And while the Locust piped shrilly the Coyote sang gruffly, though much better than at first, the song.
“There, now,” exclaimed he, with a whisk of his tail; “didn’t I tell you?” and without waiting to say another word he whisked away toward his home beyond the headland of rocks. As he was running along the plain he kept repeating the song to himself, so that he would not forget it, casting his eyes into the air, after the manner of men in trying to remember or to say particularly fine things, so that he did not notice an old Gopher peering at him somewhat ahead on the trail; and the old Gopher laid a trap for him in his hole.
The Coyote came trotting along, singing: “Shohkoya, shohkoya,” when suddenly he tumbled heels over head into the Gopher’s hole. He sneezed, began to cough, and to rub the sand out of his eyes; and then jumping out, cursed the Gopher heartily, and tried to recall his song, but found that he had utterly forgotten it, so startled had he been.
“The lubber-cheeked old Gopher! I wish the pests were all in the Land of Demons!” cried he. “They dig their holes, and nobody can go anywhere in safety. And now I have forgotten my song. Well, I will run back and get the old Locust to sing it over again. If he can sit there singing to himself, why can’t he sing it to me? No doubt in the world he is still out there on that piñon branch singing away.” Saying which, he ran back as fast as he could. When he arrived at the piñon tree, sure enough, there was the old Locust still sitting and singing.
“Now, how lucky this is, my friend!” cried the Coyote, long before he had reached the place. “The lubber-cheeked, fat-sided old Gopher dug a hole right in my path; and I went along singing your delightful song and was so busy with it that I fell headlong into the trap he had set for me, and I was so startled that, on my word, I forgot all about the song, and I have come back to ask you to sing it for me again.”
“Very well,” said the Locust. “Be more careful this time.” So he sang the song over.
“Good! Surely I’ll not forget it this time,” cried the Coyote; so he whisked about, and away he sped toward his home beyond the headland of rocks. “Goodness!” said he to himself, as he went along; “what a fine thing this will be for my children! How they will be quieted by it when I dance them as I sing it! Let’s see how it runs. Oh, yes!
“Tchumali, tchumali, shohkoya,
Tchumali, tchumali, shohko—”
Thli-i-i-i-i-p, piu-piu, piu-piu! fluttered a flock of Pigeons out of the bushes at his very feet, with such a whizzing and whistling that the Coyote nearly tumbled over with fright, and, recovering himself, cursed the Doves heartily, calling them “gray-backed, useless sage-vermin”; and, between his fright and his anger, was so much shaken up that he again forgot his song.