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!"
[Illustration: 0000]
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
comrades 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,