“Willing?—why, of course I am willing.” And the Coyote held up one of his arms, and, sitting down, steadied himself with his tail. Then the Blackbirds thrust in the feathers all along the rear of his forelegs and down the sides of his back, where wings ought to be. It hurt, and the Coyote twitched his mustache considerably; but he said nothing. When it was done, he asked: “Am I ready now?”
“Yes,” said the Blackbirds; “we think you’ll do.”
So they formed themselves again on the upper part of the slope, sang their songs, and hopped along down with many a flutter, flurry, and scurry,—Keh keh, keh keh, keh keh,—and away they flew off into the air.
The Coyote, somewhat startled, got out of time, but followed bravely, making heavy flops; but, as I have said before, the wings he was supplied with were composed of feathers all plucked from one side, and therefore he flew slanting and spirally and brought up with a whack, which nearly knocked the breath out of him, against the side of the mountain. He picked himself up, and shook himself, and cried out: “Hold! Hold! Hold on, hold on, there!” to the fast-disappearing Blackbirds. “You’ve left me behind!”
When the birds returned they explained: “Your wings are not quite thick enough, friend; and, besides, even a young Blackbird, when he is first learning to fly, does just this sort of thing that you have been doing—makes bad work of it.”
“Sit down again,” said the old Blackbird. And he called out to the rest: “Get feathers from your other sides also, and be careful to select a few strong feathers from the tips of the wings, for by means of these we cleave the air, guide our movements, and sustain our flight.”
So the Blackbirds all did as they were bidden, and after the new feathers were planted, each one plucked out a tail-feather, and the most skilful of the Blackbirds inserted these feathers into the tip of the Coyote’s tail. It made him wince and “yip” occasionally; but he stood it bravely and reared his head proudly, thinking all the while: “What a splendid Coyote I shall be! Did ever anyone hear of a Coyote flying?”
The procession formed again. Down the slope they went, hopity-hop, hopity-hop, singing their song, and away they flew into the air, the Coyote in their midst. Far off and high they circled and circled, the Coyote cutting more eager pranks than any of the rest. Finally they returned, dipped themselves again into the spring, and settled on the slopes of the rocks.
“There, now,” cried out the Coyote, with a flutter of his feathery tail, “I can fly as well as the rest of you.”
“Indeed, you do well!” exclaimed the Blackbirds. “Shall we try it again?”