So the Coyote drew back and listened most attentively. By-and-by the Beetle lifted himself with a long sigh of relief.
“Okwe!” exclaimed the Coyote. “What was going on?”
“The Good Soul save us!” exclaimed the Beetle, with a shake of his head. “I heard them saying down there that tomorrow they would chase away and thoroughly chastise everybody who defiled the public trails of this country, and they are making ready as fast as they can!”
“Souls of my ancestors!” cried the Coyote. “I have been loitering along this trail this very morning, and have defiled it repeatedly. I’ll cut!” And away he ran as fast as he could go.
The Beetle, in pure exuberance of spirits, turned somersaults and stuck his head in the sand until it was quite turned.
Thus did the Beetle in the days of the ancients save himself from being bitten. Consequently the Tip-beetle has that strange habit of kicking his heels into the air and sticking his head in the sand.
Thus shortens my story.
HOW THE COYOTE DANCED WITH THE BLACKBIRDS
ONE late autumn day in the times of the ancients, a large council of Blackbirds were gathered, fluttering and chattering, on the smooth, rocky slopes of Gorge Mountain, northwest of Zuñi. Like ourselves, these birds, as you are well aware, congregate together in autumn time, when the harvests are ripe, to indulge in their festivities before going into winter quarters; only we do not move away, while they, on strong wings and swift, retreat for a time to the Land of Everlasting Summer.