Each mornin' while he's wolfin', Coyote makes a round-up an' skins an' counts up his prey.

An' son, you hear me! he does a flourishin' trade.
"Why don't Coyote p'isen hunks of meat you asks?
For obvious reasons.
In sech events the victim bolts the piece of beef an' lopes off mebby five miles before ever he succumbs.

With this yere augur hole play it's different.

The wolf has to lick the arsenic-tallow out with his tongue an' the p'isen has time an' gets in its work.

That wolf sort o' withers right thar in his tracks.