elk.

A chinook swept the hills and held for a week, the hot wind melting and
packing the drifts and clearing the more exposed slopes free of snow.
The pack had split up and scattered in pairs, each she-coyote selecting
some likely spot and remaining in that vicinity.

The first day of the chinook every she-coyote started her den, and the
sites, though widely separated, were identical in many respects. Each
chose a ridge with a southeast exposure while higher ridges behind cut
off the sweep of the north and west winds; and every den was located in
a heavy clump of sage. This latter feature was not for the reason that
sagebrush reminded them of home, but because experience had proven that
the heaviest growths of sage were indicative of deep, soft soil beneath
and so pointed to easy digging, a rule used not only by home-seeking
coyotes but by homesteading men as well, and one that holds good
throughout a half-million square miles of sagebrush country.

Shady too had settled on an open ridge and now spent much of her time
there, but this seemed more from a disinclination to travel and a
dislike of bedding in snow than from a definite purpose of excavating a
den. This puzzled Breed. Shady leaned more to the casual dog way of
trusting that a suitable spot would present itself on the day when her
pups should arrive; yet there was enough of the coyote in her to cause
her to scratch out a shallow nest in a sunny spot. This act was more for
present comfort, however, than from any intent to make provision for the
future.

Peg and Cripp had always clung more tenaciously to Breed than had the
others of the pack and Peg had settled on a ridge not more than two
miles away; but Cripp was no longer to be found. It had been long since
his voice had been raised in answer to Breed's call and he had not come
back into the hills with the coyote pack. Breed missed the trusty
follower who had run with him on so many hunts, and day after day he
expected to catch a trace of Cripp in the wind or to hear his friendly
voice at night, but the crippled coyote never came.

Peg was now Breed's sole companion at night, except when their mates
joined them at the two frozen elk carcasses in the bottoms between their
home ridges, and the two of them explored the surrounding country
together. Peg's lips were scarred along the right side of his face, the
price of Breed's liberty. There are close ties between animals, a myriad
proofs of friendships and