“Old Man sit down waitin’ for rabbits to cool a little. His mouth is wet for to taste them. Coyote come along limpin’ ver’ bad. Say: ‘Pity me, Old Man, you got plenty cooked rabbits, give me one.’
“Old Man say: ‘Go along! You too lazy catch your dinner, I not help you!’
“Coyote say: ‘My leg broke. I can’t catch not’ing. I starving. Just give me half a rabbit.’
“Old Man say: ‘I don’t care if you die. I work hard to cook all these rabbits. I will not give away. But I tell you what we do. We run a race to that big hill way off there. If you beat me I give you a rabbit.’
“Coyote say: ‘All right.’ So they start run. Old Man run ver’ fast. Coyote limp along close behind. Then coyote turn round and run back very fast. Him not lame at all. Tak’ Old Man long tam to get back. Jus’ before he get there coyote swallow las’ rabbit, and trot away over the prairie with his tail up.
“That is the end.”
Stonor laughed. “That’s the kind of story I like. No cut and dried moral!”
Mary never could be got to see anything funny in the stories she told. Just what her attitude was towards them the whites could not guess.
“Give us another about Old Man,” Stonor went on. “A longer one. Tell how Old Man made medicine. A crackerjack!”
Clare looked at him wonderingly. If he were aware of the weirdness of their situation no sign betrayed it. The crackling flames mounted straight in the air, the smoke made a pillar reaching into the darkness. Fifteen paces from Stonor lay his prisoner, staring unwinkingly at him with eyes that glittered with hatred; and from all around them in the darkness perhaps scores of their enemies were watching.