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bones at his feet lying around in a loose pattern like bird droppings on the rocks. He did not move even after the crows had settled once again among the rocks and sat there looking at him, miniature judges in their black robes ready to sentence him to death.
    â€œWhat shall I do? Should I choose life and walk down to the feared mestizo village and take my chances, or should I choose death?” The old man was aware of the mass of bones scattered around him, the bones of his predecessors who had chosen death.
    â€œAll my brothers and sisters,” he thought as he glanced around at the scattered bones.
    He felt sad, yet within himself he felt an ancient feeling that was arising strongly, gnawing at his brain. Life, life, choose life! it said to him. He knew that this feeling would be hard to fight. You must live! his mind told him. He really wanted to live. This feeling was inbred within his soul. It was a feeling born from centuries of tribal suffering, nomadic wanderings, and battles against human adversaries and natural calamities.
    He had seen so much during his lifetime. He knew that someday his wife and children would have to pass this way. The old man hoped that their journey would be merciful. The thought depressed his spirits.
    The decision was his to make on this quiet lonely hillside. The sun was starting to go down and long shadows were forming across the valley floor. The light was beginning to fade. If he were to live, he needed to start down to the village now.
    He looked up at the darkening sky, and at thebirds rustling their feathers and settling down to sleep. He had no food, no water, and his strength was ebbing.
    â€œEven birds must eat, even worms must eat. Let my body feed these poor creatures after I am gone. I will stay with my brothers and sisters. My spirit will be free, and my life will not have been in vain for my death will beget life. On this earth, in order to survive we feed upon the death of one another.”
    His thoughts disappeared as he slowly fell asleep. The old Yaqui lay there sleeping, shivering from the cold, wrapped only in a thin deerskin.
    But soon he was awake again. A cold chill ran down his back. His whole body shuddered. He heard howling and barking coming from the bottom of the darkened hillside. He could make out countless shadows leaping over the rocks and boulders in the distance. The shadows seemed to be heading up the hill toward him.
    He now knew! The strong odor that he had smelled among the rocks and boulders—he remembered well now the dreaded wild dogs of the valley floor! The leaders of the tribe were aware that those who chose to starve on the hill would not suffer for long. They had known about the dogs all along!
    He had no choice now. The dogs had been waiting for the darkness to set in the valley, for they only hunted at night. They sensed when a human was brought down from the mountains. If he had headed for the village of the mestizos, he might have lived! He sat there waiting, trembling.
    â€œI want to live!” he whispered to himself as tears ran down his cheeks.
    The elders had been merciful to him and theothers before him. They had given them a chance to save themselves by giving them a choice between the mestizo village and maybe life or the hill with its sure death.
    He had waited too long to make his decision and had sentenced himself to death. He would be silenced forever. He could hear the dogs closing in. It would only be a matter of minutes. There was nowhere to go, to hide, or escape!
    â€œThe dogs, the hungry dogs!”
    Heavy tears clouded his eyes. They were getting closer. The gods of the mountains had sealed his fate. He stood and looked up at the glittering stars in the sky. The snarling and barking of the dogs filled the air. He could hear them jumping on the rocks, over the dark boulders, on the hill known as the Bones of Death.

THE CAVES OF DEATH

THE CAVES OF DEATH
    I n the small towns of Chihuahua, the people speak