The Pied Raven of Dun Kirk was pied simply because his body was jet black and his breast shone iridescent blue; then, too, he had white wing-shoulders and wore a white cap on top of his head. He looked like a widow but felt more like a bachelor, for he was a gentleman raven and kept bachelor hall in a tall tree on the Flemish sand dunes.

The Pied Raven was no fisherman, even though he did love the sight, smell and particularly the taste of fish; and in the sea to the north were the best of fishing-grounds. He envied the River Hawk and Sea Eagle who knew so well the habits of all finny creatures and could select the best, fresh and squirming from the water. The Pied Raven’s tastes were every bit as refined as the River Hawk’s, Sea Eagle’s or anybody else’s for that matter; but he was a poor raven, or rather, poor fisherman and his fish-diet was in accordance with his means. His means for catching fish were extremely limited; so all he could do was beg, borrow or steal from those more gifted than himself. Failing in all three of[135] these methods, he had to wait around and content himself with such leavings as the Hawk and Eagle had no room for; and that is how the Pied Raven got into trouble.

The River Hawk caught a big, flapping fish, selected and served to suit his appetite to a nicety; no more, no less. After he had filled up and flown away, the Pied Raven, who all this time was watching and awaiting his turn, dropped down to take pot-luck. He found mostly bones and very little fish. This was exasperating, considering the time he had spent sitting around, so he tore loose a big back-fin and gobbled it down.

“Why is it that the River Hawk eats up all the meat and leaves me none?” he grumbled. “I never—awr-rk”; something stuck in his throat. Alas! That miserable back-fin had gone down the wrong way. He coughed and sputtered and did his best to be rid of it up or down, but the fin had a long spine and was stuck fast. He choked and gasped, his head began whirling and he rolled in the dirt; and while lying there with a hazy notion that he would not be a pied raven much longer, he began to see strange things.

Above him, towered a mighty giant, the largest and shaggiest he had ever seen. Its nose reached almost to the ground. Two wonderful horns curled and twisted from its mouth. Another marvelous[136] creature appeared; a giant and shaggy too but smaller than the first. It was round and fat with stumpy legs. This giant had a short nose,—not long like the first one. A horn stuck straight up out of it like a sharp stake.

A third giant loomed up,—smaller yet and nothing like the first two. It squatted on its hind legs and made motions with the front ones. Its mouth stretched so queerly from ear to ear and so pleasantly that the Pied Raven was sure he had flown into another world. Mere earthly creatures never made such nice faces,—certainly not.

“What a strange-looking crow!” Number Three Giant was saying. “I never saw one with head and shoulders white. Arrah! it’s dead.”

Even in his dreams, the Pied Raven could not repress his indignation. To be mistaken for a crow, was more than he could bear.

“I saw it kick a little,” said Giant Number Two,—the one with the nose-horn.

“So?” The Pied Raven felt himself being lifted from the ground; but he was growing drowsier every moment and did not care much. Something pried his mouth open but that did not matter either. He was beyond feeling any interest in what happened to him.

“Choked by a big fish-bone!” cried a voice, and then a pair of fingers reached down his throat and[137] pulled something loose that suddenly woke him up, it hurt so like fury.

“By my old white head!” squawked the Pied Raven; but, all the same, things stopped spinning around and he felt better. After a moment, he found himself flat on his back, staring at the sky and beginning to think it time to get up and go somewhere else.

“A man, a mammoth and a rhinoceros!” he said as the three giants assumed earthly shapes; and he scrambled to his feet, a Pied Raven once more, although a trifle the worse for wear. Giant Number Three now become a Trog-man,—a fairly young one—held the fish-bone between the first and second fingers of his right hand.

“Well for you we chanced to be passing this way,” he said and smiled again.

The Pied Raven jumped. Here was a Trog-man who could talk sense. All the rest of them he had seen, jabbered and made strange noises in their throats. This one could make his face all sunshine too. The Pied Raven thought him a pretty good sort.

“Well, indeed,” he rasped. “Trog-men usually throw stones at birds and never take fish-bones from their throats. I will do as well by you if I ever can.” He looked curiously at the group before him. “A man, a mammoth and a rhinoceros; queer combination,[138] that. How did you three ever come to be together?”

“We have lost our way,” answered the Trog-man—Pic, of course. “We went north to search for something but were forced to hurry back.”

“Searching for something?” asked the Pied Raven, cocking his head on one side. “That sounds interesting. What can it be that you three would hunt for together?”

“Treasure,” Hairi broke in with a most business-like air. “We did not find it but we are glad enough to get back alive.”

“Treasure?” inquired the Pied Raven, becoming more and more interested. “What kind?”

“That is what we wish to find out,” the Mammoth replied. “All we know is, that somewhere in the world there is treasure buried beneath a stone in a cave on the side of a mountain. We do not know just where to look for it.”

“Rather indefinite,” observed the Pied Raven. “Er-awk; let me think.” He gazed thoughtfully at the ground. “Mountain, cave, stone; that may help a little. I know of many mountains, caves and stones but none of them seem to fit together. Awrk; I have it!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I remember a cave on a mountain. It has a stone in the entrance. I know because I once perched on it.”

“Where?” asked Hairi and Wulli in chorus.

[139]

“Far from here,” said the Pied Raven. “Too far for such fat animals to walk. You will never get there.” He shook his head dubiously at the two great beasts.

“How far?” grumbled the Mammoth who was quick to resent the slur cast upon his figure. “I can walk farther than any crow flies.”

“Awrk-k-k! do stop calling me a crow,” squawked the Pied Raven. “I am a raven; not a crow. Please remember that.”

“And we are large, not fat; do not forget that,” retorted the Mammoth.

“Where must we go to reach this cave?” Pic inquired. “We cannot go too far out of our way. We must be south before the cold weather comes.”

The Pied Raven pointed his bill eastward. “It may save you time if I go along too,” he said. “I have nothing in particular to do and would help you who have done me a good turn.”

It was finally agreed that the Pied Raven should join the party and all go to where the treasure supposedly lay buried in the cave-floor awaiting their pleasure. None knew where the cave was—none but the Pied Raven. Pic mounted the Mammoth’s neck and the bird perched in front of him on the head-peak. Wulli trotted by the side ............