Against the terra-cotta house-walls of the plaza, the katcinas are dancing the summer rain dance. For four days they have danced, masked, and bright with feather headdresses, hour in, hour out, in Zuñi. And now the clouds have listened to the insistent measure of the song, to the rhythm of forty dancing feet, to the beat of their turtle-shell rattles. Great desert clouds have loosed themselves from their moorings along the horizon and filled the sky to the zenith. There is a patter of rain; then the prayed-for, delayed deluge of a New Mexican summer afternoon.