This legend is told all over
      the west and southwest....

      Coyote and the Rock

      One fine day Coyote was out for a walk. It had been cold that
morning, and Coyote was wearing his favorite blanket to keep him warm. As
the sun walked high into the sky, on his daily journey. Coyote began to
get too warm. Finally, Coyote began to sweat.

      "This blanket is too warm to wear," said Coyote who often talked
to himself. "I don't want to carry it around with me all day! I think
I'll give it away."

      Walking along the trail, Coyote passed a huge rock that stood at
the edge of a steep downhill slope. He took off his blanket.

      "Grandfather Rock," said Coyote, "I wish to make you a gift."
Coyote took off his blanket and, with a fancy flip of the ends, he laid it
ceremoniously on the huge rock. "I am glad to make this give away, for
this blanket will keep you warm for many winters to come I hope you
like it!" The rock said ... Nothing.

      "Don't bother to thank me," said Coyote as he climbed up the
trail. The rock said ... Nothing. Coyote stretched his long, long legs and
climbed higher, for in those days Coyote's legs were as long and
graceful as Antelope's. "Goodbye, Grandfather!" called Coyote. The rock said
... Nothing.

      Coyote went along the mesa rim all day, getting into trouble, and
putting his nose in other animals' business. By sundown, it was getting
cold, and Coyote started to shiver.

      "Brrrr," said Coyote out loud. "Where's that blanket of mine?"
Just about then Coyote came down the trail to the huge rock and saw his
blanket. "There it is!" he yelped, and ran to it.

      Coyote took hold of one end of the blanket and pulled. The other
end was hung up on a sharp outcropping. Coyote pulled and pulled, but
his blanket wouldn't come loose.

      "Give me back my blanket, you stupid old rock!" yelped Coyote,
completely forgetting that he had given it away in the heat of the day.
"Are you going to give me that blanket?" asked Coyote angrily. The rock
said ... Nothing.

      Coyote in haste and anger, came around to the downhill side of
the rock, and jumped up, grabbing the other end of the blanket. Now the
uphill end was caught on the rock. Coyote gave a good yank, and the
blanket came free.

      "That's more like it," snarled Coyote, wrapping the blanket
around him, and starting down the mesa slope. Then the rock spoke.

      "Groan," said the rock.

      Coyote's yellow eyes got wide.

      "Groan," said the rock.

      Coyote turned back to look at the rock.

      "Groan," said the rock, leaning downhill towards Coyote.

      "Yipe," said Coyote meekly.

      "Groan," said the rock, and it began to roll toward Coyote.
Coyote ran as fast as he could, his blanket flying out behind him. The rock
rolled down the mesa slope, end-over-end, singing its own deadly song.

      The rock slowly gained on Coyote; even Coyote's long, graceful
legs couldn't get him away fast enough. One end of the rock caught the
blanket and Coyote flipped over.

      "Crunch" said the rock-or was it Coyote?-as the rock rolled over
poor Coyote, squashing him flat as frybread.

      The rock rolled on, taking the blanket with it.

      Coyote lay there moaning long after the echoes of the rock had
ended. The valley was silent. The moon came up, and Coyote sang a sad,
sad song to it.

      Slowly Coyote lifted himself up on his now very short, bent, and
scrunched-up legs. His tongue hung out as he trotted somewhat
sideways-as coyotes have trotted ever since-down to the rock in the valley
floor. The rock lay on its side in the moonlight. It was sleeping on the
blanket. Only the very corners of the blanket showed out from under the
rock.

      Coyote stood there for a long time looking at his blanket.

      "I never liked that blanket anyway," snorted Coyote, and he loped
off along the valley floor under the full moon.