The stream once more drowsed and whispered; the hum
of the mountain bees rose sleepily. Down through the perfume-weighted
air fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. The butterflies
drifted in and out among the trees, and over all blazed the quiet
sunshine. Only remained the hoof-marks in the meadow and the torn
hillside to mark the boisterous trail of the life that had broken the
peace of the place and passed on.

[Illustration]

THE STORY OF KEESH

Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his
village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with
his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old
men remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the
old men before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their
children and their children's children down to the end of time. And the
winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the
ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may
venture forth, is the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the
poorest _igloo_ in the village, rose to power and place over them all.

He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had
seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each winter the
sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so
that they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. The
father of Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a
time of famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking
the life of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to close
grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear had
much meat on him and the people were saved. Keesh was his only son, and
after that Keesh lived alone with his mother. But the people are prone
to forget, and they forgot the deed of his father; and he being but a
boy, and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and
ere long came to live in the meanest of all the _igloos_.

It was at a council, one night, in the big _igloo_ of Klosh-Kwan, the
chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood
that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his
feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices.

"It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But it is
ofttimes old and tough, this mea