Dance away, O!—
and, spreading their wings, with many a flutter, flurry, and scurry, keh keh,—keh keh,—keh keh,—keh keh,—they would fly away into the air, swirling off in a dense, black flock, circling far upward and onward; then, wheeling about and darting down, they would dip themselves in the broad spring which flows out at the foot of the mountain, and return to their dancing place on the rocky slopes.
A Coyote was out hunting (as if he could catch anything, the beast!) and saw them, and was enraptured.
“You beautiful creatures!” he exclaimed. “You graceful dancers! Delight of my senses! How do you do that, anyway? Couldn’t I join in your dance—the first part of it, at least?”
“Why, certainly; yes,” said the Blackbirds. “We are quite willing,” the masters of the ceremony said.
“Well,” said the Coyote, “I can get on the slope of the rocks and I can sing the song with you; but I suppose that when you leap off into the air I shall have to sit there patting the rock with my paw and my tail and singing while you have the fun of it.”
“It may be,” said an old Blackbird, “that we can fit you out so that you can fly with us.”
“Is it possible!” cried the Coyote, “Then by all means do so. By the Blessed Immortals! Now, if I am only able to circle off into the air like you fellows, I’ll be the biggest Coyote in the world!”
“I think it will be easy,” resumed the old Blackbird. “My children,” said he, “you are many, and many are your wing-feathers. Contribute each one of you a feather to our friend.” Thereupon the Blackbirds, each one of them, plucked a feather from his wing. Unfortunately they all plucked feathers from the wings on the same side.
“Are you sure, my friend,” continued the old Blackbird, “that you are willing to go through the operation of having these feathers planted in your skin? If so, I think we can fit you out.”