For five days Moh-Kwa smoked no kinnikinick; an’ Moh-Kwa got angry because of it an’ roared an’ shouted up an’ down the canyons, an’ to show he did not care, Moh-Kwa smashed his redstone pipe on a rock. But in his stomach Moh-Kwa cared, an’ would have traded Ish-koodah, the Fire, four armsful of dry cedar just to have him light his kinnikinick but once. But Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, was gone out an’ would not come back. [Illustration: 0239] Openhand, the good Sioux an’ great hunter, heard Moh-Kwa roaring for his kinnikinick. An’ Openhand told him he behaved badly, like a young squaw who wants new feathers an’ cannot get them. Then Openhand gave Moh-Kwa another pine, an’ brought the Fire from his own lodge; an’ again Moh-Kwa’s cavern blazed with Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, in the middle of the floor, an’ Moh-Kwa smoked his kinnikinick. An’ Moh-Kwa’s heart felt good an’ soft an’ pleasant like the sunset in the Moon of Fruit. Also, he gave Ish-koo-dah plenty of wood to eat an’ never scolded him for being always hungry. All the Sioux loved Openhand; for no one went by his lodge empty but Openhand gave him a piece of buffalo meat; an’ if a Sioux was cold, he put a blanket about his shoulders. An’ for this he was named “Openhand,” an’ the Sioux were never tired of talking good talk of Open-hand, an’ the noise of his praises never died out. Coldheart hated Openhand because he was so much loved. Coldheart was himself sulky an’ hard, an’ his hand was shut tight like a beaver-trap that is sprung, an’ it would not open to give anything away. Those who came hungry went hungry for all of Coldheart; an’ if they were cold, they were cold. Coldheart wrapped his robes the closer, an’ was the warmest whenever he thought the frost-wolf was gnawing others. “I do not rule the ice,” said Coldheart; “hunger does not come or go on its war-trail by my orders. An’ if the Sioux freeze or starve, an’ Pau-guk, the Death, walks among the lodges, it is because the time is Pau-guk’s an’ I cannot help it.” So Coldheart kept his blankets an’ his buffalo meat for himself an’ his son, the Blackbird, an’ gave nothing away. An’ for these things, Coldheart was hated while Openhand was praised; an’ the breast of Coldheart was so eaten with his wrath against Openhand that it seemed as though Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, had gone into Coldheart’s bosom an’ made a camp. Coldheart would have called Pau-guk to his elbow an’ killed Openhand; but Coldheart was not sure. The Openhand moved as quick as a fish in the Yellowstone, an’ stood as tall an’ strong as the big pine on the hill; there were no three warriors, the bravest of the Sioux, who could have gone on the trail of Openhand an’ shown his skelp on their return, for Openhand was a mighty fighter an’ had a big heart, so that even Fear himself was afraid of Openhand an’ never dared come where he was.