'll be a million coyotes left to howl when the last
man dies. The raise on summer bounties is a good move--a man can afford
to kill shedders at that price; and the pup bounty will set men to
digging out their dens. But your main plan was laid out by men that
don't savvy the coyote mind." Collins leaned forward and tapped one
forefinger in the open palm of his other hand to emphasize his point.

"You let this all-year poison idea slide! You mark me--if you try that
on you'll lose; more ways than one. I know 'em! A coyote will take a
chance on guns and traps, but he's superstitious about these strychnine
baits. After a few turn up on the range with a dose of it the rest will
quit your line. Your traps won't show one catch. There's only one time
to use it and that's after you've bait trapped and trail trapped till
only the wisest are left. Then shoot the whole range full of poison; get
it all out at once and knock off all you can. Then take your poison up
and quit! You hear me,--quit! Then they'll sort of halfway forget before
another year and you can spring it again. But I'm a-telling you the
facts,--if you leave poison scattered round loose for six months you'll
see coyotes increasing fast and there'll be hell to pay amongst your
sheep; you'll break behind two ways at once. There'll be just enough
that forget themselves and take on a poison feed to keep the rest in the
notion of passing up all dead meat. They won't even touch bloats or
winter-killed stock. When they're hungry they'll make a kill,--and
they'll work on your sheep."

"I've stripped off three times more pelts than any wolfer that's mixed
poison with his traps. Now my trap line is played out and I'm going to
throw poison into 'em for a month,--and quit."

As Breed lay convalescing from his wounds he reviewed the dangers of his
chosen range, not knowing that the one horror which he feared more than
all else combined was about to sweep through the foothills. His former
attitude toward Flatear had been one of aversion for his gruesome
practices, but with no touch of personal enmity. But the gray wolf had
not only pounced on him at a season when mating was past and dog wolves
at peace, but had almost torn him to shreds while he was helpless in the
grip of a trap. Breed now felt a terrible hatred growing in him, a
desire to kill the slinking gray beast as soon as he gained sufficient
strength to take his trail.

Breed was too weak to hunt but there was enough o