We walked closer and closer. Finally a canine barked several times, and a man came to the door of the larger house. Middleton and I crouched down behind an old vehicle.
“Some more of those —— coyotes, I reckon,” said the man in the door. “They smell the sheep.”
And then he shut the door.
“They do not mistrust us,” said I, “which simplifies things. No doubt they will be enraged at the coyote in the morning.
Do you know what a —— coyote is, Middleton?”
“No, I do not, and perhaps it is just as well.”
Just then we heard the gentle lowing of a sheep. Perhaps it was the call of one to its mate, and we knew we had come to the right place. We crossed to a fence, inside of which we found the sheep.
The gate was locked, but Middleton immediately went to work to break it with a rock. The noise he made seemed to irritate the canine again, causing it to emit staccato barks.
“I fear that the dog will upset our plans, Pettingill,” said Middleton as we heard the door open again.
“Not at all,” I reassured him. “We will use strategy. A coyote is a young wolf, don’t you see? I will dissemble.”