Coyote walked far, lost in the heat of the day.
Sweating, he sat on Rock and said, “My brother,
You may have my robe.” He threw it aside
Over Rock’s heavy shoulders and wandered on.

A great cloud blackened the earth. Coyote turned
And hurried back to Rock sitting still and dry.
Coyote said, “Give me my robe against the rain.”
Rock whispered through the robe, “Now it is mine.”

“You have no need of a robe,” Coyote said and snatched it
And wrapped it around him, walking into the storm.
But soon, behind, he heard something like thunder
And saw Rock mumbling after him: “Give me my robe!”

Coyote ran past Nighthawk, crying: “Help me! Help me”
Rock is chasing us all!” But Nighthawk said, “No.
Rock is my nest. All night I ride on the wind,
All day I sleep on Rock: he is my day-cloud.”

Coyote ran past Buffalo, crying, “Save me ! Save me!
Rock wants to kill us all!” But Buffalo
Said, “No. When the People hunt me, Rock deceives them:
We look the same. He splits their strongest arrows.”

Coyote ran past Bear, crying, “Only you can help me!
Rock wants to crush us all!” But Bear said, “No.
Rock is the roof of my lodge. He lasts through the Moon
Of the Cracking Trees. He is my winter sky.”

Coyote stood alone in the rain then, and Rock tumbled
Closer and closer, bumping and booming.
He was no day-cloud. He was no good protector
Against the shafts of the hunting weather.

Kneeling, Coyote offered his robe again, and Rock
Halted against his forehead, solid and cold.
“I need no Robe,’ Rock said. “I wear this rain.
Tomorrow I wear the sun or the snow, no matter.”

Coyote opened his arms and clung to Rock. Rock said,
I hear your heart. Now you may stand against me.
No one will hunt you. You may sleep beneath me
With or without a robe. Welcome, lost brother.”