“Ah, ha! I will take a step toward this thing,” said Great Kingfisher, “but it is a difficult task you place before me. Old Tarantula is exceedingly cunning and very keen of sight, moreover. I will, however, take a step, and if I have good luck will be able to bring back to you something of what he has stolen.” He then made his adieu, and went back to his house at the Hill of the Kingfisher.
Very early the next morning he took his swift way to the Akʻyapaatch-ella, and there where the columns of rock fork he lay himself down between them, like a little finger between two other fingers, merely thrusting his beak over the edge, and looking at the opening of Old Tarantula’s hole.
The plumes of sunlight were but barely gleaming on the farther edge of the world when Old Tarantula cast his eyes just out of the edge of his hole, and looked all around. Eyes like many eyes had he, wonderfully sharp and clear. With these he looked all around, as might have been expected. He discovered Great Kingfisher, little-so-ever of him showing, and called out: “Heee! Wóloi weee!” (“Ho, ho! skulker skulking. Ho, ho! skulker skulking!”) Instantly Great Kingfisher shook out his wings, and thluooo, descended like a breath of strong wind; and thlu‑u‑u‑kwa, finished his flight like a loosed arrow; but he merely brushed the tips of the plumes in Old Tarantula’s head-knot, and the creature doubled himself up and headforemost plunged into his hole. Once in, “Ha, ha!” said he. “Good for him! Good! Good! Let’s have a dance, and sing,” said he, talking to himself; and thereupon he pranced up, jigged about his dark, deep room, singing this song:
“Ohatchikʻya ti Tákwà,
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà,
Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà!
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Tákwà, Tákwà!”
Thus singing, he danced—surely a song that nobody but he could dance to, if it be a song, but he danced to it. And when he had finished jigging about, he looked at his fluttering garments, and said: “Ha, ha! Just look at my fine dress! Now am I not handsome? I tell you I am handsome! Now, let’s have another dance!” And again he sang at the top of his wheezing voice, and pranced round on his crooked hind legs, with his fine garments fluttering.
But Great Kingfisher, with wings drooping and beak gaped down at the corners—as though being hungry he had tried to catch a fish and hadn’t caught him—took his way back to the council; and he said to the people there: “No use! I failed utterly. As I said before, he is a crafty, keen-sighted old fellow. What more have I to say?” He made his adieus, and took his way back to the Hill of the Kingfisher.
Again the people talked with one another and considered; and at last said some: “Inasmuch as he has failed, let us send for our grandfather, Great Eagle. He, of all living creatures with wings, is swiftest and keenest of sight, strong of grasp, hooked of beak, whatever getting holding, and getting whatever he will.”
They sent for the Eagle. He came, and when made acquainted with their wishes turned quickly, and said, in bidding them adieu: “I think that possibly I can succeed, though surely, as my brother has said, Old Tarantula is a crafty, keen-sighted creature. I will do my best.”
Early the next morning he took his way, before sunrise, to the peak of the Mountain of the Badgers, a long distance away from Akʻyapaatch-ella, but still as no distance to the Eagle. There he stood, with his head raised to the winds, turning first one eye, then the other, on the entrance of Old Tarantula’s den, until Old Tarantula again thrust out his woolly nose, as might have been expected. He discovered the Eagle, and was just shouting “Ho, skulker, skulking!” when the Eagle swept like a singing stone loosed from the sling straight at the head of Old Tarantula. But his wings hissed and buzzed past the hole harmlessly, and his crooked talons reached down into the dark, clutching nothing save one of the plumes in Old Tarantula’s headdress. Even this he failed to bring away.
The Old Tarantula tumbled headlong into his lower room, and exclaimed: “Ha, ha! Goodness save us! What a startling he gave me! But he didn’t get me! No, he didn’t get me! Let’s have a dance! Jig it down! What a fine fellow I am!” And he began to prance about, and jig and sing as he had sung before:
“Ohatchikʻya ti Tákwà,
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà,
Ohatchikʻya lii Tákwà!
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Tákwà, Tákwà!”
As soon as he paused for breath, he glanced askance at his fluttering bright garments and cried out: “Ho! what a handsome fellow I am! How finely dressed I am! Let’s have another dance!” And again he danced and sang, all by himself, admiring himself, answering his own questions, and watching his own movements. But Great Eagle, crestfallen and shame-smitten, took his way to the place of the council, reported his failure, and made his adieu.
Then again the people considered, and the old ones decided to send for Hatchutsanona (the Lesser Falcon), whose plumage is hard and smooth and speckled, gray and brown, like the rocks and sagebrush, and who, being swift as the Kingfisher, and strong as the Eagle, and small, is not only able to fly where other birds fly, but can penetrate the closest thicket when seeking his prey, for trimmed he is like a well-feathered arrow. They sent for him; he came and, being made acquainted with the
