The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 27, 1902, Page 8

THE SUNDAY CALL. t lives for a time One of a coyote. my ancestors ght up from the desert a cap- tive, but He told us all abc He s ones we e stole ou swif yward th s are very foolish wn from their roos: 4, po out th g to eat when it half and it and nab into the w We went we were witk house w crou dowr A walted. We could see the chickens com- ing and we lay very low. When they were within a few yards of us, they stopped and began to scratch and pick e ground. Mrs. Coyote and myself look- ed at each other and smiled. We b color ade a other and HART t wh aried you with t mayv have e done so. But ence 1 had in one c some years ago I my mind to keep very when T e but one com- ve had to-day rmy night that two pas- sengers inside of a coach like this which pulled out of a California town. 1 was one of the passengers. The other was disposed to be soclable, but 1 did not meet him. 1 quickly discov- ered that he knew how to talk, and that he was no ordinary pilgrim. But I was tired. I had had little or_po sleep for three nights. I took it for granted that we would be together the next day and I resolved that I would squawked and cackled and got themselves into a great fright. But th came out the field and we were waiting for them and did the same thing ne the morning before. A ch a fool! nes morning they to just as early whic ing for a week we went to the at field the same way, and every o ght a chicken and ran away I suppose we would have kept on doing the same thing until the » was caught. But one morn- nabbed our chickens and the to squawk and cackle, some- us with a gun, we people at the house fou One day when I came home from a hunt Mrs. Coyote showed me five beauti- ful covotes. She asked me what I them. I looked at them acro e way a grizzly bear looks at nd then I told her that they prettiest young things in the the smart” from the very be- to hunt a great deal in I brought them pig and duck and jackrabbit and gopher and everything I could lay But luckle: night I lamb that was somebody’s pet. > big to carry home to my fam- ily, so I dragged it as far as I could and one @ T was tc him then that I could listen. inclined, however, to tive, fell asleep in t stories, which 1 knew of the ordinary sta t. in spite of this, I asleep in the climax. When ouse myself my fellow-traveler t on another story. While ring how previous one had I fell asleep in the same way in each succeeding story ‘Somewhere on the mounta n road the torm passed, or we passed it, 1 don't know which. I remember I looked out nd saw the stars. I looked up and saw the snow was glinting on the mountain tops. Then I noticed that my compan- ion was gone. “In his place was another passenger. I recognized him at onece as the driver, or he who was on the box when we left earlier in thé evening. He seemed to be asleep, but 1 was now wide awake. -1 shook him. It reauired some effort to bring him out or his stupor. * ‘What are you doing in here? I asked. “He replied that he was trying to sleep, and did not know why he should not be permitted to do sc. fofofofefertofosedode 3ot ET RARTE DROVE THE CCACH.- ate part of it m: ther meal. I had grown very thin and gaunt even for a coyote. The next day I thought I would go back and eat some more of the When I within a short dis- ce of it, I saw a young man on horse- back, whom 1 knew very well by sight. He was & man=not more than 15 his name was Tom. He 1f. T left the rest for 41 lamb. was ta a very you or 16 years old; rode a fleet horse and a Spanish saddle, on which w hanging a riata. A riata is a rope made of rawhide and bruided round. Ma the time I have chewed one in two. This boy Tom had another rope on his horse, too; it was a hzir rope and he used it for a halter. 1 had watched him making it with two sticks, the way the Mexicans make them, They are made of the manes and tails of When I saw him, I stoppe: He sitting on horse and did not seem to be doing anything, or intending to do thing, but I felt, somehow, that thefe smething in his mind about me. I 1G_seen -him run a young antelope down and throw his rope en it and carry it away on hors I knew if he ever got within the length of that rope of me, M Coyote would have to hunt for the yoi ters alone. I decided 1 did not want to eat lamb, and started away from it at my swift- est speed; even as I turned, I saw him tch the riata from his saddle and lean forward on his horse. I ran with all the swiftness that w in me; but steadily, steadily, the horse gained on me. I could ‘Where is the ssenger who got in pa with me? I inquired. there; he was the answer I got. herg * ‘Drivin’, up knows the * “Does to turn the company allow its drivers over the reins to any passenger » comes along, and does it permit its to ride in the coaches? I asked, vhat indignantly. ‘“To — with the plied. “The man that's out there on the box knows more than the whole stage company. human, and that sort's skase. Under- stand? When we stopped back yonder to tighten a nut he got out and gimme a hand. We'd been thar yit but ter him. Then he fall to a questionin’ me, and when he finds out I ain’t had no lay-off in purty nigh fifty hours, he sgys to me: “Git inside thar and I'll see that we it thar,” he says. “Go In,” he says, “or I'll leave you or the road.” So I got in. He got up. That's all that is to it. How do you like it? Ain't skeered, are you? w drive some company,” he re- countr He's about this made no reply. 1 crouched down in my corner and closed my eves. It was 2 2 e 2 e e 2 o hear his hoofs beat the earth. T w il a long way from home and no ndly coyote den lay in my path. It was a long stretch of bare, level plain; we had run a mile; every moment the distance between us lessened. I heard the whir of the riata as bey swung the loop round, making ready o throw it; then the hiss of it through the zir, and thwack on the ground the lcop fell all around me. I bounded through it and tried to run faster. The horse did ken his speed. The boy recoiled pe, and made another loop as he I knew just what he was doing; I ! watched him many a time. Two more times he threw It over me. but T was so thin I leaped through it be- fore he could jerk in the siack. The fourth throw caught both my hind legs in the loop. The horse went past me like the wind and the boy again coiled the rope as he flew along, but this time I was bob- bing at the end of it. He stopped and swung me up his horse’'s le by the heels. I bit the horse on the > leg as I went up. And then I bit the boy’s leg. My teeth are sharp and firm and I bite hard. He caught hold of me and lifted me to the saddle. I bit his arm and in the same moment jumped at his throat and bit the side of his neck. The blood ran down into his collar; he saia something very roughly to me and askea the ' . side, under the ribs, wherse his flesh was thing he put his hand around to catch my head 1 I bit his thumb; my teeth went through it, nail and all. He said the zh thing to me again. I really began ect his pluck, but I did not stop biting. TFinally, he got hold of my head and w red the hair rope he had for a halter around my mouth. He wrapped it round and round, making a regular muz- zle on me, and tied it fost. I knew it was all day with me then and I gave up. But I looked across my nose at him with some pleasure. 1 had bitten him nearly akl ove I supposed, of course, he would kill me, but he took me to his home and chained me to a stake in the back yard, and the only revenge he took was to cut off one side, with my eyes shut, pretending to be p, and the silly things would mistake me for a dog. They would come up and pick around me without the least fear. Some of th& little ones got so saucy they would hop up on me and.pick in my ears. The people said: ‘“How gentle the. coyote is!” As soon as they V.ére gone snap would go my teeth and cown would go a small chicken. = old gentleman who lived at the house and who was the father of the boy who had captured me began to suspect my treachery with the chickens—so any of them were missing—and when boy was not at home he unchained and set the dog after me. very glad to return to Mrs. Coy- ot¢ and the youngsters. We moved nearer the mountains. Several years passed away. T brought the news one day to Mrs Coyote that the Legislature of California had just passed a law offering $5 reward for the scalp of every coyote that could be brought in with bdth ears on it. She lcoked slyly at my ome ear and said: ‘You are safe, my dear, in any case.” I told her they would kill me before they would find it out. She thought the law a great joke, and she made up some poetry about it, which she repeated to me. T thought it very fumny. I set it to music for her, and we went up on the me I wa the top of a hill and practiced it with # great many variations of the tune. She called it “The Bounty ®ong.” I will write it down: THE BO TY SONG. Five dollars is offered for me! ‘Why-ee-ee-00-0-ce, for me— Five dollars for me! I'm a howling coyote. Five dollars for my Yip-you-ee-you-ee-ox 1 dare not give a velp, But somebody snaps a trap for mg-oo-ee! I'm a howling coyote. poor scalp! -ee! Yio—yip—fife dollars for me! Poison, ambush and gun, Are making the roost of the chicken Very poor pickin' for me, yip-yip-you-ee! I'm a valuable thing to the State: It offers a V for my vate— The music which T made I doubt if any one but a coyote could sing—unless were a very good ventriloquist As we came down from the hilltop found two of our neighbors dead; t scalps were gone. We knew the Invas bad begum. We were beset on every s —gun, trap, poison, everywhere; was not so funny as it had seep There were only myself and ote left now, all of our youns: “gg grown and gone their wa said to her, “We, will go to Arizona’ the bunters had preceded us. Before we reached the Colorado Riv they got Mrs. Coyote's scalp, and 1 was but left alone. I thought I would go back acrc the desert.and go up into mountains where : tne Coyote India lived. A scalp hunter would hardly ve ture upon thelr ground. I stopped at a place called Seven- Wells, and walked straight into a trap, I admired the cun- ning that had outwitted me. When the man came to kill and scalp me there was another man with him, The other man said: “Fll give you for the coyote and save you the trouble of scalping bim."” A little round gold plece changed hands and once more a chain was put around my neck and I was led away Into cap- tivity. The man who bought me from the man who trapped me took me to a city on the bank cf the great Pacific Ocean that is known by the name of San Diego, which in the English language is St. James. He scld me to a saloon-keeper. I slept in a barrel that was turned on its side and fixed so it could not roll and was fed nice beefsteak. In the day I was chained on the sidewalk in front of the saloon, se that people would stop to look at me. They tried to teach me to drink beer, but I refused to learn. It was bitter, and I did not like it; besides, I had watched the effect of it ob the men who n- drank i. A coyote al ‘wants to keep his head right. I have been with these j o & long time now. They think I tamed. They chain me to a dog- and us loose In the street. A short-legged. big-bodied, ugly yellow dog he is, but & good-natur- ed beast, and we get along very well to- gether, except when I want to go one way and he wants to go another. It mostly ends in our going the way I waat to go. His uncouyth manners annoy me, too. When he drinks he doés it so nols- ily you can hear 'him haif way across the street. He could net get his big tongue into the glass that I drink out of. I lap the water the same way he does, but I do it daintily; my tongue is much smaller and more delicately shaped. However, with all his faults he is a bet~ ter dog than I am. Yes, they think I am tamed. They think I enjoy this sort of existence—the neise and the rattle and the crowds on the street, andto be stared at. They think I like to lap water out of a glass and smell beer and sleép in a barrel. They do not know iwhen the wind blows and the ocean rogrs that my bris tles raise with the longjng for freedom. y do not know when the twiiight w my foot soles tingle r the plaips and seek my i ea s T ach in the schools ild den in the earth. me if I was going to eat him up. He Of my ears. 3 Perhaps I'm to teach in ths schools wit A ; o crished me hetween Himeclf and the Horn. I rather enjoyed -myself. T~ had: Eo .. The vawelmby natafal ralcs So.1 lie here on the sidewalk in the of the saddle ‘and tried to hold me down much fun snapping the chickens when no A-e-i-0-u-we-ye— sun and listen to the buzaing flics, and with his arms. I snapped him in the one was looking. I would lie flat on my I'm a howling coyote. they call me’a tame coyote awoke. The summits were aglow with S Sunsbine, 1.58s Gy Thea me Bl in_the provinces it is often the rule for proceeding there are some managers Wk, into another wooden town, similar to dclors Yo inaTMie (v G ot and wilier the one we had left the night before. I ot out and shook myself while the relay beinz made. * ‘Where's your partner who drove for vou?' I asked the driver, who was biting off a section of long plug. “‘He left me some miles back,’ was the reply. ‘Said he had to do some business “for the State. Said to give you his—I don’t just remembér what it was." *“ ‘Compliments?’ I inquired. ‘That sounds somethin’ like it. -Reckon it was. Sald for me to give you this when you woke up, if you ever did.’ “He handed me a card as he spoke. I did not recognize the name then, but I put the card away as a souvenir of the Journey. Somg years later, in looking over a bundle of papers, it turned up. The signature was a trifle dim, but there it was, written diagonally, ‘Francis Bret Harte.! The card is under a glass paper- weight on my desk in my office in Los Angeles. Money couldn’t buy it. But think of what I missed in not staying awake.” RECENT conversation the writer A had with an actor of versatile ex- perience on the subject of stage offenscs and their resultant peu- licited the following authentic aud informing details: In order to insure decorous’behavior in the theater and on the stage most mar- agers have a code of rules for actors and actresses, and.any breach of these regu- lations is punished by a fine in proportion to the offense committed. For example, if any actor or actress perpetrates the grievous error of ‘“gagging” (introduciag observations of their own which are not written in the play), the flagrant folly is brought home to them by the forfgit of a heavy fing—never les than a day’s salary. and I have known some martinet man- agers who have made it a week's salary In many theaters it is a rule to fine an actor if he fails to take his “cue,” and the delinquent in this case generally has to hand over half a crown. ' In one thea- ter with which I am well acquainted it is permissible to send for refreshments of a certain kind, but meat and fish are strict- 1v barred, and one unhappy culprit whom the manager found eating tinned salmon in a dressing-room had to pay a fine of 10 shillings and received a verbal castiga- tion as well. When a dramatic company is touring such circumstanccs g man may be per ized for not appearing in sufiicient apparel for the t he is piaying. In in stances of this kind the fine is generally 5 shillings. If an actor bréaks the important rule which prohibits smoking in the dressing- room he lays himself open to a fine of a half-guinca at least, and a second of- fense will probably mean dismissal. Many managers are naturally severe on smok- ing because of the risk of fire, and I have known more than one man sent away for a breach of this reasonable regulation. Bad language is the particular bogey of other managers, and if the dialect of an actor behind the scenes is unparliament- ary and the expressions reach the ear of the manager the punishment Is prompt and emphatic. One actor of my acquaint- ance had to forfelt a week's salary for allowing his tongue too much liberty in this respect. At one well-known theater, famous for its ballets, the ladies of the ballet are fined a florin if they are seen talking on the stage during a public performancs, and any notable laxity in dress or de. meanor is visited by a fine of a halt- crown. ‘When rehearsals for a pantomime are are very severq on those who show lack of attention or/ who fail to perform thei role with alertne ing a fine of 5 si manded ip case peats the offense. One manager I know 1s a keen eritic on the “make-up™ of an actor, and any neg!igcnce in this respect is punished a fire, which often means a day's salary. The old members of his company are aware of this managerial requirement and protect themselves accordingly, but newcomers are occasionally caught nap- ping. S an interesting contrast anent tie opinion of certain actor-managers on th subject of jewelry, I may tell you that one gentleman has on more than one oc- casion fined the actors at his theater or displaying too much jewelry on the staga while another autocrat insists that the leading gentleman of his company sball Wear a showy watch chain. Unpunctuality is the particular aversicn of a certain manager in the West End, and to “keep the stage walting” is in his opinion .he worst offense an actor can commit. Those who incur his wrath for this dereliction of duty have to forfert three days' salary, and if the offense is Tepeated receive a week's notice to quit.— London Titbits. After one curt wa:n- lings is sometimes <ic- where the culprit r * .