RIDING his pony one day out on the range, with Renee, the camp dog along, the son of a ranch owner came upon a baby coyote all alone. The coyote cub whimpered and, seemingly without fear, endeavored to get close up to the little mother dog, a mongrel terrier. But Renee already had a brood of her own pups, and she brushed him off with a snarl. Steve, however, was a tender-hearted fellow, and picking up the coyote pup he brought him back to camp. The little fellow was put in a chicken-coop reinforced with wire netting, and fed some milk. There he cried all night for sheer loneliness.
The next day Renee’s pups were all disposed of as unwanted, and as the cries of the little coyote sounded forth the next night, grief-stricken Renee’s motherly instincts rose within her. Going to the coop, she gnawed a hole through the netting, and brought the little coyote out. She hid him under the woodpile, and there for many days the cub thrived on milk that was originally intend for seven. The camp men had decided that the coyote’s mother had come and set him free. Never did he appear during daylight, but at night he would emerge and make short forays around the barnyard.
Then chickens began to disappear, and when one of the men found a heap of feathers around the woodpile he decided that rats were eating the chickens; so he set some small traps for the marauders. The coyote pup had his first experience with traps when cruel jaws, full of sharp teeth, closed on his front leg. The pain was terrible, and though after some time he shook the dreadful thing off, it left him with one lame That was his last night under the woodpile. With Renee at his side he headed for the open spaces where he would fend for himself like other coyotes. Renee returned home bore morning, but the coyote would come back to the ranch night after night and together they would sally forth on hunting expeditions. Their friendship would only be broken by death.
Some time later, one crisp wintry morning, Cy the cowboy and wolf trapper, was making his rounds when he came upon a sight that fairly stunned him. The mystery of the missing coyote was solved. There was Renee, the terrier, crouching in the snow, shivering with cold and fright, one foot numb and held fast in one of his traps; but otherwise she was unhurt. Curled up beside her was a little coyote with one crippled paw—he looked as if he were sleeping; but he was dead, his body cored with bites and gashes. Then some feet away was the body of a huge black wolf, his foot caught in another trap, his fur also torn and mangled — he too was dead. All around the trampled snow gave evidence of the awful battle that had been fought under the stars that night.
To the experienced old trapper it was not hard to put the facts tether. Renee had been the first to get caught in the trap. She did not possess the sense nor the cunning of the coyote. He may have come along later. And then the huge wolf must have appeared, intent on killing. The little coyote, instead of fleeing, stood his ground between the helpless terrier and the great enemy. In the battle the wolf was caught in another trap, and the pain would only intensify his rage. The struggle must have gone on for a long time, until finally, when all was over, only the terrier remained alive.
Thus the little coyote died defending the only one who had ever shown him love in his little lifetime.
There was One, dear young reader who gave His life for us, to save us from the foe, and yet in the heart of man there was no love for Him. There was nothing in us to draw out His favor, but it was the love in His heart for us when we were snared by Satan, chained by our sins, guilty, helpless, ready to die, that brought Him forth from those palaces of love. He died for us!
There will be no love in hell, dear reader.
Oh may the story of a dying Saviour’s love, giving Himself in death upon the cross for sinners, melt many proud hard hearts this day, and bring them to the feet of Jesus, to confess Him as Saviour and Lord. He is worthy!
All worlds His glorious power confess,
His wisdom all His works express;
But oh, His love!—what tongue can tell?
"Our Jesus hath done all things well.”
Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord: Praise ye the Lord. Psalms 1:50:6
ML-12/14/1969