"WITHOUT WIND WE MUST DIE."
"Have you never tried to keep that wicked giant away?"
"Yes; often and often; and it was only last spring that we hit upon what we thought to be a good plan. About the time we were expecting a visit from Widenostrils, we sent to a neighboring island to get us a supply of cocks and hens. As soon as we got them, we filled our largest windmills with them. As usual, Widenostrils, when he landed, began to gobble up one windmill after another. Very soon the roosters began to crow, and the hens began to cackle, and both began to fly about inside his stomach. Then Widenostrils got very sick, and lay down in yonder field gasping for a whole day. As he lay down the strangest thing happened."
"What was that, friend?"
"Of course, with the cocks and hens crowing and cackling and making such a to-do in his stomach, here and there, Widenostrils kept his mouth open, hoping they would get tired and fly out. Seeing his big mouth open, what should all the foxes in the neighborhood, which are very tame, as we never hunt them, scenting the cocks and hens inside, do but scamper after them through the monster's throat? We were afraid to have the wicked Giant die among us, so we managed to rouse him, although he was very sick, and even helped him to reach his ship, which sailed away at once. But of what use after all? Our curse will be back next spring. If the cocks and hens and foxes don't kill him, what can we do?"
"Have no more fear, friend," said Pantagruel; "Widenostrils, the giant, the swallower of your windmills, is dead. I am sure of that, for I myself saw his corpse in Tohu. One of my friends here can tell you more. What, ho! Panurge!"
"That can I, your majesty," cried Panurge, stepping briskly forward. "The Giant Widenostrils died from having too many cocks and hens and foxes in his stomach. I heard in his stomach, with my own ears,—which are pretty sharp ones,—as he lay stretched out in the meadow, cocks crowing, hens cackling, foxes yelping, and by my faith, I thought the foxes were getting the better of the cocks and the hens."
"Thank Heaven! We can build our dear windmills again, and we shall not die," cried the King, who at once sent his herald to announce the good news through the island.