He took himself apart and slipped each piece through Yellow Hammer's hole. First he slipped a leg through, then a paw, then his tail, then his ears, and his eyes, until he was through the hole, and outside the cedar tree. Then Tallapus began to put himself together. He put his legs and paws together, then his tail, his nose, his ears, then his body. At last Tallapus put himself together again except his eyes. He could not find his eyes. Raven had seen them on the ground. Raven had stolen them. So Tallapus, the Coyote, the wisest and cunningest of all animals, was blind.
But Tallapus did not want the animals to know he was blind. Tallapus smelled a wild rose. He found the bush and picked two rose leaves. He put the rose leaves in place of his eyes. Then Tallapus travelled on, feeling his way along the trail.
Soon he met a squaw. Squaw began to jeer: "Oh, ho, you seem to be very blind."
"Oh, no," said Tallapus, "I am measuring the ground. I can see better than you can. I can see tomanowas rays." Squaw was greatly astonished. Tallapus pretended to see wonderful things at a great distance. Squaw said, "I wish I could see tomanowas rays."
Tallapus said, "Change eyes with me. Then you can see tomanowas rays."
So Tallapus and Squaw traded eyes. Tallapus took Squaw's eyes, and gave her the rose leaves. Then Tallapus could see as well as ever. Squaw could see nothing.
Tallapus said, "For your folly you must always be a snail. You must creep. You must feel your way on the ground."
Ever since that time snails have been blind. They have to creep slowly over the ground.
