The Voice of Coyote

Texas Wolf

Wolf was old, old and wise. He was not supposed to be in Texas, neither here on the plains nor anywhere else. Man denied his existence. That was all right with Wolf.

As a pup, Wolf had crossed the muddy Rio Bravo with his parents. The river had been good, a haven for game and the mud kept the hot sun from his skin.

Wolf's little cousin, Coyote, was everywhere. Wolf's father used to say that Coyote was worse than Rabbit at proliferation because he knew better.

But Wolf was glad for Coyote. Being the only prey of any sustenance, Coyote had kept Wolf alive in lean times.

Other than his parents, Wolf had not seen any of his kind since the great river crossing. His father died from a rancher's bullet; his mother died from a trap. She had bled to death after chewing her left hind leg off. Wolf was alone.

Working his way across the saltpans and sand dunes of the gulf area, Wolf meandered into the hill country, despite the overwhelming scent of man and cow, and briefly onto the desert of green less mountains and endless variety of cacti. Eventually, his instinct for survival brought him to the northern plains of Texas. Here, there was game and water, shelter and, most of all, space in which to be lost, an abundance of space.

Along a lonely stretch of metal rails, Wolf came upon a deer that had died. The cause of death was not apparent but the carcass was fresh, whole, and smelled all right.

This was the metal road of man. It formed a slight hill that ran as far as the eye could see if both directions. Wolf knew little of it.

It was not the stinking trail of black, sticky death usually associated with man. Yet, was nonetheless of his making. It carried a creature that Wolf had only heard, whining in the night leaving its own stink.

The body of the deer lay across the two metal bands. As Wolf angled himself to see the best way to move the body his left hind leg got caught between the gravel and the metal rail.  

He thought to himself, all of his wisdom couldn’t save him from his instinct, this nature to take food wherever it was found, not counting the risk. Now, he’d probably end up like his mother.

Try as he could, the leg could not be released.

He felt something. A pulse in the metal bar that began with a tingling and rapidly turned into a physical sound. He looked up.

A great light, no three lights, a three-eyed beast was roaring out of the night. It was all he could do not to wet himself. So, this is how it ends. Man wins again, he thought.

The movement and sound became one as the very earth began to shake. Closer and closer came the eyes. A high piercing scream came from the beast.

As the ground shook about him, Wolf continued to try to free his leg. Yes, it moved. Just a little. More now. Hurry, he thought. The creature is upon him.

And in a rush of sound and black cloud, blacker than the night, Wolf rolled away as a gigantic hand brushed him aside like he would a flea.

He lay panting, some distance away, watching a single red eye recede into the distant dark.

When he could walk, it took a while for his legs to stop shaking, what was left of the deer was just a soggy pulp. Anything recognizable had been taken along with the suction of the beast.

He decided then and there that there were worse things than starvation. He would never again allow himself to again be tempted and trapped by man. He chuckled. Rather, by his own self, he admitted.

Wolf trotted off, still hungry, still old, still wise, and still alive.