Chapter 8

Together they walked back to the den. Coyote had said that he wanted to sit down before talking further.

Now that things had finally calmed down, Remy saw that Coyote was older than he’d first appeared. His back left leg had a slight limp and his right ear had an uneven notch taken out of it, probably from a bite. Remy also noticed that if you looked close enough you could see scratches and gashes through his coat on various parts of his body. Remy knew that Otis back at the farm bore marks like this, but just a few. Otis thought he was the toughest dog around and liked to tussle hard with the other dogs and, sometimes, even with dogs down the street. Otis had just turned seven. Remy put Coyote at 10, maybe 11 … maybe older. There was something about Coyote’s eyes. They looked like they’d seen an awful lot. A lot of it probably wasn’t good, Remy thought. Remy remembered what his mother had said about coyotes. He was starting to think, and worry.

Coyote shot Remy a glance. “You certainly do ‘study’ things, you know that?”

“Well, I … ”

“Is there something you want to ask me? If there is, just ask. Don’t go getting all Sam Spade on me.”

“Okay. Where’d you come from?” Remy asked. “I mean, I know you came by the Old Man’s farm years ago. And I know you say there are plenty of coyotes around here. Thing is, we grew up with a big dog by the name of Otis and he never said anything about coyotes. Nothing. Not once. And believe me, Otis would have loved to tangle with someone like a coyote. So, where are you from? Where do you live?”

“I don’t exactly have a residential address. We’re not welcome in most gated communities, which is where I’d want to live. And I’d like a pool, just in case you’re taking notes.”

Remy leveled his eyes at Coyote. He was getting mad, which Coyote was very well aware of.

Baux, eager to break up whatever was going on between Coyote and his brother, said, “Okay, look, we’re here at the den. We can sit.”

Sniffing the air, Coyote said, “This is a fox’s den.”

“So?”

“I’m a coyote. I can’t stay where a fox stayed. There’s a pecking order, you know.”

Remy could tell that the coyote was either mighty full of himself or had a very dry sense of humor. Or both.

“Besides,” Coyote said, “I’d never fit. Foxes are so small and wiry they can cram themselves into a shoebox. Coyotes need … space. Let’s go sit by the stream, where there’s plenty of room. And where it doesn’t smell like a fox.”

The coyote caught sight of Baux’s worried look. “Don’t worry, little brother, snakes sleep at night.” The coyote looked around, before adding, under his breath, “I think.”

Coyote had noticed that though the night sky appeared to be clearing, there were thin dark clouds moving rapidly in and out. Coyote had also noticed that Remy was still thinking about everything he’d said. But Baux’s question about what was in the hole had intrigued him.

When they finally settled, Coyote told them about what had happened at the cemetery but he backed up to the beginning. He wanted to give the brothers the full picture. He knew how important it was to everything at hand and to what he had in mind.