Night came on, and you could hear the Coyotes begin to sing; and the whole army of pests—Bears, Badgers, Gophers, all sorts of creatures, as they came down slowly, each one in his own way, from the mountain. The Coyotes first came into the field, being swift of foot; and one of them, nosing around and keeping a sharp lookout for watchers, happened to espy those wonderfully tempting morsels that lay over the hole.
“Ha!” said he (Coyotes don’t think much what they are doing), and he gave a leap, when in he went—sticks, dirt, bait, and all—to the bottom of the hole. He picked himself up and rubbed the sand out of his eyes, then began to jump and jump, trying to get out; but it was of no use, and he set up a most doleful howl.
He had just stopped for breath, when a Bear came along. “What in the name of all the devils and witches are you howling so for?” said he. “Where are you?”
The Coyote swallowed his whimpers immediately, set himself up in a careless attitude, and cried out: “Broadfoot, lucky, lucky, lucky fellow! Did you hear me singing? I am the happiest creature on the face of the earth, or rather under it.”
“What about? I shouldn’t think you were happy, to judge from your howling.”
“Why! Mercy on me!” cried the Coyote, “I was singing for joy.”
“How’s that?” asked the Bear.
“Why,” said the Coyote, “I came along here this evening and by the merest accident fell into this hole. And what do you suppose I found down here? Green-corn, meat, sweet-stuff, and everything a corn-eater could wish for. The only thing I lacked to complete my happiness was someone to enjoy the meal with me. Jump in!—it isn’t very deep—and fall to, friend. We’ll have a jolly good night of it.”
So the old Bear looked down, drew back a minute, hesitated, and then jumped in. When the Bear got down there, the Coyote laid himself back, slapped his thighs, and laughed and laughed and laughed. “Now, get out if you can,” said he to the Bear. “You and I are in a pretty mess. I fell in here by accident, it is true, but I would give my teeth and eyes if I could get out again!”
The Bear came very near eating him up, but the Coyote whispered something in his ear. “Good!” yelled the Bear. “Ha! ha! ha! Excellent idea! Let us sing together. Let them come!”
So they laughed and sang and feasted until they attracted almost every corn-pest in the fields to the spot to see what they were doing. “Keep away, my friends,” cried out the Coyote. “No such luck for you. We got here first. Our spoils!”
“Can’t I come?” “Can’t I come?” cried out one after another.
“Well, yes—no—there may not be enough for you all.” “Come on, though; come on! who cares?”—cried out the old Bear. And they rushed in so fast that very soon the pit-hole was almost full of them, scrambling to get ahead of one another, and before they knew their predicament they were already in it. The Coyote laughed, shuffled around, and screamed at the top of his voice; he climbed up over his grandfather the Bear, scrambled through the others, which were snarling and biting each other, and, knowing what he was about, skipped over their backs, out of the hole, and ran away laughing as hard as he could.
Now, the next morning down to the cornfield came the young man. Drawing near to the pit he heard a tremendous racket, and going to the edge and peering in he saw that it was half filled with the pests which had been destroying the corn of the maiden—every kind of creature that had ever meddled with the cornfields of man, there they were in that deep pit; some of them all tired out, waiting for “the end of their daylight,” others still jumping and crawling and falling in their efforts to get out.
“Good! good! my friends,” cried the young man. “You must be cold; I’ll warm you up a little.” So he gathered a quantity of dry wood and threw it into the pit. “Be patient! be patient!” said he. “I hope I don’t hurt any of you. It will be all over in a few minutes.” Then he lighted the wood and burned the rascals all up. But he noticed the Coyote was not there. “What does it matter?” said he. “One kind of pest a man can fight, but not many.”
So he went back to the house of the girl and reported to her what he had done. She was so pleased she hardly knew how to express her gratitude, but said to the young man with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye, “Are you quite sure they were all there?”
“Why, they were all there except the Coyote,” said the young man; “but I must tell you the truth, and somehow he got out or didn’t get in.”
“Who cares for a Coyote!” said the girl. “I would much rather marry a man with some ingenuity about him than have all the Coyotes in the world to kill.” Whereupon she accepted this very ugly but ingenious young man; and it is notable that ever since then pretty girls care very little how their husbands look, being pretty enough themselves for both. But they like to have them able to think and guess at a way of getting along occasionally. Furthermore, what does a rich girl care for a rich young man? Ever since then, even to this day, as you know, rich girls almost invariably pick out poor young men for their husbands, and rich young men are sure to take a fancy to poor girls.
Thus it was in the days of the ancients. The Coyote got out of the trap that was set for him by the ugly young man. That is the
