So the old Demon lay down and died from sheer pain.
Then the Coyote took the Demon’s knife from him, and, cutting open his breast, tore out his heart, wind-pipe, and all. Then, stealing the war-badge that the Demon had worn, he cut away as fast as ever he could for the home of the Prey-gods. Before noon he neared their house, and, just as he ran up into the plaza in front of it, the youngest sister of the Prey-gods came out to hang up some meat to dry. Now, her brothers had all gone hunting; not one of them was at home.
“I say, wife,” said the Coyote. “Wife! Wife!”
“Humph!” said the girl. “Impertinent scoundrel! I wonder where he is and who he is that has the impudence to call me his wife, when he knows that I have never been married!”
“Wife! Wife!” shouted the Coyote again.
“Away with you, you shameless rascal!” cried the girl, in indignation. Then she looked around and spied the Coyote sitting there on the ash-heap, with his nose in the air, as though he were the biggest fellow in the world.
“Clear out, you wretch!” cried the girl.
“Softly, softly,” replied the Coyote. “Do you remember what your brothers said last night?”
“What was that?” said the girl.
“Why, whoever would kill the speckled Demon, they declared, should have you for his wife.”