“How’s that?” asked the Bear.
“Why,” said the Coyote, “I came along here this evening and by the merest accident fell into this hole. And what do you suppose I found down here? Green-corn, meat, sweet-stuff, and everything a corn-eater could wish for. The only thing I lacked to complete my happiness was someone to enjoy the meal with me. Jump in!—it isn’t very deep—and fall to, friend. We’ll have a jolly good night of it.”
So the old Bear looked down, drew back a minute, hesitated, and then jumped in. When the Bear got down there, the Coyote laid himself back, slapped his thighs, and laughed and laughed and laughed. “Now, get out if you can,” said he to the Bear. “You and I are in a pretty mess. I fell in here by accident, it is true, but I would give my teeth and eyes if I could get out again!”
The Bear came very near eating him up, but the Coyote whispered something in his ear. “Good!” yelled the Bear. “Ha! ha! ha! Excellent idea! Let us sing together. Let them come!”
So they laughed and sang and feasted until they attracted almost every corn-pest in the fields to the spot to see what they were doing. “Keep away, my friends,” cried out the Coyote. “No such luck for you. We got here first. Our spoils!”
“Can’t I come?” “Can’t I come?” cried out one after another.
“Well, yes,—no,—there may not be enough for you all.” “Come on, though; come on! who cares?”—cried out the old Bear. And they rushed in so fast that very soon the pit-hole was almost full of them, scrambling to get ahead of one another, and before they knew their predicament they were already in it. The Coyote laughed, shuffled around, and screamed at the top of his voice; he climbed up over his grandfather the Bear, scrambled through the others, which were snarling and biting each other, and, knowing what he was about, skipped over their backs, out of the hole, and ran away laughing as hard as he could.
Now, the next morning down to the corn-field came the young man. Drawing near to the pit he heard a tremendous racket, and going to the edge and peering in he saw that it was half filled with the pests which had been destroying the corn of the maiden,—every kind of creature that had ever meddled with the corn-fields of man, there they were in that deep pit; some of them all tired out, waiting for “the end of their daylight,” others still jumping and crawling and falling in their efforts to get out.
“Good! good! my friends,” cried the young man. “You must be cold; I’ll warm you up a little.” So he gathered a quantity of dry wood and threw it into the pit. “Be patient! be patient!” said he. “I hope I don’t hurt any of you. It will be all over in a few minutes.” Then he lighted the wood and burned the rascals all up. But he noticed the Coyote was not there. “What does it matter?” said he. “One kind of pest a man can fight, but not many.”
So he went back to the house of the girl and reported to her what he had done. She was so pleased she hardly knew how to express her gratitude, but said to the young man with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye, “Are you quite sure they were all there?”