Thus singing, he danced,—surely a song that nobody but he could dance to, if it be a song, but he danced to it. And when he had finished jigging about, he looked at his fluttering garments, and said: “Ha, ha! Just look at my fine dress! Now am I not handsome? I tell you I am handsome! Now, let’s have another dance!” And again he sang at the top of his wheezing voice, and pranced round on his crooked hind legs, with his fine garments fluttering.
But Great Kingfisher, with wings drooping and beak gaped down at the corners,—as though being hungry he had tried to catch a fish and hadn’t caught him,—took his way back to the council; and he said to the people there: “No use! I failed utterly. As I said before, he is a crafty, keen-sighted old fellow. What more have I to say?” He made his adieus, and took his way back to the Hill of the Kingfisher.
Again the people talked with one another and considered; and at last said some: “Inasmuch as he has failed, let us send for our grandfather, Great Eagle. He, of all living creatures with wings, is swiftest and keenest of sight, strong of grasp, hooked of beak, whatever getting holding, and getting whatever he will.”
They sent for the Eagle. He came, and when made acquainted with their wishes turned quickly, and said, in bidding them adieu: “I think that possibly I can succeed, though surely, as my brother has said, Old Tarantula is a crafty, keen-sighted creature. I will do my best.”
Early the next morning he took his way, before sunrise, to the peak of the Mountain of the Badgers, a long distance away from Ak’yapaatch-ella, but still as no distance to the Eagle. There he stood, with his head raised to the winds, turning first one eye, then the other, on the entrance of Old Tarantula’s den, until Old Tarantula again thrust out his woolly nose, as might have been expected. He discovered the Eagle, and was just shouting “Ho, skulker, skulking!” when the Eagle swept like a singing stone loosed from the sling straight at the head of Old Tarantula. But his wings hissed and buzzed past the hole harmlessly, and his crooked talons reached down into the dark, clutching nothing save one of the plumes in Old Tarantula’s head-dress. Even this he failed to bring away.
The Old Tarantula tumbled headlong into his lower room, and exclaimed: “Ha, ha! Goodness save us! What a startling he gave me! But he didn’t get me! No, he didn’t get me! Let’s have a dance! Jig it down! What a fine fellow I am!” And he began to prance about, and jig and sing as he had sung before:
“Ohatchik’ya ti Tákwà,
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Ohatchik’ya lii Tákwà,
Ohatchik’ya lii Tákwà!