pages 234-235

Pages 234-235 

                Some cattlemen in those days drove their cattle to railheads at American Falls, Idaho, some to a railhead below the line in Utah, and never tiring of good clean interesting stories, my childhood days were spent listening and storing things away.

                We had a neighbor when I was a child who came every so often to talk with my father,  to remove some of the anxieties from his mind were my thoughts, for he paced the floor back and forth, over our long dining room like a caged animal.  He was a regular circus to me.  Mother would say, “You must go to bed,” but I was never sleepy when I could watch or listen to a tale from a character like that.  There were times when I knew my father wished he would go home.  But he’d stay on continually pacing the floor back and forth while father read his paper and answered with a comment when he thought necessary and I with my mouth open and eyes big as saucer, finally he’d stop, sudden like and glance a time or two at the clock.   Then we knew he had gotten it out of his system.  He would say, “I must be going.”  Calling father by name and leaving much quieter then he came.  Then mother would call from the stairway knowing he was gone by the quietness below.  “it’s time you two were in bed.”  I’d vanish up the stairway with father following.  Tucked in by mother soon I was off to sleep without a care.  Thus we talked while Beauty took her time getting us home.

                The stock was waiting patiently around the rack when we drove in the yard.  The chickens were cackling, laying eggs, when I went to give them the grain they hadn’t gotten the night before.  The day was sunny and not too cold for the last part of February.  Toward evening though when the sun slipped behind the horizon a west wind came up blowing things helter-skelter, dust, tumbleweeds, and loose sage brush came tumbling over the hill into our valley, stopping only when it came to rest in the canyon below our house where most weeds wound up.

                Jim and I were cozy in our home in this somewhat lonely valley.  I had fixed a good supper with some chicken and other things mother had given us.  Then we relaxed in our comfortable rockers with the fire burning warmly and the tea kettle singing merrily while it boiled away.  By bedtime the wind had died down considerably going to the door to look out before retiring found the ground white with snow and the air filled with the fluffy flakes.  As we closed the door the lonely yapping of our friend the coyote came to us from out of the storm.  He probably didn’t relish it and was yapping to comfort himself or for who might be listening.  It became to us like the voice of a friend, somewhere alone and lonely, a pleasant sound that fell on our ears most generally at bedtime or after we had retired, like a warm, warning note from out of the night.

                They’ll tell you there is nothing strange about a coyote’s howl.  It’s his way of making contact with other of his kind and if taken from its den as a puppy makes a friendly pet.  It will even help drive in the cows.  I have been told they like fruit, especially apples.  The wild nature in them makes them like chickens also.  And you can train them so they’ll howl when told to, just yap a bit like an offspring.  They are sometimes quite mean when first captured at an early age, like a clawing, spitting kitten, even biting to make the blood come, but very keen and easily trained.  If tuned loose when grown, they will come back for awhile for some of the good food he used to get.  He loves to eat rabbits, ground squirrels or most small wild creatures he can catch.  When he lives with people like a dog, he’ll even retrieve sticks when thrown, and very pretty if kept brushed.  He will follow one everywhere, but when he thinks he’ll be put back on a leash will sometimes hide out and come in after dark.  He’s very friendly to those who have raised him, but strangers must beware.  Thus I have told a little of our friend, the coyote, who tries in his way to break the monotony of a stormy night in a lonely country.

                The next morning the storm had ceased, but the ground was still white when the sun appeared from behind the snowy peaks like a ball of gold sitting in a pan of milk.  Its rays filtered over the valley with a warm glow settling over everything.  For even the snow showed signs of it for soon it began to melt.  Thinking this might be the last, I got a dish of the cleanest I could find on some boards and made a delicious treat by pouring over it some rich milk, a few drops of vanilla , and some sugar, mixing it all together, spooned it into small dishes like ice cream.  Another way we liked it was to pour unflavored thick dark or white corn syrup over it.  Thus we sat enjoying the snow cream after our morning meal.  Neither the snow outside nor what we were eating lasted long for by evening the ground was black again from the dampness.  Only a little remained among the sage where it was sheltered from the sun.

                Jim was getting anxious again to get at the railing.  The next day he went to help the neighbor who had helped us.  Not wanting to stay home alone I went along.

                We had gotten around early and the crisp morning air was a bit chilly on our faces as we drove along.  The birds swung and swayed from the tops of the sage and tried to entertain us with their somewhat spring like note.  Driving on a little farther Jim said, “Look, look.”   I got the last glimpse of it as it made the other side of the road.  “A porcupine,” Jim said, “did you see it?”  “Yes,” I said, “just as he got across.”  He’s a rodent with spines or quills in his hair for weapons and can he uses them.  Toby found that out.  Everyone of those quills have a barb like a fish hook.  They are very hard to get out.