To this exhibition of animal life the ravens pay no attention whatever.  It is beneath their notice; their aims are of a higher order than those of beings who live upon roots and who burrow for their abode.  They live on prey that is far above the simple products of animal industry.  Carrion is what they aspire to.  Therefore they aspire with a lofty mien, prying and peering in every direction for something fallen.  They are not far from the eastern brink of the mesa, where the volcanic flow breaks off suddenly in short, abrupt palisades.  Who knows what their keen eyes may have espied along that brink?

Another actor appears upon the scene, a prairie wolf, or coyote; consequently a rival, a competitor of the ravens; for he is in the same business.  But he belongs to a higher order; for while the ravens are scavengers, the coyote is a hunter as well.  He would even prey upon the birds themselves.  As he approaches, with tail drooping and ears erect, and stops to sniff the air and glance about slyly, the ravens hop off sidewise away from the dangerous neighbour.  Still they are loath to go, for the wolf may discover something the leavings of which they may perhaps enjoy.  But the coyote lies down, with his head between his forepaws, and in this attitude pushes his body forward, almost imperceptibly.  Such motions are very suspicious; the scavengers flap their wings, rise into the air, and soar away to some more secure spot.

The coyote, however, seems in no wise disappointed at the departure of the ravens.  He pays no attention to their flight, but moves on toward the lava-blocks that indicate the rim of the plateau.  There he has noticed something; an object that lies motionless like a corpse.  It may be a corpse, and therefore something to prey upon.  Nearer the coyote glides.  The object is long or elongated.  Its colour is lighter than that of the lava-blocks surrounding it, but its farther end is dark.  Now that end moves, and the head of an Indian, a village Indian of New Mexico, looms up above the boulders.  The coyote has seen enough, for the man is alive, and not carrion.  Away the beast trots, with drooping tail and ears.

The Indian, who has been lying there with his face turned to the east, rises to his knees and faces about.  His features are those of a man on the threshold of mature age.  We know this man!  We have seen him before!  And yet it cannot be, for how thin, how wan, how hollow the cheeks, how sunken the eyes!  The face, notwithstanding the red paint, appears sallow.  Still it is an old acquaintance, although since we saw him last he has sadly changed.  Now he turns his face to the south, and we catch a glimpse of his profile.  It is Zashue Tihua, the Indian from the Rito de los Frijoles, husband of Say Koitza, and father to Okoya and Shyuote.