It was indeed a most ludicrous performance, incidentally a splendid
shot.
Just as with a rifle, the coyote simply is not there when your missile
strikes. He doesn't seem to bestir himself greatly, but just seems to
drag himself out of harm's way at the last moment. How often have we
let fly at him, sometimes at a group of them, but seldom has he been
hit. A beginner's luck seems to fool him, however. One of our neophytes
with the bow, having had his tackle less than a month, was out riding
in his new automobile in company with a group of friends. The bow at
that time was his vade-mecum; he never left it home. He chanced to see
a stray coyote near the side of the highway when, after passing it a
hundred yards or so, he stopped his machine, grabbed his trusty weapon,
which he had hardly learned to shoot, strung it, nocked an arrow, and
ran back to take a shot at the animal in question. His eagerness and
obvious incapacity so amused the gay company in the machine, that they
cheered him on with laughter and ridicule.
Undaunted, our bowman hastened back, saw the crafty beast retreating in
a slinking gallop, drew his faithful bow, and shot at sixty yards.
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