Coyote

ki'o-te, or Prairie Wolf, a small, meager, yellowish wolf of the plains. It forms a burrow or den in the ground like the fox. Five to seven puppies come in May. Its natural food consists of sage hens, eggs, small birds, jackrabbits, and any other animal food it can find. It is a serious pest to the herdsmen, assailing calves and lambs, and even sheep in its hunger. It is rather wary about taking poison, is too swift for hounds, and keeps out of gunshot. Mark Twain's description cannot be improved:

The coyote of the farther deserts is a long, slim, sick, and sorry-looking skeleton with a gray wolf skin stretched over it, a tolerably bushy tail that forever sags down with a despairing expression of forsakenness and misery, a furtive and evil eye, and a long, sharp face. He is always poor, out of luck, and friendless. He is so spiritless and cowardly that, even while his exposed teeth are pretending a threat, the rest of his face is apologizing for it. And he is so homely! So scrawny, and ribby, and coarse haired, and pitiful! When he sees you he lifts his lip and lets a flash of his teeth out, and then he stops and takes a deliberate survey of you again; and, finally, the gray of his gliding body blends with the gray of the sage-brush, and he disappears.

The Coyote was so proud that he determined to have a dance through heaven itself, having chosen as his partner a certain star that used to pass quite close by a mountain where he spent a good deal of his time. So he called out to the star to take him by the paw and they would go round the world together for a night; but the star only laughed, and winked in an excessively provoking way from time to time. The Coyote persisted angrily in his demand, and barked and barked at the star all round heaven, till the twinkling thing grew tired of his noise and told him to be quiet and he should be taken next night. Next night the star came quite up close to the cliff where the Coyote stood, who leaping was able to catch on. Away they danced together through the blue heavens. Fine sport it was for a while; but oh, it grew bitter cold up there for a Coyote of the earth, and it was an awful sight to look down to where the broad Klamath lay like a slack bow-string and the Cahroc villages like arrow-heads. Woe for the Coyote! his numb paws have slipped their hold on his bright companion; dark is the partner that leads the dance now, and the name of him is Death. Ten long snows the Coyote is in falling, and when he strikes the earth he is smashed as flat as a willow-mat.--Coyotes must not dance with stars.--Robinson, Legend of California Indians.