Chico was one of six coyote pups that were born. Chico's mother carefully washed each pup, encouraging their nursing instinct. They weakly struggled toward the source of life and nourishment, a squirming mass of blind assault upon their mother, La Dama.

     It was cozy and dark in the coyotes' den and Chico's weary mother sighed as she shifted her body so that her newborn pups could nurse more easily. As the pups grew full, they slept in contented warmth, snuggled close to La Dama.

     Nearby, and anxiously pacing, was the pups' father, El Sabio. In his mouth he held a fat prairie hen, not quite knowing what to do with it. La Dama had been acting downright mean lately, and not allowing him near the den. He had learned to respect her sharp teeth.

     He whined nervously. From within La Dama answered. Soon she appeared at the entrance to the den. Only after satisfying herself that no danger was present did she emerge. El Sabio lay the food down, then retreated beyond the reach of his mate's sharp teeth and bad disposition.

     La Dama hadn't eaten since before the birth of her pups and she was very hungry. She began tearing at the feathers of the prairie hen to get at the flesh, which she devoured quickly. She bared her teeth when El Sabio got too close. With her hunger satisfied, she touched noses with El Sabio, as if to reassure him, then she returned to the den to make sure that her pups were still safe.

     This coyote pair were leaders of a pack of coyotes that lived in the Northwestern part of Mexico, near the foothills of the Sierra Madre mountain range. It had been a good year. So far the pack had been able to find food easily. There was an adequate supply of the coyote's usual fare of rodents, birds and large insects.

     Sometimes, when rain was too scarce and their normal food supply was difficult to obtain, the pack had killed young lambs or calves that had wandered away from their mothers.

     La Dama was an alpha female, and El Sabio, an alpha male. Of all the pack, only these two would mate to produce offspring. The quantity of food available would determine how many pups were born. Often, only two or three pups were born. This had been a good year, with six pups added to the pack. All pack members looked after the pups and helped with their feeding and training. Coyotes have a rigid social order, and none defy the alpha male.

     The pups grew rapidly. Their eyes soon opened and they gained quickly in strength, playfully tormenting La Dama when she entered the den with a fresh kill for them. They were introduced to the pack members when La Dama decided the time was right. All members of the pack welcomed the youngsters. Within this society, Chico and his litter mates would be taught to become proficient hunters.

     In the cool of night, and under the cover of darkness, the pack members began to teach the pups to hunt for themselves...

     Chico missed as many rodents as he managed to catch. Without the help of the pack, he might have gong to bed hungry. As time passed, Chico and his brothers and sisters learned to hunt.

     Although man shared the earth with the coyotes, Chico had never seen a man. Few of the pack had, save El Roca, the Alpha male, and he knew from experience that man represented a threat to his pack. For this reason, he carefully avoided the areas in which man might be encountered, a lesson that Chico would learn too late.

     Chico grew strong and healthy. He had a beautiful thick tawny coat and a black-tipped tail that flowed gracefully behind him as he raced along. He now pursued game frequently on his own.

     One morning when the pack returned from their nightly hunts, Chico was not among them! The coyotes began their eerie howling to call Chico. There was no answer, only the sound of the wind.

     Chico lay badly wounded and too far away to hear their calls. He had been stalking his prey, a prairie hen, when he stepped upon a trap. It snapped viciously over his left leg. Chico yelped in surprise and pain. He struggled wildly to free himself, to no avail!

     All night long, Chico struggled but he could not free his leg from the cruel trap. His leg was broken and his paw was now swollen and dripping with blood where the metal teeth had gripped his leg and now held it fast.

     At first light Chico resumed his struggle. He was very thirsty and he was growing weaker. He looked around in hopes of seeing some of the pack members. He saw nothing familiar. Throwing his head back, he howled mournfully and long. The sound received no answering call. As the sun inched upward, Chico began gnawing at his trapped leg.

     Not far to the south of where Chico lay, a man entered an abandoned cabin. He carried a pack of provisions on his back. Upon entering the cabin he looked around then set his pack down and began to take it’s contents out. He prepared a simple meal and ate it leisurely. Afterwards, he spread his serape on a narrow bunk, then lay upon it to sleep.

     For days, Juan had managed to elude his pursuers. Now he had returned to this barren plateau that bordered the Sierra Madre Mountains. He would be safe here. Juan had been born in this remote cabin, and only he still knew the secret that the cabin concealed.

      Bandits in this cabin had murdered Juan's wife, Carmen, who had once shared that secret with him, many years ago. His Carmen had chosen death rather than to reveal the secret. He had stood over the lifeless bodies of his wife and young sons and had vowed that he would find and kill the bandits responsible for their deaths.

     Juan had found and killed two of the four men who had tortured and killed his family. Now, the two killers who remained alive were hunting Juan.

     He had come to this place of birth, and of death. He could run no more! As sleep finally claimed him, Juan tossed and turned. He was soon covered in sweat for the heat in the small, airless room was slowly rising. While Juan slept restlessly, yellow eyes watched the cabin where he lay.