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coyote--sound familiar???

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BEAR View Drop Down

Joined: 07 September 2013
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    Posted: 28 February 2017 at 03:52
If I remember rightly, this latter was the regular
Cayote (pronounced ky-o-te) of the farther deserts. And
if it was, he was not a pretty creature or respectable
either, for I got well acquainted with his race
afterward, and can speak with confidence. The cayote is
a long, slim, sick and sorry-looking skeleton, with a
gray wolf-skin stretched over it, a tolerably bushy tail
that forever sags down with a despairing expression of
forsakenness and misery, a furtive and evil eye, and a
long, sharp face, with slightly lifted lip and exposed
teeth. He has a general slinking expression all
over. The cayote is a living, breathing allegory of
Want. He is always hungry.

He is always poor, out of luck and friendless. The
meanest creatures despise him, and even the fleas would
desert him for a velocipede. He is so spiritless and
cowardly that even while his exposed teeth are
pretending a threat, the rest of his face is apologizing
for it. And he is so homely!--so scrawny, and ribby, and
coarse-haired, and pitiful.

When he sees you he lifts his lip and lets a flash of
his teeth out, and then turns a little out of the course
he was pursuing, depresses his head a bit, and strikes a
long, soft-footed trot through the sage-brush, glancing
over his shoulder at you, from time to time, till he is
about out of easy pistol range, and then he stops and
takes a deliberate survey of you; he will trot fifty
yards and stop again--another fifty and stop again; and
finally the gray of his gliding body blends with the
gray of the sage-brush, and he disappears.

All this is when you make no demonstration against him;
but if you do, he develops a livelier interest in his
journey, and instantly electrifies his heels and puts
such a deal of real estate between himself and your
weapon, that by the time you have raised the hammer you
see that you need a minie rifle, and by the time
you have got him in line you need a rifled cannon, and
by the time you have "drawn a bead" on him you see well
enough that nothing but an unusually long-winded streak
of lightning could reach him where he is now.

1880 nothing has changed, Montana.

Edited by BEAR
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