“There is,” says Schoolcraft, “something doleful as well as terrific in the howling of wolves.” When people speak of the jackal’s howl, they commonly call it “unearthly,” but a coyote’s voice is much more singularly diabolical, and his intonations are so hideously suggestive of all that is weird and devilish, that it stands by itself among natural sounds, and cannot be compared with the outcry of any other creature. Murphy describes it as follows: “The voice seems to be a combination of the long howl of the wolf and the yelp of the fox; but so distinctly marked is it from either, that, once heard, it is never forgotten. The coyote has the strange peculiarity of making the utterance of one sound like that of many; and should two or three try their larynxes at the same time, persons would fancy that a large pack was giving tongue in chorus. The cry appears to be divided into two parts. It first begins with a deep, long howl, then runs rapidly up into a series of barks, and terminates in a high scream, issued in prolonged jerks.” According to conventional opinions, elephants among wild animals, and dogs among those that have been domesticated, occupy the highest places in order of intelligence. The author does not believe this to be the case with respect to the first named species, and so far as pure intellect goes “Die reinen Vernunft,” no dog can probably surpass Canis latrans. Professor Huxley also reports that he can find no essential difference between their skulls. While these animals may be equal, however, in absolute capacity, the coyote, considered according to civilized standards of manners, is the kind of creature that if any dog were to take after, he would be incontinently shot or hanged.
His idea of good conduct is to get what he can honestly procure when driven to straightforward courses, but by preference to steal it, as being less troublesome. He is astute beyond comparison in nefarious practices, and has sense enough to howl with derision (as he sometimes seems to do) if it could be explained to him that mankind were capable of judging his behavior according to any other rule of life than his own. Homo sapiens, in a highly evolved state, is imbued with the truly noble idea that he is the centre of creation, and that all living things are admirable in proportion as they approach himself. He calls the coyote a “miserable cur,” “a barking thief,” and says sarcastically that the brute has kleptomania. Savage man, on the contrary, esteems him greatly. The two are much alike in many respects. We have already seen that this little wolf has been adopted as the tutelar of gentes among Pueblo Indians, and southern tribes of the Tinneh stock, and its prominence is scarcely less with those of the northwest coast of America. They honor the coyote; their myths and folk-lore record its good qualities and wisdom. To them it is the incarnation of a deity or a demon (these are nearly the same), and it is never killed, for fear that ill luck might be sent by the spirit of which this animal is the representative.
Under these happy auspices coyotes hang around native encampments and villages, interbreed with Indian dogs, grow fat on salmon cast upon river banks in the spawning season, hunt all that smaller game which their more powerful relations resort to for supplies only when hard pressed, and omit to take advantage of no opportunity to gain possession of provisions which are not theirs. The opinion they have of the human race is that it exists for their advantage, and mankind, further than it contributes to their support, is an object of indifference to them.
More to the south, and in the vicinity of white settlers, the coyote is oppressed and persecuted; subjected to like usage with that which the common wolf receives. This state of things is of course accompanied by changes in character that are not less marked than in the wolf’s case. It becomes nocturnal in habit, flies from the face of man, and is one of the most wary, timid, and suspicious of animals. At the same time its cunning grows greater as the necessity for self-preservation becomes more pressing, and in the same measure in which it is pursued does its capacity for evasion enlarge. Speed, endurance, wind, and invention, all develop themselves. Unlike wolves, whose homes and breeding-places are commonly in caves or clefts of rock, beneath trees or within any natural recess, coyotes dig burrows in the open, and are seldom or never inmates of forests.
As the species approaches its southern limit, the average size decreases and its color changes. In Mexico, where they are seldom molested, these brutes prowl a good deal during the day; they pack likewise more commonly than further north, and if smaller, are also bolder and less upon their guard.
In Algeria or Oran an Arab knew when the lion was coming by the jackal’s cry; Brazilian Indians tell one that they can trace a jaguar’s way at night through the barking of foxes, and it is said by shikáris in India that a prowling tiger’s path may be known by a peculiar howl which his frequent attendant—the kind of jackal called Kole baloo—utters on such occasions. The coyote also gives warning of the approach of foes that are oftentimes more dangerous than either lions or tigers. But it is by its silence that danger is announced. In a position where hostile Indians were to be expected at any time, when the coyote ceased its cries, it was an ominous thing, and frontiersmen looked out for the appearance of a war party. Everybody who has been much on the border is probably acquainted with this very general belief, and it may perhaps be founded in fact; but this much is certain, that these creatures do not always become quiet when Indians are about, for the author has more then once heard them howl—coyotes, not savages who were imitating them—when it was known for certain that Indians were near, and when the fact of their presence was soon proved.
Coursing coyotes is a favorite sport with many persons in the West, and while the weather is cool and dry they often make good runs; otherwise, the game soon succumbs to heat, or to a serious impediment in the way of escape—its own tail. This is carried low, and despite his long hind legs and powerful quarters, the brush gathers so much mud in deep ground as seriously to embarrass flight.
In those localities where this race exhibits indications of much timidity, it will be found that every destructive device of man’s ingenuity is practised against it; even to taking advantage of a harmless weakness for assafœtida in the matter of preparing poisoned baits. All this makes certain associations of ideas inevitable, and special impressions upon his mind things of course. At the same time, no mortal knows precisely what these are.
Where no such experiences of human malice and duplicity color the coyote’s character, its conduct is quite different. Under those circumstances it does not fly from imaginary perils. Even when fired at it shows no unseemly haste to leave; but if the shot be repeated, then the hint is always taken, and it vanishes. Most persons who have become personally acquainted with them must have had occasion to observe that where they have been subjected to the worst that man can do, their dexterity in the way of robbery is not more striking than the audacity by which it is accompanied. It seems difficult to reconcile the idea of any instinctive fear of man with the conduct of an animal that will steal through a line of sentinels into a military encampment, and carry off food from beside watch-fires. They do this; they do everything that requires enterprise, judgment, and skill, and this to an extent that, in the mind of an unprejudiced savage, has gained them a place among his gods.
Once the writer saw as much of the temper of coyotes in their natural state towards man as it is possible for anybody to see at one time. It befell that he was badly hurt in front of General Treveño’s cavalry brigade, then holding the line of the Rio Caña Dulce. When consciousness returned, horse and arms were gone, and the bushes around swarmed with these wolves. There may not, however, have been so many as there appeared to be, for the animals moved in and out of cover constantly, and the same one was probably seen several times. The thirst that always follows hemorrhage, and the heat of the sun, were distressing, neither was it pleasant to be an object of so much attention to a troop like this, while almost completely disabled. An overhanging bank lay near, and was reached with great difficulty. Here one could lean up against the side and contemplate them from a shady place. They behaved very curiously, and if the attendant circumstances had been at all conducive to mirth, their spiteful antics, the pretences of attack they made, and the absurd way in which some of them assumed an air of boldness, and apparently sought to inspire their companions with resolution, would no doubt have been amusing. It was abundantly shown that these creatures looked upon the inert and blood-soaked individual before them as a prey, and were consequently in a high state of excitement. Their eyes sparkled and the long hair around their necks bristled; they made short runs at and around the position, they pushed each other, and howled in every cadence of their infernal voices; also some individuals showed the rest how the thing ought to be done. A rush would have been at once fatal, but it was not made. Nevertheless, they grew bolder, and when relief arrived, had for the most part gathered around in the open. What would have happened when night came, or whether anything, the writer does not pretend to say.