game was almost in his grasp.
The other coyote was fully a dozen yards behind the first, and he did not try to make the distance less. He expected that the jack would dodge his mate soon, and then, as the desperate rabbit doubled on his course, he stood a fine chance to pick him up.
Suddenly I bethought me that a good gun was lying beside me; but before I could extract the number eights and replace the useless shells with heavy shot, they flew past, and for the moment my chance of taking a hand in the exciting game was gone.
Raising a little from my reclining position, I was just in time to witness a splendid maneuver on the part of the jack. At the first look, I thought his case a hopeless one.
But not yet! With a lightning-like movement the jack valuted a clean fifteen feet to one side, and, lighting upon his hind-feet, darted straight at the hindmost coyote, who, understanding the trick, gave a sharp yelp, and leaped twice his own length into the air.
But he leaped too quick, and instead of going over the enemy at a flying jump, as he probably intended, the cunning jack darted like an arrow directly under its baffled foe, and shot away across the mesquit field, with full twenty yards the start of the enemy it had so cleverly eluded, and who now took the lead in the pursuit.
Away the rabbit went, with a fine spurt, heading directly for the nearest point of broom grass, its long, swinging leaps telling well in the straight race of the next few seconds.
“He will take to the tall grass now,” I thought.
But no! He was not yet willing to risk such a perilous venture, and seemed determined to try another run around his old accustomed beat, and to trust once more to the dodging tactics. The next time, perhaps, he might gain a greater advantage.
On he came again, dashing almost under the nose of the leading coyote, who had cut the angle of his beat, and now hugged his heels, with fierce yelps of triumph at this new advantage.
At last they came nearly straight toward me, and the poor jack looked as though he thought his case a hopeless one. His long ears were laid back until their points were lower than his foreshoulders, and, with despairing leaps, he tried in vain to overcome the terrible advantage which the angles of his run were constantly turning against him. The enemy was close upon him now, and he must dodge soon or submit to his fate.
“Poor fellow! You do not know it, but you are in luck for once, and have a friend at hand. Though at another time he might take your life as relentlessly and far more speedily than a pair of yelping coyotes, yet this time you shall go ‘scot free,’ if there’s any faith in a first-class shotgun,” was my mental reflection.
I brought the weapon to my face, and, as they went whizzing past, not twenty yards away, the right barrel called a peremptory halt to the eager coyote, and, dropping in his tracks, he rolled over and over, literally riddled by a charge of No. 3. His companion was off like the wind, but a shot from the other barrel knocked him over, also, with two broken legs, and still another from the hastily-reloaded gun ended his miserable life.