As I ride out of the pass on these regular journeys for the mail, a coyote, or prairie wolf, that lives close by among the rocks, often comes rushing out with a doleful howl, and acts as if wishing to make acquaintance with Gip. Both the wolf and Gip seem to understand that they are blood relations. They are nearly of equal size, and they run up to each other as if they would like to be friends; but when they are close together, the courage of one or the other always fails. Either Gip turns tail, allowing the wolf to chase him within a dozen steps of the horse’s heels,—or the wolf takes alarm, and Gip runs madly after it until it disappears over a ridge. So the wild dog and the tame one make little progress in their friendship. Yet it is not a very uncommon thing in the Far West even for gentle and intelligent dogs to form a friendship with a pack of wolves, and to go off and live with them, returning now and then to pay short visits to their old masters. But more often if a dog falls in with a pack of wolves, he is quickly torn in pieces by them. [Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN LION.] [Illustration: THE HOME OF THE BIG CAT.] Early in the morning, before the peak has begun to gather its cap of thunder clouds which break in showers every afternoon, and while the air through the whole valley is cool and very sweet with the perfume of a million flowers, I start out for my daily ride. First there is a mile over the rich grassland along the creek where the gay flowers grow in far greater variety and beauty than in any Eastern fields; then there is a long stretch of dry, rolling land which is all one great city of prairie-dogs. At the approach of strangers there is great excitement through this town of little yellow pigmies. Those which are looking out from the highest point give a few warning calls. Then there is a tremendous scattering and scampering in all directions of the fat, short-legged little bodies in so hot haste that they look like balls of yellow fur rolling across the gravel. Some have been out feeding, and more have been about gossiping with their neighbors and making morning calls, for they are famous little busybodies: but when they hear the warning, all fly at full speed to their own homes. Then when every one is sitting at the mouth of its hole, they are ready to defy the world. For a man and a horse they care little, but at the sight of a dog, the city is in an uproar; and, feeling perfectly safe by their own homes, they delight to tease him. There is such a Babel of shrill little voices chattering, scolding, squealing, and yelping from hundreds of gravel-heaps, that Gip stands for a minute perplexed, not knowing on which one to spring first; then like a flash he darts away to the nearest hole where a jolly little tormentor is chattering its defiance. The prairie-dog stands still in the doorway of its house, scolding and twitching its tail as its enemy comes charging down, until Gip’s nose