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And this side of the headland of rocks, in the bank of a steep arroyo,
lived an old Locust, near where stood a piņon tree, crooked and so bereft
of needles that it was sunny.
One day the Coyote went out hunting, leaving his large family of children
and his old wife at home. It was a fine day and the sun was shining
brightly, and the old Locust crawled out of his home in the loam of the
arroyo and ascended to one of the bare branches of the piņon tree, where,
hooking his feet firmly into the bark, he began to sing and play his
flute. The Coyote in his wanderings came along just as he began to sing
these words:
"Tchumali, tchumali, shohkoya,
Tchumali, tchumali, shohkoya!
Yaamii heeshoo taatani tchupatchinte,
Shohkoya,
Shohkoya!"
Locust, locust, playing a flute,
Locust, locust, playing a flute!
Away up above on the pine-tree bough, closely clinging,
Playing a flute,
Playing a flute!
"Delight of my senses!" called out the Coyote, squatting down on his
haunches, and looking up, with his ears pricked and his mouth grinning;
"Delight of my senses, how finely you play your flute!"
"Do you think so_" said the Locust, continuing his song.
"Goodness, yes!" cried the Coyote, shifting nearer. "What a song it is!
Pray, teach it to me, so that I can take it home and dance my children to
it. I have a large family at home."
"All right," said the Locust. "Listen, then." And he sang his song again:
"Tchumali, tchumali, shohkoya,
Tchumali, tchumali, shohkoya!
Yaamii heeshoo taatani tchupatchinte,
Shohkoya,
Shohkoya!"
"Delightful!" cried the Coyote. "Now, shall I try_
"Yes, try."
Then in a very hoarse voice the Coyote half growled and half sang (making
a mistake here and there, to be sure) what the Locust had sung, though
there was very little music in his repetition of the performance.
"Tchu u-mali, tchumali--shohshoh koya,
Tchu tchu mali, tchumali shohkoya,
Yaa mami he he shoo ta ta tante tchup patchin te,
Shohkoya,
Shohkoya!"
Ha!" laughed he, as he finished; "I have got it, haven't I_"
"Well, yes," said the Locust, "fairly well."
"Now, then, let us sing it over together."
And while the Locust piped shrilly the Coyote sang gruffly, though much
better than at first, the song.
"There, now," exclaimed he, with a whisk of his tail; "didn't I tell you_"
and without waiting to say another word he whisked away toward his home
beyond the headland of rocks. As he was running along the plain he kept
repeating the song to himself, so that he would not forget it, casting his
eyes into the air, after the manner of men in trying to remember or to say
particularly fine things, so that he did not notice an old Gopher peering
at him somewhat ahead on the trail; and the old Gopher laid a trap for him
in his hole.
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 piņon branch singing away." Saying which, he ran back as
fast as he could. When he arrived at the piņon 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 his
pain that at the first brook he came to he stooped down to lap up water in
order to alleviate it, and he there beheld what you and I see in the
mouths of every Coyote we ever catch,--that the teeth back of the canines
are all driven down, so that you can see only the points of them, and look
very much broken up.
In the days of the ancients the Coyote minded not his own business and
restrained not his anger. So he bit a Locust that was only the skin of one
with a stone inside. And all his descendants have inherited his broken
teeth. And so also to this day, when Locusts venture out on a sunny
morning to sing a song, it is not infrequently their custom to protect
themselves from the consequences of attracting too much attention by
skinning themselves and leaving their counterparts on the trees.
Thus shortens my story.
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