A tribe of Indians lived near a river. One winter the weather was
very cold, and many of them died.
But spring came at last. The snow melted from the tops of the
mountains and ran in torrents down their steep sides and into the
river.
The ice in the swollen river broke up into large cakes which
floated down the stream.
The weather grew warmer. All the ice melted except one big cake
which the flood had left on the bank of the river.
The sun had been shining on this piece of ice for many days, but
it would not melt. There were signs of spring everywhere except in
this one spot.
A brave warrior had been watching this piece of ice. He said to
himself, "That is the Ice King, I am sure. I must conquer him."
He raised his big war club and struck the Ice King, crying, "Come
on, Ice King! Do your best. Freeze me if you can. I will show you
that I am as strong as you are."
He struck again and again, and the Ice King began to shrink.
Pieces of ice floated down the river. At last he became so small
that the Indian picked him up and tossed him into the river.
"There!" cried the Indian, "off with you! Never dare to come back
here again."
The Ice King whirled about and screamed, "I go now, but I shall
come again. Look for me next winter. I will show you then which of
us is the stronger."
The Indian hunted and fished all summer, but when autumn was near
he began to think of the threat of the Ice King. "He will keep his
word," said the Indian, "and I must get ready to fight him."
The Indian placed his wigwam among the trees, where it was well
sheltered from the winds. Near it he heaped up a large pile of dry
wood. Then he caught some large fish and tried out their fat so
that he might have plenty of oil. He made thick clothes for
himself out of the skins of animals. During the summer he had
gathered much wild rice, and now he dried meat. While he was
getting ready, the weather was becoming colder.
At last all was done, and the Indian said, as he sat by his
blazing fire, "Let the Ice King come. I am ready for him."
That night the Ice King froze the little pools of water. After a
few days the lakes and rivers were frozen. It was very cold.
One night when the Indian was sitting by his fire, the Ice King
stepped to the door of the wigwam. He walked boldly to the fire
and sat down opposite the Indian.
How cold the Ice King's breath felt! It nearly put out the fire.
The poor Indian shivered, but he said to himself, "The Ice King
shall not conquer me." He jumped up and threw dry wood on the
fire. Then he poured oil upon the wood. The fire blazed up. The
Indian put on more wood and more oil. The fire roared and
crackled.
The Ice King began to feel too warm. He moved back a little way.
The fire became hotter. The Ice King moved farther back. He began
to sweat and to grow smaller and weaker. Then he cried out, "My
friend, I am conquered. Let me go! Oh, let me go!"
The Indian arose and pushed the fire back from the Ice King. Then
he took his trembling hand, lifted him up, and led him to the door
of the wigwam.
As the Ice King passed out he said, "You have conquered me twice.
You shall always be my master."
Ever since that time men have been masters of the Ice King. When
his cold breath blows, they make the fires warmer and their
clothing thicker. [Footnote: Adapted from "The Ice Man" in Legends
of the MicMacs, published by S. T. Rand; permission to use given
by Helen S. Webster, owner of copyright.]