COYOTE-THAT-BITES.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XX, Issue 43, 12 August 1892, Page 6

COYOTE-THAT-BITES.

(By Fbank B. Millard in the Overland Monthly.') Not every Apache can get hie fill of blood before sun-up and bis fill of mescal before noon. Yet Coyote-that-Bites bad managed to achieve both theße delightful ends, and of all the happy savages on the Colorado desert he was the most riotously, tumaltuously happy. With what keen delight he had drawn his sharp blade across the throats of Joie Sanchez and bis wife, after he bad stolen into tbeir wagon in the gray dawn ; and what thrills of joy shot through his breast when he silenced the yells of their two little children with the butt end of their father's own rifle. And then, when he bad taken what gold was in the Mexican's bag, what mescal was in his demijohn, and bad strapped Joee'a rather loose-fitting cartridge belt about bis sunbrown body, with what fierce pleasure he stole away from the scene of his bloody work, and with the Mexican's rifle on his shoulder had wandered far down the dry arroyo, sipping from the demijohn the Btnpefying juice of the agave, from time to time, until be felt that he was growing drowey. Then he dragged his uncertain way along, until he came to the railroad track. He stared stupidly at the bright steel rails, and looked up at the humming wires in an awed sort of way. He would like to lie there behind the rocks, be thought, until some one should come along the track, and then try a shot at him with his newly-ac-quired weapon. The demijohn was growing light and the rifle was growing heavy. Well, it was getting toward noon, and rather warm' even for ao Apache, and he would lie down in the shade of the rocks over there and rest. The bumming of the wires is a soothing sound, and no sooner had bis head touched the earth than sleep took a mighty hold upon him, and wiped out bis realising sense of joy, as sleep has a way of doing with everybody — who has anything to be joyful for. And so he lay, with his rifle by hia side, and bis unspeakably hideous face turned up toward the blue that arched the desert. It was quiet there and restful— no sound save the music of the wires. Stay, there were other sounds ; but they came some time after Coyote-that-Bites had thrown himself upon the sand, and gone off to the Land of Nod. They came faintly at first, and mingled with the murmurings of the wires. Sorely they were the voicee of children. Had the red beast been awake, he might have imagined that they were the haunting voices of the wee Mexican children whose blood he had 60 ruthlessly shed that morning. But he heard them not. They were far away from being ghcßtly voices anyway — those tones that now piped forth so merrily as Dubs and Gay trudged down the line. They were walking in the scoop-out along the road-bed — not on the track, for that was forbidden. There were other things that were forbidden, too, and ore of them was straying so far away from the station. But Dubs was •' taking good care " of his three-year-old sister, and in the pride of his six full years he was equal to tbe care of half-a-dozen such as Gay. To give Dubs all due credit, he aid not know he was half a mile from home, and he really was going to turn ba-k pretty soon. But the children bad found many interesting and beautiful things to claim their attention. First there had been a chase after a young owl that could not fly, and that made its way along in the most haphazard manner imaginable. Then a horned toad had been captured, and Dubs bad dragged the disgusted prisoner along by a string, until he had tired of the sport and had let him go again. Then always keeping close to the railrood, they had entered a great field of cacti, where Dubs bad tried very bard to pick " toonies " without getting the insidious, needk-like spines in his fingers. He was

fairly successful, but be would not let the fruit of the cactus go into his sister's chubby bands until it had been stripped of its dangers by his ready jack-knife. '"PI on'y had tuna matches to build a flre wiv," sighed Dubs, " I'd barn of! vese prickles, jus' like ye Injuns does." " O oI " came suddenly from under Gay's son-bonnet. Wot's dat ?!>? !> " W'f , it's a jug J" and Dabs left the " toonies " and started toward the pile of rocks where lay the Coyote's demijohn, only to let it drop again and spring back quickly with Qay in his arms. For he bad caught sight of the Coyote, and he was smitten with a desire to go home. Bat he saw the Indian did not move, and so he suddenly beoame very brave . He was certainly sound asleep, and no more to be feared than papa, when he lay on his lounge in his mid-day repose. Then, too, Dabs was quite Bare he was " worky Injun," like the Yaqais who shovelled and picked on the railroad, and so kis mind beoame wholly at qase. The Coyote's cartridge belt, which had been so loosely strapped, had fallen off, and lay by his side. There were a hundred very interesting bits of brass sticking in it, and the children soon had these scattered all about in tbe sand by the snoring Coyote. In the scramble for her share of the innocent toys, Gay let one of them drop on the Coyote's leg. Perhaps the mescal's influence was on the wane, for a big brown knee was tbrußt quickly up from the sand, and a big brown hand clutched tbe ugly knife at tbe Coyote's side ; but the hand fell, and the noble red man snored on. Dubs tried on the cartridge belt and became an Indian, all bnt the indespensable knife, and he concluded to borrow that from the sleeper, whose fingers had loßt tbeir grip on the backhorn handle. " It's bigger'n Mommies butcher knife, ain't it, Gay ?" said Dabs, as be grasped the handle of the devilish-looking blade. " Now yon •tand over vere an' I'll get 'md vis wock. Yen you turn along, an' I'll jump ont 'an kill you." Gay demurred. " Oh, it'a on'y make b'lieve. Vese kind o' Injuns don't kill nobody," and he stack a contemptuous finger toward the innocent Coyote. " It's on'y 'Paches 'at kills, an' vey's none yound here, Mommie says. I'm a 'Pache, so you look out." It was dubious sport for Gay, and when it come to the killing part she screamed lustily; " You've woked him up an' 'poiled it all," said Dubg, in a tone of accusation. " Now he'll want his knife." Sure enough the Coyote-that-Bites did shake his brown legs and arms quite vigorously, but the last two big swallows of mescal held him down. So, after turning over, and buryiog his hatchet-like face in the sand, he lay quiet again. When he had thus turned over, the rifle was brought into view, which had been concea'ed by his dirty blanket. Dubs eyed the weapon with covetous eyes. He could not withstand the temptation of feeling it all over, standing it upon its butt, and trying to shoulder it, but this last feat he could hardly accomplish. Just what it was kept his fingers off the hammer and trigger, and prevented a sound that would surely have brought tbe Coyote to his feet with a yell, I am sure I cannot tell ; but Dubs played with that fascinating weapon for neaily an hour, while Gay poured sand over the cartridges, hiding nearly all of them from view. By this time the sun's rays were on the long slant, and the children were very hungry. By this time, too, the Apache was growing restless, for the mescal had nearly lost its grip upon him. A train thundering by, or, much less, a " swift " brushing against his black foot, a spider dropping on his leg, or even a big fly buzzing at his ear — any of these would have set his demon force into play again. But tbe children conld not wait for such demonstrations as these, th> ugh why it did not occur to Dubs that tbe Coyote's ear needed tickling with a grease- wood twig, tbe Lord only knows. The wind was up, and the wires were murmuring louder than ever. The wee ones had eported in the black shadows long enough — had played with the fangs of the deadly serpent until they were tired and their stomachs empty. So they set off on a trot for home. Just as they turned the bend and came in sight of the low roof of tbe station, a " dast-devil " swept by the rocks where lay the Coyote-that-Bites. He jumped to his feet, graßped his empty sheath, gave a mad whoop, and stared about in feverish rage. There was his knife, half-covered by the sand, and there waß his rifle, far from his side. Hera was the cartridge belt empty, and all about him in the sand were countless little footprints. A bewildered look stole over his face, but it passed away when his eye res ed on the empty demijohn. The expression that replaced it was one of demoniacal ferocity, and the last of slaughter lay heavily upon him. But the cartridges — where were they 1 He saw Gay's mound of sand, and kicking it, gave a grunt of delight to Bee the brazen capsules that were scattered right and left by his foot. He picked them all up, granting over each ooe. Filing the belt and grasping his rifle, he started off in the direction in which tha small footprints led. Like a bloodhound, he chased along the track. His eyes scanned the plain at every tarn, and bis breath was hot and

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strong. But when he turned the big curve, and saw the station, he knew that he was late — too late — and be gave a grunt of disgust, and wai off like the wind over a side-trail that led toward the sunset. In the low-roofed station-house the mother crooned to tired little Gay, lying so soft and limp in her arms. She looked out over the desert, saw the sun touching the tips of the solemn giant cacti with purple dots ; saw the prickly pear shrubs, holding their grotesque arms above the great sweep of land that ran down to the low horizon, and felt the inspiration of the scene as she had often felt it before. For the desert has a beauty that is all its own. She knew that other women in the great cities, and in the cool, green valleys, might pity her in that desolate spot, but Bhe felt that she needed not their pity. Dubs came and leaned his head against her arm where she sat, and little Gay nestled down with a tired sigh, Yes, there was much, she thought, for which to be thankful. And, in truth, there was.