The Coyote and the Ravens Who Raced Their Eyes
Long, long ago, in the days of the ancients, there lived in Hómaiakwin, or the Canyon of the Cedars, a Coyote—doubtless the same one I have told you of as having made friends with the Woodpounder bird. As you know, this canyon in which he lived is below the high eastern cliff of Face Mountain.
This Coyote was out walking one day. On leaving his house he had said that he was going hunting; but—miserable fellow!—who ever knew a Coyote to catch anything, unless it were a prairie-dog or a wood-rat or a locust or something of the kind? So you may depend upon it he was out walking; that is, wandering around to see what he could see.
He crossed over the valley northward, with his tail dragging along in an indifferent sort of a way, until he came to the place on Thunder Mountain called Shoton-pia (“Where the Shell Breastplate Hangs”). He climbed up the foothills, and along the terraces at the base of the cliff, and thus happened to get toward the southeastern corner of the mountain. There is a little column of rock with a round top to it standing there, as you know, to this day.
Now, on the top of this standing rock sat two old Ravens, racing their eyes. One of them would settle himself down on the rock and point with his beak straight off across the valley to some pinnacle in the cliffs of the opposite mesa. Then he would say to his companion, without turning his head at all: “You see that rock yonder? Well, ahem! Standing rock yonder, round you, go ye my eyes and come back.” Then he would lower his head, stiffen his neck, squeeze his eyelids, and “Pop!” he would say as his eyes flew out of their sockets, and sailed away toward the rock like two streaks of lightning, reaching which they would go round it, and come back toward the Raven; and as they were coming back, he would swell up his throat and say “Whu‑u‑u‑u‑u‑u‑u,”—whereupon his eyes would slide with a kʻothlo! into their sockets again. Then he would turn toward his companion, and swelling up his throat still more, and ducking his head just as if he were trying to vomit his own neck, he would laugh inordinately; and the other would laugh with him, bristling up all the feathers on his body.
Then the other one would settle himself, and say: “Ah, I’ll better you! You see that rock away yonder?” Then he would begin to squeeze his eyelids, and thlut! his eyes would fly out of their sockets and away across the mesa and round the rock he had named; and as they flew back, he would lower himself, and say “Whu‑u‑u‑u‑u‑u‑u,” when kʻothlo! the eyes would slide into their sockets again. Then, as much amused as ever, the Ravens would laugh at one another again.
Now, the Coyote heard the Ravens humming their eyes back into their sockets; and the sound they made, as well as the way they laughed so heartily, exceedingly pleased him, so that he stuck his tail up very straight and laughed merely from seeing them laugh. Presently he could contain himself no longer. “Friends,” he cried, in a shrieky little voice, “I say, friends, how do you do, and what are you doing?”
The Ravens looked down, and when they saw the Coyote they laughed and punched one another with their wings and cried out to him: “Bless you! Glad to see you come!”
“What is it you are doing?” asked he. “By the daylight of the gods, it is funny, whatever it is!” And he whisked his tail and laughed, as he said this, drawing nearer to the Ravens.
“Why, we are racing our eyes,” said the older of the two Ravens. “Didn’t you ever see anyone race his eyes before?”
“Good demons, no!” exclaimed the Coyote. “Race your eyes! How in the world do you race your eyes?”
“Why, this way,” said one of the Ravens. And he settled himself down. “Do you see that tall rock yonder? Ahem! Well, tall rock, yonder—ye my eyes go round it and return to me!” Kʻothlo! kʻothlo! the eyes slipped out of their sockets, and the Raven, holding his head perfectly still, waited, with his upper lids hanging wrinkled on his lower, for the return of the eyes; and as they neared him, he crouched down, swelled up his neck, and exclaimed “Whu‑u‑u‑u‑u‑u‑u.” Tsoko! the eyes flew into their sockets again. Then the Raven turned around and showed his two black bright eyes as good as ever. “There, now! what did I tell you?”
“By the moon!” squeaked the Coyote, and came up nearer still. “How in the world do you do that? It is one of the most wonderful and funny things I ever saw!”
“Well, here, come up close to me,” said the Raven, “and I will show you how it is done.” Then the other Raven settled himself down; and pop! went his eyes out of
