'Are you sure it was not carrying something in its mouth?'

'Perhaps it was. But tell me, would that make any difference?'

'Yes it would. If it was carrying something in its mouth it was not a coyote.'

'What was it then?'

'It was a man or a woman.'

'What do you call such people, donna Luz?'

She did not answer. I questioned her a while longer, but without success. Finally she said she did not know. I asked her if such people were called diableros, and she answered that 'diableros ' was one of the names given to them.

'Do you know any diableros?' I asked.

'I knew one woman,' she replied. 'She was killed. It happened when I was a little girl. The woman, they said, used to turn into a female dog. And one night a dog went into the house of a white man to steal cheese. The white man kill the dog with a shotgun, and at very moment the dog died in the house of the white man the woman died in her own hut. Her kin got together and went to the white man and demanded payment. The white man paid good money for having killed her.'

'How could they demand payment if it was only a dog he killed?'

'They said that the white man knew it was not a dog, because other people were with him, and they all saw that the dog stood up on its legs like a man and reached for the cheese, which was on a tray hanging from the roof. The men were waiting for the thief because the white man's cheese was being stolen every night. So the man killed the thief knowing it was not a dog.'

'Are there any diableros, nowadays, donna Luz?'

'Such things are very secret. They say there are no more diableros, but I doubt it, because one member of a diablero's family has to learn what the diablero knows. Diableros have their own laws, and one of them is that a diablero has to teach his secrets to one of his kin.'

'What do you think the animal was, Genaro?' I asked a very old man.