--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Herman, Charles collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 9 number: 3 published: 1906-01 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Charles Herman, "Coyotes: A Tale of the Hills," *Improvement Era* 9, no. 3 (January 1906): 215–221.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0903unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera0903unse start_page: 215 end_page: 221 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1906-01) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0903unse publication_year: 1906 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1906, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Coyotes: A Tale of the Hills COYOTES— A TALE OF THE HILLS. BY CHARLES HERMAN. I was ten years old that spring, and just "aching" to get away from the city to revel in the glow of the good old Wyoming hills, where I had spent the summers since I was a year old; and when a boy wants a thing, with his whole heart, there is always great strength in his pleadings. I think that his conviction makes his voice more earnest, and if the object to be won is not positively unattainable, he will surely win it. And so it was with me. Near the middle of April, after a long, cold winter of hibernation, I was fairly wild to get away from home. The morning we were expecting to leave, in our covered wagon, with my little "buckskin" pony, happened to be cloudy, not exactly storm-threatening, simply a sorry sky. I remember arising very early, after a night of restlessness, to feed our animals, and then spending nearly an hour caring for my own mount. When I finally got the saddle on her back, I gazed upon the animal with an indescribable pride. I was happy. With this feeling of utter joy, I skipped into the house. I had only entered, however, when a remark from father came to my ear: "I think we should not start today; the sky is very threatening, to venture on so long a trip into the mountains. ' ' There was a great fall in stocks. Instantly my throat was blocked, and I wanted to cry. To delay our expedition for even one day, after the anticipation I had endured, was most repellant to me. But after a moment's struggle, I braced myself, and the way I talked, gestured and argued that the sun would shine by noon, and that there was no use in being blujffed by a cloudy sky. 216 IMPROVEMENT ERA. would have made any jury swerve. My father was no easy man to persuade, but finally he gave the word to go. Now, I'm not taking the credit to myself. Probably he had other reason. But it certainly served the purpose, and stocks were again soaring. Father and I were to go, at this time, and when summer came, the family should come, and live in the old log cabin that stood just below the quaking-asp grove. My father was a sheepman of no great possessions, and in the spring time, when lambs came to make work for extra men, he managed to do a great deal of the extra work himself, and thus save expenses. Although I was young, he felt that I could go out, and "catch on" a little. As I rode out of the gate, after having bidden my mother an affectionate farewell, I felt exceedingly proud. For the first time in my life, I was sitting in a man's saddle, with the stirrups just the right length. No cushion, however soft, could have compared with the smooth, strong seat of that saddle. Then, as a departing token, I straightened myself in the stirrups, waved my hat, and gave the signal to go on. She did go, the little "buckskin," and the cut of the morning air was like life anew. The distance was just five miles to the mouth of the canyon, which penetrated the Wasatch. In less than an hour we were hidden from the sight of our home by those giant hills on either side. But I did not think of home. The magnitude of nature held my mind. At noon we stopped in a dell of the mountains, having traveled just sixteen miles. While we were eating our lunch, the first drop of rain fell, and I could see a look of worriment spread over my father's face. Still I persisted in saying within myself, that I could see blue spots in the sky, and that the clouds would soon blow away. The afternoon, however, saw a steady increase in the down - fall, with our road a steeper grade. I stayed on my horse and got a good soaking. Not until we were making our way through the half-thawed drifts of old snow that capped the summit of this divide, did I assent to my father's wish, and climb into the wagon. Certainly we were surrounded by conditions that would have destroyed the courage of any boy, and it seems strange to me since, that I did not think for a moment we were in despair. The reason, of course, was that I looked ahead to a place — a paradise to me. I saw only the sun, shining upon this land ahead. COYOTES— A TALE OF THE HILLS. 217 The descent into East Canyon was rough and steep, but the distance was comparatively short. We were given the privilege of making a bed in an old barn, that evening, where the water dripped on us all night. The next morning I was as full of hope as ever, and still anxious to get on. That day we had snow, and for three days it continued to fall, until we were forced to stop for a time at an inn, about half way through Chalk Canyon. When we started again, there was nearly eighteen inches of snow on the level, and drifts in every hollow, causing us great struggle to get the wagon along. We decided, after the first night, that it would be impossible to take the wagon further, so we took the front wheels off, and made a mountain cart. On this we placed only mere necessities, and began once more our heavy journey. In this manner we pushed along over some seven miles, out of the eighteen that remained of our trip. Here we got "stuck" in a bank of snow, and all efforts to extricate ourselves proved futile. But there is always a way, so father says, and I believe him. We unhitched our team, and prepared to move on horseback. We limited our pack to the bedding and a little 'flour. We had now crossed the Wyoming line, and were entering the sheep country, the place chosen by flockmasters for lambing ground, because of its location near the summer ranges, and its comparative protection. This country was a basin about seven miles in width. Nowhere could one see an outlet. To the west and south towered a range of mountains, covered with a heavy growth of timber. The canyon through which we had just emerged penetrated this great wall, but all traces of the outlet were obliterated by the peculiar formation of the foothills. A ridge, almost perpendicular, rising nearly five hundred feet, formed the basin's rim to the east and north. Thus surrounded, one could easily appreciate the name Basin. Over the hills and hollows, now made almost level by the drifted snow, roamed hundreds of wild horses, who devoured a goodly share of the grass, and were, therefore, much hated by the sheepmen. But on our entire journey we had neither heard nor seen a trace of these wild animals, or any others. As we began our 218 IMPROVEMENT ERA. journey anew, a faint howl, away in the distance, broke the silence and greeted our ears. It was followed by another, until we realized that the country was swarming with coyotes, made ravenous and desperate through the long storm. The heavy snow had hindered the movements of everything. The smaller animals, which form the food of these creatures, had not emerged from their winter's sleep. The sheep were also held back by the storms. Our progress became more and more impeded. It was almost impossible to pick our way between snowdrifts, and, consequently, we were often floundering in one of these traps of nature. When we did get into such a predicament, the only thing we could do was to dismount and lead the animals through. This fell to my lot; but as I was light, the crust of the snow held me up. My father was a cripple, having lost a limb in an accident, when very young, and he was now using a crutch. How to get through was to him a serious problem. At the first step, his crutch sank almost to his shoulder, and he fell on to his face. But where there is a will there is a way. My father, therefore, lay down on the snow, and often rolled over hundreds and hundreds of yards on that miserable day. Many times since, I have wondered how he could have had the fortitude. I now fully comprehended the condition to which we were reduced, and my heart completely gave way. Almost simultaneously with the sinking of my spirits, a fog began to settle gradually over us, until we were enveloped in a great water-spent cloud, and all trace of landmark or direction was gone. We were lost! No use to wander and fatigue ourselves under such conditions. On the next piece of earth we touched, we did the only thing possible — stood still! The maudlin yelp of the thievish coyotes continued, growing louder and louder! While we were moving, our minds were too much occupied with other things to notice their approach, but now that we were standing still, we heard nothing but their awful music. Cut off from the world, bound hand and foot, it seemed to me that matters could not be worse. Sitting on our horses' backs, we could scarcely see a foot from their heads, owing to the thickness of the fog. I know not what father thought, but for myself, I was sorely COYOTES— A TALE OF THE HILLS. 219 afraid. I could not control my sobs! To be candid, I lost all hope. I expected to die. My dear father's presence was my only relief, and I rode up very close to him. The yelping was all around us. Father looked at me and said: "Be brave, my boy; you're safe!" How could I doubt him? but those howls spelled death to my child's mind. Once during that awful period, when the howling seemed to ■cease for a moment, I thought of the morning we left, and seemed to realize that I was the cause of all this. Surely my youthful enthusiasm had proved of less worth than my father's judgment. "0," I cried, my spirit broken, "God save us!" The prayer, taught me by my mother, came to my heart, and I felt better: I ceased sobbing. Imagine the situation! Two mortals imprisoned by nature, and surrounded by evil spirits, for I really believe that nothing can be so suggestive of the uncanny evil, as the howl of one of these slinking creatures! We could not see them, notwithstanding the strong evidence of their presence. Oh, it was frightful! I know my father felt it, yet he may not have dreaded death as I. Be that as it may, he clutched his crutch, as if all he asked for was a fair chance. Sitting thus, it seemed for hours, the discordant melody appeared to be the utterances of the wall around us. Closer and closer it came. The horse that we were leading, at length gave a fearful snort, whirled around, threw off the quilts we had placed on his back, then dashed out into the oblivion of the fog. All we could hear was the clink of his harness, with now and then a frightened wliinny, which brought our horses' ears to the alert. A moment later, a black demon came rushing towards us and jumped at my horse's head. As the beast dropped to the ground again, father leaned forward and struck it fairly on the head, with the crutch. It fell on its side and twisted a moment, then struggled to its feet again, and staggered out to its invisible comrades. After this, I was positive that I could see the demons darting hither and thither all around us. I thought so again, when father's horse gave a quick plunge forward, from an attack in the rear, as we afterwards learned. Luckily, father had a good hold on 220 IMPROVEMENT ERA. the reins. Those moments seemed years! Would the fog never leave and give us an opportunity to fight for our lives? Why should we be made helpless and then attacked? Our horses were becoming unmanageable now, and we felt that if the fog continued our end was near. I sat stiff in my saddle, braced against the bridle reins, struggling to keep my horse under control. The poor animals were terribly frightened, and they quivered until their knees were almost touching the ground. The strain was becoming unbearable, with the horses struggling so fiercely. Suddenly there came, from a seemingly great distance, a faint roar as of rushing wind. Its volume grew until we felt that something desperate would soon happen. But it gave us hope, though we could not imagine what it was. But anything was a relief. Every moment the sound grew nearer, until it seemed suddenly to burst upon us. Then, looking ahead only a few feet, v/e beheld a black mass rushing by. From the sound, we knew it was a band of wild horses, followed by a pack of hungry demons. It was the hand of Providence in the form of a band of much persecuted mustangs. The coyotes that were tormenting us fell in with the more exciting game, and left us. Thank God! It was some minutes, however, before we knew that they had gone. As the roar of the retreating horses died away, and no further attacks were made on us, we began to realize that we were saved. With the going of our tormentors, the fog lifted, or rather blew away, for we could see it — a heavy cloud stayed in its progress by the ridge to the east. The fog lifted from our hearts, also, and left us as humble and thankful as two mortals could be. All around we beheld the tracks of the baffled coyotes, and tracks of blood followed the prints of the beast father had struck. We estimated that there must have been nearly one hundred horses in the band, by the trail they left, for, owing to the numerous hills to the west, we could not get sight of the animals themselves. Another mile of struggle, and we found ourselves ready to climb the ridge skirting the eastern boundary of the basin. The ascent was steep, but we found a good trail, and managed to COYOTES -A TALE OF THE HILLS. 221 keep out of the deep snow. Thus, in due course of time, we were standing on the brow of the ridge, looking back with trembling, I confess, on my part, over the scenes that had been so horrible to us. Away over, across, was the mountain covered with heavy timber, and just under the timber's edge, stood that band of horses, glad to rest after their wild chase. We could observe the trail they had made across the basin; and not more than one-quarter of a mile from where we were imprisoned, lay a large object. Around it, like a swann of ants, were the persistent coyotes, feasting on the carcass of the poor horse. As we stood thus, thinking, the sun touched the top of yonder mountain, and creeping slowly down, spread its beneficent rays over the basin, then climbed up to us, and kissed our weary souls with that golden spirit which only the weary can appreciate. Our hearts answered, * 'Surely we were in hell, and have arisen to heaven." Salt Lake City, Utah. ALONE AMONG OTHER HILLS. Far in a distant country, where a noble forest grows, One morning lone I wandered, just as the sun arose; I heard the songsters warbling, and music from the rills; My heart was light and happy, alone among the hills. I felt the cool, soft breezes blow softly through the pines ; There, in the deep recesses, where sunset ray ne'er shines, Lay pure white snow in patches, like stars in skies of jet ; A thrill of joy came o'er me, my soul shall ne'er forget Far down the level valley, the slumbering hamlets lay, And from the distant river, rose hazy mists of gray, Like incense burnt from altars, which vanished in the air; The slow descending sunbeams spread radiance ev'rywhere. All around and all above, on the crystal atmosphere. Rose tender waves of fragrance, from flow'rets far and near; And, likewise, deep within me, rose a wave of mem'ries sweet; I stood there, awed in silence, by grandeur so complete. That dreamful scene has vanished, and those hills are far away, I roam no more those woodlands, to greet the coming day; But still a faint remembrance fills my soul with joyous thrills, I long once more to wander alone among the hills. Jesse Winter Smith. Germany, 190L