The Wood Wife by Terri Windling (good books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

While Fox slipped off to say hello to the horses, John led Maggie to a low shed at the end of the row of cages. The run behind it was so large that an entire mesquite tree was fenced inside.

“This is where Cody lives during the day,” John said. “At night she comes into the house. Sleeps at the foot of the bed like a pup, along with the two dogs. She’s crippled; she’ll never make it back in the wild, so she’s become part of the family.”

At the sound of John’s voice, a slim and golden coyote came up to the edge of the fence, then backed away nervously when Maggie approached, her amber eyes alarmed.

“It’s all right, Cody,” John told her, “Maggie’s just come to tell you how pretty you are.”

Cody kept wary eyes on Maggie, but she edged around closer to John, presenting her hind quarters for him to scratch through the wire fence. When he’d hit the right spot, an unmistakable expression of bliss covered her face. She would indeed have been a handsome animal, with soft, tawny fur and a pure white muzzle. But she hobbled along, dragging one lame leg, and her long fluffy tail had been bobbed.

“She’s an unusual creature,” John told Maggie. “You generally can’t keep coyotes like a dog or even certain wolf breeds. They’re too nervous. People take ’em in as pups, and then throw ’em out again when—surprise!—they grow up into wild animals.”

“She is beautiful, isn’t she? Despite the leg.”

“In the wild they’re gorgeous creatures. They run together in family groups, and generally have just one mate for life—they’re enormously loyal creatures that way. Not like dogs, who’ll mate with dern near anything that presents its backside. Sometimes at night what you’re hearing is a male and a female singing together, just for the sheer pleasure of it. It’s a different sound from their hunting cry. Makes me smile just to hear them.”

Maggie watched with a bit of envy as the coyote rubbed against the big man with obvious affection. But when Maggie tried to step closer, Cody jumped back again, breathing hard.

Suddenly Cody spied Fox returning from the stable, and bounded over toward him. For all John’s words about wild creatures, she looked exactly like an excited dog, wagging her bobbed tail and grinning broadly as Fox came near her run.

“She’s always had a soft spot for Fox,” John commented. “Animals love him, it’s the damnedest thing. But Cody’s smart. I reckon she knows that he’s the one who saved her life.”

Maggie watched the coyote greet Fox, raining kisses on his extended hand. “How did he do that?”

“Well now, some fool cowboy shot her in that leg there. Fox is the one who found her, and he got her to the doc in time.”

“I watched her get shot,” Fox said bitterly, coming over to stand beside them, the coyote trailing behind him on the other side of the fence. “I was watching two coyotes trotting down the wash, a pair that we’ve known around here for years. It was just after the heat had broke and they were all frisky, enjoying themselves. Then I saw a stranger pointing a gun. I yelled, and the other coyote got away but Cody here wasn’t fast enough. She went down and I thought he’d killed her.

“I ran over, and found that she had taken the bullet in the leg. I was thinking I needed to find John, get some help, when I realized the stranger was coming over too. A young guy—brand new shotgun in his hand, laughing, a big smile on his face. He says ‘Guess I showed that sonuvabitch, huh?’ and slaps my back like he’s some kind of hero. And before I can get a word out he’s grabbed her tail and he’s cut it off. She’s not even dead and he’s claiming his trophy.” Fox’s voice was clipped with anger. “When I yelled at him to get off our goddamn land, he backed off like I was the dangerous lunatic when he was the one carrying the gun. He left all right, but we’ve seen him around here several times since then.”

“He’s either PRC,” John said, “or he’s a poacher after the deer and the coyotes are target practice. Either way, he’s got no business here.”

“What’s PRC?” Maggie asked him.

“Predator and Rodent Control. Your tax dollars at work. It’s a federally funded agency—millions of bucks poured into it each year. Not into educating or feeding hungry youngsters, mind you,” the old man growled, “but into wiping out whole species of animals because you can’t make a profit on ’em like ranch stock or hunters’ game.”

John took off his Stetson, wiping the sweat from his brow. The morning sun was already growing strong, burning the haze from the mountaintop. When he put the hat back on again the coyote startled at the movement. She jumped back, eyed the three of them, then slowly edged back to the fence, her head held low as if embarrassed.

John squatted down to stroke the nervous animal. “I used to be a PRC man myself years ago,” he said, looking up at Maggie. “I grew up on a cattle ranch in Wyoming and I should have known better than that. Coyotes never bothered healthy stock and they kept the rodent population in check. My daddy, and his daddy, raised us kids to treat ’em with respect. But there was good money working for PRC, so I chose to believe all the guff they spread: that coyotes kill off whole sheep herds, or will bring down healthy cows and deer. It was all a scam. No one ever cared about coyotes when PRC was after wolves. But the wolves were all killed off, so we needed another predator to holler about, otherwise the agency would have been shut down.” He stood again. “When PRC killed coyotes and pups in a given area, we were always careful to