Wiske-djak wandered over the swamps and mountains feeling all out of sorts with himself. It was just after the Indians had stolen all his ducks and geese as they cooked in the coals. All at once he came upon a little flock of partridges, just newly hatched. Their mother was away.
“Kwe!” said Wiske-djak. “What are you doing here?”
“Nothing,” said the partridges. “Just staying here.”
“Where is your mother?” asked Wiske-djak.
“She’s away hunting,” they said.
“What’s your name?” he asked one of them. And then each little partridge had to tell him his name until he came to the very last. “What’s your name?” he demanded.
“Suddenly Frightened,” answered little partridge.
“Oh, you!” said Wiske-djak, “what can you frighten?” And he picked up a big lump of soft mud and threw it all over the clean little partridges. “What can you frighten now?” he said. Then he walked off. He walked for a long time until he came to a high mountain. When he had climbed to the very top he found a nice breeze blowing across it.
“This feels good,” said Wiske-djak. “I think I’ll stay here,” and he searched around until he came to a place clear of trees just on the edge of a great chasm. The rock broke straight away for hundreds of feet, and over the edge of the cliff came a delightful breeze. Wiske-djak lay right down there and went to sleep at once.
By this time Old Partridge had got home, and found them all covered over with mud.