“The usual parts that fall to anyone who comes along when the hunter is skinning a deer,” replied the Turtle.
“What parts?” eagerly asked the Coyote.
“Stomach and liver,” replied the Turtle, briefly.
“I won’t take that,” whined the Coyote. “I want you to give me half of the deer.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” replied the Turtle. “I killed the deer; you only helped to skin him, and you ought to be satisfied with my liberality in giving you the stomach and liver alone. I’ll throw in a little fat, to be sure, and some of the intestines; but I’ll give you no more.”
“Yes, you will, too,” snarled the Coyote, showing his teeth.
“Oh, will I?” replied the Turtle, deliberately, hauling in one or two of his flippers.
“Yes, you will; or I’ll simply murder you, that’s all.”
The Turtle immediately pulled his feet, head, and tail in, and cried: “I tell you, I’ll give you nothing but the stomach and liver and some of the intestines of this deer!”
“Well, then, I will forthwith kill you!” snapped the Coyote, and he made a grab for the Turtle. Kopo! sounded his teeth as they struck on the hard shell of the Turtle; and, bite as he would, the Turtle simply slipped out of his mouth every time he grabbed him. He rolled the Turtle over and over to find a good place for biting, and held him between his paws as if he were a bone, and gnawed at him; but, do his best, kopo, kopo! his teeth kept slipping off the Turtle’s hard shell. At last he exclaimed, rather hotly: “There’s more than one way of killing a beast like you!” So he set the Turtle up on end, and, catching up a quantity of sand, stuffed it into the hole where the Turtle’s head had disappeared and tapped it well down with a stick until he had completely filled the crevice. “There, now,” he exclaimed, with a snicker of delight. “I think I have fixed you now, old Hardshell, and served you right, too, you old stingy-box!”—whereupon he whisked away to the meat.