When Coyote was traveling about one day, he saw a small bird. The bird was hopping about contentedly and Coyote thought, “What a beautiful bird. It moves about so gracefully.”
He drew nearer to the bird and asked, “What beautiful things are you working with?” but the bird could not understand Coyote. After a while the bird took out his two eyes and threw them straight up into the air, like two stones. It looked upward but had no eyes. Then the bird said, “Come, my eyes. Come quickly, down into my head.” The eyes fell down into the bird’s head, just where they belonged, but were much brighter than before.
Coyote thought he could brighten his eyes. He asked the bird to take out his eyes. The bird took out Coyote’s eyes, held them for a moment in his hands, and threw them straight up into the air. Coyote looked up and called, “Come back, my eyes. Come quickly.”
They at once fell back into his head and were much brighter than before. Coyote wanted to try it again, but the bird did not wish to. But Coyote persisted.
Then the bird said, “Why should I work for you, Coyote? No, I will work no more for you.” But Coyote still persisted, and the bird took out his eyes and threw them up.
Coyote cried, “Come, my eyes, come back to me.” But his eyes continued to rise into the air, and the bird began to go away. Coyote began to weep. But the bird was annoyed, and called back, “Go away now. I am tired of you. Go away and get other eyes.”
But Coyote refused to go and entreated the bird to find eyes for him. At last the bird gathered gum from a pinon tree and rolled it between his hands and put it in Coyote’s eye holes, so that he could see.
But his eyes had been black and very bright. His new eyes were yellow. “Now,” said the bird, it “go away. You cannot stay here any longer.”
Coyote’s true eyes remain there, suspended high in the sky, dark spots upon the bright surface of the moon. And each night he calls up, in the hopes that they will come down at last.