His life had been like--like the stretching waste of sky that yawned above the desert, as cold, hard, and unsympathetic.
He saw a shadow; looked upward to see the Mexican eagle winging its slow way overhead, and the sneer on his lips grew.

It was a prophecy, perhaps.

At least the sight of the bird gave him an opportunity to draw a swift and bitter comparison.

He was like the eagle.

Both he and the bird he detested were beset with a constitutional predisposition to rend and destroy.