“You see, my friend,” said the Owl, turning toward the Coyote, “we hold this to be a very sacred performance—very sacred indeed. Being such, these my children are initiated and so trained in the mysteries of the sacred society of which this is a custom that they can do very strange things in the observance of our ceremonies. You ask what it is that looks like foam they are balancing on their heads. Look more closely, friend. Do you not observe that it is their own grandmothers’ heads they have on, the feathers turned white with age?”
“By my eyes!” exclaimed the Coyote, blinking and twitching his whiskers; “it seems so.”
“And you ask also why they limp as they dance,” said the Owl. “Now, this limp is essential to the proper performance of our dance—so essential, in fact, that in order to attain to it these my children go through the pain of having their legs broken. Instead of losing by this, they gain in a great many ways. Good luck always follows them. They are quite as spry as they were before, and enjoy, moreover, the distinction of performing a dance which no other people or creatures in the world are capable of!”
“Dust and devils!” ejaculated the Coyote. “This is passing strange. A most admirable dance, upon my word! Why, every bristle on my body keeps time to the music and their steps! Look here, my friend, don’t you think that I could learn that dance?”
“Well,” replied the old Owl; “it is rather hard to learn, and you haven’t been initiated, you know; but, still, if you are determined that you would like to join the dance—by the way, have you a grandmother?”
“Yes, and a fine old woman she is,” said he, twitching his mouth in the direction of his house. “She lives there with me. I dare say she is looking after my breakfast now.”
“Very well,” continued the old Owl, “if you care to join in our dance, fulfill the conditions, and I think we can receive you into our order.” And he added, aside: “The silly fool; the sneaking, impertinent wretch! I will teach him to be sticking that sharp nose of his into other people’s affairs!”
“All right! All right!” cried the Coyote, excitedly. “Will it last long?”
“Until the sun is so bright that it hurts our eyes,” said the Owl; “a long time yet.”
“All right! All right! I’ll be back in a little while,” said the Coyote; and, switching his tail into the air, away he ran toward his home. When he came to the house, he saw his old grandmother on the roof, which was a rock beside his hole, gathering fur from some skins which he had brought home, to make up a bed for the Coyote’s family.