Wait until to-morrow!"
"Open the crock!" said Wind-Rush, shaking him. "How shall a poor little
child be able to open such a crock? Why, it's quite as large as I am
myself." "Open it!" commanded Wind-Rush once more, "or it will be a
sorry thing for you." The boy got up, tottered over to the crock,
fumbled the clasp, and let his arms fall. "I'm not usually so weak,"
said he. "If you will only let me sleep until morning, I think that I'll
be able to manage with that clasp."
But Wind-Rush was impatient, and he rushed forward and pinched the boy
in the leg. That sort of treatment the boy didn't care to suffer from a
crow. He jerked himself loose quickly, ran a couple of paces backward,
drew his knife from the sheath, and held it extended in front of him.
"You'd better be careful!" he cried to Wind-Rush.
This one too was so enraged that he didn't dodge the danger. He rushed
at the boy, just as though he'd been blind, and ran so straight against
the knife, that it entered through his eye into the head. The boy drew
the knife back quickly, but Wind-Rush only struck out with his wings,
then he fell down--dead.
"Wind-Rush is dead! The stranger has killed our chieftain, Wind-Rush!"
cried the nearest crows, and then there was a terrible uproar. Some
wailed, others cried for vengeance. They all ran or fluttered up to the
boy, with Fumle-Drumle in the lead.
Pages:
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256