It was sunrise on the Colorado desert. As the advance guard of dawn
emerged from behind the serrated peaks to the east and paused on
their snow-encrusted summits before charging down the slopes into
the open desert to rout the lingering shadows of the night, a
coyote came out of his den in the tumbled malpais at the foot of
the range, pointed his nose skyward and voiced his matutinal salute
to the Hosts of Light. Presently, far in the distant waste, seven
dark objects detached themselves from the shadows and crawled
toward the mountains. Like motes swimming in a beam of light, they
came out of the Land of Nowhere, in the dim shimmering vistas over
west, where the gray line of grease-wood met the blue of the
horizon. Slowly they assumed definite shape; and the coyote ceased
his orisons to speculate upon the ultimate possibility of breakfast
and this motley trio of "desert rats" with their burro train, who
dared invade his desolate waterless kingdom.
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