h.

One morning in following up my trap line, I found a trap missing. In
the sand about the aspen tree to which it had been anchored were coyote
tracks. Ignorantly fearless, I set out to track down the miscreant.
The trail led down toward a forest, where dense thickets of new-growth
lodge-pole pines livened the stark, fire-killed trees. As I neared the
forest, the tracks were farther apart and dimmer, but here and there
were scratches on fallen logs as though a trap had been dragged across
them; moreover, there were occasional spots where the earth was greatly
disturbed, showing that the animal had no doubt threshed about in his
efforts to dislodge the trap, caught on the snags or bowlders.

No denying I thrilled from head to foot over the prospect of meeting
Mr. Coyote face to face! If he showed fight I'd snatch my six-shooter
from its holster (forgotten was its faithless performance in Wild
Basin!) and show him I was not to be trifled with. Of course, I'd aim
to hit him where the shot would do least damage to his fur; it would be
more valuable for marketing.

Just then I heard the clank of the trap chain. Heart pounding, hands
trembling, I shakily drew my gun, and cautiously advanced. Around the
corner of a bowlder I came upon a large coyote, with a black stripe
running along his back, squatting in an old game trail, apparently
little concerned either at my presence or at his own dilemma. As I
stumbled toward him, he faced about, and without taking his eyes off
me, kept jerking the trap which was wedged between a root and a
bowlder. Twenty feet away I stopped, and with what coolness I could
command in my excitement, took aim and fired. The bullet only ruffled
the heavy fur at his shoulder. Determined to finish him next shot, I
edged nearer. My target refused to stand still--he sprang the full
length of his chain again and again, striving to dislodge the trap.
Finally it jerked free and he was off like a rabbit, despite his
dragging burden, leaping logs or scuttling beneath them, zigzagging
along the crooked trail, dodging bowlders, tree limbs and my frequent
but ineffective fire. For I madly pursued him though hard put to keep
up his pace.

Suddenly the trap caught again and jerked its victim to an abrupt stop.
He whirled about and faced me defiantly, eyes blazing, fangs bared. I
reloaded my revolver, aimed--fired, aimed--fired again and again, until
the cylinder was empty, without once hitting him.