Then, picking up the stone again, the Demon hit the other thigh even harder, from pain.
“It will get well, my friend; it will get well,” shouted the Coyote; and he splashed more of the medicine-water on the two wounded legs.
Then the Demon picked up the stone once more, and, laying his left arm across the other stone, pounded that also until it was broken.
“Hold on; let me bathe it for you,” said the Coyote. “Does it hurt? Oh, well, it will get well. Just wait until you have doctored the other arm, and then in a few minutes you will be all right.”
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” groaned the Demon. “How in the world can I doctor the other arm, for my left arm is broken?”
“Lay it across the rock, my friend,” said the Coyote, “and I’ll doctor it for you.”
So the Demon did as he was bidden, and the Coyote brought the stone down with might and main against his arm. “Have patience, my friend, have patience,” said he, as he bathed the injured limb with more of the medicine-water. But the Demon only groaned and howled, and rolled over and over in the dust with pain.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Coyote, as he keeled a somersault over the rocks and ran off over the plain. “How do you feel now, old man?”
“But it hurts! It hurts!” cried the Demon. “I shall never get well; it will kill me!”
“Of course it will,” laughed the Coyote. “That’s just what I wanted it to do, you old fool!”