The Coyote came trotting along, singing: “Shohkoya, shohkoya,” when suddenly he tumbled heels over head into the Gopher’s hole. He sneezed, began to cough, and to rub the sand out of his eyes; and then jumping out, cursed the Gopher heartily, and tried to recall his song, but found that he had utterly forgotten it, so startled had he been.
“The lubber-cheeked old Gopher! I wish the pests were all in the Land of Demons!” cried he. “They dig their holes, and nobody can go anywhere in safety. And now I have forgotten my song. Well, I will run back and get the old Locust to sing it over again. If he can sit there singing to himself, why can’t he sing it to me? No doubt in the world he is still out there on that piñon branch singing away.” Saying which, he ran back as fast as he could. When he arrived at the piñon tree, sure enough, there was the old Locust still sitting and singing.
“Now, how lucky this is, my friend!” cried the Coyote, long before he had reached the place. “The lubber-cheeked, fat-sided old Gopher dug a hole right in my path; and I went along singing your delightful song and was so busy with it that I fell headlong into the trap he had set for me, and I was so startled that, on my word, I forgot all about the song, and I have come back to ask you to sing it for me again.”
“Very well,” said the Locust. “Be more careful this time.” So he sang the song over.
“Good! Surely I’ll not forget it this time,” cried the Coyote; so he whisked about, and away he sped toward his home beyond the headland of rocks. “Goodness!” said he to himself, as he went along; “what a fine thing this will be for my children! How they will be quieted by it when I dance them as I sing it! Let’s see how it runs. Oh, yes!
“Tchumali, tchumali, shohkoya,
Tchumali, tchumali, shohko—”
Thli‑i‑i‑i‑i‑p, piu‑piu, piu‑piu! fluttered a flock of Pigeons out of the bushes at his very feet, with such a whizzing and whistling that the Coyote nearly tumbled over with fright, and, recovering himself, cursed the Doves heartily, calling them “gray-backed, useless sage-vermin”; and, between his fright and his anger, was so much shaken up that he again forgot his song.
Now, the Locust wisely concluded that this would be the case, and as he did not like the Coyote very well, having been told that sometimes members of his tribe were by no means friendly to Locusts and other insects, he concluded to play him a trick and teach him a lesson in the minding of his own affairs. So, catching tight hold of the bark, he swelled himself up and strained until his back split open; then he skinned himself out of his old skin, and, crawling down the tree, found a suitable quartz stone, which, being light-colored and clear, would not make his skin look unlike himself. He took the stone up the tree and carefully placed it in the empty skin. Then he cemented the back together with a little pitch and left his exact counterfeit sticking to the bark, after which he flew away to a neighboring tree.
No sooner had the Coyote recovered his equanimity to some extent than, discovering the loss of his song and again exclaiming “No doubt he is still there piping away; I’ll go and get him to sing it over,”—he ran back as fast as he could.
“Ah wha!” he exclaimed, as he neared the tree. “I am quite fatigued with all this extra running about. But, no matter; I see you are still there, my friend. A lot of miserable, gray-backed Ground-pigeons flew up right from under me as I was going along singing my song, and they startled me so that I forgot it; but I tell you, I cursed them heartily! Now, my friend, will you not be good enough to sing once more for me?”
He paused for a reply. None came.
“Why, what’s the matter? Don’t you hear me?” yelled the Coyote, running nearer, looking closely, and scrutinizing the Locust. “I say, I have lost my song, and want you to sing for me again. Will you, or will you not?” Then he paused.
“Look here, are you going to sing for me or not?” continued the Coyote, getting angry.
No reply.
The Coyote stretched out his nose, wrinkled up his lips, and snarled: “Look here, do you see my teeth? Well, I’ll ask you just four times more to sing for me, and if you don’t sing then, I’ll snap you up in a hurry, I tell you. Will—you—sing—for me? Once. Will you sing—for me? Twice. Two more times! Look out! Will you sing for me? Are you a fool? Do you see my teeth? Only once more! Will—you—sing—for me?”
No reply.
“Well, you are a fool!” yelled the Coyote, unable to restrain himself longer, and making a quick jump, he snapped the Locust skin off of the bough, and bit it so hard that it crushed and broke the teeth in the middle of his jaw, driving some of them so far down in his gums that you could hardly see them, and crowding the others out so that they were regular tusks. The Coyote dropped the stone, rolled in the sand, and howled and snarled and wriggled with pain. Then he got up and shook his head, and ran away with his tail between his legs. So excessive was
