The Stone Axe of Burkamukk

by Mary Grant Bruce

So the day went on, and when it was nearly evening, the animals could do no more: and still Tat-e-lak sat and stared stupidly before him, and looked more and more huge and bulgy in the gathering darkness; and Waat, the Red Wallaby, declared that the little hill he sat on was beginning to flatten under his weight. They were quite hopeless, at last. All were so tired and thirsty that they could not have attempted more antics, even had they known any, but, indeed, they had done everything they knew. They sat in a half-circle round the great Frog and looked at him sadly; and the Frog sat on his hill and did not look at anything at all.

Just about this time, Noy-Yang, the great Eel, woke up. He was lying in a deep crack in the muddy bed of the creek, and when the mud dried and hardened it pinched him, and he squirmed and woke. To his surprise, there was no water anywhere. Noy-Yang wriggled out of his crack, very astonished and indignant.

He found all the creek-bed dry, as you know; so he wriggled across it and up the bank, and came out on a little mud-flat by the sea. There he looked about him. On one side the sea rippled, but Noy-Yang knew that its water was no good for him. On the other was only dry land—the swampy ground he knew and loved, but now there was no water in it. It was very puzzling to a sleepy Eel.

He looked a little farther and saw the great Frog sitting on his hill. But he looked so huge that Noy-Yang thought the hill had simply grown bigger while he slept; and though that was surprising, it was not nearly so surprising as finding no water. Then he saw all the animals sitting about him, but he took no notice of them. All he cared for was to get away from this hot, dry mud, and find a cool creek running over its soft bed.

So he wriggled on, making very good time across the flat. Nobody saw him, for all the animals were looking miserably at the Frog.

Kowern, the Porcupine, had felt very sore and bruised after Mirran had sat on him for the second time. He was a sulky fellow, and he did not want to be sat on any more, even if it were for the good of all the people. "Mirran will be making a habit of this soon," he said crossly; "I will get out of the way." So he hurried off, and got into the nearest hole, which happened to be near the edge of the mud-flat. There he went to sleep.

Noy-Yang came wriggling along, hating the hard ground, and only wanting to get to a decent creek. He was in such a hurry that he did not see Kowern, and he wiggled right across him—and it seemed to him that each of Kowern's spines found a different place in his soft body.

Noy-Yang cried out very loudly and threw himself backwards to get off those dreadful spikes. He was too sore to creep at all: the only part of him that was not hurt was the very point of his tail, and he stood up on that and danced about in his wrath and pain, with his body wriggling in the air, and his mouth wide open. And when the monster Frog caught sight of the Eel dancing on his tail on the mud-flat, he opened his mouth and let out such a great shout of laughter as had never been heard before in the world or will ever be heard again.

Then all the waters came rushing out of the Frog's mouth, and in a moment the dry swamp was filled with it, and a sheet of water rushed over the mud-flat where Noy-Yang was dancing, and carried him away—which was exactly what Noy-Yang liked, and made him forget all his sores. It was not so nice for Kowern, the Porcupine, for he was swept away, too, and as he could not swim, he was drowned. But he was so bad-tempered that nobody cared very much.

Tat-e-lak went on laughing, and the water kept pouring out of his open mouth; and as he laughed he shrank and shrank, and his skin became flabby and hung in folds about him. He shrank until he was only as large as a few ordinary frogs put together: and then he gave a loud croak, and dived off into the water. He swam away, and none of the animals ever saw him again.