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LONG, long ago, in the time when only a few people
lived upon the earth, there dwelt in the North a
tribe of fishermen. Now, the best fish were to be
found in the summer season, far up in the frozen places
where no one could live in the winter at all. For the King
of this Land of Ice was a fierce old man called Ka-bib-on-
okka by the Indians - meaning in our language, the North Wind.
Though the Land of Ice stretched across the top of the
world for thousands and thousands of miles, Ka-bib-on-okka
was not satisfied. If he could have had his way there would
have been no grass or green trees anywhere; all the world
would have been white from one year's end to another, all
the rivers frozen tight, and all the country covered with snow
and ice.
Luckily there was a limit to his power. Strong and fierce
as he was, he was no match at all for Sha-won-dasee, the South
Wind, whose home was in the pleasant land of the sun-
flower. Where Sha-won-dasee dwelt it was always summer.
When he breathed upon the land, violets appeared in the
woods, the wild rose bloomed on the yellow prairie, and the
cooing dove called musically to his mate. It was he who
caused the melons to grow, and the purple grapes; it was he
whose warm breath ripened the corn in the fields, clothed the
forests in green, and made the earth all glad and beautiful.
Then, as the summer days grew shorter in the North, Sha-
won-dasee would climb to the top of a hill, fill his great pipe,
and sit there - dreaming and smoking. Hour after hour he
sat and smoked; and the smoke, rising in the form of a vapor,
filled the air with a soft haze until the hills and lakes seemed
like the hills and lakes of dreamland. Not a breath of wind,
not a cloud in the sky; a great peace and stillness over all.
Nowhere else in the world was there anything so wonderful.
It was Indian Summer.
Now it was that the fishermen who set their nets in the
North worked hard and fast, knowing the time was at hand
when the South Wind would fall asleep, and fierce old Ka-
bib-on-okka would swoop down upon them and drive them
away. Sure enough! One morning a thin film of ice covered
the water where they set their nets; a heavy frost sparkled
in the sun on the bark roof of their huts.
That was sufficient warning. The ice grew thicker, the
snow fell in big, feathery flakes. Coyote, the prairie wolf,
trotted by in his shaggy white winter coat. Already they
could hear a muttering and a moaning in the distance.
"Ka-bib-on-okka is coming!'' cried the fishermen. "Ka-
bib-on-okka will soon be here. It is time for us to go."
But Shin-ge-bis, the diver, only laughed.
Shin-ge-bis was always laughing. He laughed when he
caught a big fish, and he laughed when he caught none at all.
Nothing could dampen his spirits.
"The fishing is still good," he said to his comrades. "I
can cut a hole in the ice, and fish with a line instead of a net.
What do I care for old Ka-bib-on-okka?"
They looked at him with amazement. It was true that
Shin-ge-bis had certain magic powers, and could change him-
self into a duck. They had seen him do it; and that is why
he came to be called the "diver." But how would this enable
him to brave the anger of the terrible North Wind?
"You had better come with us," they said. "Ka-bib-on-
okka is much stronger than you. The biggest trees of the
forest bend before his wrath. The swiftest river that runs
freezes at his touch. Unless you can turn yourself into a
bear, or a fish, you will have no chance at all."
But Shin-ge-bis only laughed the louder.
"My fur coat lent me by Brother Beaver and my mittens
borrowed from Cousin Muskrat will protect me in the day-
time," he said, "and inside my wigwam is a pile of big logs.
Let Ka-bib-on-okka come in by my fire if he dares."
So the fishermen took their leave rather sadly; for the
laughing Shin-ge-bis was a favorite with them, and, the truth
is, they never expected to see him again.
When they were gone, Shin-ge-bis set about his work in
his own way. First of all he made sure that he had plenty of
dry bark and twigs and pine-needles, to make the fire blaze
up when he returned to his wigwam in the evening. The
snow by this time was pretty deep, but it froze so ***
top that the sun did not melt it, and he could walk on the
surface without sinking in at all. As for fish, he well knew
how to catch them through the holes he made in the ice;
and at night he would go tramping home, trailing a long string
of them behind him, and singing a song he had made up
himself:
"Ka-bib-on-okka, ancient man,
Come and scare me if you can.
Big and blustery though you be
You are mortal just like me!
It was thus that Ka-bib-on-okka found him, plodding
along late one afternoon across the snow.
"Whoo, whoo!" cried the North Wind. "What impudent,
two-legged creature is this who dares to linger here long after
the wild goose and the heron have winged their way to the
south? We shall see who is master in the Land of Ice.
This very night I will force my way into his wigwam, put his
fire out, and scatter the ashes all around. Whoo, whoo!"
Night came; Shin-ge-bis sat in his wigwam by the blazing
fire. And such a fire! Each backlog was so big it would last
for a moon. That was the way the Indians, who had no clocks
or watches, counted time; instead of weeks or months, they
would say "a moon" - the length of time from one new moon
to another.
Shin-ge-bis had been cooking a fish, a fine, fresh fish
caught that very day. Broiled over the coals, it was a tender
and savory dish; and Shin-ge-bis smacked his lips, and rubbed
his hands with pleasure. He had tramped many miles that
day; so it was a pleasant thing to sit there by the roaring
fire and toast his shins. How foolish, he thought, his com-
rades had been to leave a place where fish was so plentiful,
so early in the winter.
"They think that Ka-bib-on-okka is a kind of magician,"
he was saying to himself, "and that no one can resist him.
It's my own opinion that he's a man, just like myself. It's
true that I can't stand the cold as he does; but then, neither
can he stand the heat as I do."
This thought amused him so that he began to laugh and
sing:
"Ka-bib-on-okka, frosty man,
Try to freeze me if you can.
Though you blow until you tire,
I am safe beside my fire!"
He was in such a high good humor that he scarcely noticed
a sudden uproar that began without. The snow came thick
and fast; as it fell it was caught up again like so much powder
and blown against the wigwam, where it lay in huge drifts.
But instead of making it colder inside, it was really like a
thick blanket that kept the air out.
Ka-bib-on-okka soon discovered his mistake, and it made
him furious. Down the smoke-vent he shouted; and his voice
was so wild and terrible that it might have frightened an
ordinary man. But Shin-ge-bis only laughed. It was so
quiet in that great, silent country that he rather enjoyed a
little noise.
"Ho, ho!" he shouted back. "How are you, Ka-bib-on-
okka? If you are not careful you will burst your cheeks."
Then the wigwam shook with the force of the blast, and
the curtain of buffalo hide that formed the doorway flapped
and rattled, and rattled and flapped.
"Come on in, Ka-bib-on-okka!" called Shin-ge-bis merrily.
"Come on in and warm yourself. It must be bitter cold
outside."
At these jeering words, Ka-bib-on-okka hurled himself
against the curtain, breaking one of the buckskin thongs;
and made his way inside. Oh, what an icy breath! - so icy
that it filled the hot wigwam like a fog.
Shin-ge-bis pretended not to notice. Still singing, he rose
to his feet, and threw on another log. It was a fat log of
pine, and it burned so hard and gave out so much heat that
he had to sit a little distance away. From the corner of his
eye he watched Ka-bib-on-okka; and what he saw made him
laugh again. The perspiration was pouring from his
forehead; the snow and icicles in his flowing hair quickly
disappeared. Just as a snowman made by children melts in
the warm sun of March, so the fierce old North Wind began
to thaw! There could be no doubt of it; Ka-bib-on-okka, the
terrible, was melting! His nose and ears became smaller, his
body began to shrink. If he remained where he was much
longer, the King of the Land of Ice would be nothing better
than a puddle.
"Come on up to the fire," said Shin-ge-bis cruelly. "You
must be chilled to the bone. Come up closer, and warm
your hands and feet."
But the North Wind had fled, even faster than he came,
through the doorway.
Once outside, the cold air revived him, and all his anger
returned. As he had not been able to freeze Shin-ge-bis, he
spent his rage on everything in his path. Under his tread
the snow took on a crust; the brittle branches of the trees
snapped as he blew and snorted; the prowling fox hurried to
his hole; and the wandering coyote sought the first shelter
at hand.
Once more he made his way to the wigwam of Shin-ge-bis,
and shouted down the flue. "Come out," he called. "Come
out, if you dare, and wrestle with me here in the snow. We'll
soon see who's master then!"
Shin-ge-bis thought it over. "The fire must have weak-
ened him," he said to himself. "And my own body is warm.
I believe I can overpower him. Then he will not annoy me
any more, and I can stay here as long as I please."
Out of the wigwam he rushed, and Ka-bib-on-okka came
to meet him. Then a great struggle took place. Over and
over on the hard snow they rolled, locked in one another's
arms.
All night long they wrestled; and the foxes crept out of
their holes, sitting at a safe distance in a circle, watching the
wrestlers. The effort he put forth kept the blood warm in the
body of Shin-ge-bis. He could feel the North Wind growing
weaker and weaker; his icy breath was no longer a blast, but
only a feeble sigh.
At last, as the sun rose in the east, the wrestlers stood
apart, panting. Ka-bib-on-okka was conquered. With a
despairing wail, he turned and sped away. Far, far to the
North he sped, even to the land of the White Rabbit; and as
he went, the laughter of Shin-ge-bis rang out and followed
him. Cheerfulness and courage can overcome even the
North Wind.