The Kingfisher was cleaning his house and fishing from his favorite stump in the river, while near him, at the fall of every luckless worm that missed its hold on a blossom-whitened thorn tree, came the splash of the great Black Bass.
Every morning the Bass took a trip around Horseshoe Bend food hunting, and the small fry raced for life before his big, shear-like jaws.
During the heat of noon he lay in the deep pool below the stump, and rested; but when evening came he set out in search of supper, and frequently he felt so good that he leaped clear of the water, and fell back with a splash that threw shining spray about him, or lashed out with his tail and sent widening circles of waves rolling from his lurking place.

Then the Kingfisher rattled with all his might, and flew for the tunnel in the embankment.
Some of these days the air was still, the earth warmed in the golden sunshine, and murmured a low song of sleepy content.

Some days the wind raised, whirling dead leaves before it, and covering the earth with drifts of plum, cherry, and apple bloom, like late falling snow.

Then great black clouds came sweeping across the sky, and massed above Rainbow Bottom.

The lightning flashed as if the heavens were being cracked open, and the rolling thunder sent terror to the hearts of man and beast.