Ai yaa Tákwà!
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Tákwà, Tákwà!”
As soon as he paused for breath, he glanced askance at his fluttering bright garments and cried out: “Ho! what a handsome fellow I am! How finely dressed I am! Let’s have another dance!” And again he danced and sang, all by himself, admiring himself, answering his own questions, and watching his own movements. But Great Eagle, crestfallen and shame-smitten, took his way to the place of the council, reported his failure, and made his adieu.
Then again the people considered, and the old ones decided to send for Hatchutsanona (the Lesser Falcon), whose plumage is hard and smooth and speckled, gray and brown, like the rocks and sagebrush, and who, being swift as the Kingfisher, and strong as the Eagle, and small, is not only able to fly where other birds fly, but can penetrate the closest thicket when seeking his prey, for trimmed he is like a well-feathered arrow. They sent for him; he came and, being made acquainted with the facts of the case, said he could but try, though he modestly affirmed that when his elder brothers, Great Kingfisher and Great Eagle, had made such efforts, it were well-nigh needless for him to try, and repeated what they had said of the cunning and keenness of sight of Old Tarantula.
But he went early the next morning, and placed himself on the very edge of the high cliff overhanging the columns of rock and looking into the den of Old Tarantula. There, when the sun rose, you could scarcely have seen him, even though near you might have been, for his coat of gray and brown was like the rocks and dry grass around him, and he lay very close to the ground, like an autumn leaf beaten down by the rain. By-and-by Old Tarantula thrust out his rugged face, and turned his eyes in every direction, up and down; then twisted his head from side to side. He saw nothing. He had even poked his head entirely out of his hole, and his shoulders were just visible, when Lesser Falcon bestirred himself, and Old Tarantula, alas! saw him; not in time to wholly save himself, however, for Lesser Falcon, with a sweep of his wings like the swirl of a snowdrift, shot into the mouth of Old Tarantula’s den, grasped at his head, and brought away with him the macaw plumes of the youth’s head-dress.
Down into his den tumbled Old Tarantula, and he sat down and bent himself double with fright and chagrin. He wagged his head to and fro, and sighed: “Alas! alas! my beautiful head-dress; the skulking wretch! My beautiful head-dress; he has taken it from me. What is the use of bothering about a miserable bunch of macaw feathers, anyway? They get dirty, they get bent and broken, moths eat them, they change their color; what is the use of troubling myself about a worthless thing like that? Haven’t I still the finest costume in the valley?—handsome leggings and embroidered skirt and mantle, sleeves as pretty as flowers in summer, necklaces worth fifty head-plumes, and earrings worth a handful of such necklaces? Ha, ha! let him away with the old head-plumes! Let’s have a dance, and dance her down, old fellow!” said he, talking to himself. And again he skipped about, and sang his tuneless song:
“Ohatchik’ya ti Tákwà,
Ai yaa Tákwà!
Ohatchik’ya lii Tákwà,