lves. 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.

What is he doing here? It is now more than three weeks since he and his
brother Hayoue took leave of the Tyuonyi in order to search for their
lost people. They went forth into that limited, yet for the Indian
immensely vast, world to-day called central New Mexico. In a month a
travelling Indian may easily be hundreds of miles away if unimpeded in
his march. But we find him here, barely a day's journey from the Rito. A
strong man cannot have spent all this time in going such a little
distance. He must have wandered far, strayed back and forth, up and
down, perhap