Musquash, the muskrat, lived under the bank of the creek. Many of the little muskrats used to stray out upon the bank right in plain sight of an old pirate eagle which lived on the mountain, and which used to come sailing down the creek, watching to swoop down upon anything alive which he saw below.
Musquash himself was old and almost blind; he could not detect the eagle when he soared high above. One after another the young ones were stolen by the old pirate, old Bald Head. This had happened before the kingfisher came to live in the bank. One day Musquash himself ventured up the bank after roots; he did not see old Bald Head high above, watching him.
But Kos-ko-menos sat upon his sentinel post watching. He thought he saw a faint white dot in the sky—the flashing of the sun upon the bald head of the old pirate.
"Khr-r-r-r-rrr," screamed the kingfisher defiantly, as the old pirate was hovering his wings, making ready to drop down upon poor, old blind Musquash. Before he reached earth, Musquash, heeding the warning scream of Kos-ko-menos, was paddling straight for his hut under water.
The kingfisher was glad to see the old sky pirate outwitted, and so glad to save Musquash, that he dived down after the fish he had been watching, caught it, and all the time he was eating the fish he kept up a little glad, chattering chuckle, deep down inside. Many had seen how the kingfisher had saved old Musquash, and finally they all came to depend upon him to warn them when danger came that way. Kos-ko-menos never failed them.
The jay family raised three young, impudent jays. Already the young ones in the kingfishers' nest had stuck their fuzzy heads out of the hole in the bank, and both Dee-dee-askh and Kos-ko-menos had all they could do to get food enough for their families. One day the jay caught a fine catfish, and he thought to himself that he might as well gobble it all up instead of taking it home. He flew quickly to a near-by stone to beat the catfish, lest it sting him with its sharp horn. As he was about to swallow the fish whole, he heard an angry scream from his home. His mate had been watching him all the time. Again came the cry, which sounded not unlike the sharp striking of metal, then a loud, shrill scream, "Cray-cray, cray!" Dee-dee-askh saw a whirl of light blue feathers approaching. In his haste to bolt the fish whole, lest his mate take it from him, he choked and choked and swallowed. But alas, greedy fellow! The fish was too large for just one mouthful, and he began to flutter helplessly upon the rock, while the tail of the catfish protruded from his mouth.
Kos-ko-menos saw it all and chuckled to himself, but he had a kind heart. Flying straight to the jay, he gave one sharp, strong tug at the tail of the catfish, and the greedy jay was saved. Some say the real reason the kingfisher seized the catfish was because he wished to gobble it down himself—but that point is not certain. Kos-ko-menos had certainly saved his neighbour from choking to death, which showed he bore no grudge against the jay. Of course all the wood people saw the kind act of Kos-ko-menos, and it made a deep impression upon them; they marvelled, because the jay had been so rude to the kingfisher. It was nice of him to forget his mean treatment, they thought.
Down deep in a certain pool of the creek lived old Kenozha, the pickerel, dreaded and feared for years by all the inhabitants of the banks who swam in the water, or fished for a living. The sly old fellow had a cruel way of coming up just beneath them when they were in the water, and before they knew it he had nipped off a toe, a tail, or even a head. The turtles had lost claws, the giant bullfrog, leader of the spring choruses, was minus a foot, and even the wary old loon had lost a toe. Kos-ko-menos, who knew all about the old pickerel and his crafty ways, determined to rid the pool of him, and took to watching for him, as many another had before him; the jay, the loon, and the hawks had all fished for Kenozha, but this is why they had failed: the old fellow had seen their shadows upon the water. So wise Kos-ko-menos, the kingfisher, knew better than to let his shadow fall upon the water, but took good care to perch upon his watch tower at just the right angle so that he should throw no reflection, and the green, goggle eyes of the pickerel could not spy him. There was great excitement along the banks of the creek one day, when Kos-ko-menos arose from the creek bearing the struggling old pickerel in his strong beak, and much interest as they watched him subdue and beat Kenozha until he could struggle no longer. All were glad; even Dee-dee-askh came screaming out of the forest, while grunts and chuckles of approval might be heard from many a retreat where hid the wood brothers. And 'tis said that even a soft, murmuring song of praise stirred among the whispering pines up aloft.
Soon after that time, the watchful ones noticed the beginning of a faint blue band across the breast feathers of the kingfisher. Gradually it deepened and widened, finally becoming a well-defined belt right across the pale yellow waistcoat of the kingfisher.
And ever since that time Kos-ko-menos and all his tribe after him continue to wear this badge of honour, this belt of azure blue, like belted knights of old. The kingfisher is no longer an outcast among the little brothers of the wood.