Hounds

                               

                                                           ________________________

                                                             Shonto and the Coyote

                                                              by Mary C. Hendricks, MFH

                                                                   High Country Hounds

Not so long ago, when Duncan Stewart was hunting the hounds, we had a chase I'll never forget. Often, the uninitiated will ask or maybe just worry about our kill rate on the coyote population. The story of this particular hunt always comes to mind because it illustrates just how successful we really are.

It was an early spring morning, and we had hunted fitfully. Finding and losing bits of coyote scent, Duncan worked hard with the pack to find. He was hunting a senior pack with new entries, Showlow, Sedona, Shonto, Snowflake, Sonoita, and Salome. Shonto, a big black and tan dog hound, had been shy and hard to teach pack discipline. This spring of their first year hunting was the time we hoped to initiate the youngsters into the joys and mysteries of the chase.

I was riding as in-whip, watching the young hounds as the pack cast in front of the huntsman. We were hunting across open ground, but as we entered the fringe of pinyon and juniper trees, the hounds went into full cry. I heard Duncan blow "Gone Away" as I engaged my horse, Brownie, in a full gallop. The hounds were screaming away and I couldn't keep up. On and on we galloped as Brownie and I struggled ducking through the pines and junipers and jumping prairie dog holes as we heard the telltale cry of hounds ahead and followed the dust kicked up by Duncan. After a mile of run, I hit the fence line of the Drye's ranch. My sense was to turn left and gallop for the gate next to the railroad tracks. Another bruising mile, but as I galloped along, one by one, I caught up with the other whips and the huntsman. Not a word was exchanged, all of us pushed forward to find the hounds. I heard the dunning sound of a freight train on the tracks and knew we were close to the gate. It was thrown open and we were through in a wink. But now it was eerily quiet with the passing of the train; only the snorting and blowing of the horses could be heard. Duncan struck forward blowing "All In" and we fanned out listening and looking for hound prints in the soft dust.

After a few minutes, I heard voices and laughter on my right. Turning, I trotted swiftly toward the noise and came upon a once-in-a-lifetime scene; Shonto was sitting on the panting coyote with the rest of the young pack lying in the dust beside him, all of them, including the yearling coyote, entirely spent from the chase.

It was concluded later that the young coyote had intended to lose the hounds across the railroad track, but was cut off by the train. He simply gave up and lay down and the hounds were happy to do the same with him. His parents had lured the main pack down into Padre Canyon and lost them there. We got all the hounds back and the coyotes got the coyotes back and that's what we consider a successful day. And Shonto, he became a great hunting hound.

              

                                                                 

             

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