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•'•'i

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE

ALASKAN STORY

MRS. EUGENE S. WILLARD
Author of " Life in Alaska "

FOURTH EDITION.

FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
New York Chicago Toronto

Publuhtrt of Evangelical Littraturt

— BY —

EUGENE S. WILLARD.

•m

TO
THE LITTLE MISSIONARIES

WHO HAVE BEEN SENT WITH
god's MESSAGE
TO
OUR HEARTS AND OUR HOME.

mac

sid€

cou

tud

be-

the

his
th«

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Preface to Fourth Edition.

We are all children enough to ask, ** Is it true ? " and.
to enjoy having ** Yes, "for answer ; so I wish to say very
frankly that the main incidents in Kin-da-shon's story are
as he gave them to us, and Kin-da-shon himself has been
pictured as we knew him — gentle, strong, patient, con-
scientious, and affectionate. He has passed away since
the writing of this story.

The Other characters have also been drawn from life,
though seldom from one life alone ; and the scenes and
incidents have had their counterparts in the real life of
the Chilkat people, and are true to its conditions.

"A Bit of History" — f/iaf is photographed^ without
retouching.

For " The Trip to Fort Simpson " the author is indebted
for much of the data to Dr. Sheldon Jackson's account of
his canoe trip with a party of native traders, as given in
his book "Alaska," chapter 9. Much of that which
made it possible to give in familiar detail the Chilkats'
side of the story was gleaned from themselves, as, in the
course of years, one and another has spoken with grati-
tude or amusement of the experiences of that never-to-
be-forgotten trip.

It was Dr. Jackson who, in response to the pleadings
of these Chilkats, promised to do what he could to send
them a missionary. As a result of this promise, and with
his prompt and well-directed aid, we established, in 1881,
the mission since called Haines, on Portage Bay. Nor

PREFACE.

has there been, I believe, from the first, a mission started,
a school opened, or a teacher sent, that has not been
due to the consecrated energy of this true apostle to
Alaska, whose loving interest, wise counsels and substan-
i'al help continue to bless them all.

Rev. Thomas Crosby, of the Methodist Church of
Canada, was the devoted missionary at Fort Simpson.
The influence of his work has been far-reaching, and has
blessed many tribes.

The question has been raised regarding the slaughter
of slaves at the death of their master. *' How long ago
VT2? such a thing possible in Alaska ? " I answer, Kin-da-
shon was one of the young men of our mission villag^e,
not above twenty-six years old, I would think, when he
gave me the incident recorded on page 43 as one of the
keenest memories of his boyhood ; and I yet recall his
evident anguish in picturing to me his own part in the
torture of a witch, as I have tried faithfully to re-present
it on page 76.

The form of marriage represented in Chapter XV. is
not claimed to be the common one among the Kling-get
people, but that it has been used among those of high
caste in the long ago I have the word of one of our most
intelligent and conscientious native Christians, whose
picturesque description has been here adapted.

With these two exceptions, the customs as shown in
this book a.re present customs, save as they are being dis-
placed by the influence of Christianity or more secretly
observed through fear of the white man's law.

In kindly criticism, a prominent ethnologist has cited
the fact that Indians, in an untutored state, never kiss.
The author replies that it was with a knowledge of this
fact, and for the express purpose of showing one of the
distinctions between the Alaskan and the Indian, that thig

PREFACE.

Jtarted,

>t been

)stle to

[ubstan-

irch of
fmpson.
land has

aughter
ang ago
Kin-da-
villaee,
i^hen he
e of the
call his
: in the
present

XV. is
ling-get
3f high
IX most

whose

own in
ng dis-
ecretly

i cited
r kiss.
>f this
3f the
U this

reference (page 31) was introduced. On first coming into
the country, I asked an interpreter from one of the more
Southern tribes for the Kling-get word for kiss. The
shame-faced answer was: "We never do it; there is no
name." I then watched for it, and discovered, among
those quite remote from white influence and example,
among those who never before had seen a white woman
or child, that there were both fathers and mothers who
fondled and kissed their little ones, and who named it
without shame, assuring mt hat it was one of their most
ancient customs.

It is pleasant to not : in t'is connection another char-
acteristic of the South-eastern Alaskans, i. e., the equality
of the sexes. Only in n^ dttcrs of reparation for physical
injuries is a man worth two women of his own caste. In
other respects she is the favored one. She is not a drudge,
or the burden-bearer of the family, but she carries cheer-
fully her share of its responsibilities. As indicated by her
name, ** sha" (which is the Kling-get word for " woman,'*
"head," and "mountain"), she is recognized as the head
of the family, and is constantly appealed to by her hus-
band for advice or approval in his business transactions.

The writing of this story is not the result of an ambi-
tion on the part of the writer to be known as a novelist:
let me speak of how and why it was written.

Two hundred and fifty miles lay between the farther-
most Protestant mission of Alaska and the country of the
Chilkats beyond, when we went to carry to them the
"good news," and to make our home among them.

A white trader with his native wife had preceded us by
several months ; with this single exception, we were the
only whites in the country.

The Chilkats were the master tribe among the Kling-
gets, holding themselves aloof from their "poor relations,"

PREFACE,

and priding themselves on their rank and their adherence
to old customs. They were regarded with awe and fear
by the other tribes.

Our association with the people was peculiarly close, as
minister, teacher, physician, and friend, and gave us un-
equaled opportunities for not only seeing their customs
and hearing their traditions, but, gradually, as we came to
understand their language, to know the people themselves
in heart and thought by their confided life-stories and
experiences.

During those early days we fully realized that great
changes awaited this people — changes to be accomplished
not only by the gospel, but by the inevitable contact of
incoming civilization with its various blessings and curs-
ings. We knew that these changes must come soon, and
that the new generation would be ignorant of the original
beliefs and manners of their fathers. Knowing, too, that
the transitional period must necessarily be, to a large
extent, one of demoralization, we longed to»put on record
our knowledge of what they had been — the better and the
worse — and so preserve for our children, both white and
brown, something of the old time. With such an object,
the writing of this story was begun. Time for it could be
taken only after the long, busy day among the people ;
'twas then that something was written of that which we
had heard or seen.

But after a time the slowly growing manuscript was
laid aside, and for nearly eight years it was untouched ;
then other reasons urged its completion.

Many of those anticipated changes have taken place.
The people are both better and worse. The weakest
and the worst are sneered at as the product of Christian
missions — the sneer reveals the character of the sneerer.
Many of the people are what they are to-day as a result

PREFACE.

of the deviVs missions to Alaska, prosecuted by the
whiskey dealer, the license vender, the dance-house
proprietor, and by men who, having forsaken the teach-
ings of good mothers and prostituted their own God-
given instincts, have, instead of making pure and happy
homes with women of their own race and intelligence,
taken advantage of the native custom of marriage to
build a domestic structure which cannot endure and
which works ruin to all concerned.

Then, too, the natural thrift of the people has been
unduly stimulated in some instances into a greed for gold,
though the larger number are good spenders as well as
industrious laborers, and real homes — Christian homes —
iii houses, "just big enough for Tashekah and me," are
clustering about the missions to the gradual exclusion of
the big native house wich its homeless inmates.

To those who have regarded the history of our Indians
of the States, our "century of dishonor" is a fact to
which may be traced the loss of many precious lives, the
loss of untold wealth from our country's treasury, and
the loss, more than equally great, of a people, powerful
in character and in numbers, who might have been to-day
the sinew of our nation as educated, christianized men
and women. Every step, though so tardily taken by our
government, toward bringing the Indian into an en-
lightened citizenship, has had its resultant blessings, and
we have to-day in their rising generation many true and
intelligent patriots.

Many of our early mistakes as a nation dealing with
its wards — its ignorant children — have been avoided in
Alaska. Twenty years was a long time to leave them
without a school, without the touch of a fostering
parent hand, but since these havv- been given the work
has gone bravely on, and there are no more loyal citizens

PREFACE.

under our flag than the hundreds of intelligent native
young men and women, boys, and girls who have been
trained in our Alaskan schools. May the number of
such schools be greatly increased !

But against the pleasant record of beneficent law and
justice for this beautiful northland of ours there must
now be placed a stain. I refer to the recent substituting
of license for the prohibition of liquors.

Shall our new century be a century of greater dishonor?

Shall our laws protect a traffic which brings ruin to our
own race, and deeper degradations to our *' new posses-
sions " than ever they knew under the heathen super-
stition or the despotism from which we are so boastfully
wresting them ?

If Kin-da-shon's Wife shall help any one to see more
clearly what should be done for our "little brothers and
sisters," and prove any inspiration toward the doing of
it, the main object in the writing of this book shall have
been attained.

Carrie M. White Willard.

May, 1900.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

PAGE

Summer Days in the Chilkat Country 9

CHAPTER II.
Return of the Trading Party ^7

CHAPTER III.
Kah-sha's Home-ing ^3

CHAPTER IV.
Death of Chief Kood-wot, 3°

CHAPTER V.
Yealh-neddy's Revenge 44

CHAPTER VI.

tKOTCH-KUL-AH ^^
CHAPTER VII.
In the Meadows, "^

CHAPTER Vlll.
\ Mourning Days,

CHAPTER IX.
Cross-Purposes,

'^.

6 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER X.

PACK

Purposes not Crossed, no

CHAPTER XI.
A Day's Outing lafi

CHAPTER XII.
The Trip to Fort Simpson — Into the Light, . . . 140

CHAPTER XIII.
Gambling — A Heavy Stake, i6o

CHAPTER XIV.

USHA-SHAWET, KOTCH-KUL-AH, AND KiN-DA-SHON, . . . I70

CHAPTER XV.
The "Wedding-Party, 187

CHAPTER XVI.
The Goosh-ta-kah — A Beloved Ghost 198

CHAPTER XVII.

Kin-da-shon's Son — The Rescue — At Yhin-da-stachy — To

the Yukon 210

CHAPTER XVIII.
The Young Mother — Yealh-neddy's Plot, . . . 222

CHAPTER XIX.

Kin-da-shon's Return from the Yukon — Kotch-kul-ah's

Flight 239

CHAPTER XX.
A Bit of History, agi

l6o

170

198

239

^tl

CONTENTS,

CHAPTER XXI.

Little " Chub " Ch-one,

rACB

. 264

CHAPTER XXn.

On the Street — Sitka,

272

140

CHAPTER XXIII.

Closing Glimpses,

279

. 251

^%f

%■

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE.

CHAPTER I.

SUMMER DAYS IN THE CHTLKAT COUNTRY.

'npWAS in the month of Alaska's glory — June — when,
■*• waking from her deep, white sleep, the natural
world proclaimed the power of the resurrection and of
life.

Eight months earlier, almost before the harsh nurse,
Frost, had disrobed the flower-children of the year,
Mother Nature threw about them her beautiful blanket of
snow, and, tucking them cozily in, brought another and
still others with which she raised a barrier secure against
Winter's warfare. Ten, twelve, even twenty feet beneath
the glistening surface, shut in to sleep around their
mother's great house-fire, these little ones had slept well.
The sun, as if fearful of disturbing their dreams, had
but occasionally peeped over the shoulder of Ut-undy-sha
(Shooting Mountain) to the south, then quickly disap-
peared again from sight. But, as May approached, he
lingered long — not over Undy-sha, but, rising from behind
Sha-Gitk to the northeast, his course he slowly took
around the horizon to Ga-sun in the northwest — there
disappearing for only fo^r hours of the long day. A
fortnight of such shining had sufficed to awaken the sleep-
ing world, only another had been requiied to clothe it in

KIN.DA.SirON' S WIFE:

tropical beauty. And on this bright morning the little
lake of Chilkoot mirrors back from its clear face a sky
warm and bright and blue, against which loom the great
peaks forever ice-crowned, and from wh'ch slide invisibly
the glaciers blue and cold.

Further down, blending with the golden browns and the
purple of the granite, lie the tender yellows of the sheep
pastures, dotted, to the trained eye, with flocks, flocks
untended by earthly shepherd. Then, with almost im-
perceptible gradations of color, come the blue and black
greens of the stunted pine and huckleberry-brush —
guarded by the forests primeval, spruce, hemlock, fir, and
cedar; and mingling with these their own lighter and
more graceful foliage are the cottonwood, wild-apple, and
the alder.

Every limb is clothed with moss, and its festoons float
from pillar to pillar in this vast temple. The air is red-
olent with the breath of roses, as the mountain drops to
the water's brink, roses as red and sweet as ever grew
along the valley roadways in the dear home-land, and far
more fresh and luxuriant. The sweet-pea, whose buds
are just bursting, creeps over the brink of the lake, hiding
full nests of the numberless water-fowl whose peculiar
call, broken into a hundred echoes, falls again in a
shower of sound and vanishes amid the solitudes. The
tender notes of the robin and the blue Dird mingle with
the croak of the raven and the cry of the eagle. The
cinnamon bear walks fearlessly down the track of the
avalanche and feeds upon the abundant trout of the noisy
mountain stream.

The village lies just beyond, nestlii ^ at the foot of the
great mountain range that divides this southeastern strip
of Alaska from the interior, the land of the Gun-un-uh.
Rushing from the lake southward is Chilkoot River; at

-i

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5.-'

AN ALASKAN STORY.

le little
ce a sky
he great
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Iter and
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drops to
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peculiar
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gle with
e. The
c of the
he noisy

ot of the
ern strip
n-un-uh.
Liver; at

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••.'■^1

this point scarcely more than a saucy brook, which, held
sternly on the one side by the unyielding height of rock,
dashes the more impetuously over the lesser barriers and
sends its white spray far up the bank and into the face of
the village, laughing uproariously at its own frolicking.
Passing the village, it plunges through the rapids for
half a mile of loveliness, then suddenly widens and calms
under the influence of the sea. The tides are exacting
teachers, and soon the rollicking laughter of the brook
has ceased — though far down the inlet we can trace, in
the midst of the outgoing tide, the clear, fresh stream.

Soon there comes another sound — not at first distin-
guishable from that of the water as it trickles and drips
from the rocks or rushes down the gorge — but it is as
though all the sweet, low tones of nature mingled and
flowed on together in rhythmic utterance. We distinguish
at length the dip of a paddle "^nd its accompanying canoe-
song — low, liquid, and melodious; it is the water; now
flowing softly, then breaking tempestuously, pierced now
and again with the shriek of the sea-gulls, and falling to
the beating of their wings.

The little bark advances from out the shadows of the
narrow river course into the broad, full light of the lake,
revealing the figures of those who sing. An old woman
sits in the middle of the canoe making thread from the
dry sinew of the reindeer. A girl of twelve lies curled
in the prow, toying dreamily with the grass and flowers
she has plucked from the banks as the canoe glided through
the river — she carries the high, tenor-like soprano of the
song; her brother, perhaps two years the girl's senior,
with his single paddle both propelling and guiding the
boat — so leisurely that we know it to be a pleasure-party —
occupies the stern. He, too, is singing; and under the
young voices is the crooning of the woman:

,'>■ '

KIN.DASIION'S WIFE:

" Oh, my mother — I am sick! "

** Where, my child — is it head or foot—

The arm or the baclc ? "
*• No: my heart, my heart is sick."
•' Why is it sick ? What is its ailment ? "
'* That thou art gone — nowhere can I find thet

Come to me — come to me.
Where art thou, O my mother ?

Now e'en thy voice is lost —

Why did it mock me ?
Art thou gone to the clouds or
Have the waters swallowed thee up ?

Surely water enough

Flowed through our eyes
To drain dry that great river —
That thou mightest pass in safety.

Mother — mother !

Come to me — come to me !
Where i*rt thou ? My heart is sick ! "

"Grannie," says the child, suddenly rousing from the
dreamful silence which has followed the song, dropping
her flowers into the water and trailing through it her
slender fingers — "Grannie, when will our father come
again to his own country? He told us he would tarry
but a moon and a half, and I know I have counted
twenty."

"Gah! " cries the boy; "you've counted every night a
moon! My father cut the first day on my stick, and I
have given it now just forty other marks — less one. He
will bring much trade if he is not on the mountain
now."

While the boy was speaking the old woman drew from
her bosom a slender tape of deer-skin, on which are
strung a few beads of curious design — treasures of Russia,
and some from "King George's land," with other rudely
carved medicine charms of green stone. In the long end

AN ALASKAN STORY.

which hangs from the fastening of this necklace a number
of knots have been tied, and these she begins to count:

"One, two, three — that was the day the medicine-man
told of foul weather; four, five — and the storm came;
six, you know how the wind howled, and Ha-nedt was
beaten for bringing it — he killed a fish with a stone
when it would have gotten out of his canoe again; seven,
we built the great fires to appease the Spirit of the Wind,
so that our men might be able to cross the mountains;
eight, nine, and the red sun had turned white again, the
wind was still; ten, ten and one, ten and two, ten and
three," and with the recalling of many similar incidents
the woman counts off the forty knots on her string. "You
are right, Kasko," she says, tucking the record into her
bosom again and resuming her thread-making; "maybe
on the mountain he is coming now; on the morrow he
may be with us."

At this the little maiden smiles and claps her hands,
while the boy, whose paddle has trailed idly while they
talked, now takes it up, and, with a whoop which makes
the mountains ring again, drives it into the water with
such sweeping force as sends the little boat bounding
forward with reckless speed.

"Take a paddle, Tashekah," he cries, "and let us over
the lake like an arrow." Seizing a paddle which has lain
in the bottom of the canoe, the girl enters the race with
as much skill as her brother, and with quite as much
spirit. Their course seems indeed that of an arrow, so
straight and swift it proves.

Tashekah, though slender, is not tall for her age. Her
face is round and her lips and cheeks are rosy-red; the
mouth is large, with full, even sets of teeth, showing
very white in her frequent laugh. A silver ring, smooth
and small, hangs from the little pug nose, and each ear is

KIN.DA.SITON'H WIFE:

similarl)' ornamented. Her hair, soft, glossy, and fine,
hangs below her shoulders, and, in falling unrestrained,
almost hides her low forehead — it is a black cloud from
which shine out big eyes of wondrous lustre; and these,
except when, as now, the face is filled with merriment,
are full of that strange pathos and pleading which are so
often seen in the eyes of these Alaskan children. Her
only article of dress is a cotton " slip" — a width and a
half of large-figured print, gathered into a band about
the neck, and with straight, full sleeves.

Her brother is a typical native boy — tall, slender, and
well formed, supple, active, and graceful. His face is
decidedly of the Jewish cast, oval-shaped, with a large,
strong nose, keen and laughing eyes, a good forehead,
and closely cropped hair. His ornaments are more con-
spicuous than his dress, being the counterparts of those
adorning Tashekah's nose and ears; but in addition to
these he wears a necklace of sm.... c. d variously colored
stones, shells, and shark's teeth. The boy's dress consists
solely of a blanket or robe made of squirrel-skins sewed
together with the sinew thread, and this he dons or doffs
at pleasure. It is his bed, his cloak, his girdle, or travel-
ling valise, as he may choose or require.

The grandmother's garment is like that of Tashekah's;
but now about her waist she has gathered an old woollen
blanket. Her face is furrowed and her form much bent.
The hair W slightly gray; and short, as though mourning
for the dead were not long past. The face is pitched with
black, and the silver pin protruding through the lower
lip glistens more brightly by contrast. Two sets of rings
hang in her ears, one ring above the other; and her nose
ring is large. The wrinkled, bony hands have fallen to
her lap now, and she pridefully watches the movements
of the boy, who for a moment has dropped his paddle and

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A AT ALASR'AM STORY.

«5

cirawn his bow. A great bald eagle sinks, uncertainly, till
another arrow pierces him and Tasheka has .-skilfully sent
her boat under the fallen bird.

Six months before Tul-ga-us had died, leaving her chil-
dren to the Kog-won-ton3 (the children of the Chilkats
and of all other Kling-get people belong to their mother's
tribe) ; but they had, since her death, continued to live
on with their father, Kah-sha, who loved his children with
a great and tender love.

The babe of two days had not died with its mother,
and the father, yielding it to others only to be suckled,
held the wee thing in his own bosom day and night. But
ere long, despite his care, the feeble spark of its life
went out, as he had seen it go from five other little ones
before. When the babe's ashes had been gathered and
laid beside its mother's and those of her other dead babes,
Kah-sha had put together some bits of cotton print and a
few buttons — gotten in trade with more southern tribes —
and at the close of the herring season joined others of
his people going into the interior to trade for furs.

The children were longing for his return, and spent the
time rambling about the woods, or, as now, with their
grannie on the water. This day has been beguiled with
song, story-tf.lling, and spearing fish, so that the sun has
almost completed his long day's journey when they turn
their faces southward, and, having entered the river, trail
paddles until the current has borne them to the village.
And now, leaving his robe where he sat, Kasko dives into
the water, and, reappearing in a moment, draws the canoe
to shore, where with Tashekah's ready help it is soon
landed, overturned, and covered with the heavy grass
which grows so rankly on the bank.

Following the almost hidden path, so overhung with
the spring blooms, the" nass the fish-traps and enter the

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

broader and more beaten way between the long row of
native houses which face the river, and the great, close-set
drying-racks on its bank, which in salmon-time become
a flaming spectacle, hung as they then are with the brill-
iant-colored fish. Lower down, in the river itself, stand
the guard-stakes of the fish gardens. Each family has its
own, i; nerited through generations, and guarded as jeal-
ously as ever crown was held by royal heir or hunting
field by the buffalo lovers of the plains. That one man
had taken fish from between the stakes of another would
be cause enough for bloodshed, and has more than once
wrought serious mischief among the people.

The population, as usual through the summer, has
turned out of doors, and the way is thronged. There are
huddling groups of women — many with no other employ-
ment than that of nursing the babies in their arms and
gossiping quietly with those whose busy fingers fly deftly
in and out among the fine grasses of their basket- weaving.
A few men lie stretched out here and there silently smok-
ing, while the children and the dogs, playing hide-and-
seek, dash about and around with laughter and clatter un-
restrained, except as they too nearly approach their elders.

Our little party, with friendly, common interests, moves
but slowly through the chatting crowd. Before they have
reached their own house a shout goes up announcing the
appearance of a canoe just making the turn in the rapidj
below.

Alertly the men, without removing their pipes, turn
over and raise themselves upon their elbows. The women
sit still, but cease their talking to look in the direction of
the new-comers. Only the children, with the dogs at their
heels, go yelling and yelping down to the landing-place.

Kasko, at the first cry, has flung from him every im-
pediment, and speeds as a deer toward the stream.

AN ALASKAM STORY,

CHAPTER II.

RETURN OF THE TRADING PARTY.

'T^HE river Chilkat is separated from that of Chilkoot
-'■ by the Chilkat country, which takes the form of a
peninsula by the southward flowing together of these
streams (forming Lynn Channel) twenty-five or thirty
miles below Chilkoot Lake. At first the separation
is wide and mountainous, but at Da-shu, or Half-trail,
fifteen miles from the point, the Chilkoot shore is in-
dented by a lovely bay, and the land drops into beautiful
and fertile meadows, threaded with bright little streams
and belted with dark forests. Crossing here is the trail,
or portage, less than a mile from river to river, over
which canoes are carried to avoid the thirty miles' journey
around the point of the peninsula in passing from the
eastern to the western villages.

The Chilkoot people are also Chilkats; their village
lying on the west shore of Chilkoot River, while the three
Chilkat villages are on the eastern shore of the broader
river. These four are the permanent settlements of the
Chilkat country. There are also several less substantially
built places occupied at certain seasons of the year for
fishing and hunting.

Each permanent village has its chiefs. The Chilkats,
in common with other Kling-get tribes, are divided into
two distinct families, who intermarry with each other and
cannot marry among themselves; who compliment each
other in feasts and fight against each other in war. In
fact, the tribal family is bound together with far closer

'■&^'

km-DA-SHON" S WIFE:

and more rigid laws than any which protect the private
domestic relation. Husbands and wives, among all
Kling-get tribes, must be of opposite families. The chil-
dren always belong to their mother's family, so that they
ure, by law, nothing to their father. Should the family
of the father be at war with that of the mother, regard-
less of personal feeling the children must enter the lists
against their father. Children may marry their own
father's brother, or their own mother's father — they are
not related by their law — but to marry one of their own
tribe-family, though blood relation were untraceable, the
shame would be past blotting out.

In the Chilkat country these two great families are
known as the Klee-qua-hutte and the Kog-won-ton. To
the former belong the clans represented by their totems,
the raven, the sea-gull, and many others.

Among the Kog-won-tons are the Cinnamon Bear, Eagle,
Petrel, Wolf, Whale, and so on. In each village are
members of both families and of almost every clan. The
northernmost settlement on the Chilkat River is Klok-
won. Its chief is a Kog-won-ton, of the Bear clan.
Klok-won being the largest of the four villages and its
chief the richest of all the chiefs, the Bears rank highest
in caste among the Chilkat people.

The village Kut-wulh-too is but two miles south of
Klok-won, yet it is under the chiefs of Yhin-da-stachy,
twenty miles or more to the south. From this latter place
the river is followed by a trail for three or four miles,
which then strikes the portage. Chilkoot River becomes
the Inlet when it is joined by the Dy-ya, at a short dis-
tance above Portage Bay. Dy-ya is the water-front of the
great interior.

Even while his children were speaking of him on the
lake, Kah-sha and his companions were descending the

AN ALASKAN STORY.

precipitous mountain trail at Dy-ya's head. Very profit-
able had been their expedition, and their packs were large
and heavy. But even now, after days of toiling through
stream, forest, and snow, scaling cliff and descending
gulch, where a misstep would be fatal, their burdens are
borne with a certain dignity which proclaims the bearers
men of spirit and of great endurance.

What if shoulders are g-Jled — the trail is no becoming
place for the mention of it.

As in single file they are coming down the pass we have
an opportunity for more particular notice. The ^.acks
are n.ade up square and tied securely with ropes made of
dressed reindeer skin, of which slender strips are braided
together. Into this rope are fastened the carved bone
pins of the pack straps — a strap made from the hide of a
young deer's shank, tanned and finished with the hair side
out; it is two or three inches wide and from one and a
half to two feet long, worn on the forehead to raise the
burden high on the shoulders, or, corresponding to the
breast strap of a harness, across the breast and over the
shoulders. In this way a Chilkat man will carry the av-
erage pack of a hundred pounds every day in the week,
making from six to twenty miles a day, according to the
character of the trail.

There are fifteen men in the party, great stalwart fel-
lows; and, with somewhat lighter packs, several boys
from twelve to sixteen years of age, to whom this has
been the initiatory of Gun-un-uh trading. One of the
older lads leads the file, now that they are on familiar
ground, and now and again he proudly shouts back to his
companions, as the view rapidly narrows down to the lit-
tle valley they are entering and he recognizes each rock
and tree. It is Kin-da-shon, a high-class Raven of the
village Klok-won.

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

Immediately following him is a young man of twenty,
whose physique, even among so many of fine proportions,
is striking. His mouth is smiling, but his eyes, though
singularly keen and intelligent, are strangely sad in ex-
pression — Klune is deaf and dumb. He is the only son
of aged Toots and his old wife, of Yhin-da-stachy.
Klune is bearing the pack of his old chief Kood-wot, who
is close behind him. Then follow Ka-kee, the medicine-
man, Tum-tum the dwarf, and, near the latter end of the
line, Kah-sha, whom his children await so eagerly.

There is a roaring of water now distinctly heard, and,
with a sudden turn of the little path, they have reached
the bank of the torrent. Kin-da-chon has come upon it
with a bound and a whoop.

Sitting down he speedily throws himself back, slips the
strap over his head, and springs upon the shoulders of
Klune, who as quickly, though silently, has freed him-
self from his burden, and they roll together over and over
on the fresh green and fragrant swaiJ; the shouting
laughter of the boy more than matched by the ludicrous
antics and perfectly intelligible signs of the mute.

Very soon all the packs are on the ground, and for a
few moments the older men rest upon theirs — having first
lighted their pipes. No time is to be lost, as the staple
food of the party — dried fish — is gone. The boys are eat-
ing with relish the wild carrots and rice abounding every-
where. The younger men busy themselves with the
canoes, v/hich have lain here in perfect security during
their absence, simply turned bottom up, the paddles un-
derneath, and, to protect them from the sun, all covered
over with brush and grass.

The dress of the travellers^ with the exception of the
shirt, is removed fcr the passage through the rapids.
The garment laid aside is a combination, shoes and

-m

the
thre
moT
aga

AN ALASKAN STORY.

■1

pantaloons in one, made from tanned deerskin, and in
some cases beautifully embroidered with beads, porcupine
quills, and the strong inner bark of the cedar, colored with
dyes obtained from mosses, grass, ferns, and bark of differ-
ent kinds. The winter shirt is similar in style and ma-
terial; but this is often laid aside for one of print, or
one made up of the precious pot-latch pieces of blankets
torn and distributed among the guests at the feasts for
the dead; and the garment is valuable according to the
number and variety of pieces in its composition.

The canoes are soon filled and floated; one only is
bound for Chilkoot, and Kah-sha is its experienced cap-
tain. He stands to the waist in the icy water, staying
the frail boat with one hand, and in the other holding a
pole ready to spring in and be off, when Kin-da-shon,
hastening by him to his own canoe, throws over his head
the beaded ribbon of a small embroidered leathern pouch,
of Gun-un-uh work, with the whispered words, " Give it
to Tashekah;" and the boat, like an arrow shot from
some strong bow, is given to the current. All native in-
stinct, of sight and touch and sound, is required for her
safe piloting between the rocks and the sand-bars. Often
as she grazes the sand the man is in the water and as in-
stantly in the boat again, pole in hand, guiding her un-
hindered course with utmost skill and coolness among
obstacles which, striking, would have proved the wreck-
ing or his craft.

Four miles of this exciting race brings them into the
smooth, broad waters of the Dy-ya, and now sails are
raised to a favoring wind, and the little fleet soon passes
the sixteen miles to Chilkoot Point. Separating here,
three canoes pass southward to the portage. The other
moves to the north into the river with paddles at work
against the rapid current.

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

The narrow passage is already in twilight from the
close height of the mountain, when suddenly, in the
clearer light just beyond, they see the village lying in its
old-time quiet. And then is heard the shout of the vil-
lagers themselves, who have already discovered their
approach.

.-«*=

AN ALASKAN STORY,

n the
n the
in its
le vil-
their

CHAPTER III.

KAII-SHA S HOME-ING.

HTHERE is a smile on the grave face of Kah-sha as he
recognizes the forms of his children dancing on the
bank. He does not join in the song of his companions, but
the whole village answers it in a chant of welcome, and
the dogs seem mad in their sympathetic demonstrations.

Already Kasko is in the water, diving and shouting.
Only a few more dips of their paddles and he has seized
the end of the canoe. The men spring out, and with thair
peculiar " Ooh-ooh — o-o-oohI"the boat is landed clear
at the top of the bank.

Words of greeting are few or wanting altogether. Not
a woman moves from her place; the men, who have idly
watched the landing, now as leisurely raise themselves to
[a sitting posture, doubling their legs under them, or,
raising their knees, clasp their arms about them and con-
tinue to smoke in silence.

Between Kasko and his father not a word is spoken.
The boy has dragged his father's pack from the boat, and,
throwing himself down, adjusts the strap to his forehead.
His attempt to rise with the burden is only successful
when, unperceived by him, his father, who has looked on
with affectionate pride, helps him to raise it. Then, bent
almost double under its weight, the boy runs up the rude,
strong steps, and in through the circular opening — the
doorway of the house they call "ours." In a moment he
reappears at the top of the steps, and with a single hand-
spring is at his father's side. Kah-sha has already turned

KTN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

to enter the house; Tashekah, with his blanket about her
neck, walks beside him, thoroughly enjoying the tri-
umphal procession. For now, eager to hear and see the
home-comers, and to share in both the providing for and
the eating of the generous supper, so much needed by the
travellers, the crowd follows Kah-sha and his companions
into the great, hospitable house.

Boys, with Kasko at their head, run for wood; and the
great fire which soon blazes upon the square of earth in
the centre of the house proves very grateful as the even-
ing grows cclder. -Tashekah, too, goes out, but soon, as
her father sits by the fire which sends ruddy light into the
remotest corner of the dark old house, she comes and
lays before him an armful of yan-a-ate, the delicious
wild celery of Alaska. In appearance it resembles the
long stems of pumpkin leaves, but when the skin is drawn,
as is that of rhubarb for the table, it is tender and pleas-
ant to the taste. With this and a few dried herring from
the early spring's curing, the men stay themselves until
the more substantial food shall be prepared.

The women are busy about this task. Water is brought
from the river flowing by, in baskets woven so close, from
the inner bark of the cedar, as to be water-tight, and in
these are placed the stones which have been heating in
the heart of the fire. The fish which the children brought
from the lake are cut into pieces and dropped into the
now boiling water of one basket, while another is used for
cooking the dried fish-eggs which are such a delicacy to
the native.

The eagle, of Kasko's killing, is also required. The
head and talons only are removed from the feathered
body. Hot ashes are then drawn out a little from the fire
and the great bird is laid on this roasting bed, heaped
over with a thick covering of the same material.

■ >■.;,;

^■>M

AN ALASKAN STORY.

Long, slender rnasting-sticks are whittled off afresh,
run through the bodies of many dried ** small-fish," and
stuck into the ground against the plank floor, leaning
toward the generous blaze.

At length the supper is cooked and ready to serve, and
now small carved dishes of wood and bone are brought
out with fish oil; carved trays for the crisply toasted dried
fish are placed beside them. The fish is broken into bits,
and dipped as eaten into the oil — just as children some-
times eat molasses with their bread. Then follow the
boiled fish-eggs, and the fresh fish cooked to soup and
served in great carved boxes — carved horn spoons with
them. There is a spoon for each person, but a box for
as many as can help themselves from it, as the spoons
contain an ordinary plateful. The carvings on dishes
and spoons represent the clans, and their intermarriages
are indicated by the grotesque mingling of raven, wolf,
and other totems.

After this second course comes the grand final"", The
eagle is taken from his ash oven. The entrails being first
removed, the feathers with the skin are turned back, ex-
posing the white, juicy meat; and this, as a last course, is
served — in the fingers!

During the supper, of which all partake with hearty
zest, Tashekah has kept close beside her father — his arm
encircling her as she leans against him. Often she lifts
her eyes to his, and is fondly petted in answer to her look
of affection.

At the close of the meal — without looking up — she asks
in a low tone: "Were you well, my father?"

"Yes, child; why do you ask me that?"

"And did no evil touch you?"

"None that I wot of, Tashekah, none but the evil ever
present with me. But say,'\yhat filled your heart with me ? "

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

"O father! — the words are hard coming — I know not
how to tell you all that has made my heart sick about
you; even Kasko could not understand, and to grannie I
dare tell nothing, for she frightens me more. But the
people are hearing us, and I cannot speak."

The last sentence has been uttered in a whisper so low
that not even those nearest them at the dish could dis-
tinguish the words.

A pair of evil eyes are on the girl; indeed, that they
have been so riveted on her has been the cause of her
disturbance and the abrupt close of the conversation. It
is Yealh-neddy, one of the young men who have returned
with her father. He is not more than twenty years old,
as we count life here, but he is older than that in vice,
and a gambler. Of the Ravens, he was born in the upper
Chilkat village, Klok-won, but from village to village he
moves about, as a buzzard follows prey. Yealh-neddy
was a witness of the hurried act of young Kin-da-shon at
the launching of their canoe, and, even without the whis-
pered word which he did not catch, read more of the truth
than any one else suspected.

Small matter as the preference of a child might seem,
it was enough to prompt this evil nature to thwart it.
His quick eye has now detected the postponement of
Kah-sha's talk with his daughter, and with a coarse laugh
he addresses her:

"/would give much for such an interview, Tashekah.
Nehl but you would make a fine friend! "

The tenderness has vanished from the child's face, and
her eyes are fixed upon the man with terror and a sud-
den hate till he has finished; then, with an expression of
despairing appeal, she raises them to the face of her
father.

Yealh-neddy's remark was made in so loud a voice that

fej

AM ALASKAN' STORY,

its fellows arc called out from not only other young men,
but from fathers and mothers of other girls, seated about
the fire.

Kah-sha speaks not a word, but as his eyes rest on Ta-
shckah their sadness deepens. Kasko's anger always
burns when his sister is treated with the familiarity com-
mon among the people, but to-night he restrains all ex-
pression of it, except that his face assumes a suspicious
sharpness, and his tone is unnatural and peremptory as he
demands rather than asks:

" Father, may I see your pack ? "

As he speaks he draws it into the light of the fire, and
Tashekah springs to her feet with lively interest, her
shadow for a time disappearing.

"You both 7i'///see it, I think," the father says with an
indulgent smile, and the many-knotted rope soon lies in
a smooth, even coil beside him.

With the fur folded in, there are the " skins " he has
traded for. The foxes, silver, black, and red; black and
cinnamon bear; lynx skins and otter. Then comes a
leather suit of wonderful Gun-un-uh work, and a pair of
dainty beaded moccasins for Tashekah.

The pouch given him by Kin-da-shon has been con-
cealed within the bosom of his shirt ; even now he does not
bring it out.

The other packs have been opened also, and the skins
are passed about from hand to hand, remarked upon, crit-
icised, and praised.

"Will you be going south to trade them?" grannie asks
of Kah-sha.

"Yes, when this moon is half full," he answers.

"O father, let me go with you! " Kasko cries.

" Not this time, my son ; your first trip must be with me,
after this year's snows, into the Gun-un-uh country.

KIN-DA. SHON'S WIFE:

When you have learned to trade there, you shall go to the
south people."

" But were you ever there before ? "

•'To the far south? yes, once; when my life was new.
They were a wild, wicked people then — not as the poor
Gun-un-uh are wild, but they drank a kind of medicine
that gave them bodies like beasts and thoughts like
devils."

"Ah, ah!" Yealh-neddy breaks in, "and they have
plenty of it yet — my heart burns for it now. Crows and
ravens! what dreams it gives a man! what sights it makes
him see!" And the evil eyes roll, the sensual lips are
smacked with the recollection of an intoxication in the
past.

" Do they gamble, Neddy?" asks Tool-chun, one of the
fathers who have been chafifing with the fellow.

"You might be sure he wouldn't like them so well if he
hadn't got the best of them," sharply put in his angry
daughter, Sha-hehe, a tall, thin girl of fifteen, who sits
well back from the fire wiping some of the supper boxes
and smarting still from the chaff.

"Speak when you're spoken to, will you, girl! Hold
your tongue till it's wanted! " snarls her mother — a hard-
faced woman made hideous by the face paint of black,
streaked w'th rv;d.

" What a wildcat that girl is! Why don't you shut her
up or get her married?" growls one of the household.

"She won't siay shut up, and no man with his sense in
his head would have her," the woman answers.

"The raven take your sense, and give me the girl!"
cries Yealh-neddy.

There are but few in the party who do not join in the
laugh which follows this remark,

Sha-hehe had assumed a stubborn, downcast silence

A/v ALASKAN STORY.

IV.

during the talk which had passed, but as the young repro-
bate spoke she stood up with flowing eyes, the dish
she has been wiping still in her hand, and, when the
laugh has broken forth, with all the savage young might
of her nature she hurls it into his face with the impre-
cation, " May a//-m/ take_)w//" and speeds out of the
house, nor stops till, breathless and terror-stricken, she
finds that in the blindness of her angry flight she has taken
the path to the dead-houses.

Not daring to retrace her steps, she shrinks weakly
down in the shadow she has reached. It is that of a dead
medicine-man's house — where his body lies, and from
which emanates the power of witchcraft.

Kasko had watched Sha-hehe with peculiar interest;
for his sister's sake he hated Yealh-neddy, and as the
girl had stood up in her wrath, there seemed to him a
terrible grandeur in her height and loneliness. It was in
watching her thus, and through the power of his sym-
pathy, that he instinctively foresaw her violence toward
Yealh-neddy, and as she raised her arm with such des-
perate purpose, he, with movement as swift, flung a heavy
bear-skin over the ruffian's head, thus saving the face
scar which would have cost Sha-hehe's life.

Instantly Yealh-neddy dashed the skin aside, and
sprang to his feet as though to follow the wretched girl;
then turning, with muttered curses and threats of ven-
geance on her, he took his blanket, drew it over his head
and face — a common expression of "great shame," that
is, anger — and sat back against the hewn planks of the
house wall, with his ugly face between his updrawn
knees.

For some time there was bedlam among the forty in-
mates of the dwelling. Such an affair as this was per-
sonal to every one; each had much to say and none could

KIN-DA-STTOITS WIFE:

wait for another, but raised voice the higher to be heard.
Children were roused from their sleep by the noise and
added their cries to the uproar. But gradually the storm
spent itself, and at length there were preparations for
the night. In most cases a single blanket or skin served
for a bed and its covering.

The native house, with but few exceptions, has but the
single room, the open fire in the centre of the apartment,
and in this house are gathered just as many persons as it
will hold. It is occupied promiscuously — adults and
children of both serr^^s and of every age make their beds
thus upon the floor, their heads against the walls and
their feet all turned toward the fire. In a few instances
a '.emporary screen maybe put up by one sensitive enough
to shrink and bold enough to dare.

To-night Kah-sha takes his blanket, and making it fast
to his canoe-pole raises it acioss a small corner of the
room. Into this retreat he tucks Tashekah, then placing
before it the thick woolly skin of a mountain-sheep, lays
himself down for the night, even more weary in mind
than in body — too weary to do aught but travel again the
endless way his thoughts so often take.

** How is it that the world is so full of trouble — so dark ?
Whv°re is there light? What /j light? I cannot tell. It
is something which I cannot find. When a little child of
my own came first to my arms I thought, 'He has come
from the light — for be brings me some. ' Then he sickened
and died, almost as soon as he came — from light he fell
to darkness, and viy night was thicker than before — and
more than th:»t! into its thickness had come a being — seen
for a little, now unseen! It mocked me — whence did this
life come? Whither now has it gone? What is life?
Has it gone? or where does it linger? With what
wretched eagerness I flung the blankets and food on that

AN ALASKAN STORY.

child's burning ashes — that, if he should vs^.td them as my
people believe, or could get them in that way, he might
have all the comfort I could give him. But what torture
I have in thought! Why does it not leave me I Why
should a man have eyes in a land where there is no sun!
O Raven, if thou be God — but no, he is a god of evil!
dwelling in pitch darkness under the earth — bearing its
weight on his evil wings till that day when he shall
choose to fly away croaking over its destruction — what a
God! Till that great day he amuses himself with the
sufferings of man. He is easily angered, and must be
constantly appeased and coaxed to bear us up a little
longer! Do I not believe this? Why then do I tremble
with fear when the earth shakes only a little? Why do I
expect evil when the i.iedicine-priest foretells it? Do I
believe? I cannot tell. Oh, light — light! must I die in
this black gulf v/hy does the sun shine but to mock
me? Why do flowers grow beside the thorns and fruit
among the thistles? Why do the birds sing and the
waters laugh? Oh, if I could but know! What is it
that sometimes comes to my heart like the; blue of the
morning, telling of a coming day — speaking faintly of
things sweet to think of but cruel to hope for — telling
me that what is sweet and beautiful in the world is the
work of another spirit ? That there may be somewhere,
somewhere, light — in which flowers may blossom and birds

may sing in men's hearts? O my Tashekah "

"Father." The whispered call is so low that it would
scarcely have disturbed the passionate revery of the man
had there not accompanied it the touch of a little hand
which has found its way out to him under the blanket
screen. Kah-sha holds it for a moment, then presses it
to his lips. At the same time Tashekah carefully raises
the blanket a little higher, and putting her arm about her

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

father's neck draws his head closer to her own — allowing
the curtain to fall down about his breast.

" Father, I heard you speak my name ever so low; then
I knew you were not sleeping, and I was glad, for I had
waited long to know and my heart was tired."

With a sigh the man strives to put away his own sad-
ness, saying, "And what did my little night-bird want?"

"Oh, my heart is so hungry, father; all the people are
bad medicine — only you and Kasko are food to me."

'''All the people bad medicine? 0/ily I and Kasko?"
queries the father lightly, and now he draws from his
bosom the embroidered pouch. Putting it into her hand
he says: " There, mj' child, it was a true youtij; leo '"-at
sent it to you. You must let him stand at -ca.v. with
Kasko; and the time must come — it may not be far off —
when you will need such a friend as I know he wants to
be."

"What! father, has Kin-da-shon spoken to you? — and
about — me?"

"I will tell you all, Tashekah. It was ten days ago;
we were on the high mountain; our way had been up and
up, until that day there was no night at all The sun
went all around the sky and hardly sat down or slept at
all. Of Durse the older men had seen it often before,
but Kin-da-shon never. He stood and looked, as the tim-
for night came, and looked as if his eyes were fasteneo.
I spoke to him at last, for we two sto 1 alone together,
and, with trying very hard, he turned from the strange
sun to me and said: 'I did forget that the Gun-un-uh sun
was so, and it stole upon me; but' — and his face was
beautiful as he slowly said it — 'but I thinV the sun in
my own country would shin'^ like that i.' ' juld some
time have your little Tashekah formy wife. ' 'Is y(.-ur
father's heart for this?' I asked him; and he said, '.•

AM ALASKAN STORY.

cannot tell — I have not spoken to him yet; but I love
her, Kah-sha, and if I know your heart I will talk with
my father and mother that they may speak with you, and
by and by call the friends for council."

O my father, what did you say?" cries Tashekah
piteously, " You don't want to send me away from you,
do you?"

"No, my little one," Kah-sha replies, answering her
last question first — "no: you are my light. It would be
darkness indeed," he adds to himself, "if this little oil-
cup were taken from me. No, Tashekah, I told him you
were all I had; but when parting must come, I would it
might be that such a heart as his should keep you warm."

"Why do you talk of parting, father? I want never to
leave you — oh, it makes all my heartsickness come back
to me again! " and the child shivers as if a sudden wind
had chilled her. Then Kah-sha, drawing himself within
the little inclosure and seating himself firmly against the
wall, draws the child to his bos-m and with loving arms
enfolds her.

"Tell me about it now," he says. She is about to
speak when a slight sound, as of a stealthy footfall, comes
from without the screen. She holds her breath and waits,
hearing nothing but the heavy breathing of the sleepers;
then, lifting the blanket, she sees clearly against the sum-
mer twilight a dark, crouching figure passing out of the
round, open doorway. With a sigh of relief Tashekaii
draws back, sayi»ig:

Yes, I must te'l you, father, else the dream will never
leave ne. You had been three days gone when the med-
icine-man walked into the water to see what the great
medicine-spirit would show him of the weather, and he
found a storm was coming. Then to make you safe we
kindled a great fire on the river bank and set out plenty

KI.V-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

of food for the angry spirits. We worked very hard all
day long, and into the night kept the lire burning.
Grannie sat close by the blaze and told us about the
spirits, and many things that Kasko nor I had ever heard
before — about the dead-boxes and the awful witchcraft.
She told us over again about the owl — how it came to be
a witch and to know everything bad, and could tell when
people were going to die, I was so tired at last I pulled
my blanket around me and lay down on the ground by the
r.p, ; then all at once I lost grannie's voice and I heard
a /■ 'hat made my heart die. I found myself looking
straii^ at the house-door, and my eyes grew fast on a
great white owl that sat in it. Three times it flapped its
wings and hooted at me, 'Your father's a witch — your
father's a witch.' I could not move me, and my words
were dead — only from somewhere came the words to me,
^ Your father will die,' and, as still I looked, the owl
was blackest black, and as it flew away I saw that it was
the Haven."

Tashekah has grown very cold a^ she told her story,
and now, feeling the warmth of her father's sympathy and
presence, her little frame is shaken with sobs. "I have
given food to the spirits every day since then," she cries,
" What more can I do, father ? Oh, why are they so angry
with us ? Is there no good spirit anywhere ? "

"My poor child! " replies her father, brought suddenly
back to his own deep trouble of mind. "My poor child!
so you too are opening your eyes in the dark. I could al-
most have wished thee blind, Tashekah."

Not fully comprehending her father's words, the girl
pleads again : " You will not leave me, father ? Tell me,"
she adds passionately — " tell me that you will not leave
me! My heart is full of evil dreams; do not go to that
far south country to trade, /will work and Kasko w. 11

AN ALASKAN STORY.

work for you— stay with us." And she clings to him
tremblingly.

The dream as told by Tashekah takes more hold upon
the mind of her father than he is willing she shall see,
or, indeed, than he himself realizes. He is naturally a
prince among his people, but he can no more separate
himself from the superstitions to which he has been born
than he can resolve into their prime elements the tissue
and bone of his physical being.

In common with many of his people he has suffered
seriously from exposure; the pain in his lungs has come
to trouble him much, though all discomfort is borne in
patient and a'^-^lute silence. He knows how it has
ended with others however, and he has at times been
haunted with the thought that his own end is not far off.
With this new presentiment of death his heart sinks.
Where shall he go? It is blackness of darkness!

With a firmness born .of desperation he clasps his child
more closely to his breast, saying: "I must go, Tashe-
kah— not for trade, as you think, but to seek light. I
have heard that a white m.an has come to Fort Simpson;
a man not like the white-skins who gave the people such
bad medicine. He has brought them better things, they
say, and if it is such light as I sometimes feel there must
be \omewhere, it will more than pay for all the evil his
brothers brought.

*' Now, Tashekah, more than ever I must go! My own
spirit is dying; but I would die in all this darkness if
through it I could find the light for thee!

"Sleep now, little one. Your father keeps the watch
and safely covers you."

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

CHAPTER IV.

DEATH OF CHIEF KOOD-WOT.

TN Yhin-da-stachy, Kood-wot the chief lies dying. Ten
""■ days after the return of the traders, on a morning
bright and early, the chief with his slave Usha ascended
the mountain just back of the village to bring down
ihe mountain-sheep seen grazing on its heights.

As the hunters approached, the sheep moved on with
slow ease, nibbling fresh pastures as they went, but with
true instinct taking the course most difficult of pursuit.
In proportion as the distance lessened and the climbing
became more perilous to the men, it became exciting —
now crossing a gorge filled with rotten ice, then scaling
a cliff, leaping a chasm, and on, over scarcely balanced
bowlders, to a bare foot-hold against an overhanging wall.
It had been a hard and hurried chase, when, before an-
other steep ascent, Kood-wot sank suddenly down, and
from his mouth there flowed a stream of bright red blood.

He had suffered several hemorrhages before, and now
the violent exercise had induced a very serious one. He
had become separated from Usha, and as he found himself
sinking on the narrow ledge he had but reached, he clung
with desperate but rapidly failing strength to the crag
jutting at his side.

Moment after moment passed as ages to the old chief
before he received any sign from without, but at last there
came to his ear a shout, as one might hear it in a dream —
its meaning was lost to his dulled sense. The current of
his life was flowing out, its traffic with the brain had

^.V A LA SKA X STOAT.

ceased; the light faded from his sight, and the fingers,
though still closed as fingers are in death, slipped from
their unconscious grip, and, in an instant falling sheer
over the precipice, Kood wot lay, mangled and bleeding,
in the gorge below.

Usha, approaching from the opposite direction, turned
the angle of the rock which had shut them from each
other's sight at the very moment that his master's hold
was lost. With a shout of grief and terror he dashed
down the pass with reckless speed, and after many sharp
turns and steep descents he reached the unconscious but
still breathing man.

With careful hands the faithful slave tried to straighten
out the poor body and render its position less painful —
then gathered the water-drops as they trickled from the
rock, and bathed the master's forehead and chafed his
hands. The eyelids quivered — the eyes rolled but gave
out no sense of light or reason; the teeth gritted at times,
and then were set.

Very soon Usha ran to the village for help. On a lit-
ter quickly constructed from canoc-poles and blankets,
the old man has been carried down to his house amid the
cries and lamentations of the people.

The heart has been found still to beat, and a medicine-
man has been called in. Blanket after blanket has been
brought out from the chief's long-gathertng treasure and
hung about the room to induce to still greater efforts
against the evil spirits so greedy for another soul.

The medicine-man's appearance is hideous in the ex-
treme. His body is bony and nude, except that girdling
chest and loins are strings of teeth from the carcasses of
sharks and beavers, with the claws of bears, the talons of
eagles, and bones of various kinds — these suspended from
the belt by slender thongs several inches in length.

A'hV-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

But it is the face which rivets attention, with its un-
canny, snaicish power. The gaping mouth, the wide, thin
lips, the sunken cheei<s, the vulture-like nose are parts of
the whole, but the mystery of the face is in the eyes, felt,
not seen — for whether the eyes are large or small we can-
not know. T\\ty seetn the /ace — rather, the spirit itself!
Deep-set in shadowy hollows and overhung by the matted
hair, they seem to emit flame.

The hair, uncut and uncombed from birth, hangs wildly
about the face and falls to the waist behind, while in and
over and through it is the gray down from eagles' feathers
used in his incantations.

His box, inlaid with sharks' teeth, containing his para-
phernalia, is brought in by a servant and placed beside
the sorcerer, who has seated himself on the floor beside
the victim. He coolly surveys the articles of reward as
they are offered. A hundred dollars' worth have been
shown him before he very deliberately proceeds to take
out his drum and charmed rattle.

The drum (really a large tambourine, about two feet in
diameter — a single skin stretched tightly over a circular
frame) is given to the hand of an attendant, its beats to
be regulated by the fast and slow of the medicine-man's
movements.

Three parts of the great house are filled with people —
men, women, and children, sitting and standing, densely
massed. On the fourth side, opposite the door, with head
toward the wall, lies the body of the chief; at either end
of this long space hang the rewards, and between them is
the dancing-ground of the doctor, who now sits, limply,
near the sick man's feet, with the rattle in his hand.

He has closed his eyes, and now he begins to breathe
more heavily and irregularly — the drum is but touched,
as by his breath.

t
s

a
I

AN ALASKAN STORY.

jn-
liii
of

Presently the breathing itself assumes a form of sound;
there is a mutter — a rumble, gradually gaining the punc-
tuation of a chant, weird and wild as the cries of a lost
soul.

Now the eyes roll — the sight turns inward, then out
again, throwing light lurid as from hell. 'J'he muscles
begin to twitch, the limbs to jerk, the body to rock and
sway as moved by infernal machinery.

The sight becomes fixed as held by awful power — breath
comes in snorts — the chant grows louder — the drum beats
quick and low; every muscle freezes tense — the air is
palpitating with the powers of the unseen world.

There is a crouching of the visible champion. And
now with the cry and the spring of a panther he is at the
side of the mangled, prostrate form — the chant is now a
shriek; the drum-beats indicate the close and awful con-
tact of the opposing forces, the rattle is held aloft and
shaken with ferocious vehemence. Now he retreats,
crouches, springs clean over the body — wilder and wilder
grow the singing and the drum — he dashes fiendishly at
the dying man as though about to tear him to pieces — he
writhes as in torment — he shrieks and moans and beats
his own body — he leaps into air with uplifted arms and
a blood-curdling yell — there! he has fallen and relapsed
into his first position. The sounds have fallen — muffled,
also. There is a clutching — a clawing at the invisible —
a hissing, with lips compressed, with jaws set; the spit-
ting of a wild-cat, the snap and snarl of a maddened dog.

A palsy seizes the whole frame of the creature, with
muscles drawn to a tenseness like iron and moved by irre-
sistible power, till, foaming at the mouth, the eyes roll-
ing as in horrible agony, he falls under the power of the
spirits he has dared to encounter. Two men spring for-
ward and take him in their grasp, trying to prevent him

KIN. DA . SIfON' S WIFE:

from eating his own flesh. His struggles are w Id beyond
description and end in a dead swoon.

He is now left to himself — for in this swoon are revealed
to him the human agencies which are in league with the
spirits he has assailed. Woe to the man, woman, or child
who may have crossed this wretch's will at any time, or
who are objects of dislike to those rich enough to pay
this creature for condemning them!

The waiting people hold their breath in a silence which
grows more terrible, not knowing who may be the victim
of this consultation with the powers of darkness.

At one side of the fireplace, close to the front of the
crowd, sit the immediate friends of the injured chief — his
old wife and their children, and near the wife is her hus-
band's nephew and heir-apparent — a sister's son, who at
his uncle's death will succeed to his title, house, goods,
and wife.

The young man had chanced to arrive at the village
on the day before the accident, stopping at the house of
his father's brother, who was no other than Ka-kee him-
self, now lying in the trance and the cause of such agoniz-
ing suspense to many of the spectators.

The face of the young man is painted with heavy black
and red, which gives to the naturally bad face an increased
ferocity of expression; a square of red cotton, folded, is
bound about the head. The eyes only seem familiar to
us, and they bear a striking resemblance to those of his
uncle the medicine-man in their snakish expression and
in the peculiar lurid effect they at times present.

There is now a look about them of not altogether dis-
guised triumph as he glances furtively from his powerful
relative now lying before him, across the assembled tribes,
and rests for a moment on the sad and defiant face of a
young girl who, with her people, had arrived during the

^oncl

alecl

the

hild

;, or

3ay

lich

AJV ALASKA M STORY.

incantations of the unholy priest. We recognize her the
instant that her gaze meets that of the young man, and
its fire of bitter enmity gives us a clew to his identity.
It is Sha-hehe and Yealh-neddy.

IjuL now the sorcerer moves, twitches and quivers
again, and with the seeming agonies of a horrible death
he struggles back to human life. Like one muttering in
his sleep he speaks — every ear is strained to catch the
words which come gurgling from that world of horrors
and of mystery :

"The spirit of the great chief must pass before us ere
the setting of the sun; " then in the same sepulchral tone
comes the name" Sha-hehe." What else the sorcerer says
and does are lost in the quick, sharp cry of terror from
Sha-hehe and the general hubbub which ensues.

The girl is seized and bound, her feet close together, her
hands behind her back. Her one poor garment is lorn
from her amid jeers and cries. On the faces of those
about her are seen both horror and exultation. Her own
father, in his eagerness to preserve the honor of his fam-
ily, is the first to bring the great bundle of " devil-sticks"
(a nettle-thorn, the least sting of which is like the sting
of a hornet). No sooner has he flung them down than,
by her mother's hands, the girl is thro'vn violently down
on the venomous bed and spat upon. Others are not
slow in adding the force of their strength to the torture
of the young witch, smiiing her still further into the
stinging nettle. She is then dragged from it and her body
doubled together by strong and violent hands. She is
thrown then upon her back on the floor; a man jumps
upon her chest and, planting his knees on it, beats her
head on the planks below. The blood starts from her
mouth and nose — her eyes are staring. She is all but un-
conscious when they drag her by the hair to a stake driven

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

into the ground outside the door. The stake is not more
than a foot and a half high. Against it they place the
girl's back, and she is then forced down into a crouching
position — ner poor hands still bound behind, her knees
brought up «igL*inst her uplifted chin, her head drawn
back over the stake and to it securely tied by means of
a sinew rope first braided into her hair.

She is now charged to confess her crime, the black art
by which she had induced the hemorrhage and caused the
death of the chief Kood-wot; but after that f.rst sharp
cry at the speaking of her name, she has uttered neither
protest nor confession.

And having brought her so near to death her tormentors
leave her for a while, to attend the equally ir;jortant cere-
monies connected with the death of the chief.

Upon the conclusion of the medicine-man's trance,
leaving the witch to the certain torture of her own friends
and intrusting to Yealh-neddy the duty of dispatching
messengers to the different villages, the old wife has hast-
ily brought out the chief's tre .sures that he may be en-
robed and decked before the spirit's defrture, so that
its comfort in another world may be assured

Faithful old Usha attends her; his master's face is
painted as for a feast; eagle-down is blown into his hair,
which is further ornamented jy several small ermine
skins. The poor, mangled body is lifted, twisted, and
pushed into a suit of embroidered deerskin, mittens are
drawn on the stiffening fingers, costly furs and a dancing-
blanket are wrapped about him. At his side are placed
boxes of oil and berries, bundles of dried fish and piles of
blankets. On lines stretched across the room are the
long-treasured riches of the chief's suits of native cloth-
ing, blankets, fur robes, dancing-blankets, beads, a bat-
tered copper kettle picked up long ago from some shore-

AiV ALASKAN STORY.

nore
the
tiing
nees
rawn
s of

driven wreckage, pieces of cotton and broadcloth, pearl
buttons in strings; and grouped together underneath are
ch';sts filled with many other things of various values.

These preparations are barely completed when the arms
and legs of Usha are tied and he is dragged to the open
space in front of the house, where nine other slaves, simi-
larly bound, stand together in the silence of that death
which awaits them.

Usha takes his place among his brethren, and the sac-
rifice is ready. One after another they receive a dozen
or more deep stabs in different parts of the body, until
the ground about them is saturated with blood.

They are then throwu down on their backs, and their
necks are brought into position over a log four or five
inches in diameter; another log of like dimensions is then
fitted over their necks, the executioners bring the ends to-
gether, and in a few seconds more the hideous gurgling
has ceased — the spirits of the ten slaves have gone out
to prepare the way for and to serve the dying chief. A
few moments after, it is discovered that his spirit has also
gone forth.

Cremation is never accorded a slave: a menial service,
a low caste, a place farthest from the fireside's cheer, go
to make up the condition which drowning of the body
insures — which cremation insures against; so, while the
body of the chief lies, or, more correctly, sits^ in state
awaiting its burning honors, the bodies of the slaves are
dragged out to the salt wa'.er and cast into it.

All the afternoon hea y mists have been driving up the
river — now they seem to have collected about the village;
the face of the sun is hidden, and an unwonted night, of
pitchy darkness, falls over the summer land of Chilkat.

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

CHAPTER V.

YEALH-NEDDY S REVENGE.

"'T^HAT was well done, my uncle; the spirit of your

"*■ great medicine-man has done a good thing for
me. I don't begrudge your twenty-five blankets — though
they do come out of my boxes. "

"So, so! The young man has rather suddenly slipped
into the old chief's moccasins, and is out hunting in them
before the j/w</<? has left the house. You're an owl as well
as a raven, Yealh-neddy, and you have the voices of
both. You know me better than to think that with
twenty-five blankets I s^mpaid for this business."

"I know you better, my great medic"ne-chief, than to
think you will not take all you can get, and, for all I see,
you are likely to get the chief's snow-shoes at least —
for there'll be more work for you before things fit my
heart. "

"I'm your fellow, but not your slave, I warn you,
young man. But what does the raven want now? Isn't
that girl's life enough to pay for her fun?"

" Yes; her life, but not, as you seem to think, her death.
She can serve me better living than dead."

"What! You don't mean to have Sha-hehe killed, after
all ? I understand — you belong to the raven, as sure as
he owns every mischief under the sun."

"Ay, that I do; or I would not be employing j^/^r help
in the tricks I have to play. But I have done with you
in dial case; the young wild-cat will have her claws cut,
and be all the better company for her spitting; she shall

AN ALASKAN STORY.

pay for that ! Oh, ravens! she will be a precious — how
she will hiss! '"

"They will make you a nice pair, my son; the old
woman needs something slippery to make her go down.
I believe she would stick in my throat."

" If you think that my game, you've tracked the wrong
sheep, that's all. An old wife with a chief's name and
goods is well enough, and a slave with nettles in her skin
is better than an enemy thrown to the fish; but if the
chief of darkness has nothing more to the taste than these,
Yealh-neddy will take his trap and bow to other hunting-
grounds."

"Yealh-neddy is easily pleased, but hard to satisfy.
What track has he spied now ? "

*' Never was hunter such a fool as to take the old deer
and leave the kid. I will take both — one for hide and
sinew, the other for my broth."

"Ah, ha! The young daughter, too, is it? I knew
you would be up to something fine. She's been shut up
now for two years. She must be a beauty by this time.
The old woman meani ler for a great chief."

"And she gets a greater! A chief with a young lave
and two wives is some distinct' a for a man who has seen
no more winters than have dropped their snc vs on Yealh-
neddy's head. The old woman will be glad enough to
give her to me, and she will be glad enough to get out of
that hole to go to any one. I saw her e es to-day, while
you were dancing, shining out between the boards like a
young lynx's. I haven't had a chance to ell the old
woman what I want, but there'll be plenty ' time before
the feast is over. I wonder when our mends will get
here?"

"The messengers will reach Klok-won to-night, or, at
farthest, by noon to-morrow; another sunset will bring

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

the guests. You will call a council before they go again,
and have your affairs settled, won't you?"

"Yes: there is no time to be lost. Some of the chiefs
are going south to trade as soon as the feast is past. I
wanted to go myself, but now there will be game enough
in my own place. I'll wait for another summer."

" Who goes at this time ? "

"Klune, the dumb, young Kin-da-shon, and his
father; likely Kah-sha and Tool-chun — that reminds me!
I'm going out to take a look at my pet; my heart tells
me she will be ready for fight again by this time; and, by
the ravens! I need something to do; it's dull work to fast
four days, even when one is to gain the chief's estate.
How the rest of you poor dogs do it I don't know."

And with mock expression of commiseration for the
"dogs" — his friends who would be obliged to abstain
from eating any kind of food and from drinking fresh
water during the four days and nights intervening between
the death and the cremation of his uncle chief — Yealh-
neddy made his way from the house where lay the dead
man, and where the loud and incessant wailing of the
women had covered the conversation which, aside, he had
been holding with Ka-kee.

The sky was black — not a star was visible; the air it-
self seemed peopleii with creatures of the dark.

'Twas such a nig lit as causes one involuntarily to drag
the foot and put out the hand, to shut the eyes on what
we cannot see, that the inner sight may the more keenly
perceive what lies about us.

A little to one side, and back of the big house, Sha-
hehe's stake had been fixed. By reason of the excitement
attendant on the sacrifice of he slaves, and afterward the
gathering of the mourners to cry dry the river through
which they would have their chief pass dry-shod, the

.•ii¥r>

AN ALASKAN STORY.

young witch had been left almost unnoticed, and, for a
time, unnoticing.

The weird chant, the wild wailing of the women, had
entered into her benumbed, unreasoning mind; its chorus
of indescribable sound seemed to rise from source unfath-
omable and to echo through eternity the cries of an end-
less wandering. Her stupor became heavier. Nature
was kinder than her children; and while the poor body
bled from their torture, she closed its windows and its
doors for a time and took the spirit roving. There were
bright green fields before her now; flowers of unearthly
brightness bloomed all about her; waters fell in sweetest
freshness and their music mingled with the song of birds.
She danced along with the lightness of a sunbeam, and
glanced through vapors of fragrance. Was this life — or
was this death ?

Suddenly a shadow of intense blackness crossed her
beautiful sky. The bird's song became a croak, the flow-
ers were changed to toads, the zephyrs with which she
played became the flapping of a raven's wing. Now the
evil bird was at her side, it pecked the flesh from her
hands and feet; now it lighted on her shoulder with its
horrid, croaking laugh; and now — it wears the face of
Yealh-neddy! In a moment more he has buried his beak
in her brain. She struggles, but her hands and her feet
are bound with burning bands — she cannot move. In
breathless agony she awakes!

The night closes in awful thickness about her. The
human cries mingle with the unearthly, melancholy, and
prolonged yelps of a hundred Kling-get dogs and the
hooting of the owls.

Che cannot at first distinguish or separate the sounds —
they come to her like pulsations of the darkness.

Her own miseries are as yet undefined. She does not

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

know that the thongs are working into her flesh, that the
atmosphere's humidity has bathed her still rigid body
until the gathered moisture, all stained with blood from
her wounds, is trickling to the earth from her bare limbs.

She does not know — she cannot recall — she is unable
to think. She only /ee/s — feels — FEELS!

With her is neither time, nor space, nor place. It is
eternity. Yet, what is thatl A word — a voice has had
power to wake the nerves, to send life back into the brain
channels which had been for a time deserted. She shud-
ders with unspeakable horror as she recognizes the tones
of Yealh-neddy.

" So, so, my fair one, you are courting the raven to-
night ? He is a black lover for the rice-blossom. Let
us awaken his jealousy — he will hold you the tighter by
and by. Ah, no word? Not one tendc* word for me?
Stay! Let me give you cause for one." And with a
stick of the devil's thorn he strikes her cheek.

She makes no outcry. Leaving her for a moment, he
returns with a basket of foul water, and into the defence-
less, upturned face brutally he throws it. Eyes and
throat are filled with the vile and burning liquid — which
finds, too, every laceration on the broken body.

Only a low, half-strangled cry escapes the girl. Hop-
ing to provoke him now into finishing the horrid work,
into placing her beyond the reach of further torture, and
knowing instinctively that utter silence on her part will
the more surely accomplish this end with him, she makes
agonizing effort to suppress all sign of suffering.

"No answer yet?" he mutters. "Then, by the chief's
shade, I'll have one! "

But Sha-hehe, overcome with terror and pain, sinks again
into merciful unconsciousness.

Yealh-neddy has not perceived this, when one of his

AN ALASKAN STORY.

own dogs, with a low, quick growl, springs out from the
brush near by, and the man, with the weakness of super-
stition and the strength of sin upon him, slinks back
through the gloom, while the more humane brute, sniffing
about, finds the sufferer, and pressing kindly face against
her, licks her stings.

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

CHAPTER VI.

KOTCH-KUL-AH.

T/' OTCH-KUL-AH, the young daughter of the dead
chief, upon reaching the borderland of womanhood,
was secluded from all companionship (according to the
custom of the Kling-gets) until a husband should be found
for her — one who should meet the approval of her parents
and her mother's friends.

Her father's house differs a little in its interior arrange-
ment from that in Chilkoot which has been described-
for extending along the four sides of this dwelling is a
platform perhaps six feet in width, raised about three feet
above the floor, which has as its centre the large, square,
gravelled fireplace. A part of this platform is roughly
inclosed into box-like compartments used as store-rooms
for the chief's treasures.

As there is no opening in the outside wall of the house
except the one small door (the light being admitted only
through the hole in the roof left as a smoke-escape), these
little cupboards are close and quite dark, except for the
few rays of light which may make their way through the
shadows of the great house and effect an entrance through
the cracks of the rude partition.

One of these inclosures has been the prison-house of
the young girl during the summer morths. A small ex-
cavation, very much like a shallow cistern, unwalled,
under the floor of the house, made her winter quarters.

During the period of confinement she has been seen by

AN ALASKAN STORY.

no one, visited by no one, save her mother, who brings
or throws her supplies of food and water.

Kotch-kul-ah has in truth wearied of this living death.
Passing from her first feeling of revolt against being
given as an unconsulted partner in such an alliance as
among her people often stands for marriage, she has come
to regard it as a door of escape into a life that will at
least afford her some freedom of action.

Lying day after day and night after night in what she
has often wished u^ere her dead-box^ thought and memory
have carried her back to the free days of childhood, when,
with troops of shouting children, she drew the tide-belated
fish from the sea moss or picked berries on the mountain-
side; when she played "hide-and-seek" in the forest or
lay rocking idly in shady-coved canoe.

To-day the bringing of her father into the house, all
bleeding as he was, the doctor's dance, and all the excit-
ing scenes connected with the occasion, though observed
only as she could get glimpses through the cr.icks of her
cell, have been tastes of life to the girl whose feelings are
dulled, benumbed, by her two years of imprisonment.

No wholesome sorrow has come to bless her heart; no
fountain of life springing from natural affection has
blessed her with tears of grief. She wondered, languidly,
when she knev/ that her father's spirit had gone, if his
slaves would be faithful, if they would care for him on
the long, long journey to the other world. She won-
dered if he would be able to gain the attention of that
strange spirit on the beautiful island — if he would hear
and come quickly to bear her father over. She was glad
that they had burned for him so much food — that he had
so many treasures to take with him. She had seen them
give him even a package of paint for his face, and hang
about his neck a bag of charms to ward off evils by the

kIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

way. After these things she stupidly wondered — what
next?

And now her mother comes to give the young face a
thick coat of heavy black paint, just as her own has been
dressed, with little tear-courses left clear adown the
cheeks, giving the impression of long tear-shedding by
the relatives before the ceremonial weeping has begun.

The mother's hair has been closely cropped, but her
daughter's is left untouched, since she is not regarded as
a near relative of her father's. Beautiful hair it is —
long and shining; and during these two years carefully
combed with coarse wooden comb and her own slender
fingers.

"Kotch-kul-ah," the mother says, "your father's shade
has passed. You know who he is that takes his place?"

"Yes, I know; his nephew, Ytalh-neddy, comes next.
What plans are his, think you?"

" His will is to take us both. His heart is big for pos-
sessions; he begrudges what we burn for your father; but
he is proud, too, and he will make a pot-latch to be talked
of in every village; and by it he will make to himself a
debtor of every man, woman, and child in the Chilkat
country. While he lives the large gift of every other
man's feast must be Yealh-neddy's. You may be glad
to share with your mother in this matter. You could do
much worse; and I know not how you could do better."

"What of the other nephew — your brother's son — who
stole my /aM^r'.f heart long ago? Don't you remember,
mother, when father said that to Kin-da-shon, he an-
swered, laughing, that he would keep it, then, till father
gave him mine? Father liked it well, I could see. You
haven't forgotten. Has he forgotten that ? "

" Oh, why think of it ? Kin-da-shon will not be a great
chief, nor rich, like Yealh-neddy. Besides, it was play-

AN ALASKAN STORY.

talk to all but your father; the next salmon season we
were to talk about your husband — and Kin-da-shon hae
not asked for you," she adds artfully.

" Has he asked for any other wife?" now cries the girl,
with passion, as though suddenly the speech had drawn
away the curtains woven by her long isolation, and she
saw her old playfellow in a new intensity of light that
awakens in her strange life, and power, and weakness.

It is no peep into her own heart. It is as though, hav-
ing been dead, she had come into life. It had been as
though they talked of some one else whose fate mattered
nothing to her; then suddenly it was of herself — it was //<?/-
fate, and it meant everything. She lives^ and finds herself
in a living world, more full of life than she had dreamed
of in the old free days. Her mother's reply is awaited
with anxious interest. The words come carelessly:

"I have heard no talk for Kin-da-shon. Wait; you
shall see them both; it must be settled soon, now."
" How I wish these crying days were over! "
"Well, the feasting will come when the crying is done."
"What of Sha-hehe — what will be her death?"
" I know nothing about that. She will be starved and
tortured the nine days, anyhow."

" 1 wonder if she will confess, /would, and let them
get done with me the sooner. Why should a witch want
to live — with agony for an only friend and shame for-
ever ? "

With this remark, Kotch-kul-ah rises to her feet and
draws her blanket of fringed squirrel-skin close about her.
On her head she places a wooden hat, from the brim of
which is suspended a heavy leather fringe, which com-
pletely obscures her face. The time at first agreed upon
as the limit of her confinement has but lately come to a
close, a little sooner than has been found convenient to

KIN-DA'SHON' S WIFE:

arrange for her marriage, so that this new liberty of walk-
ing after nightfall with her mother has been accorded her
with certain modest restrictions.

Very soon tiie people will be returning for the night,
and she must be safely housed again before the crowd
gathers. Without further words the two pass through the
great room and into the darkness without.

The ground on one side of the door is slippery with the
blood of the slaves; by taking the opposite course ^''. ;y
soon approach the stake of Sha-hehe, their moccasined
tread giving no hint of their coming. Yealh-neddy is
still busy with his victim. At the sound of his voice the
women turn aside, passing silently as they came, and
remain unseen but within hearing until the dog, which
has followed them, springs through the intervening brush
in pursuit of some small night-loving game, and starL>s
Yealh-neddy in his deed of evil.

A few hours before Ivotch-kul-ah could have heard such
words as he now had uttered with unthinking indifference.
Her heart had been in a stupor. The common conversa-
tion among the people in her father's house had been of
such a nature as to toughen and roughen the soul. Be-
fore her weary imprisonment she had never thought of it
at all; but, sitting in the darkness, apart and alone, she
did think a little. As it came to her ears day after
day she sickened of it, then grew apathetic, and at last
unfeeling. It mattered nothing to her how many slaves
were butchered to show their master's wealth, nor how
many witches were taken, nor whether they were made
slaves of or cut into pieces, or strangled or buried alive.
She had seen all these things done without the burning of
heart that possesses her now. It is not that a witch-girl
is being made to suffer; no doubt she deserves more than
death. 'Tis that the woman^ God-created, even in the

■*— — • i^^f^P*^****

AiV ALASK'AX STORY.

:lit.

savage breast, has been awakened in this naturally impet-
uous girl. Kotch-kul-ah is all-unconscious of the work
i)cing done within her by this newly discovered love.
^\'e have seen solid vails of snow melt down in a few
hours from where they have stood undaunted for months;
as their waters have flooded the ground we have seen
great, dark, woolly fern-balls rise by some unseen force,
and, in as many more hours, stand on stalks, erect, as
high as a man's shoulder; then, day by day, under that
same magnetic power, they have unrolled, unfolded, until
their palmy fronds have reached far out toward heaven.

Kotch-kul-ah's nature has been buried under such
weight; a spiritual force mighty as the sun has now be-
gun its work for her; already ///i? is showing; whether any
beauty lies hidden within, the future must disclose.

In what she overheard of Yealh-neddy's speech to Sha-
hche there was that which angered her as she had never
before been angered. She cannot explain it, for she un-
derstands neither the cause nor character of her resentment.
She knows only that her whole spirit rebels against this
fellow, and an unspoken vow is taken upon her soul to
escape from him if she gives life itself in the attempt.
At the same time life becomes more desirable than ever
before as, involuntarily, against the background of ali
that excites her indignation there is brought out in ever
stronger-growing light the character of Kin-da-shon —
brave, gentle, generous, and true. She knew him that in the
long ago; so many things are coming back to her — things
long since forgotten — and she wonders how she could for-
get. She can never again forget. If Kin-da-shon cannot
be her husband she can die; but another she will not
have.

Not a word will she speak — even the mother here must
not know how she longs for him till he himself has spoken;

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

death may come, but she will not choose shame. She
thinks so; the plant is high, not yet unfolded.

They have passed by the unconscious Sha-hehe — the
old woman with words of hate, not knowing that she was
beyond their reach; Kotch-kul-ah absorbed with the
world she has found within herself; but as they approach
the entrance she instinctively draws her blanket more
closely about her face, and, unnoticed, reaches her closet,
where she is again shut in.

The fire is being built up for the night, which has
grown cold, and the bright, high-leaping flames soon send
a glow to the farthest corners of the great house.

P'or to-night people come and go as they will. The
friends from other villages cannot arrive before to-mor-
row, and the ceremonies will not begin until they come.
But there io weeping with the coming in of each group
of friends — noisy weeping; and such arrangements as can
be decided upon are talked over and settled.

The most interesting of these is the decision of the
widow as to her husband's successor, and the agreement
of herself and hei brothers and sisters as to whom her
daughter, Kotch-kul ah, shall be given as wife. She has
reasons for speedily desiring this s( ttlement fully made
before the arrival of her half-brother, Shans-ga-gate, and
his son, Kin-da-shon, from Klok-won.

For this purpose the widow, Kah-da-guah, her old
mother, and her immediate family have seated them-
selves together; b the matter in hand does not exclude
outsiders, nor does their presence at all embarrass the
council.

The preference for Yealh-ned(ly seems to have been so
well understood that no other aspirant has been brought
forward. With his mother and his mother's brother,
Yealh-neddy comes forward to present his claim and show

AN ALASKAN STORY.

his worth. His mother and uncle also speak, boasting of
the young man's prowess, his youth and strength, his
sagacity, and what he can give to show his appreciation
of what he gets.

Kah-da-guah, as a vain woman, had been flattered by
Yea'h-neddy's determination. All the more that she
knew his lawless character, his evil life, and his unwill-
ingness ever before to take a wife. She very well knew
that she could not expect to reign alone; her kingdom in
Yealh-neddy must sooner or later be shared with another
and younger woman. This she did ncl object to if she
could maintain the first place in importance and author-
ity, and she saw no difficulty in that if her daughter were
the chosen second.

Yealh-neddy, without knowing this mind of the widow,
had, as she divined from the first, meant to have them
both. His double suit is presented, not without an air of
condescension on his own part, though unnoticed by the
woman, who sees only her own ambition gratified. Her
friends are equally pleased, or, in some cases, indifferent.

And so, without any show of the extreme satisfaction
of both parties, it is fully and finally settled that Yealh-
neddy is the chief, and that in one month after the pres-
ent feast his marriage with Kah-da-guah and her daugh-
ter, Kotch-kul-ah, shall be consummated — an agreement
as binding as marriage itself, the violation of which
brings shame and war and death.

Kotch-kul-ah in her closet has overheard enough of
what has passed in the council to know that her fate has
been sealed, as far as powerful relatives and the sternest
of tribal laws can fix it. All the more fiercely she re-
solves to wrest herself from its hateful decree, be the end
life or death.

She will not throw herself upon Kin-da-shon — oh, no!

KIiV-DA-SIION' S WIFE:

And it is not shame alone which prevents such a step.
She too well knows how utterly futile such a course would
be; he could do nothing even if his heart were breaking
for her, and the effort would only bring shame and death
to him as well as to herself. No; t/tat s\\q could not do;
but this — this she cannot, 7L>iIl not do. She must get
away. How ? Where ? What can she do ?

She must think — and think. She must make it out.
She wishes her head were more used to working; she
wishes it would quit throbbing so.

Several hours of such vain labor pass, when, unused
as she is to any struggle, Kotch-kul-ah falls into a dream-
troubled sleep, in which she is fleeing, fleeing, and ever
pursued, until, driven to the edge of a precipice, she leaps
into its darkness and falls, falls — into ivhat is she falling?

Ah! she is awake now, and her body is wet with the
sweat of horror. The people have gone to their own
homes, the fire is out; she shivers with cold — no, she is
hot, burning, smothering — she cannot breathe; she must
break these walls! Stop; here is the door. Strange! it
is unlocked! She does not know that her mother had
come to tell her what had been done, after all was over,
and had found her asleep; then, so absorbed in other mat-
ters, had forgotten to bolt the door as she went out.

It yields readily to Kotch-kul-ah's touch. She holds it
open to listen before taking a step — that sense has had the
full benefit of training. By the sounds of breathing she
is able to locate every creature in that great room, and
knows just when she may safely pass. They sleep heav-
ily, weary with the day's excitement.

She opens the little door wide back against the wall,
and leaves it so; then, with her blanket drawn close about
her, she silently passes out of the house. Not a thought
of what she shall do, when freedom from the Tiouse is

AN" ALASKAN' STORY.

ret

gained, has crossed her mind; she has obeyed simply an
impulse of fevered blood. "Out! away!" it had cried.
The fresh, cold air stimulates her brain to ask: "Why
did I come here ? What am I going to do ? "

At another time she would have been paralyzed with
fear at finding herself alone at such an hour, a companion
of frogs and owls, open to all mysterious and evil influ-
ences. To-night she is strangely indifferent to these
things; she has no fear. When the fact occurs to her she
wonders why.

Hark! was that a human voice? Whence did it come?
She puts her hand, shell-like, to her ear. Ah! that is the
wilch-girl groaning. Mechanically she follows the sound
until she stands beside Sha-hehe. The clouds have be-
gun to break ; a breeze is rising and begins to send them
scurrying hither and thither — not certainly yet in any
single direction, but letting through their parted folds
light enough for eyes long accustomed to darkness to see
the misery before them. The tongue is speechless, swollen
and protruding; a gurgling sound is brought with every
breath. The eyes are glassy and stand out with fulness of
agony. Consciousness is perfect now — more perfect than
ever before. It has told Sha-hehe that one, not an enemy,
is near. All the entreaty which might be conveyed by
speech and gesture is concentrated in her eyes; they pray,
they implore.

And Kotch-kul-ah — what is she doing? Brought up in
the belief that a witch is the direct agent of the most
powerful of devils, whom to pity is to court — where is
her fear, her,superstition stronger than the fear of death?

She knows not, herself; she even wonders, when she
has had time to think, how she could do it. She has
kneeled beside Sha-hehe; she tries to loose her bonds with
her delicate fingers. Finding it impossible to remove the

KINDA-SHON'S WIFE:

ropes without a knife, and knowing that it is equally im-
possible to obtain such an instrument now, she recollects
that her supper of dried fish and water is in her closet
untouched.*

She will go and bring the water; perhaps the girl can
swallow a little — at least her parched tongue can be wet.

With more painstaking than she had come, Kotch-kul-
ah returns to the house, listening again at the outer door.
But a moment more, and with the little basket of watei
she has come again, and stands bending over the helpless
creature, dipping her fingers into the water and letting it
fall in cooling drops on the poor sufferer's tongue.

A glow of warm, rosy light is even now beginning to
show above the mountain. With something more akin to
concern than she has before felt, Kotch-kul-ah retraces
her steps to the house. Within it is yet dark, and the
sleepers still sleep heavily.

Once again within her prison, she carefully closes her
door and crouches down on the floor — to sleep or to think!

Sleep had fled; thoughts all unwelcome come upon her
like ravens. How many times she has seen the hateful
creatures sailing round and round over the poor salmon en-
snared by the tide and lying on the sand, until these evil
birds took out their eyes and left the blinded things to die.

Yes; that is what these thoughts are like. She will
beat them off!

There they come again, round and round. What has she
done? Succored a witch? Surely her case was evil
enough before! What now? Why, now, turn which way
she may, evil spirits will attend to destroy her! What
may they not do ?

She will welcome death. What then ? Devils, face to
face ! — she cannot die ! Oh, for rest ! — for a place of refuge !

* Not being of her fsther's tribe, she was not obliged to fast.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

CHAPTER VII.

IN THE MEADOWS.

A^riTH early morning came the sun forth, bright and
clear. A fresh breeze has brought fair weather
from the north, leaving not a trace of last night's fog and
gloom.

Many of the children, escaping from the dismal cleep-
ing-houses, make their way to the great woodland which
stretches across the peninsi .^, and spend hours in play and
in gathering goodies of gum and balsam and spicy buds.

Some of the children follow the trail; others, bringing
heavy charges of babies in blankets on their backs, have
embarked in a little old canoe, which is both leaking
and creaking, but made to do good service on such occa-
sions.

AVith every dip of the paddle the cracks in the bottom
yawn, and water rushes into the old shell — but that only
serves to make the trip more interesting to these fearless
mariners; and while some dexterously send the boat for-
ward, others, with little old baskets and wooden ladles,
deftly dip the water out. By instinct they keep the equi-
librium of these canoes, so sensitive to a false balance
that the best care of a novice does not always insure
his safety.

Here are babies of a few months and upward in the care
of l)oys and girls of six to ten years! They roll about,
apparently without guard. Those who are two and three
years old are playing at paddling, or snatching at the
shell-fish seen on the sand under the shallow water.

KIN.DA-SHON' S WIFE:

By coming at high tide a mile of sand is traversed thus
easily, and then they enter the meadows through winding
water-ways, cut by freshets and worn by the tides, wide
enough only for their small canoes, but reaching full half
a mile inland.

In this clear, brook-like passage numberless minnows
dart about, like sunbeams in the shade and like shadows
in the sunlight. Flowers hide among the high grass and
the graceful rushes; little vines drop from the overtop-
ping luxuriance down the soft clay banks.

Now the children, with jest and laughter, grasp at the
verdure; and some, in teasing mood, hold fast, stopping
the progress of the party. In imperturbable good-humor
they make the best of the delay by scratching curious fig-
ures on the smooth surface of the clay bank with sticks
and fingers or with nimble toes.

While thus engaged a merry-eyed, muscular little fel-
low, quietly and unnoticed, rolls out of the boat, and in
an instant, by his sudden lifting shove, the canoe has shot
forward, xattering girls and boys, babies and baskets,
promiscuously! Babies cry, but laugh through their tears
as they are presently brought right side up again by their
nurses, who are ducking about and shouting in keen ap-
preciation of the joke.

The laughing-eyed joker has sprung to the top of the
bank, his trick accomplished, and after him go the boys
to bring him to account. Into the high grass they dive
and flounder together in a merry tussle, so engaged in
frolic and fun they do not notice the party approaching
by the wooded trail, Da-shu, from the portage, toward
Yhin-da-stachy.

The children, however, are not unnoticed by the trav-
ellers, some of whom, attracted by the noise, turn aside
to learn the meaning of it. Among those who do so is

AN A LA SKA I\' STORY.

Kah-sha, with Kasko proudly bearing a part of his father's
burden, while dancing now before them and again at their
side is Tashekah, happy at being allowed to accompany
her father so far on his journey.

At sight of the new-comers the children leave off their
sport and stand in groups abashed, as expecting repri-
mand, but when Kah-sha speaks it is with gentleness,
though his words are grave:

" My little ones, you bring with you none of the sorrow
of your mothers;" and then reflectively, as though more
to himself than to them, he adds: "Well, it were sadder
if you did; this world will be darker yet when there are
no sunbeams."

As he spoke he sat down wearily and lay back, resting
against his pack, and the children without fear raise their
eyes again.

Kunz, of the laughing eye, snatches up a basket and
darts away to a spring of fresh water in the edge of the
forest, into which he dips and brings the refreshing
draught in grateful kindness to Kah-sha, who thanks the
little rogue and drmk3.

No sooner does he resume his position than his cough
begins, racking his whole body. Kasko has made loose
the straps of the packs, and soon the father turns over
on the grass, that he may the better hide the streaks of
bright blood which he has found coming with the cough.
He would have no one know what would endanger the life
or peace of any living creature. He wishes no witch to
suffer for him.

Tashekah, sitting at her father's feet, waits anxiously.
Kasko, ever on the alert, has already been down to the
canoe, which, for the time, had been entirely deserted;
finding it safe enough and the tide already turned, he has
lost no time in striking a bargain with the children.

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

Then laying sticks and rushes across the bottom, where
the pack is to be placed, he calls brightly to Tashekah
and their father to come and jump in before the quickly
ebbing tide leaves the passage dry. With his spring-
ing, bounding step he has reached them by the time
Kah-sha has gained his feet, Tashekah clinging to her
father's hand. Then throwing his lithe young body
against the pack which had been the father's, Kasko
rises with it and leads the way to the canoe.

Pleased at the change, Tashekah nimbly takes her place
in the bottom with a ladle for dipping, and without dis-
sent her father seats himself in one end, while Kasko
places the pack in the other, and, throwing aside the
clothing worn by the trail, he wades in, takes the canoe
by the after part, thus guiding and pushing the little old
craft down and out with the tide.

By the time they have reached the open water Kah-sha
is quite himself, and, as he takes a paddle, Kasko dives
into the deeper water, washing the sand from his limbs;
then, through the grass, he returns to the children, who
are standing guard over his dress and his pack. The
members of his party who kept the trail have moved on
and are now seen crossing the sand-flat to the village.
Thus left to himself, Kasko determines on a little relaxa-
tion. Throwing himself down at full length on the grass,
he raises his head and folds his arms under it, question-
ing: "What are they doing over there, youngsters?" with
a movement of the head toward their village.

"Nothing," comes from a number of voices; but Kunz
waits to say: "Sleeping."

"Well, then, what have they done? What are they
going to do ? How many days do they fast ? "

"I heard them say last night that they would fast for
four days." This from Kunz alone.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

•is

" Ah ! then burn the body and have the feast on the
fifth ; and on the sixth day the trading party goes on.
What else?"

" Many things else. Kood-wot's wife is going to take
Yealh-neddy ; and he wants Kotch-kul-ah, too ; and Sha-
hehe's a witch!''

"Sha-hehe is the witch? Ah! "and in an undertone:
" I thought it was only her blind fright that drove her to
the dead-house that night; but it must have been that she
was making up with the spirits of darkness. Foolish
girl ! they will bring her to a shameful end." Then:

"Have the 'above people* come yet?" meaning the
friends from the upper villages.

" Hadn't come when we left, or the folks wouldn't have
been sleeping; and if they've come since, I haven't
Yealh's eyes to see; " with which sententious reply Kunz
took a somersault, and then, with feet aloft, a few steps
on his hands; when, with another spring, he comes again
upon his feet, and shouting to the other children to come
on, he and soon they have vanished, except for a por-
poise-like motion on the surface of the sea of grass and
the '* wake " they leave behind them in making their way
to the woodland.

The sun has now grown hot. and as Kasko drops his
face upon his folded arms he becomes conscious only of
exceeding physical comfort ; and almost helore the sounds
of the child-voices have diedav^ay, even this sense of feel-
ing sleeps — deep, restful, drean Jess sleep.

Meanwhile Kah-sha and his daughter, also their friends
by the trail, have arrived, and are received in the village,
where all await the coming of the mourning friends from
up the river.

KJN-DA'SHON' S WIFE:

CHAPTER VIII.

MOURN IN G DAYS.

TN one of the oldest and largest houses of the village
Kutwulhtoo live, in primitive Kling-get fashion, the
dead chief's father, four sisters, their respective husbands
and families, and a number of their married daughters
with husbands — and children also!

In one of the corners, arthest from the door, the patri-
arch reclines — sire of the house — with descendants a hun-
dred or more. His hair is thin and white; his face, by
reason of its noble nose and clear-cut features, whose out-
lines are unbroken by any beard, is still a striking one;
but the fire which once lighted the eyes and moved the
man has died out.

As he lies back, half-sitting, on a small feather-bed,
with a number of large pillows supporting him, he is em-
ployed in pinching out the persistent hairs which are ever
starting from his cheeks and chin, using for the purpose
a pair of small tweezers, hammered out of native metal —
an implement whose counterpart maybe found in the out-
fit of every Kling-get man; it is worn about the neck on
a slender leathern guard, and so hangs on the breast ready
for instant use in moments of leisure.

Near the old man is his wife, preparing his morning
meal — eggs of wild-fowl and fish-broth. She is a robust
young woman of about twenty years, a child of the old
man's third daughter. As the father is always of the op-
posite side to his wife, and as the children always belong
to their mother and her tribe, a man has no descendants— ^

AN ALASKAN STORY.

none, save his own children, whom he may not lawfully
marry and there seems to be a decided preference among
the Ivling-gets for partners of their own blood. When
old Ka-dake's first wife died her place was givn to the
young daughter of their eldest daughter. This young
wife bore a family also, and died. Her place was then
filled by a daughter of the next in order of the old wife's
daughters; she too was mother of a multitude, and died.
The present wife had been given to her grandfather-
husband at the age of twelve years; and, in seclusion now,
is the twelve-year-old Kalhga, child of the old wife's
fourth daughter, who has been set apart for her grand-
father in case his present wife does not survive him.

Kalhga is not alone in her seclusion; her cousin, Sha-
wet-honga, of the same age and condition, has, as a mat-
ter of convenience, been allowed t" share her privations.

In this house is no platform or partitions; the one
large, open room is common to all the families that com-
prise its household. It stands, as most native houses
stand, on the side of a bluff near to and facing, with its
single small door, the river dashing southward.

Within the great, dark house, in the wall next the hill,
is a small opening, rudely fitted with a heavy door. Near
the top of the door is a square hole, large enough for the
hand or a small dish to be passed through; over this
opening hangs a curtain of heavy fringe, made of leather,
to exclude light and sight; yet it admits of food being
passed through — for this is the entrance to the girls'
prison.

The cave itself — for it is nothing more — is of two parts,
neither more than three feet high; the compartment next
the great room is two and a half feet deep by three and a
half long, and to prevent the earth from falling in it has
been lined with rough-hewn planks. Opening from the

ICIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

back of this room is the other — simply a hole, earti
above, below, and around — without the faintest ray of
light. It was into this hole — this grave^ first, that Kalhga
and Shawet-honga were thrust, and fastened by a door be-
tween the two cells. In this place for the first ten days
they received their daily supply of food and water, in
darkness and in silence, not even knowing whose hand
passed it to them. Turn which way they might, there
was not room to straighten their bodies; nor can they even
now, in this outer prison, which they have occupied since
the first stage of their purification.

But these girls have been too full of vigorous life to be
entirely subdued by a month of confinement even such as
this. They have had each other's company and could
speak to each other; and no one, unreduced to such e.\-
tremities, could imagine the many ways they have found
to relieve the tedium: Story-telling, with their heads
close together, so that too much speech might not be re-
proved by their elders in the room without; guessing rid-
dles, making images of fish, birds, and animals out of the
soil, scraped with their fingers from the wall of their cave
and moistened with the water or the gummy fish-broth
brought them to drink. They have dreamed dreams and
planned exploits. They knew that their prison-house
door was to remain unopened for a year and two months,
for so the time had been fixed. Lately they have been
given the prepared inner bark of cedar for weaving the
coarser baskets for household use. After a time, when
their eyes are used to darkness or their other senses
quickened enough to do without light, they will have sew-
ing to do.

L it all this does not mean happy contentment. To
endure is a characteristic of the people — to endure cheer-
fully, at leas/ uncomplainingly; and the trait is largely

AN ALASKAN STORY.

due, perhaps, to the binding of their babies hand and
foot for much of the first year of life. The custom cer-
tainly does beget submission and develops a faculty for
making the best of circumstances.

Kalhga and Shawet-honga knew that it was now the
glorious summer-time; they knew that the birds were
singing and the wild rice and yan-a-ate ready to gather;
that the time of canoeing and sweet out-door life, loved
by all young things, had come.

They had sometimes heard the voices of children out-
side in happy, gleeful laughter; once — they could tell by
the sounds — they were playing around and around the
house at a game of tag. That was while the girls were
scraping down the wall of their prison for material for
doll-making; and a thought came — a thought which they
hardly dared to breathe one to the other; but once spoken,
the thought gradually became a project. They could do
it — some of these days they would do it. They would dig
out of that place for t^//<? day's fun and freedom; they knew
it could hardly be more.

Suddenly, to-day, the girls have caught the sound of
some unusual noise and stir in the family room. By go-
ing close to the opening and holding the ear against the
fringe, they hear the news brought by the messengers from
Yhin-da-stachy.

The message is received by the family with many tears
and much loud wailing, which soon draws to the house
many of the neighboring families. Notwithstanding the
excitement, however, very f^oon after their arrival the
messengers are served by the slaves of the house with the
best refreshment which the day affords. Relay messen-
gers have already been dispatched to Klok-won, bearing
the news to Shans-ga-gate, father of Kin-da-shon. Nor is
there any time lost by those going to Yhia-da-stachy.

KIN-DA-SHOhTS WIFE:

Each of the women, both great and small, is quickly and
skilfully shorn of her hair, and the faces of the entire
household are painted with a mixture of soot and oil. As
a sign also of their sorrowful and broken spirits they
clothe themselves in their poorest garments, soiled and
ragged, though they must have with them their very best;
straight gowns of costly Hudson Bay print; leggings and
moccasins of embroidered leather, fine as chamois-skin,
with the high-class blankets varying in style from the
soft-dressed robes of marten, black fox, and sea-otter to
the more modern blanket of navy blue bordered with
scarlet broadcloth, and ornamented with rows on rows of
the finest of pearl buttons, set close on the inner edge of
the border. The materials alone for one of these blankets
have cost several hundreds of dollars.

The clothing, together with carved totem dishes and
trays, showing their family, must be made into packs and
conveyed to the canoes ready for the journey. With such
preparations all are busy, until theory comes from those on
the lookout that Shans-ga-gate's canoe has been sighted,
when they repair to the bank of the stream, and with one
accord send out the cry of mourning and greeting to those
whom the current is rapidly bringing toward them; and
from those approaching a responsive wailing is soon
heard.

Scarcely a moment's pause is made by the Klok-won
canoe. The Kutwulhtoo people have already taken their
places in the waiting boats and are holding the shore with
paddles set in the bank until Shans-ga-gatc's has ap-
proached near enough to fall into line; then, one by one,
the waiting five are given to the rushing rapids of the
narrow channel, and all are afloat in processional order.

The bed of the Chilkat River is several miles wide;
after making something of a bend at Klok-won the main

AN ALASKAN STORY.

body of water is thrown against the eastern shore, which
it continues to follow as far as Yhin-da-stachy, forming a
channel narrow, deep, and swift. It has ploughed throuj^^h
the sand until the furrow thrown upon its western side has
grown into a series of islands, now covered with brightest
verdure; moss, flowers, shrubs, and even trees draw life
from the soil and insure the island's own existence.

This channel will ip'tirage perhaps thirty feet in width,
and between its lovely overhung shores makes many a turn
and eddy. Tiie boatman's constant care is required to
keep his rapidly moving craft in free stream by the use
of poles. 'Tis here the beautiful salmon trout are found
in such countless numbers.

On the other side of the islands the lesser body of water
meanders over the wide wastes of sand, forever shifting
its shallow channels, by which all ascents of the river are
made laboriously. Often the boatman runs along the
sand, drawing after him his lightened canoe with a rope;
again, where the depth of water is great enough to admit
of his weight in the boat, he proceeds by poling.

Ascending the river thus, by light boat, often requires
two or three days, including necessary stops; while for
tho downward trip a few hours suffice, with no propelling
force save the water's own.

When the messengers had arrived at Klok-won they
found Shans-ga-gate with preparations almost complete
for a trip to Yhin-da-stachy; but it had been planned
with a very different end in view from that for which he
was now called. Kin-da-shon, though he had many sis-
ters, was the only son of his parents, and his prospects
gave them much concern. That he should be chosen by
his ancle Kood-wot as his successor (though not a sister's
son), and thus recommended to the widow, had been the
first ambition of Shans-ga-gate and Sha-ga-uk, his wife,

KJN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

in thinking of the future and its changes, not dreaming
this change so near.

Kin-da-shon's honest and manly ways had very early
made him a favorite with his uncle-chief, beyond the
regard he had for any of his sisters' sons, so that the
parents' hope was not altogether wild. It was with the
desire of reaching something definite on this point that
Shans-ga-gate and his wife had determined to accompany
their son to Yhin-da-stachy as he went to join the band
of traders going south. That very day they were to go,
that they might have a few days* visit before the party
should assemble.

The tidings of the chief's sudden death, coming thus
i»thwart his plans, had thrown Shans-ga-gate into deepest
gloom. From such details as had been gleaned from the
men as to the presence of Yealh-neddy in the house of
death and the widow's evident willingness to give him
the place of her husb^.nd, they knew that all their own
plans in that direction were worse than vain.

Sha-ga-uk was t' first to recover from the shock and
to spring with hope tO the next best thing.

"It were doubtful," she said, "that Kin-da-shon would
think gladly on the old wife, anyway; but there is Kotch-
kul-ah, new and beautiful; they were always friends, and
her hiding-time is even now at an end. It is the time to
ask for her, and when Kin-da-shon has come again from
his trading he will have enough to take her with of his
own. That is good ; that is best. Let us get off at once ! "

It was some time before Shans-ga-gate warmed to his
wife's new enthusiasm; but when at length he did it was
with no half-heart that he took up the cause. It was well ;
he would be satisfied.

There was no time to speak of the matter to Kin-da-
shon — they must be off; but that was unimportant. He

AN ALASKAN STORY.

would be pleased enough; and if he were not just at first
he was sure to be in time, and recognize his parents'
wisdom in making for him such an arrangement.

They were soon on the way, and in a short time had
passed Kutwulhtoo, there joining the other mourners as
has been described.

Neither Shan~-ga-gate nor his son takes active part in
the management of their canoe to-day. Naturally there
is but little speech among the party; each is busy with
his own thoughts. Kin-da-shon has his.

The boy's love-story is a little book in his own heart.
To the child-woman, Tashekah, his ideal of sweet inno-
cence and beauty, he has never breathed a syllable of it.
He found it easier to speak to Kah-sha, yet even to him
he gave but a sign. He has been thinking much of what
it all is to him since his return from the Stick country,
and has made up his mind that as opportunity shall open
in the course of their long journey he will open his heart
to the father of Tashekah.

There will be time enough, he thinks; she is but a
bud-woman yet, and when they come back from their trad-
ing he will speak to his mother, that the necessary arrange-
ments maybe made for their engagement; and then, after
a year perhaps, they maybe married, and he will live with
Kah-sha, whom he loves, and with Kasko — bright, true
Kasko — and with Tashekah, sweetest of all.

As he lies against his pack in the canoe, gliding through
the enchanting channel, now with closed eyes and again
absorbing, half-unconsciously, its beauty, he is dreaming
of these things. He wonders if she might possibly come
over with her father; he wonders if she has grown or
changed much since he saw her half a year ago. He is
certain that she cannot change except to be still more
lovely.

.j^^

KIN-DA - SHON S WIFE:

" My little one I my little one with the fawn's eyes and
ihe heart of a rice-flower — and she will always be that to
me I " he murmurs softly to himself.

The sun has not yet reached its northern limit when
the travellers gain a view of Yhin-da-stachy, all aglow
with red light from the low sun; and in a momeit more
they are greeted by the wailing cries of many voices pro-
ceed 'ing from the house of the dead, where news of the
arrival has been promptly reported.

As soon as their cry has been heard there comes a quick
response from those in the boats, and the united voices of
both parties continue their loud and indescribably doleful
demonstrations until the six canoes have been landed and
the new-comers have entered the house. Here, gazing on
their cold and silent host and brother, arrayed in all his
earthly glory, the ceremonial crying is mingled with the
unmistakable tears and sobs of grief.

Gridually the people grow calm, the crying is hushed,
and the new-comers mix with the friends of the house,
and learn in low conversations all that has taken place
in connection with the chief's death.

Shans-ga-gate and his wife were not long in learning
now their plans for Kin-da-shon had been frustrated. The
dislike which they had always held for Yealh-neddy in-
creased in bitterness; and for the widow-bride also, Shans-
ga-gate's half-sister, they felt a growing resentment which
presaged trouble. Knowing that nothing but evil could
come from any effort on their part now to change the de-
cision of the family in regard to Kotch-kul-ah, the disap-
pointed parents soon fell into a sulien, silent brooding.

Kin-da-shon had not waited to hear the talk in the
house; he had been really attached to his uncle-chief —
brothers their tribal relations made them. As he had
gazed for a few moments at the still and stiffened form of

AN ALASKAN STORY,

him he loved, he w.'ts choked with sobs; then, with boyish
instinct, fled from the crowd, seeing no one.

He cared not which way he took — he wished only to be
alone. The house stood near the end of the village next
the trail to the meadows and the woodland beyond, which
seemed to offer the most ready escape; and with long,
quick strides Kin-da-iihon took this path.

He had but passed the house, when, even occupied as he
was with his own emotions, his attention was caught by
the low, agonized groans of Sha-hehe. Suddenly, with
the recognition of the whereabouts of the witch, came the
mingled feelings of horror at her fearful league with
devils, the keen personal .a^rief it had brought to himself,
the loss to the whole people in the death of so good a
chief, and the consequent succession to his power of a
reprobate like Yealh-neddy, who would never hesitate to
sacrifice the good of the people to his own selfish ends.
No one could tell where th^evil might stop — it n^xtr could
be stopped unless witchcraft were made more and more
terrible, so that weak and evil persons would be more
fearful of the torture than of the evil spirits who drove
them to such deeds of darkness.

In the mind of Kin-da-shon there was no doubt at this
moment that the witch was suffering more torment f: ^m
the devil, whose influence she had in an evil hour yielded
herself to, than from anything which had been inflicted
by her friends; he believed that neither she nor the com-
munity could find rest from this destroying spiri* 's awful
power until her blood had been shed. With the loss of
each life-drop the demon's possession would be dimin-
ished; and then, if she would but arise with honest
strength of purpose, «hy might she i>ot cast off his evil
influence entirely?

UnconscioiiN'y Kin-da-shon had stopped in the path

KIN-DA-SJION'S WIFE:

just where the sound of her groanings had first reached
him. The force of these thoughts had held his steps; now
his hand was on the knife in his girdle, and without a
moment's hesitation he sprang to the side of the witch,
and with flash-like movements drew the keen edge of the
blade across the girl's arm and thigh — once — twice — with
the expression of one set on a revolting task. The blood
streamed out, and, flowing down over the bruised and net-
tle-stung body, entered the hard bed of earth beneath.

Kin-da-shon's face was ashen white. The sensitive
mouth, which had been throughout the deed set in hard,
rigid lines of desperate determination, now fell into a
piteous quiver, and, with a moan scarcely less agonized
than Sha-hehe'shad been, bedashed down the path toward
the meadows. Reaching a point where the rushes grew
rank and high, he left the path, and diving into the
thicket, threw himself down with his face to the earth,
utterly overcome with the reaction which his gentle nature
was undergoing after the strain of forced hardness. So
strong and yet so weak, so hard and yet so tender, so cruel
and yet so loving!

Before the arrival of the canoes from up the river Kah-
sha had grown restless at Kasko's slow coming, and had
sent Tashekah, as much for her sake as his own, to run
along the trail and learn the cause of his delay.

Kaskowas still asleep with hisbrown face on his folded
arms when Tashtkaii came up. At the sight of him her
face lighted with pleasore and a mischievous twinkle in
the bright eyes. Softly she seated herself at his back,
just near entnigh to reach his ear, or cheek, or noL>e, with
the sftd end of ti long stalk of the blue grass growing
{ii)out them so luxuriantly,

Sifting perfectly still, she began to sing a buzz-fly sung,
very soft and low at first, but coming nearer by rounds

AN ALASKAN STORY.

and rounds, as though on wing; at the louder, close ap-
proaches she touched his face with the delicate, tickling
grass, laughing inwardly to see him stir, s<iuirm, strike
at the offending insect, while the uninterrupted buzz grew
fainter and more faint again.

After much of such annoyance Kasko turned over on
his back, and clasping his hands under his head and draw-
ing up his knees into comfortable fashion, gave vent to a
prolonged, waking sigh, at which his laughing sister
leaned over and looked him in the face.

"Oh! you little sand-fly! how came you to me to bite?
Wasn't there enough to eat over there in the village?"

" Not of what I like; you know they don't allow us to
cat anything sweet or anything out of the salt water,
and that's just what I wani now, and the only thing I
shall want till the fast is over; then I shan't at all
care."

"Well, if that's your cast, sittle Contrary, you had bet-
ter call yourself a. gro7un-up and eat nothing for four days."

"Oh, no, brother mine; not just yet; it's hard, very,
to eat; but I'll be strong .o do it," was the laughing
reply.

"Say, have the 'up above' folks come yet, Tashekah?"

"They hadn't rome, but I heard the shout and then the
crying just after I crossed the sand; they are in the house
some time now."

"Then you didn't see Kin-da-shon?"

"No."

"Well, let us go; I want to see him."

Having tied his kerchief turban-fashion about his head,
Kasko adjusted his pack and took up the march, with
Tashekah and his blanket bringing up the njar.

They had not proceeded far when they heard a call,
and looking back saw ^he troop of children just entering

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

the trail from the woodland. Their out-runners soon
overtook the brother and sister, and all went on together,
laughing and chatting by the way.

Thus they pass within hearing of Kin-da-shon, still
prostrate. He has lain like a stone except for the occa-
sional nervous shiverings which come as ague chills. The
voices of Tashekah and her brother arc the first call to
life; they rouse him from what he thinks must have been
almost death. He is numb, stiff, and cold; yet now comes
a tingling sensation throughout his body, and with some
effort he pulls himself up into a sitting posture.

He will speak — call Kasko; but as the word is forming
on his lips he hears the other voices — the children's — and
he shrinks back into the grass until they have passed.

As the little party enters the village the people are
gathering to the house of mourning for the evening's cere-
mony — the smoking, the rehearsal of the old chief's great-
ness, the recalling of his virtues, and the bewailing his
death.

The widow has taken her place near the corpse, and her
tribal friends soon fill that side of the room.

Near the chief's body, on the other side, are his sisters
and brothers and their tribal friends. The great house is
soon filled. The faces of all are black, but the painting
of the men is hideous — it is black, broken with streaks of
Vermillion.

Kush-kwa, chief of the widow's tribe, is master of cere-
monies until after the cremation of the body, when the
new chief will begin his administration with the feast
which is to make all the nujuiueis glad again. When
all are seated in silence, at a signal from Kash - Kwa
a large carved box is placed before him by Ka-tah-wa,
a fifteen - year - old nepliew of the dead chief. It is
filled with pipes of grotesque designs. Selecting one of

AN^ ALASKAN' STORY.

very large size, the chief jjives it to Ka-tah-wa, who,
kneeling, fills it with tobacco from the tray with which
his cousin Chan-ka has followed him.

Chan-ka had placed the tray near the box of pipes, and
now turns with a handful of little resinous sticks toward
the low fire; picking up a small coal in his fingers, he ap-
plies one of his lighters, and with a long, slow blow, has
it quickly ignited. Ka-tah-wa has placed the large pipe
in his mouth and draws, while Chan-ka holds the light to
the tobacco. As soon as it is going the pipe is given to
Kush-kwa, the chief, who, sitting still, smokes for some
time — smokes slowly, vigorously, and silently; then in
the same silent way passes it to the man of highest rank
in the dead chief's tribe, who smokes it in like manner
and passes it on. In this way the sign of sympathetic
fellowbhip is given. While the chief's great pipe is thus
passing from one to another of the mourners, arranged
always ir: order of caste, the boys are filling the other
pipes, placing them, as they are made ready, on another
large carvsd tray.

When the great pipe has been smoked by the head men
all and at last reaches Kush-kwa again, Ka-tah-wa takes
up the tray and serves a pipe to each adult in the house,
Chan-ka following with the lights, and in a short time all
are engaged in this voiceless offering.

When Kush-kwa's pipe is finished it is replaced in the
box by Ka-tah-wa, and the chief, with a few preliminary
beats on the floor with his long, carved walking-stick,
sends out the introductory notes of the chant. The time-
beat is taken up immediately by the other men with sticks,
and with bows so bent under the foot that one end, guided
by the hand, springs to the floor v/ith just the power de-
sired, low or loud. The leader now in wailing minor
notes, with strange but perfect rhythm, recounts the scenes

A'm.DA.SHON'S WIFE:

of the accident and its sad sequel; now and again from
out the audience comes a response — an ejaculation — flow-
ing into the unbroken speech of the leader as water into
water.

As the story reaches its close the strain is lifted by a
hundred voices; the women sway to and fro, beating on
their breasts and joining, in more shrill tones, the heavy
voices of the men in the chanting, wailing cry. Every
surprise of contortion and sound renders the cadence more
clear, the rhythm more pronounced. Tears flow — rather
they .^"//^/z — from every eye, as though controlled by auto-
matic flood-gates; for, having reached the point where
the next speaker takes up the genealogy of the deceased
chief, his story flowing smoothly out of the chorus with-
out break or interruption, every eye is dry, and, in the
most matter-of-fact manner and every-day tone of voice,
one woman asks another for her wad of spruce chewing-
gum or ground tobacco and bark snuff.

The children have been crowded in among the women,
and their piping little voices have joined in the crying of
the people.

Tashekah has found herself pressed on one side by Sha-
ga-uk, Kin-da-shon's mother, and on the other by Sa-allie,
the wife of Ka-kee, the medicine-man.

Sa-allie's face is not at all like her husband's; it is
round and rosy, though its roses are hidden just now by
the black paint; it is fat and laughing, except just while
the crying lasts.

In her capacious lap she holds two nursing children,
one not yet two years old, the other about four.

The sweet, simple, but womanly manners of Tashekah
have quite won the hearts of both the children and their
mother, while the soft, motherly ways of Sa-allie have
warmed the heart of the motherless girl. It is not long

AN ALASKAN STORY,

until the four-year-old Ch-one slides sleepily into the
jjirl's lap, and she, glad at his confidence, softly caresses
the boy, covering him, as heavier sleep falls, with a part
of her own blanket.

Before the night's performance closes, Sa-allie has
reached a very important conclusion, and has formed a
plan which, if carried out, means much to Tashekah and
still more to Kin-da-shon; but of this Sa-allie knows
nothing.

To Sha-ga-uk, preoccupied with her own disappoint-
ment and resentment, Tashekah was simply one of the
many children about whom she knew little and cared
nothing. Absorbed in her thoughts for her son, Kin-da-
shon himself was unmissed, and when, late in the evening,
he wedged himself into the outer circle of the crowd
within the house, he was as unnoticed by his mother as by
Tashekah. Kin-da-shon, on the contrary, saw them both,
and the sight — seated as they were, as if of one house —
filled his heart with a gladness that for the time crowded
out the bitterness which so lately had bowed him to the
earth.

The night's rehearsal is closing now with the calling of
the names of all living relatives to the departed chief.
Throughout the night one after another of his friends
has taken up the story of his exploits, always in time with
the continued monotonous rise and fall of the beating
sticks and bows, intermingled with the wailing of the
mourners.

Morning now brings the dispersement of the people,
.".id to them the sleep of exhaustion, with no breaking of
li'sir fast.

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KIN.DA,SffON'S WIFE:

CHAPTER IX.

CROSS-PURPOSES.

*' '"pO take another wife has been long in your heart,

"'• my husband. Why?" Ka-kee is no little sur-
prised at the question. He has several times in the
course of their married life spoken of taking an assistant
for his wife, but she met the suggestion always with in-
difference, or with a touch of ridicule or anger.

Circumstances have not wholly favored his scheme, and
his domestic relations have been so entirely comfortable
that he has hesitated about increasing his importance at
the cost of peace.

It is near the close of the fourth day of mourning for
Chief Kood-wot that Sa-allie, after much deliberation and
growing self-approval, has entered on the task of appear-
ing to yield to her husband's ambition, and at the same
time to shrewdly bring about just what she herself now
most truly desires.

"So much you have talked about this thing I'd like to
know what you want a wife for. Is it because I don't
scold enough? If that is it you will never have to ask
for any more of the sweet bitterness — if you vvill just take
a wife who will bring plenty of blankets with her. She
won't let any of us forget that she brought them, and it
won't be long, either, before she will think she brought
us all we have. Is it a rich wife you want, Ka-kee? "

"No; I can't say that I have thought so much of what
she would bring me," hesitatingly answered the husband.

"Is it for work? — for gaining trade with the Stick peo-

AN ALASKAN STORY.

ple, maybe? I say, Ka-kee, her friends will give you
more trouble than the trade is worth, and they will cost
you more than she can ever gain for you."

" I know that. I would not have a Stick woman, but a
man is worth more among his own people if he has more
than one wife; and if she were of the right sort, Sa-allie,
she would be a help to you — with the children, and your
yarn-making and basket- weaving, and all common work, so
that you would have more time for your dancing-blankets.
It is not every woman who can do the beautiful work that
j'ou can; and you ought not to have the mean work," he
added flatteringly.

"Well, where /V one of the right sort? I'd like to see
her," says the wife complacently,

" I haven't seen her yet, myself; at least, not that I am
sure of," the medicine-man made reply. "It might be
best to take a young one and bring her up to our liking."

"And to have any help with the children I should say
it v/ould be just as well not to wait till they are all
grown up."

As Sa-allie speaks, her son Kunz appears in the door-
way — the ready-tongued, laughing-eyed Kunz, leader
among the children of the village, with his baby brother
on his back and humming a gay little tune as he comes.

"What a great, tall fellow Kunz is growing to be! It
won't be long that he will carry babies," proudly sighs
the mother.

" No: but it will be because the babies are all men, if
they grow as fast as this one. Neh! but he's a heavy
one! " and he swings him down to the mother's lap.

"Where is your brother Ch-one, Kunz?"

'' Oh, we ran against Kah-sha's girl down by the rocks,
so she and Ch-one smiled at each other, and, like two ice-
bergs touching, nothing can part them again."

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

" Where are they now ? "

*' Sitting down there, where the tide has left the beach
clean, I wish we had a sister like her! I wouldn't mind
staying with her myself."

Ka-kee glances at his wife with a keenly alert expres-
sion, but nothing in her placid face betrays her interest.
She is only saying, with a smile, to Kunz:

"But Kasko's sister you do mind staying with? Well,
didn't the baby want to stay, either?"

" That's just it. He's the one that didn't want to stay,
because he needs to eat; but I left my heart down there.
I'm going back to hear another story. She's telling
Ch-one many things old, but her tongue seems new. I
like to lie on the sand and listen: her voice is like the
robins in the new of the year."

With this the boy is off again; with light, fleet steps he
soon reaches the group of children on the low,smooth beach.

Tashekah, in the abandon so loved by the native, lies
lengthwise, digging her toes into the warm sand, her dark
and shining head uplifted as she rests on her elbows, play-
ing with a stray bit of sea-weed and the cockle-shells
which Ch-one's chubby hands have gathered.

Ch-one lies quite near the story-teller, losing not a
word. A number of other boys and girls are gathered
about in various attitudes of comfortable enjoyment.

"Tell more!" and "Yes! tell another!" they are clam-
oring as Kunz comes within hearing.

"Wait till my five ears get there," he shouts.

"Five? Where do you keep them?" laughingly they
demand.

"Well, I've got just as many as any of you; and you're
all listening with mouth and eyes as well as with the
things on the sides of your heads. Go on, Tashekah ; tell
about the owl — how she came to be a witch."

AN ALASKAN STORY.

In a simple, elder-sister fashion, the girl takes up the
story.

" Ch-au-k, long, long ago, in the place of the Sitka
people, an old blind woman lived with her son and his
wife.

"They had no garden; the medicine-spirit kept the fish
from running, and there was only a little to eat in all the
country. All the people were hungry.

" Every day the young man went to hunt or to fish, and
found nothing. He was almost starved, and his old
mother was hardly kept alive by the roots and few berries
they could find. But all this time the young wife kept
iHt and well; nobody knew what gave her flesh and
stiength.

*' In the night, when the old woman would wake from
sleep because her food-bag was eating her up, she would
say to her son's wife:

" 'What have you got there to eat ? '

"'Nothing,' she told her husband's mother.

"'Oh, yes, you have; I smell fish, and I hear its grease
dropping on the fire. '

"'No, you don't,' the daughter would answer. Then
the old woman would lie quite still and seem to sleep,
till she heard the sounds again. Then she sat up and
looked hard with her poor blind eyes, and asked again:

" 'What are you eating ? You have fish ; I hear you eat-
ing it.'

"'No, I'm only chewing gum,' the young woman said."

"What was she eating, Tashekah?" asks Ch-one.

"Wait a little and I'll tell you. She had witches'
power, and always, when it got to the middle of the night,
she went to some rocks that hung over the sea. Close to
the edge she went, with branches from the alder trees, and
swept them back and forth before her ; she crossed them

KJN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

and crossed them back again — this way; and the little
herring, that were so afraid they hid in the bottom of the
sea where nobody could get them, felt her strength and
couldn't help coming to the top of the water. Then
when they saw the witch-woman standing there, with her
hair all hanging long about her, and the tree boughs wav-
ing to and fro with more and more power, they leaped
from the water and flung themselves at her feet. She then
put them into her basket and took them home. She put
them on the sticks and set them up to roast by the fire.

" When they were cooked she ate all she wanted and
went to sleep.

" This was the way things went on for a long time, till
one night the old woman's questions and cries for food
made her son's wife so angry that she snatched a fish from
the stick, tore out its burning entrails, and ran to the old
woman, saying, 'Hold your hand; you shall have some;'
and she took the shaking old hand, filled it with the bad
hot stuff, and strongly held it shut in her own, till the
hand was burned to the bone.

" The young man had been out all night trying to find
food. When he came home in the morning he asked his
wife what made his mother sit crying so. 'She did not
know,' she said.

"He did not believe her words, and his heart was to
ask his mother; so he said to his wife:

"'I'm going hunting again; go you to the woods and
get bark lining to tie my arrow-heads with.'

" While she was gone the old woman told h'ir son all
her troubles, and he soon knew what to do.

" When his wife came back with the bark strings he
took his bow and started off in his canoe as if he must go
a Jong way from home. But as soon as he got around a
bend in the shore, so the village eyes could not reach him,

AN ALASKAN STORY.

he went ashore and hid his boat in the brshes. He went
into the deeper woods till the day should go to sleep.

"At last the night came, and he c-ept out and along the
iihore to a place where he could see the village when the
moon made light.

" About the middle of the night the moon was bright
and full, and he could see his bad wife leave their house
and go swiftly to the rocks. He watched her through all
her evil work, and softly followed her back to the house.
He saw her cook her fish and eat them. He heard his
mother cry for one mouthful of food, and heard his wife's
hateful, lying words.

'* Then, without making any sign, he went back to his
canoe. He caught a hair seal the next day and he took
it home. He made his wife eat so much of the fat that
she went into a sound sleep. She slept so hard that when
the night-time came she could not wake up.

" It was nearly morning when her husband shook her,
and told her to go down to the canoe and bring up the
fish that he had just brought home.

" He had stolen her witch power and went to the rocks.
He took a canoeful of fish while she was sleeping.

" His wife was weak and angry. She went down to the
canoe without any baskets, and sat down on the beach like
a heavy cloud.

"Then she called to her husband to send the baskets
down, and her voice was very weak when she called. Her
husband wouldn't send the baskets, and she wouldn't go
to get them; so she sat all day on the sand.

" That night, when the moon got big, the woman started
toward the mountain. She was going to follow the canyon
to the top ; but when she got to a big rock she sat down
to rest, and all at once she turned into an owl — the nasty,
hateful, ugly thing!

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

" It sleeps all day and all night it works bad things,
and tells everybody, 'Your father's a witch — your father's
a witch! ' That's the reason that men and women talk
back strong words to it, and say, 'Oh, you shut up your
throat! You burnt your mother's fingers!' "

*' Is all the owls that bad woman, Tashekah ? " queried
little Ch-one.

"Yes, all of them. They got bad spirit — witch spirit."

"Will they hurt Ch-one, sure — true? "he asks again,
with wide-open eyes.

"Yes. They always want to hurt every little child;
they are too big cowards to hurt big men and women.
He just gives them bad talk, and he comes to their house-
trees and cries. Everybody runs out to stop his telling
that somebody is going to die — but just the same he knows
everything,"

"Yes, and he's a big thief, too. It's just like he hides
things under his blanket, then shuts his eyes, just as if he
never waked up at all. He's just full of lies — no good
words in him! " says Kunz, looking up at his father, whose
curiosity has brought him out in search of the children,
and among whom he has seated himself with much ease.

"Whose name is that you've hung in the smoke, my
son ? " Ka-kee asks. " The Raven's ? "

" No; not the Raven's this time," replies the boy; "only
the owl's."

" Oh ! you can't make him worse than he is, the coward!
He wants every boy and girl he sees. His witch power
catches them when they go out of the house at night; he
turns their hearts upside down, and if nobody saves he
takes them off to die. But the great medicine-spirit gives
me charms for all things, you know; that's all that can
save any from death-spirits that are everywhere hungry
for life."

\ '

AN ALAS/CAN STORY.

As he speaks the medicine-man fixes his snaky eyes on
Tashekah, who at first shrinks and drops her eyes; then,
with no less horror or shrinking, meets his gaze with a
yielding as to power supernatural. She longs to get away,
yet she seems powerless to move. She longs unutterably
for her father to come, or even Kasko; but, for all ap-
pearance of life about the village above, every one there
may be as dead as Kood-wot himself.

One by one the other children, finding that Tashekah
will entertain them no more, betake themselves to other
scenes of interest. But Ch-one, jumping to his feet, puts
out his baby hands and grasps hers, saying:

'* Come, good girl ; come with Ch-one and find more
cockles. Ch-one wants you — come! "

Eagerly, and not without fear of being detained, Ta-
shekah rises to her feet and follows whither the child may
lead.

Ka-kee has no desire to prevent this; indeed, he is best
pleased to have her go, giving him thus the opportunity
of seeing her as she walks away along the beach, strong,
erect, and free-footed.

" By the ravens! it's a piece of good luck for me. In a
year or two she will be as fine a woman as any in the
Chilkat country. I must lose no wind that can fill my
sails. Kah-sha leaves after to-morrow's feast. I'll talk
with him before he goe?.." So determines the medicine-
man, rising now to join the crowd already moving toward
the house of Kood-wot for the last night of mourning pre-
ceding the burning of the body.

The house is soon filled, and the business for which the
company has assembled is conducted exactly as it has been
during the three evenings previous.

During these days and nights that have intervened since
Kotch-kul-ah learned her fate as decided by her relatives,

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

she has thought and planned and developed as she never
did before. Scheme after scheme has been dreamed out,
thought over, and rejected as impracticable.

To-night she finds herself almost back at the beginning,
with no further plan than just that of getting away from
this house, from this village, of hiding from the hateful
creature who is to claim her as his wife, and from the
people — his own and hers — who would force her to yield
to him or to death!

Of the two she prefers death, but she wants to live; and
the hope will fly along before all plans — the hope of
some day being happy with Kin-da-shon, though how such
a thing can ever be passes the power of her imagination.
To get away, to securely hide — that is all that she can see
now; and whether or not she can do so much as this must
soon be put to the test.

To-night Kin-da-shon and Kasko, coming in early from
a walk in the meadows, have, all unconsciously, seated
themselves close against the rude partition of Kotch-kul-
ah's closet, somewhat apart from other occupants of the
house, that their low-toned conversation may be uninter-
rupted as long as possible.

Kin-da-shon's voice, musical and low, is at once recog-
nized by Kotch-kul-ah. She has seen him several times
since his arrival, herself unseen, but not before has he
spoken within her hearing, and his tones thrill her in a
way which she could not describe or explain better than
in the words she whispers to her own heart: " His spirit
shakes me! "

His words have been lost in this joyous tumult, but an-
other voice now speaks:

"I can't help it, brother-friend. There has come over
my heart the shadow of the Raven. I wish you and my
father would not go to the south country."

AN ALASKAN STORY.

9«

" If it be the Raven, how will our staying help it, Kasko,
little brother?"

"I know not — only this I know, that I want us to be
together when trouble comes. But I want to tell you now
— we may not be so well together again — a thing that has
made me many thoughts, but until now no words.

" You have heard that my mother in a dream received
the spirit of a great medicine-man who had long before
passed out of his body and never found one wise or good
or beautiful or powerful enough to give the spirit to again,
until my mother. She was good and beautiful, but had
no power. The awful spirit possessed her, and when she
gave me birth her own spirit was not found.

** I grew, they say, as one with two mothers. My hair
was, at the first, as long as a baby's finger and curly as a
medicine-man's. It would never have been cut but for
my father's daring. He would not have me an Icht, and
the spirits are no doubt angry with him. Do you know,
Kin-da-shon — let me whisper, and don't speak it again —
the day we came here my father seemed weak, and before
I got the canoe to bring him across the sands he lay down
on the grass to rest, and his cough hurt him.

" The next day I went back to hunt the charm-stone he
had lost from his pouch. I found it just where he had
been lying when he coughed so hard and turned over — and
something else, O brother! — I found blood! — red blood! —
dried on the grass!

" I must save him, Kin-da-shon. Every one has said
that the Icht whose spirit was given to me was much
greater than any medicine-man living now. If these can
save^ then much more may / — if I give myself to the spirit
power.

"Always I have felt a large life in me — a strength that
no other boy seemed to feel. My father told me I felt so

KIN-DA ■ SI I ON' S WIFE:

because I only measured with Tashekah — she being sweet
and gentle. But for some moons now I have felt other
things, and have tried to think them out, without father
or Tashekah or anybody.

"Everything .1 all wrong; you see that everywhere. I
gee it, too. I don't understand, and I can't at all see
what I can do to make anything right; but, you 'ee, if
any change can ever be made, it is only a medicine-priest
of terrible power with the demons who can do it. If that
is the only hope of our people, and if such a power is
mine, how can I hide it? It will destroy me and all I
love."

" Wi'li you, Kasko — vf'iU you be a medicine-man?" Kin-
da-shon asks anxiously.

" I must — I ffiust be one. My father needs me ; Ta-
shekah will need me; even you may need me, and every-
where my people are needing me. I feel many things
that I cannot speak, my older brother " — burying his face
to choke a sob, then going bravely on: "It is not the
medicine-men that we /lave who can make great changes
for this people. They love their houses; they have wives
and children. They love many blankets; they rob the
poor and sick. You and I have both seen them left to
die in the cold while the Icht has stuffed his treasure-
house with their blankets."

"That I'm sure you could never do, Kasko, my tender
heart! You are swift and brave and strong as the eagle,
and tender as a mother seal ! "

" It must be because my Icht is greater than theirs.
I'm glad I began to speak to you, Kin-da-shon; it is help-
ing me to see through the fog. I begin to understand
better what I must do — and I must not wait for a fuller
moon. I will go to the mountains. The lynx, the wolf,
shall be my only friends till I find the power to overturn

AN ALASKAN STORY.

evil. My father must not know this, Kin-da*shon. I ad-
jure you, tell him no word that you have heard of me.
He had hidden from us all that he had been struck by a
spirit of darkness. Yet he is bent with fear and pain —
you see that! Take care of him, Kin-da-shon; help him
when he cannot know it. The journey will be long, but
yon will bring him again to his own house; and I — 1
will leave no hard thing undone to gain power to save
him."

"When will you leave the ^ Mage, Kasko?"

" 1 must see my sister safe in our father's house first.
We can start back at one-, when you have gone. Then
my Icht shall guide me. I can tell you nothing more,
brother mine! "

For the past few moments the conversation has been
carried on in such covered whispers as might not attract the
attention of the people now closely seated all about the
boys. Kotch-kul-ah is their only listener; to her hear-
ing, now doubly acute, their words are clearly distinct.

Their attention now is caught by individuals in the
crowd. Yealh-neddy has taken a place, with his usual
leer.

"When you are an Icht, Kasko, I only hope that power
may be found to take the demon which that evil eye
shows." Kin-da-shon speaks bitterly.

"Yealh-neddy? Yes, I hate him as much as you can.
I pity the girl that has her life bound in his bundle. I
think / would kill myself! "

"She was so pretty, too! — not sweet, like Tashekah.
but bright as the stars on a frosty night; no mud or fog
about her; and she was a friend worth having."

"Could she be willing, do you think, to be given to
such a fellow?"

"No; I could be sure of that. There was no vileness

KIN-DA.SHON' S WIFE:

in her heart to meet his. She will hate him! And I will
not slip, if, with her spirit, she "

Her senses are strained to the uttermost to catch it, but
not another word reaches her. Has he not finished the
sentence ? What does he think she may do ? Does he
wish her to break these bonds, and does his wish go farther
than to have her free ?

At least he has not forgotten her, and he has spoken
good and honest words of the past — the happy past — the
ages ago when they were children.

"Pretty — bright as the stars!" he said. How she
thrills again as she recalls his words. But — "not sweet
like Tashekah," he said that too. What does that mean?
And a jealous pang shoots through the sweetness that has
filled her heart for a moment — a pang that must be argued
down.

He hates Yealh-neddy; and " Kotch-kul-ah is a friend
worth having." " No mud or fog about her; nor vileness;
bright as the stars on a frosty night." Ah, yes; he said all
that, and he did not lie. That was better than being
"sweet like Tashekah." Kin-da-shon meant \.\\dX it was
better; he could not speak all his heart to Kasko!

Eagerly, greedily, the girl gives herself to the influence
of this stimulant. With Kin-da-shon's love she can die
or live insensible to pain. Her perplexity and wearing
anxiety are gone now, as though forever; though what
she can do is still an unanswered question.

The night has worn on, the crying is hushed ; except,
indeed, the widow's — that goes on now, until the crema-
tion has taken place. The little ones and most of the
older people have covered their faces, and, without leav-
ing their seats, sleep heavily.

Suddenly a peculiar, prolonged cry is sounded by the
widow, greeting the early morning, and calling the

AN ALASKAN STORY.

mourners to the performance of the last sad duty to the
dead.

In a united crying the people respond, and the widow's
tribal friends proceed to the place of burning to build the
fire, while her brothers and near friends make the body
ready for removal in l blanket stretcher.

To the corners of this litter ropes are attached, by
means of which it is drawn up through the large smoke-
escape, received on the roof, and lowered from thence to
the waiting carriers on the path, who lead the procession
of friends to the place prepared at the entrance of the
meadows.

Kotch-kul-ah walks near her mother and joins in the
crying. The pyre is reached, and the body is soon placed
in position, well wrapped in blankets. Boxes of food
are also placed on the wood, where they will be consumed
for the use of the spirit.

As the fire is lighted the crying becomes more loud and
the muscular demonstrations of the mourners more vio-
lent, increasing as the sickening odors indicate that the
flames are now devouring the body.

The widow Kah-da-guah has two daughters younger
than Kotch-kul-ah, who were given several years ago to
their mother's sisters for succeeding wives to their respec-
tive husbands. These little girls are among the mourn-
ers, and are now brought near the burning pile that they
may comb their hair and cast the vermin into the fire, so
that henceforth they may be free from such invaders.
Failing to take such precaution, the plague will follow
them all their lives long.

At last the task is completed. Smouldering embers and
whitened bones lie in a low, pathetic heap. A little box
made for the purpose is brought forward to receive the
only visible remains of him who had been chief of the

KIN-DA-SffON'S WIFE:

village Yhin-da-stachy. These are picked out by the
women with exceeding care and are placed in the box,
which is borne now to one of the " dead-houses " back of
the village, and left among the many similar boxes al-
ready there.

This housing is but a temporary one, however. By an-
other summer the sisters and brothers of the departed chief
will have completed a new house as a memorial in their
ancestral village Kutwulhtoo; then will be brought this
box, with many honors — with singing, dancing, and feast-
ing — during which the widow's tribe shall be the guests
and receive pot-latch gifts.

The ashes of the dead disposed of, the mourning is at
an end, and all who have participated in the ceremonies
must now pass through a general cleansing process, the wo-
men and girls going for the purpose to the widow's house,
the men and boys to another. Into each of these houses
is carried a canoe, which is now half filled with water.
When the fires have been started, many stones as large as
a man's fist are brought in and placed in the fire to heat;
when they are sufficiently hot and have been dropped
sizzling into the canoe, the public bath is ready for use;
and every man, woman, and child, beginning with their
head, removes all trace of paint and grief by a thorough
scrubbing of the entire body. The old clothing is also
removed from sight, and each person is enrobed in some-
thing good and new — their best.

The house is set in order and preparations are made by
the tribe of the dead chief for the feast by which the
long fast is to be broken. Many baskets of fish are set
boiling, large boxes of berries in oil are brought out from
the storehouses. With great horn spoons, holding a
quart or more, these berries are dipped out into the various

AN ALASKAN STORY.

totem dishes of the different families, who for this occa-
sion have brought their own.

Each family has a dish, about which they gather with
their large individual spoons. The only exception to this
order is Widow Kah-da-guah herself, who sits apart from
the others and has her right hand so bandaged, in token
of her broken life, as to render it useless, and it must be
so carried for two weeks. During this first two weeks,
also, she must not chew on the right side of her mouth.
Then her hand is released, and for two weeks she shall
not chew on the left side of her mouth. She will then be
free to take her new husband. Among other signs of her
bruised and bereaved heart, soon after the spirit of her
husband Kood-wot had gone her breast was scratched
with a stone, and the stone then bound over it.

The bitter berries and oil are served to al. as a first
course, after their fast, and are followed by the boiled fish
to all but the widow. She is given dried ^•^ and oil as a
second course — as eating boiled fish will cause a widow's
head to loosen and shake from side to side.

The day has grown cloudy and has closed in shadow
before all the people have been fed. There is much bustle
and Gtir made by Yealh-neddy and his friends in bringing
oat the goods he means to give away to-night as his share
in the ceremonies.

There are bales of Hudson Bay blankets and several
bolts of white cotton and prints stacked in the two back
corners of the room.

The dishes and remaining supplies of food are thrust
out of the way on to wide, rude shelves over the doorway
and, at each side of it, over the low anterooms, where in
winter stores of fuel are kept a day or two in advance of
demand, but are now filled with paddles and other belong-
ings of the many guests from other villages.
7

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

With the clearing away of the food a large drum or
tambourine, owned by the medicine-man, Ka-kee, is
brought in and suspended by a rope thrown over one of
the high beams. A man of Yealh-neddy's tribe seats
himself a little back of the fireplace, from which the fire
has been carried out and fresh gravel strewn where it had
burned, in order that the space may be utilized as stand-
ing-room for the distributors of gifts. The drummer's
place is midway between the stacks of goods, and draw-
ing the drum toward himself with one hand, he beats his
tattoo with a single stick.

In a short time every available inch of floor space is oc-
cupied by the curious crowd — the women and girls on one
side of the house, while the men and older boys fill the
other.

The house Sf ems packed, yet others coming later some-
how find an entrance, and children are passed over the
heads of the seated multitude to find places where they
may serve as wedges. Even the partition which had shut
off Kotch-kul-ah's closet has been taken down to increase
the room. Many of the boys have found a sitting on the
great timbers which cross the house, and on the tops of
the anterooms, pushing back, but not out of reach, the
boxes of food ?o hastily stored there, and for which they
frequently during the night show a true boy's affinity.

There is no dancing during this feast, so the work of
distributing the gifts is with the simple accompaniment of
the drum.

Six men take their places, three on each side of the
drummer, but nearer the middle of the room, ready to
receive and tear the goods.

In front of them stands Ka-kee himself, with a long,
slender rod, to one end of which is fastened a hook most
beautifully fashioned as a crane's head. It is of horn,

AN ALASK4N STORY.

exquisitely polished, and with eyes of green shell inlaid,
the hook being formed by the curve of the delicate neck
and the long, slender, partly opened bill. By this the
gifts are caught and conveyed to the eagerly expectant
people.

Women seated by the stacks of goods now begin to take
them out piece by piece. First a bale of blankets is
opened in each corner, and from each simultaneously is
passed one blanket at a time to the men in waiting — two
of vv'hom take it by opposite corners, while the third stands
with a sharp knife and cleaves the selvage enough to tear;
then the two pulling divide the blanket into a number of
long strips. These are placed in a heap at Ka-kee's feet
and are by him passed on the hook to members of the op-
posite tribe.

During the tearing of the blankets the women helpers
have been busy with the prints and muslins, rolls of which
have been undone and lie in loose heaps.

When the first bale of blankets has been disposed of,
the cotton, held and hanging straight by one edge, is
passed hand over hand through the crowd from each corner
to the dividers.

The three men on each side stand now in rows, and the
goods are passed through their hands, without cutting,
until they lie again in great heaps where all can see
their magnificent proportions; they are then rehanded, in
lengths of four or five feet, by the two men, and cut by
the third; then distributed by Ka-kee as the blankets
have been.

After the muslin and calico more of the blankets; and
after the blankets more of the cotton goods, until all are
disposed of.

It would be hard to say whether Yealh-neddy or his
vain widow-bride is the more gratified by this display;

lOO

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE'.

but it is in widely different ways that their gratification
comes.

Kotch-lcul-ah had been obliged to take a part in the per-
formance, though it was no more than to pass through her
hands a portion of her master's wealth. She had known
that this would be required of her as the ratification of the
claim which had been given him. She knew that her es-
cape could not be safely made before this feast was over
and the people were asleep; then many hours might pass
before her absence would be discovered.

As she fulfilled her part in the feast she was an object
of interest to Kasko and Kin-da-shon, who as usual were
seated together. Her pallid beauty and full, dark eyes,
more than usually brilliant to-night, could not but attract
them — and many others also. Yealh-neddy was more than
ever arrogant, and more than once the light from his evil
eyes seemed to smite the girl.

Among the women who were seated against the wall
near Kotch-kul-ah was Kin-d?.-shon's mother, still nursing
her resentment and injured feeling against those whom
she regarded as responsible for Kin-da-shon's misfortune
and her own disappointment in respect to this girl. To-
night, as she saw her stand v/ith dignity, as unconscious
as it was genuine and as modest as it was fearless, the
mother's heart burned with envy — coveting such a wife
for her only son. Each moment the bitterness increased,
until, losing sight of the possible consequences, she de-
termined to at least prevent Kotch-kul-ah from ever liv-
ing with Yealh-neddy; and if such a thing could be com-
passed, by means fair or foul, to secure her even yet to
Kin-da-shon.

As Kotch-kul-ah took her seat, the woman slyly clutched
her skirt, and, without attracting the attention of others,
succeeded in getting the girl seated close by her side —

AN ALASKAN STORY.

lOI

the wall at their backs, the goods at one side, so that a
few words might be occasionally exchanged without being
overheard or remarked upon by those near.

The words of Kin-da-shon's mother, though guarded in
tone, were impetuous and burning, carrying to Kotch-kul-
ah's fluttering heart all the assurance it needed from an
outward souece that she was as longed for as she longed
to go.

Had her courage for an instant faltered, it now received
the stimulus it required More than that, the future,
the"flr//^/- getting away, what then?" — appeared not as
the threatening, ominous cloud which from the first had
shrouded her proposed flight, but it was even made entic-
ing. Succor from Kin-da-shon*s own mother — hiding for
a little time — then love — Kin-da-shon's home — shelter —
peace — that is what it promised her. Yes, if there were
no terror to flee from, that were worth daring death for.
Her heart leaps at the thought.

Yet — and a part of the cloud rises again close before
her — even though a happy future seems to loom clear be-
yond it, the hiding that must be first in the woods and the
rocks — \\Q'^ can she go alone? Owls, goblins, goosh-ta-
kahs, evil spirits of every sort swarming about her and in-
festing every wild and hidden place. If only some one
could go with her she should not be soovercome with fear.
She grows cold even while her pulse is quick with joy.
She must go, but what may she not see ? She could even
go with a witch, she thinks; it would be less horrible than
to be alone. "A witch?" Yes; she has befriended Sha-
hehe a little — would it be any worse to cut her thongs
now and take her along?

But Sha-hehe is past going; even should she survive her
present torture she will require an old woman's herbs and
nursing before she can walk to the beach.

102

ICLV-DA-SI/ON'S WIFE:

Kotch-kul-ah's thoughts have so engrossed her that she
has not noted the progress of the feast. The heap of
goods at her side has disappeared; the dividers are still
busy, but the last bale of blankets lies before them when
she is recalled to present conditions, and notices too that
the wind has arisen. Its mournful soughing is now and
then broken by angry gusts which carry the gravel and
dash it violently against the house, though not a tremor
is felt in the heavy, mortised walls.

It is a wild night for a young and tender girl to go out
alone.

Crash! Horror! what is that? Agust of wind more vio-
lent than its predecessors has dislodged the heavy boards
that have served as a smoke-guide on the roof, scattering
them in different directions. One is dashed through the
great opening, and without a moment's warning has struck
the helpless women and children. Many hands have been
•instinctively thrust out in sudden alarm, but without
power to save. Several of the women are severely bruised,
but the heaviest part of the blow has fallen on the head of
a sleeping child, who for one brief instant opens wide
scared eyes with a sharp cry of —

"Tashekah! Tashekah! " which ends in a convulsion.

"O'ah yeat! ah yeat! Ch-one, my son — my baby!"
comes in anguish from the mother.

It is Sa-allie with her children, and Tashekah is by i.er
side, having been led in by the unyielding Ch-one to a
place by his mother. When the baby had fallen asleep
he had been slipped into Tashekah's lap, while Ch-one
slyly took the place in his mother's arms. The mo*^her,
Tashekah, and the babe have escaped unhurt, while Ch-one
— is he killed? From the convulsion he has passed into
a death-like stupor.

Ka-kee has stood for a moment like one bewildered —

AN ALASKAN STORY.

103

Stunned. The crowd try to get to their feet, one crying
one thing, another something else, amid shrieks and
groans and shouts until the uproar becomes a bedlam.

In the effort to leave the house many are trodden on ;
one babe is dropped, and instantly, ere it can be recov-
ered, the little life is gone.

The door is blocked, within and without, by those
wanting to leave and those who are more anxious to see
what has happened at the other end of the room.

Dazed at the first as others were, Kin-da-shon and
Kasko are soon able to take in the situation and see ll at
nothing can be done toward getting the sufferers out un-
til the crowd at the door is dispersed. With a whispered
word and then a leap, each boy has swung himself upon
one of the long beams of the house, from which, monkey
fashion, they assist each other to reach the smoke-escape
and so get upon the roof.

Kasko, as he creeps over the fastening of the rope to
which the drum is attached, is struck with an idea con-
cerning its use, and seeing that their movements are en-
tirely unnoticed by the crowd below, he severs the rope at
the beam, and drawing up the drum, throws the coiled
rope to Kin-da-shon on the roof, who quickly has it all
beside him, and Kasko follows.

It requires but a few seconds then for Kasko to reach a
point a little back from the house — among the dead-houses
— and begin to beat a doctor's call on the drum; while
Kin-da-shon takes a position in the edge of the crowd, to
stimulate the counter-excitement.

The effect is magical ; the crowd about the doorway
turn and begin to move toward the sound as if charmed.

At the same time a quieting influence is at work within
the house. Kah-sha has arisen, and stands beside the
dazed Ka-kee. "The child has no air down among the

104

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE.-

feet there. You must save him; bring him under the roof
hole," he says.

It is just the spur that was necessary to bring the man
to his senses, of which he had become bereft on this first
stroke of evil to his family, Ka-kee loves his children,
especially this baby boy; and it has been a boast which
strengthened his power among the people, that his own
family had so long escaped plague, accident, and death
through his wonderful charms and supernatural influence
over the spirits of evil. To-night, in a moment's time,
he has been stripped of all feigned strength, and stands as
helpless and confounded in the face of personal trouble
as the weakest man he has ever robbed under the pretence
of giving him aid.

Kah-sha's words arouse him, and instantly, with a
piercing shriek, he leaps above the heads of the people;
at which the excited mass, startled, surges back and a
hush falls upon all.

In a moment more the unconscious child is in his
father's arms and is placed in the freer air.

" Clear me room," cries the man. " I'll find this devil,
be he in earth or air! " And drawing off his upper gar-
ment over his head, he takes from a curious, bead-wrought
bag, worn over his breast, a rattle — the insignia of his
power!

With even more frantic and horrible gyrations than
those he had used over the dying chief, but occupying
much less time, his incantation is ended and the swoon —
collapse — has succeeded. Where all has been tempest
and uproar the silence of the dead now reigns, but it is a
silence tense with expectancy.

The spirit of the sorcerer returns:. Amid the shiverings
of his body the voice comes in those far-away, sepulchral
tones which always inspire the people with awe and terror.

■

AN ALASKAN STORY.

lO:

"I have found the demon — there!" And springing to
his feet, his long, bony finger is thrust out toward a mid-
dle-aged woman near the door. His body bends rigidly
toward her; his eyes seem to cauterize her every nerve of
motion; a deathly pallor overspreads her face; her eyes
are distended in horror; but she neither moves nor speaks.

"Take her!" he cries. "That demon will not burn —
only drowning can destroy her power."

It is not now a difficult matter to make way through the
crowd. Strong men have seized the woman and drag her
out of the doorway.

The tide is far out. A heavy stake is soon driven se-
curely into the hard beach, a little more than half-way
out, where the returning tide, wave by wave, will rise far
above the head of the victim. The unfortunate witch
has been found harboring the evil spirit that caused
the disaster. And here she is lashed to her stake as Sha-
hehe was to hers.

Having made the witch thus secure to her fate, the
slow, sure coming of which will prove her torture, the ex-
citement of the outsiders abates to such an extent that,
weary as all the feasters are, they gladly seek refuge from
the storm within the sheltering homes of the village.

As one dead still lies little Ch-ouc, save that now and
then a short sigh escapes his white lips. Grimly his
father sits watching the child, while the mother, sobbing,
crouches over the precious body. Now she puts back his
damp hair and covers his brow with kisses, calling over
all the pet names she ever gave him.

Tashekah in tender sympathy drops silent tears over
the sleeping babe in her lap, and dozes from utter exhaus-
tion.

Wise and kindly Kah-sha remains, and a few other
friends; while the multitude have gone to their homes or

io6

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

rolled themselves up in their blankets here. Already
the air is resonant with the signs of heavy sleep.

The little horn dishes of tallow with their twisted wicks
have long ago burned out, but Kah-sha has found material
to replenish one, and it burns near the sorrowing group.

"I would make his blood run, Ka-kee," Kah-sha sayt-,
while fingering gently but intelligently the child's head.
"That was a heavy blow. The head bone pushes in.
The blood is thick and will spoil in there — better set it
moving."

^^ See^ Kah-sha," Ka-kee answers in an unusual voice,
extending his weak and trembling hand. '^ Is that ready
to do such work? If the wind falls before morning he
will live."

*'/ can do it," says Kah-sha, not noticing the last re-
mark. " See my hand! " And as he speaks he holds out
his firm and well-shaped hand, with a small, shai knife
in its grasp.

"Do it, then, if you like," groans the father; and with
a skilful turn of the instrument the deed is done.

A little gentle friction over the surface, a chafing of
the hands and feet, and, drop by drop, the slow blood be-
gins to flow from the newly opened wound. A little
more, and a small stream of the bright fluid is discharged.
Circulation is further stimulated, and wet cloths are bound
about the child's head.

His breathing grows more natural, and the color be-
gins to return to the lips. Sleep overpowers the weary
watchers, heavy with sorrow.

The tallow lamp burns out.

The village sleeps.

The tide is running in; slowly, surely it creeps up;
inch by inch the witch feels it measure her height —
doubled and bent back and tied down — ah! there are

Aisr ALASKAN STORY.

107

not many inches to measure; but it seems to take forever
and forever'

The certainty and slowness are terrible. She begins to
wish that a huge wave would sweep in and end it all; but
no; the wind has fallen, a dead calm has settled on the
black sea and on the earth. Only the sky above, which
her poor face is forced so pitifully to meet, shows any
life.

A streak of color begins to appear over the mountain —
morning is near.

Morning? " No! " she cries, with another spasm of ter-
ror and pain; "no morning evermore to me. Night and
demons are where I am going! "

And the tide creeps up.

The village sleeps.

But Kotch-kul-ah has not slept. Covering her head
with her blanket, she had settled herself beside her mother
soon after the witch's removal from the house. Appear-
ing to sleep, she yet kept watch of all that afterward
transpired.

She knew by the sounds outside just where the witch
was placed. She saw the work of Kah-sha for the child,
and was gratified at its result. Eagerly she watched to
see where he put the knife when its work was done; and
then, though with an almost uncontrollable restlessness,
she kept her position until the last of the group had given
satisfactory evidence of being soundly asleep.

Noiselessly and hastily she then made her preparations.
Some food in a basket, which would also do for cooking
in; several blankets from the undistributed bale; the pre-
cious knife and a pair of canoe paddles — these were quickly
put together and carried a little distance down the beach.

The tide is higher than she had thought. What if she
should be too late?

io8

KIN.DA.SHON'S WIFE:

Dropping everything save the knife, she runs at full
speed toward the point where she feels sure the witch has
been tied. She has dipped her own feet in the strongly
rising waters without having met what she seeks.

"Speak to me," softly but distinctly cries the girl. "I
come a friend. I will save you! "

A gurgling moan, almost lost in the low murmur of
the tide-waves, is her only answer.

It is enough for Kotch-kul-ah's quick sense. She is at
the side of the drowning woman, who is already covered
to the throat. A moment more, and it would have been
too late to save her.

But in less t'.ana moment Kotch-kul-ah has thrust down
through the waters, and the thongs are cut, the bonds are
broken. She helps the woman to her feet, and seeing her
ready to fall again, the girl clasps her arms about her and
whispers words of inspiration and hope.

" I am the daughter of Kood-wot. Yealh-neddy claims
me for his v«?ife. I am ready to die first. I have saved
you; you can help me. Come, let us go; there is no
time to lose. They will sleep long; but we must goat
once. Where is a small canoe?"

With passionate energy the woman throws her strong
arms about the slight, girlish form and bears her out of
the water in which they have been standing, saying as she
does so, in quick gasps: "My dear — my chief! I am
your slave! My life is yours; no husband holds me; no
children are mine. Give me a new name; I am yours.
Usha was my husband; he was better than I. He went
with your father, our master. Give me Usha's name!
Let me go with you! I will bring the canoe — stand you
still! " and she places her on the grass.

"Let me get the paddles, then, Usha-shawet; we must
be in haste," and they move up toward the village, the

AN ALASKAN STORY.

109

woman somewhat stiffly, but with a tread that shows en-
during strength.

Gathering up her large bundle, Kotch-kul-ah follows to
the canoe, which has been discovered in the long grass;
wishing to save the noise of dragging the boat over the
gravel, she deposits in it all that she has brought with
her, and takes up one end while Usha carries the other.
Between them it is soon launched.

" Get in, Usha, and take the paddle. I can spring in
when it is off the sands."

The wind has fallen, the tide is full, and the village
still sleeps.

They are off now — two human lives on a wide, dark
sea; this frail chip their only trust!

Without home, without God! Ah! but not even a
sparrow falls without your Father!

KJN.DA'SHON' S WIFE:

CHAPTER X.

PURPOSES NOT CROSSED.

/"^LEAR and beautiful dawns the morning, but the vil-
^^ 'age of Yhin-da-stachy sleeps long. The tide has
well run out again before any one of those who were to
have started this morning for Fort Simpson has awakened;
and when at last they do arouse, it is with a heaviness
of sense that urges no haste. There is a rubbing of
eyes, a stretching of limbs, a turning over on the back,
a drawing up of the knees, a folding of the arms under
the head, and a delicious sense of rest with thne. for rest.

The patient children have If g ago finished their sleep,
and taking what they wanted of the ever-ready dried sal-
mon, have without ado betaken themselves to the field,
wild with joy over the ripening of the first berries.

It is long before Kotch-kul-ah's absence is even noticed,
and when it does become known there is only a lazy con-
clusion that she has gone roaming with the children, and
no further thought is given her.

Ch-one has aroused once or twice, speaking a word or
two in an intelligible way, taking water in little, slow
sips, then dropping off again into what seems almost too
still a thing for sleep.

His mother has carried him home in her own arms,
leaving Tashekah to follow with the baby.

Once more Ch-one has aroused with his new friend's
name on his lips and an appeal in his dull eyes. Tashe-
kah leaves the baby asleep, swinging in his leather ham-

AN ALASKAN STORY.

Ill

mock; and as she bends over the little sufferer and takes
his hand in her own a look of pleased satisfaction comes
into his face, and the little hand flutters feebly; then the
tired eyes half-close again, and he seems to know nothing
more — only, when Tashekah, over-weary, withdraws her
hand to move about, the little one shows signs of un-
rest.

"Leave him not, Tastiekah!" the mother, Sa-allie,
pleads, thinking of more than the present; "he loves you,
and you give him rest."

"I love the child-man, too," Tashekah answers; "but
my father goes south to-day, you know, and my brother
will take me to my grandmother to-morrow."

"ThenCh-one must die! See how he retts when you
are near him, and the quiet heals his hurt. If you go
away, his spirit and his blood will make fire enough to
take his life. You do not want him to die?"

"Oh, no, no! He loves me. He must not die! Surely
the great medicine-spirit will help him. I will do what I
can ; but my father may want me to go and my brother
may not like to have me stay."

"We will see to that. Your father is wise and good;
he will know what is best, and he will not deny us this
help," is Sa-allie's confident reply.

Ka-kee lies curled up on the floor near his little son,
still anxious, still depressed. He has heard the conversa-
tion between Tashekah and his wife, and resolves to see
Kah-sha at once, though his own heart seems to have died.
He cares for nothing now; but Ch-one needs the girl;
she must stay for his sake.

So when he finds Kah-sha and asks that Tashekah be
allowed to remain with them, it is with a sincerity of
pleading for the sick child that gains from Kah-sha the
consent which otherwise could not have been obtained,

112

KIN-DA.SIWN'S WIFE:

and which now makes Tashekah a member of Ka-kee's
household for an indefinite time.

Not a moment is left the child for a farewell talk with
her father, between watching Ch-one and the excitement
arising from the discovery of the witch's disappearance.
For when the tide had bared the place of her stake to re-
veal, not the stark body of the miserable witch, but the
idle, water-curled thongs washed about the stake, almost
a panic seized the villagers, and increased manifold the
dark forebodings of Ka-kee regarding his son. " Ch-one
would die," he thought; "the power of the witch had
been beyond theii reckoning; she had, by the might of her
demon, broken her bonds and become invisible; no doubt
she had taken wings and had hovered over them, brooding
evil while they slept! "

Not one of all the village, save the poor witch Sha-
hehe, connected Kotch-kul-ah's absence with that of the
slave woman. The children were off for all day, pnd un-
til they returned it would not be known that neither Kotch-
kul-ah nor the canoe was with them. Excitement thus
centred in the disappearance of the witch.

As the day advances and the wind proves favorable,
the men become anxious to get on their way by the
afternoon tide; but before it can be thought safe to
launch a boat great fires must be made on the beach, and
around them the people must dance with incantations,
and cast into the devouring flames offerings of various
kinds.

This done, all is hurry and rush to get on the tide at its
flood. The packs of furs and bundles of dried salmon,
blankets, and extra clothing of native-dressed leather are
stowed in the bottom of the large canoe. Twelve fine
specimens of the Chilkat tribe take their places, with
paddles in hand, ready for their leader's signal, while the

AN ALASKAN STORY,

boat is held from the willing waves by the arms of stal>
wart friends, who, at the signal, will push her off.

The leader — and in this case he is also helmsman — is
Kah-sha, who stands erect in his place, with a keen eye
surveying the preparations and directing a little rear-
rangement of hastily placed baggage, making it more
compact and at the same time trimming the little craft
more perfectly. Two square sheets and the poles for their
support are also placed where their raising will be the
work of a moment when they pass out of the shelter of the
bay into the breeze which is sweeping down the channel.

These last arrangements are all but completed, when
Kah-sha's attention is suddenly arrested by the appear-
ance of Yealh-neddy, knife in hand, running toward the
boat from the direction of Sha-hehe's place of torture.
The knife is replaced in its sheath at his belt as he runs,
and snatching a bundle from his mother, who has stood
silently awaiting him, he dashes into the water, tosses
his luggage into the canoe, and with a light spring takes
a place near Kah-sha himself. The whole thing has oc-
curred in a moment, and not one of the traders but is
taken by surprise.

"I have cut the thongs from Sha-hehe," he calls out
loudly, above the noise of the water and the expressions
of astonishment. " Cover her and heal her, old woman,
against the time I come again. I shall want her then."

Even before the last words are uttered the signal has
been given and the boat is off, the rhythmic paddles mov-
ing as by perfect mechanism to the measure of their boat-
song.

Very soon the sails are hoisted and are caught by the

fresh north wind, bearing the little bark rapidly from

the sight of those on the shore, who sing them farewell

and good fortune.
8

114

A'lN-.DA-SrrON'S WIFE:

Among those who watch the departure is Tashekah,
with a sick sinking of heart and such a feeling of desolate-
ness and heart-hunger as she never before has known.

She cannot breathe among the people; her heart is
dragging her down. She must be alone; and with a
slow, heavy step which gradually quickens into a run,
she never stops until she has found a hiding-place in the
meadow grass for her passion of sobs and tears.

Kasko's attention has been so engaged with the events
attending the sailing of the party that he has not noticed
Tashekah. When the little sail is lost beyond the hill-
projecting shore he turns about, to see women carrying
the almost lifeless body of Sha-hehe from the place where
she had sunk helplessly down when the thongs were cut
by Yealh-neddy. She is now borne to one of the little
booth huts used by the women during the seasons of their
banishment from the household, and there, on a bed of
spruce boughs, covered with an old blanket, the girl witch
is laid, with just sense enough remaining to make her
think she has reached the beautiful island, without a
wonder as to how a witch could get there.

This unreasoning rest and peace is increased when the
old herb-woman brings her decoctions and bruised leaves,
bathing and poulticing the poor, tortured body, and using
over her soft passes of the hand.

There are days of horrid slavery to follow. There are
hours of acute physical pain and weeks of suffering to in-
tervene; but just now there is blessed rest without a pang
of body or mind for Sha-hehe; though the sight of her
thong-cut, bruised, and stabbed body, with the hollow
cheeks and discolored, sunken eyes, the protruding tongue,
black and swollen, causes a shudder to run through those
who look on.

Shans-ga-gate and his wife have no desire to stay after

AN ALASKAN STORY.

they have seen Kin-da-shon safely off, and their prepara-
tions are made to start immediately on the turn of the tide,
after the sailing of the trading party, though the after-
noon shadows are lengthening and the wind is in their
teeth.

But the shallows are to be poled, whichever way the
wind blows, and one night must be spent in camp at the
best; so, with but little ceremony, they turn their faces
from the village and laboriously paddle out of sight, un-
sung and unregretted, though Kasko has stood by to kindly
see them off, doing friendly little acts toward stowing
their belongings into the boat, with a thought of Kin-da-
shon doing for his father.

When they are gone, something akin to Tashekah's
feeling of loneliness steals over the boy — a yearning that
leads him to seek the only one dear to him in all this
village: the little sister who has all these years been to
him as another self, and whom he must soon part with,
perhaps forever.

"I will not tell her to-night," he resolves; "no doubt
her heart is crying for our father. I will comfort her
first. To-morrow morning early we shall start for our own
village, and after that^ what must be known she shall
hear."

Walking as he thought, Kasko has hardly noticed
whither his steps have been taking him — and indeed he
knows nothing of where his sister may be.

*' Kasko," calls a voice from the door of a house he has
just passed, "where is your sister?"

" I would ask the same of you, friend Ka-kee," the boy
replies. " Is she not in your house ? "

" She has not been seen since your father left. Ch-one
has spoken her name again, and I have come out to seek her.
You know, I suppose, that your father gave her to me ? "

ii6

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

"What is that you say?" Kasko asks, half-dazed.
"What is that you say?"

"You know I have meant for a long time to take an-
other wife. I had the heart yesterday to ask your father
for Tashekah, but Ch-one's hurt killed it last night, so that
it was just before he left to-day that I spoke to him. He
said you should leave her here with us; we can talk about
the blankets when he comes back."

" Do you mean to say that my father gave you Tashekah
for a wife?" fiercely questions the boy, yet with a forcing
down of vehemence which his genuine filial love and re-
spect felt instinctively would reflect on his father.

"And what is to say against that? Could you find her
a more honorable place?" the medicine-man asks, with
some pique.

" And my sister is ^.ot to go with me to our own place
to-morrow ? "

"She wants to stay — Ch-one wants her. Tell your
grandmother to come and stay a half-moon, and let us talk
it over. I will give as much as any who may want Ta-
shekah. She is a good girl — but where can she be ? I
came to find her."

"/will find her," says Kasko coldly,

"Yes; that is good; and bring her to the child — he
needs her."

They are near the end of the village, and as Ka-kee
turns back toward his own house Kasko strides blindly
onward.

It is as though he had been given a blow. " His little
sister a wife — and Ka-kee' s wife ! "

As he walks his rage spends itself, and thoughts more
sober follow. " Is it not just as well ? He was about to
leave her alone with their grandmother. Would she not
be more happy here with the children who love her and

AS' ALASKAN STORY.

117

with the pleasant-faced older wife? Would it not be bet-
ter really that she should have what care and freedom this
home might give her, than to be shut away alone for so
long a time as he knew their grandmother would insist on
keeping her ? and then given, it might be, to — yes, it might
be to Yealh-neddy himself," and Kasko shudders invol-
untarily.

Little as he likes the medicine-man, he acknowledges
that Tashekah's fate might be vastly worse. As he reaches
this state of mind, his eyes downward cast as he walks,
he sees in the path at his feet a large scarlet-and-black
handkerchief, such as the women delight in as headgear;
and picking it up, he recognizes it as one of his father's
gifts to Tashekah.

Tashekah must have been here, tnen! His trained eye
soon discovers other signs of a presence near, and in a
moment he finds her curled up in the grass, which bends
caressingly over her, looking up at him, smiling.

Her eyes are red and swollen, and the poor little mouth
quivers piteously as Kasko, sitting down beside her, asks:

** Whence comes rain this summer day ? "

Again the floods are loosed; and burying her face in the
cool, sweet grass, she sobs out her heart-hunger and its
forebodings:

"Our father — Kasko — do you think he will come
again?"

"Yes — yes; he will come — three moons, it may be, will
first grow and die; but he will come, and many pretty
things will he bring you, sister."

" I care not for the things. Yes, I will care for them, if
he brings them; but I want him not to go! "

" Tashekah, you are not a little child any more; you are
nearly a woman now, and you can think strong thoughts.
Tears are good, but not to live on; and you must live. I

KIN.DA.SIION'S WIFE:

have something on my heart to tell you, Tashekah; but
maybe you are too weak to hear."

"No! no! See! I am strong now! Is it about you,
Kasko, or our father? Have you found trouble?"

Little by little, guided by his love, he leads her to a
knowledge of his earnest purpose to seek power for the re-
covery of their father and the blessing of their people.

Tashekah is enthused, and with as strong a heart as
his own, deliberately sets her brother apart to this great
thing. Sets him apart! — yes, even though it leaves her
apart — as alone as he — it seems to the child as she crushes
down the uprising sob.

"And when shall you go, Kasko? Soon — when you
have taken me to grannie?"

"Little sister, yes; and you will be more sad with
grannie alone. It were better you should wait for father
here."

"And not go with j'^ou while I can?" the girl's heart
cries.

"Our father spoke of your staying here; he thought
best you should. Ch-one wants you, Tashekah," Kasko
says, unable to bring himself to say more.

"Then I will stay; my heart shall be strong to do it;
and I have been too long away from poor little Ch-one
now. Let us go back, Kasko," springing to her feet as
she speaks, struggling to bury thought in action.

They have but reached the house of Ka-kee, finding the
little sufferer unconscious still, but moaning, and the
cheeks flushed and the eyelids quivering, when the anx-
ious mother leaves him to the care of Tashekah and
goes out to seek her eldest, Kunz, who has been gone all
day, and since the disappearance of the witch the mother
heart has been full of unrest about him.

She has not far to go before she hears the laughter

AN ALASh'AN STORY.

and merry talk of the entire party coming from the
woods.

Her fears set at rest, Sa-allie turns and walks on with
them for some distance before it occurs to her that if
Kotch-kul-ah had gone with the children the returning
party is not complete. Addressing Kunz, she asks;

"Who is coming in the canoe?"

*' Nobody — what canoe ? "

"The old canoe you children always take when you go
like this," the mother answers.

"We didn't take any canoe — we couldn't find it any-
where this morning; the witches must have got it, don't
you s'pose, mother?"

"You didn't take the canoe? You couldn't find it?
Where, then, is Kotch-kul-ah?" demands Sa-allie.

"Kotch-kul-ah!" exclaim the children in tones of as-
tonishment and awe, struck by the look of consternation
in Sa-allie's face. "Kotch-kul-ah! She hasn't been with
us at all."

In a trice the news has travelled from end to end of the
village. The people come out from their houses; and
whether standing or hurrying hither and thither, the one
and all-absorbing theme is the disappearance of Kotch-
kul-ah, and the disappearance of the witch, and the disap-
pearance of the old canoe.

"Could it be " But who can voice the many solu-
tions of the mystery which their superstitions suggest?

Not many hours have passed before it is asserted and
believed tfhat during the night the witch was seen to rise
up out of the water and fly over to the dead-houses, from
which she presently emerged, hovered over the house of
the dead chief's widow, and, by demoniacal power,
brought to her arms from the room below the helpless
Kotch-kul-ah, whereupon she caused the canoe to rise,

I20

KIN.DA.SHON'S WIFE:

pass under, and convey them as on wings over the dark
waters, where they eventually disappeared, as a raven, to
the opposite distant shore.

Nothing is done toward sending out parties in search
until next morning. Then the country between the vil-
lages is pretty thoroughly scoured, and the villages them-
selves soon set agog by the new excitement.

Kasko thus finds himself in t'-«e company of the search
party going to Chilkoot. Having crossed the portage,
the party divides, one half going by land, the other by
water — the former making an examination of every dead-
house on the route. To insure their ownsafety they carry
a stout rope of sinew, which is to be made fast about the
waist of the man who ventures in to examine the boxes of
bones and ashes, the other end being held with a strong
grasp by the remainder of the party, who stand ready to
drag him back if any haunting spirit should prove too
powerful for him.

Those who go by water, with the same precaution visit
the caves along the shore where the unburned bodies of
medicine-men have been laid from time to time through
many generations. As these are places peculiarly attrac-
tive to spirits of many kinds, every one who is obliged to
approach or jx-'ss them resorts to means which, it is hoped,
will divert the attention of such demons as are disposed
to attack the int'-iders, and appease their anger also.

So as the canoe glides near the ^acred and unholy
places, eagle's down is blown about through the air on
every side by the men, chanting at the same time strange
words of invocation. As they proceed bits of tobacco and
other delicacies are tossed into the water.

They visit, too, the picture rocks on the right of the
Chilkoot channel, where, among the many weird shapes,
are two of more than ordinary influence, it is believed.

■k
o

AN ALASKAN STORY,

131

One is a medicine-man and the other a woman held by
enchantment and turned to stone.

The place is approached with the utmost caution and
an awe which at times amounts to terror. Offerings and
invocations are made before these shapes as to evil gods.

Kasko has for the first time in his life come face to face
with these things, and his brave young spirit, though ter-
rified, rejoices at the opportunity of thus coming, before
he had expected, into contact with so much connected
with the supernatural world. It is as though his under-
taking had been blessed — yet who is there to bless it?

Both parties reach Chilkoot, as all the other parties on
this errand reach their destinations, without a single dis-
covery as to the disturbance of boxes or bodies or as to
the whereabouts of the missing from Yhin-da-stachy.
After their return to that place, reporting the ill-success
of their labors, there is much excitement; but gradually
other happenings place this event in the background, and
life goes on much the same as before.

In the mean time Kasko, after rehearsing to his grannie
all the occurrences of Yhin-da-stachy, including the de-
parture of his father's party for the south, the detention
of Tashekah, and this later matter of interest, unfolds to
her his own determination to be a medicine-man, carefully
concealing from her, however, the discovery he has made
in regard to his father's state of health.

Her approval is warm enough to meet his expectations.

"You are right, Kasko," she says; "and, what's more,
another fast has been set for this very moon — the solemn
fast to see if the spirit of the great medicine-priest who
left this village many years ago will stoop to enter any
flesh again. The fast begins to-night."

" How many times have the people tried these fasts and
made themselves ready ♦^•^ »-tceive him, grannie?"

122

KIX.DA.SHON' S WIFE:

"I cannot tell. Every year since before you were
born."

" And no one has ever yet got the spirit ? "

" Do you forget what I have often told you — that your
mother got more than she could keep her owa life with ?
She gave her own for that medicine-spirit in you, boy, yet
you have kept it sleeping all these years."

"Yes, yes, grannie; I believe it. I have/?// the spirit^
but, oh! I have no poiver ! If I could find ///«/ I would
give my life for it."

" And how are you to find it? By shooting the eagle
and the bear? By lying in wait for the halibut or the
^eal ? By running the country over with Tashekah for
lost birds' feathers and rabbits' tails?" she asks with
q'ierulous reproach.

** How ftf« I get it, grannie?" Kasko asks, with the
meekness of true desire; then he adds: "These things
which you despise may have helped me to want to know."

" How to get it is not what you have been long wanting
to know. With all the fasts since you came into the
world, not once has any one got a true sign of that power ;
yet yott could never i^e persuaded to give yourself to the
trial. Can you do it now? It may be nine or ten days
without eating or drinking before you are able to get it,
but I am just as ceitain that it will come to you, and to
no one else, as I am that our people are dying with none
to help. Will you do it, Kasko? Will you give your ///^
— if it has to come to that — to get that power? Will you
doit?"

"I will do it,'' the boy answers, with white, set lips.

"Good: This very night the feast begins in the house
of Chief Kush-kwa. Go to the salt water; make yourself
ready; drink of it, and empty your stomach with a
feather; drink again; purge yourself ; cleanse your outer

J.V ALASKAN STORY.

123

body .'liso, and take your place in the house of fasting and
wait without speech."

"Wh.1t then, grannie — if it comes?"

"If it comes you will know y^\vz.\. then, and my words
will be as wind. But he lived, through many a winter's
snows and summer's rains and sun, in the rocks of the
mountains among the wild beasts, whose living flesh he
tore and ate while it quivered, drinking their warm blood
also to make his strength more fierce to battle with all
spirits. But it is time you were off, boy; go to the near-
est salt water and do as I bid you; then come again by
the way of the dead-houses — and speak to no one,"

Without a word Kosko rises to his feet and slowly
crosses the room to his own particular corner. His little
box of boyish trea:"res is looked over, closed, and set
away; his bow is unstrung and hung with his quiver of
arrows out of common reach — it is the boy's farewell to
himself. Then, taking a clean cotton shirt, he turns and
leaves the house. Following the narrow footpath south
for a half-mile, he reaches the sal', water of the inlet,
where he faithfully accomplishes all that grannie has di-
rected him to do.

It is growing dusk as he re-enters the village by way
of the dead-houses. The boy has eaten nothing since the
early start from Yhin-da-stachy, and the day has been one
of peculiar excitement and strain to him. As he passes
through theshadowsof these hauntsof evil, it is with such
nerve sensations as he has never before experienced in all
his healthy boyhood-, and it Is with a mixture of joy and
awe that he acknowledges these sensations to himself,
feeling alive as never before to mystic influences.

It is thus that he enters the great house into which have
gathered not only the medicine-men of this village, but
others from Klok-won in this way signify their willing-

124

KIN.DA-SHON' S WIFE:

ness to increase their reputation, if it should so be that
the greater medicine-spirit of old should on such an occa-
sion as this single out one to receive his mighty power.
Several other boys also have presented themselves as can-
didates for the profession, though Kasko is the only one
who has made any preparation for the ordeal.

The house is in its weirdest light — just light enough to
see the darkness by. The tones of the priests, or medi-
cine-men, are all sepulchral, and as horrid r'tes and fear-
ful, expectant silences follow each other, Kasko's sensa-
tions lose none of their force.

It is not, however, until the night of the h .,ti. uay of
almost sleepless fasting and invocatic.i, with the forced
concentration of every faculty on this one desire, that,
in Kasko, the last fibre of resistance is overcome, and
with a shriek which seems to proceed from the caverns of
an under- world the boy, as he believes, is taken posses-
sion of by the mighty spirit. By a power uncontrollable
the lithe young body is thrown about the great room, is
doubled and twisted and knotted in a thousand contor-
tions, like a fowl deprived of its head. It is thumped
against t'le floor and again flung high enough to touch the
beams — backward and forward, into every corner of l! -
house, no one daring to lay a hand on him, but keepi. ^
as far as possible out of the way.

No one questions the genuineness of this gift; such
demonstrations are not seen with the making of every
doctor. The old men have imitated it to the best of their
nbility, but this is plainly not of their kind. The boys
have slipped out and given the word t il'o villagers,
who, awe-struck, nov/ crowd about the door. Among tl n
is grannie, who, seeing the dream of her life reali/<.'J
rejoices.

At length the body of the boy, with still more violent

AN ALASKAN STORY.

\2<

aciion, strikes a beam and falls, writhing and foaming at
the mouth, working in convulsions horrible to see; and, at
la=«^^, yielding to a still rigidity more terrible to the be-
holder than the paroxysms which have preceded it. But
as morning steals into the little valley village the convul-
sions return with the foaming at mouth. The eyes are
wide open, with a glittering expression never before seen
in the clear, steady eyes of Kasko. He tears his scant
clothing from off him and flings it afar. He jumps to
his feet, still with uncontrollable impulse, and springing
through the door, dashes down the village street, men and
dogs alike fleeing from his path. One poor unfortunate
dog, bewildered, takes the path straight before the pos-
sessed, whose speed is that of the wind. The dog is over-
taken, seized upon, and in an instant his throat is torn
open by the teeth of the bloodthirsty demoniac. After
satisfying his craving, the yourg Icht tosses aside the
carcass, turns, dashes back through the village as he
came; on into the jungle west of the lake he pi nges, and
from it he ascends to the mountains lying between Chil-
koot and the village Klok-won, no one daring to follow.

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

CHAPTER XI.

A DAYS OUTING

)

HE village of Kutwulhtoo has not been all these

lays without a sensation of its own. No sooner
hau e news penetrated to the girls' prison, and they
became aware that a large number of the houE-^hold
would go to Yhin-da-stachy to mourn the death of Chief
Kood-wot, than their long-cherished plan for a taste of
life and liberty matured, and they at once set about its
fulfilment.

With their fingers and one horn spoon which had been
left them, Kalhga and Shawet-honga made rapid inroads
on their prison walls, their almost noiseless work going
on unnoticed by those who wept and made ready for the
jouiney in the main house.

So it happened that when the canoes had dropped down
the stream one after another, naught remained between
the girls and freedom save a crust of root-grown turf, the
breaking of which they only deferred in order to make
their exit under the most favorable circumstances.

So much done, they returned to the room next that of
the family, where they crouched down and listened.

The sire was crooning to himself some mournful mel-
ody; some one was moving about the apartment, and pres-
ently, in his shrill, piping voice, the old man asked:

"Where are you going, Gu-nedt?"

"Where should I be going, sire, when the food is K w,
and no one to look after it but me?"

"Have we nothing to eat?"

h
e
c

AN ALASKAN STORY.

"Yes, plenty to eat — for to-day; but the to-morrows
have mouths wide open, and I must find beast or bird,
else we live on fish. There's no telling when Kun-ul-koo
comes nor what he brings. He goes as the wind goes —
and takes much or nothing as it falls."

"Beast or bird! " whined the old man, not noticing the
lower-spoken remarks of the slave. " Beast or bird — and
eggs. I v/ant eggs, Gu-nedt; and bear's flesh. Ah, it
seems long since we tasted of bear. I can smell it on
the fire now. Ah, make haste and bring it."

" It's not likely I shall come again to-night, if I go for
bear. I will st. "

"Did Kun-ul-kou go to the mountains? Will my wife's
brother bring chickens? Where is my wife ? She likes
not to stay with me. Looking after a young husband, I'll
make sure. Have you seen her, Gu-nedt ? "

" I saw her sitting on the river bank just after the
canoes let go; she and other women, with their children,
and they were talking about the chief."

" 'About the chief! ' Just as I thought. He's a pretty
one for women to be talking about — women with hus-
bands of their own, too! Go and tell her to come here.
Yealh-neddy, indeed I I'll teach her a little something.
Bring her here! "

"Oh, I didn't mean Yealh-neddy," said the slave.
"They were talking about the dead chief Kood-wot."

"Talking about the dead chief Kood-wot, were they?
Just like women! A dead stranger is more than their
living own. But that deceives me not, Gu-nedt. it was
the young man they were thinking about. She'd better be
careful. Maybe if she knew I'd kill myself — she will
have a chance to do another kind of thinking when she
has to give her life and all the blankets her friends can
raise to pay for what she's made me do. I'll do it somr

138

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE.

day, see if I don't! Just let her push me a little closer
to the wall. Bring her in, do you hear, Gu-nedt?"

"Ah, sire, I'm just off, and I'll send her in."

"And don't forget the bear's meat — and the eggs, Gu-
nedt!"

The slave was heard to leave the house; and, left to
himself, the old man continued to mutter his complaints.

Many minutes passed; evidently the young wife was
not made frantic by the slave's message. She had left
the old man in physical comfort, and now chose to take a
little herself.

As time passed the girls were assured that the slave
was well out of the way, and as their day's rations had
been given them, they were not likely to be sought and
missed from within the house. So, returning to their
earthworks, they cautiously listened for outer signs of
life.

Nothing could be heard save the somewhat di.stant
shout., of children at play — sounds which the girls had
but little difficulty in locating.

Circumstances so favorable made further delay unneces-
sary, and in a few moments more the girls stood among
the rankly growing ferns and alder bushes, which com-
pletely hid the place of their egress.

For some time they were so blinded by the light of day
that they were obliged to sit quietly down in the thick
green shade and cover their eyes. But, impatient as they
were to be entirely free of the village, they soon wove for
themselves head-dresses of ferns and grass, which an-
swered the double purpose of shading their eyes from the
unaccustomed glare and entirely concealing their features.

"Go you first, Shawet-honga, and get to the playing
children from the river way; by and by I will come as
from the wood."

AN ALASKAN STORY.

129

"Ah! and if we meet any on the way we will keep our
heads covered just as they are, and dance along as if
dressed for that."

" That's a thought good to keep. Now, do go! "

Very softly, without rising to her feet, Shawet-honga
crept back from the house through the bushes. On reach-
ing the outer edge of the thicket she stood up and took
a survey. The path was clear; in the distance she could
see, though not very distinctly, the moving shapes of chil-
dren at play. Bravely, but with a little choking sensa-
tion, she took to the open, at first vlth slow steps and a
careless air, which gradually gave place to a spirited run.

"Here comes Son-da-ooh," cried the first girl who no-
ticed her approach. Then to the new-comer: "I thought
your mother said you couldn't come?"

" Well, don't make so much noise about it if you want
me to stay," quickly responded Shawet-honga, glad to
take advantage of the other's mistake. "Come, let us
have a feast and make new dresses like mine. I know
Where's some good long thorns growing over there, and
pack-loads of ferns and things to fix up in."

" Good! good! " came from one and all.

" Let the Ravens give the feast and we Kog-won-tons
will do the dancing," cried Shawet-hcnga from under her
mask; "when we are dressed no one will know her own
sister! Come, boys and girls, see who will get first to
the rocks over there. Fll make the dresses."

And away went the Kog-won-tons, running and jump-
ing, the girls with spread arms flying, the boys on all
fours as different animals.

To sustain the honor of their tribe the Ravens scoured

the country around for supplies. In low, dense shades

the yan-a-ate was still found tender and crisp, though

somewhat bitter. On sunny exposures the berries were

13©

KIX.DA.SHON' S WIFE:

ripening — great quantities of the low, red bunch-berry,
and salmon-berries both yellow and red, large and lus-
cious; wild parsnips and native rice helped to make up no
mean bill of fare for this mimic feast.

In the mean time Kalhga, also without discovery,
joined the Kog-won-tons, who were rapidly getting into
their ferns and feathers. Her arrival was deftly covered
by Shawet-honga; so that although there had been in-
ward questionings as to the voice which was not like Son-
da-ooh's voice, no one suspected any connection between
the two girls, or guessed who they really were.

At length the feast was ready. A lovely moss-grown
grotto had been chosen as the place of festivity. On
three sides the rocks arose, inclosing it; a little cascade
fell musically and flowed away softly among the mosses;
airy-fairy ferns jutted out here and there from crevices in
the wall, and, far above, fir and hemlock spread their
branches, as if to cover this house of beauty. On the
unprotected side a natural sloping avenue made entrance
easy.

At the farther end of this natural room gathered the
Ravens with their hospitable supplies, and soon was given
the signal announcing the approach of the Kog-won-tons.
They came in single file, with costumes grotesque and
fanciful. As they neared the entrance a peculiarly lively
tune was struck up by the leader of the procession, and
joined in by all the dancers, as one by one they sprang
into the inclosure and took the prominent place in the
performance, then passed on to a more subdued part,
which was kept up as a sort of accompaniment to those
who followed.

When the dance was finished off came the masks in un-
ceremonious haste, revealing the runaway girls to their
unsuspecting playfellows. An unspoken fear fell upon

AN ALASKAN STORY.

131

the younger children, but the girls themselves were for
the time utterly reckless, and their wild spirits were in-
fectious. The whole party soon became more gay than
before.

The refreshments were brought out and served on broad,
shining leaves of the skunk cabbage; and by dint of
pinning up with thorns, similar leaves were made to do
duty for cups, and were filled at the cascade.

Shawet-honga and Kalhga were fully realizing their
hope of a good time— when suddenly, as such things al-
ways come, there fell, though harmlessly, among the
feasters an arrow, tipped in a boy's fantastic fashion
with brilliantly colored tassels of porcupine quills and
wool.

Instantly every eye was raised in the direction whence
it had come, but the lacework of foliage against the clear
blue of the sky, with the momentary passage of a bird be-
yond, was all that the keenest eye could detect.

Presently a handful of fir-cones came showering down,
and then, after a little, a snowy fall of ptarmigan feathers;
and, almost before they had reached the ground, the song
to which the children had danced was heard again just
outside the entrance of their grotto.

Startled as deer, they looked out to see — a more wonder-
fully gotten-up guest than had before appeared, dancing
into their midst. It was a boy about sixteen years old,
dressed in a leather hunting-suit. Drawn tightly over
the left shoulder and around the body was a scarlet
blanket; from his belt hung a number of the beautiful
ptarmigan, somewhat mutilated by the loss of breast feath-
ers and the wings which appeared in the boy's head-dress;
from each shoulder, spread as wings, were his snow-shoes,
and as he danced these were made to flutter as a bird's in
flight.

13a

KIN-DA.SHON'S WIFE:

** Kun-ul-koo! Kun-ul-koo! It is Kun-ul-koo!" was
heard on every side in tones of pleasant surprise from the
children; but consternation had fallen on the runaway
girls — consternation which was matched only by that
which seized their young relative as he recognized them
a moment later.

Short as this interval had been, it was long enough for
their quick wits to give them a position between Kun-ul-
koo and the opening in the wall. Not waiting to hear
more than his muttered "Hl'goss!" (evil omen), their
feet took wings, and down the path they flew toward the
village, which a few hours before they had left so quietly.
All their care now was to reach the covert they had left.

Closely pursued by Kun-ul-koo, who had stopped only
to free himself of his snow-shoe wings, the girls were
filled with terror as they found him gaining on them; yet
the very fleeing itself, the free action of the race gave
them a certain exultation of spirit — an ecstasy of life
which is not experienced by many in the whole course of
an earthly existence.

Impelled by this dual force, and with Kun-ul-koo just
at their heels, they dared not turn into their bush-hidden
refuge; their strength was failing also, and as the house
was reached they barely saved themselves from his hand
by dodging into the open doorway.

The door was quickly closed upon them, and a call was
sent down the village street which soon brought help
enough to capture the poor, tired children. Men and
women came thronging in, with sticks and straps and
angry words, to punish those who had so wickedly chal-
lenged the powers of evil to assail their village. It v.-as
a matter of common concern that each and all do their
utmost to avert catastrophe, and to attend to the vile
offenders was the first thing in order; and from corner to

AN ALASKAN STORY.

133

corner the poor little culprits were driven by the lash and

cudgel.

In the mean time examination had revealed the way of
their escape from prison; and strong hands had soon en-
tirely demolished the outer earth room, closed the little
door between it and the plank-lined room, and banked up
against it the heavy clods which remained of the broken
outer wall, making the one inner closet altogether secure.
Into this they thrust Kalhga alone and made fast the
door.

Taking up from the floor a small trap-door, another
cave was opened; it was about three feet square, and into
this hole Shawet-honga was let down without much ten-
derness. A strong slat door was fastened over the open-
ing, and over it was thrown a squirrel-skin robe, to ex-
clude light and air still more effectually.

Ten days have elapsed since the departure from Klok-
won of Shans-ga-gate's party for the mourning at Yhin-
da-stachy, when their return is announced, and a large
proportion of the village folk turn out to see them and
to hear all that can be told of the doings at the lower

village.

The tongues of Shans-ga-gate and his wife have greatly
loosened since leaving Yhin-da-stachy, and soon both are
volubly entertaining the friends who have filled their
house, while in other houses and on the village street
other audiences are similarly he'' by other members of
the party.

Their daughters are not the least interested of those
who listen to the talk of Shans-ga-gate and Sha-ga-uk.
The younger ones hang closely about their parents, and
whether listening or not, they offer no interruption by
word or deed. Two older daughters— married— sit by
nursing their little ones; and back, with modest and re-

134

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

tiring manner, is Kahs-teen, a girl of fifteen who has but
lately been released from her two-years' confinement ; at-
tracting no attention herself, she is giving the closest
heed to the story of Kotch-kul-ah's disappearance from
Yhin-da-stachy.

A feeling nearly akin to sympathy begins to warm her
heart as she realizes something of the girl's position; and
again and again arises the question as to her own case:
"What will they do with me?"

The answer is nearer than she imagines, for all the vil-
lagers have not yet left the house before Sha-ga-uk turns
to her daughter with :

** It's quite time that_jv;/<! were having a husband, Kahs-
teen. Where shall one be found for you ?"

A quick blush overspreads the girl's pale fa id the

eyes are dropped painfully down; she answers not a word.
With a little laugh the mother proceeds:

"While we were at Yhin-da-stachy, Yah-doos-kah spoke
for her son, Kun-ul-koo. He is a good son, she said, and
they have fifty blankets for him, besides a sea-otter skin,
to give for you — for he wants you, and his mother and
her husband are pleased. Have you nothing to say ? It's
not every girl that is asked that question."

A bright uplifting of the eyes and their instant drop-
ping again is the girl's only reply.

" I told Yah-doos-kah that they might come here to talk
about it after they get home; that will not be many days
from now, and if you have anything to say against it you
had better say it now."

Both grave and gay expressions have played over the
girl's face as her mother spoke, but still there is no word
from her lips.

" What do you say, daughter ? Is your heart for Kun-
ul-koo, or — shall we take an old man for you?"

AN ALASKAN STORY.

I3S

** If the hearts of my mother and my father lake the
boy, he is mine," comes the shy but decided answer.

"We will hear his friends speak, then. I want you to
learn much more of woman's work, Kahs-teen. Your
fingers are small and nimble; there are no better baskets
in the country than yours; and your dyeing is good; yoii
take patterns without worry, and make others as good as
your grandmother's.

" This year you must do more. When the hunters be-
gin to come in next moon with sheep from the mountains
you must comb the wool as you did wlion you were a lit-
tle girl, and then make it into rolls and twist he yarn ;
make the dyes and cob r it, not for your husband's stock-
ings only, but for a dancing-blanket. And you shall put
one in a loom the same day that I do. We can use the
same pattern, and will see whose shall be the finest."

IJright with interest, the girl's eyes are lifted now full
to her mother's face.

"You have one in the frame now, my mother. See! it
is not more than half-done! " And as she speaks Kahs-
teen turns and raises a large sheet, resembling oiled silk,
sewed in strips, made of the dressed intestines of the bear.
The seams are ornamented with little tufts of bright-col-
ored wool.

Protecting the work from smoke and dust, this sheet
hangs from the top of the carved upright frame, over
which the warp of the blanket is stretched; and at the
side of this loom, in a bag of the same material as the
sheet, are the ivory shuttles, with quantities of yellow,
black, blue, and white yarns.

Close at hand is the pattern, cut and painted on a per-
fectly hewn plank, the exact representation of a Chilkat
dancing-blanket, actual size.

" It will be finished before your yarn is ready. And

136

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

now let us see what you have cooking there all this time;
the smell of it makes my teeth sharp."

'* Oh, it's ptarmigan," answers the younger of the mar-
ried daughters, with a sly smile at her sister. "They
lost their wings, poor birds, and fell at Kahs-teen's
feet."

Burning blushes again cover the girl's face, but with
ready art she has dropped her abundant hair over it, and
through the glossy mass her long, slender fingers are :un-
ning in her usual manner of combing it.

During the forenoon of the thir^ day after the return
of Shans-ga-gate and his wife, a canoe turns in to Klok-
won from the south; and, as usual in such an ev.nt, many
eyes are directed toward it from its very first appearance
until it runs to shore.

Lon^" before it grinds the sand in landing, the village
is well informed as to its occupants and the object of
their visit.

Kahs-teen has been sitting quie''y outside her father's
house door, with her little boxes of moisten \ grasses,
each of a different dye, within convenient reach at work
on a fine basket — her fingers flying in and out with a ra-
pidity bewildering to the uninitiated.

She has been among the first to recognize Kun-ul-koo
and his relatives, and stopping only to gather her ma-
terials together, she hastens into the house, taking a po-
sition well back at one side of the room.

" There is a sound of coming strangers, Kahs-teen.
What canoe has come ? Did you not see ? " soon questions
her father, looking up from the withes he is putting into
shape for next year's snow-shoes.

"Neh! do you not hear me, girl? Who has but just
now come to the village?"

"Some friends of yours, father," answered the girl, set-

AN ALASKAN STORY.

tlingback a little farther into the shadow; then adding,
'From Kutwulhtoo."

" From Kutwulhtoo, are they ? Then put up your weav-
ing, wife; there is matter enough to attend to without
that." And as he speaks he is laying up his own work
into its place of seasoning, turning only in time to re-
ceive the salutations of Yah-doos-kah for her family and
the friends forming their council. Kun-ul-koo enters in
the rear of the party and takes an obscure seat.

The strangers are given the place of honor on the far-
ther side of the fireplace. Sha-ga-uk takes a seat beside
her husband in front of Kahs-teen, and soon one and an-
other of their tribal and family friends have gathered in
to take part in the negotiations and to act as witnesses to
the important contract about to be made.

Kahs-teen herself has pushed aside her basket-work,
and gathering a blanket about her, half-buries herself
from sight. Only a short time before the arrival of the
strangers the little girls of the house had come in with
baskets of salmon-berries, gathered while the dew was on
them; and now, in truly hospitable fashion, the fruit is
brought out and placed before the guests. The constraint
felt by both parties is most effectually broken up by this
little attention and the pleasure of eating.

The preliminaries having been settled satisfactorily by
the mothers, it is now th" fathers who speak; and when
the empty baskets have been set aside, Nalh-say, the father
of Kun-ul-koo, proceed;> without further ceremony:

" Sha-ga-uk and Shans-ga-gate, your hearts have told
you the cause of our coming to your place to-day. We
thank you for turning your faces toward us. We have a
son who is to us as our hands are — as our feet are — as our
eyes are; he is a good son; you have seen him. He is
tall, he is straight, he is fleet of foot, his arrow is sure,

138

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

and his game-bag is always full. He is slow of speech,
as becomes a youth, but his heart is strong and his wits
are good. All this is true, and yet he is but three parts
of a four-limbed man. He must have a wife. He has set
his thoughts on the daughter of your house; his thoughts
please his family ; we are come to talk of these things.
Will you hear us? "

"You shall be heard, friends," is the dignified answer
of Shans-ga-gate.

" Hear, then, what is offered as the sign of your daugh-
ter's worth. Kun-ul-koo will bring to you a sea-otter,
best loved by the traders, and, besides, five tens of blank-
ets. Let us hear your heart speak."

Shans-ga-gate and his wife, with their friends, could
not have been self-approved in accepting even a more
generous offer at once or without parley; so, after a little
talk among themselves over the virtues and accomplish-
ments of Kahs-teen, her father speaks :

"You give us honor, O friends, in asking from us a
wife for your illustrious son. We believe him all you
say. You know him well, but our daughter you do not
know. She is very dear to us; she is both flower and
fruit. No man has spoken to her. According to her
class, she has been hid from the light for two years. She
is white as cotton ever brought from the south. She is
not lazy; the work of her hands goes far beyond her
father's house. She will soon know all that her wise
mother, Sha-ga-uk, can teach her — to tan the leather for
the broidered moccasins she works, to make the dancing-
blanket from the sheep's wool; also to cure the fish, make
the oil, preserve the berries, and everything that a high-
class woman must teach her slaves. You know not half
her worth, friends! "

" It is true," now speaks Yah-doos-kah, ** Kahs-teen is

AN ALASKAN STORY.

139

very dear, but our son's love is strong; he shall give more.
We have copper, found long, long ago, washed up from
some white man's loss — most precious of all our posses-
sions. Kun-ul-koo shall bring enough to ornament your
knife."

After the formality of a word with Kahs-teen, her
mother makes answer :

"We are willing to take your son for our daughter's
husband. He shall live with us first as a son of the house
for six moons, and at the end of that time you shall come
again. They shall see each other and know the sound of
each other's voice; he shall know us better, and we shall
see how he fits in our house. After six months, if
all eyes see as now, bring what you have promised, and
Kun-ul-koo shall call Kahs-teen his wife."

To this all agree; and after but little further talk the
Kutwulhtoo people take their departure. Kun-ul-koo
accompanies them only to their canoe, as from to-day
he is as much a m* ber of Shans-ga-gate's family as
Kin-da-shon himself, and with precisely the same nrivi-
leges and duties as a son.

140

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

CHAPTER XII.

THE TRIP TO FORT SIMPSON — INTO THE LIGHT.

T^EN days after leaving Yhin-da-stachy, the party of
•*• Chilkats en route to Fort Simpson have reached
Stickeen or Fort Wrangel, some two hundred and fifty
miles south of the Chilkat peninsula; and having been
shown the customary Kling-get hospitality, are comfort-
ably sheltered in a large house built as a memorial to de-
ceased relatives, and kept as a place of entertainment for
strangers — or, more accurately speaking, a place where
strangers stopping over at the settlement may freely en-
tertain themselves.

They are rather impatiently awaiting the final prepara-
tions of some Tsimpseans who have bargained for passage
to their home at Fort Simpson.

Yealh-neddy, ever restless, has, after the first few hours
of looking about, found the delay very irksome, and had
not Kah-sha's dign-ty of class and position been equal to
his own, he would have caused the party to move on, re-
gardless of any obligations to the Tsimpseans. As it is,
Kah-sha has been firm in holding to their agreement with
the men of the south.

Very glad indeed was the sad-hearted man to hear the
request of the strangers — it might be that they could tell
something of what he most h ped to get by this journey.
Why not ?

"I am going out to tell them that we can't wait over
this tide," says Yealh-neddy. "If they are ready, very

AN ALASKAN STORY.

141

good ! If they must wait to wash their blankets, they can
wait till we come next year,"

With this the young chief leaves the house in the direc-
tion of the trading store, moving with long, quick strides.
As he makes the turn from the native village into the
white portion of the town the store lies in full view, and
there, standing before its door, are the men he is seeking.

With them, engaged in earnest conversation, is a white
man whom Yealh-neddy has never before seen. A num-
ber of Stickeens are standing about, and of them he asks:

** Who is this white man ? Does he want to buy skins ? "

"No; he is one of the ' up above chief's' men. He
doesn't want your skins."

"What is he talking about? What is he doing here?"

"What is he doing here in this village, do you mean?"

"Yes; what is he doing in your village? Where did
he come from ? "

"He came from the white man's country, of course;
the steamboat brought him last time. He wants to go to
Fort Simpson; that's what he's talking about now."

" He wants to go with the Tsimpseans — with us — in our
canoe? What for?"

"Oh! he wants to see their God's-man."

" What did he want here in your place ? "

"To see our God's-man."

"Yours?" in a tone more insulting than many rough
words.

"Yes, ours — high chief Chilkat! You are slow of hear-
ing, if this is the first you know of it. We have a school,
too, and are getting the white men's tongue. The Stick-
eens are a long step ahead of the Chilkats — for all you
carry so many eagles in your hearts."

"No more eagles than we've talons for, let me tell you,"
growls Yealh-neddy, with a threatening gesture, when

142

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

he is opportunely interrupted by one of the Tsimpseans,
who asks:

" Could you take one more to Fort Simpson, think you,
chief? White man pays silver."

"Let the white chief talk with me," is the haughty
answer; which being interpreted by the south man, who
speaks a little English, the white man turns in a friendly
way to Yealh-neddy, holding* out his hand with a pleas-
ant smile.

" This is the young chief from Chilkat, you say ? I am
glad to speak with him."

"But he much hurry now, he say," rejoins the Tsimp-
sean, in his broken English. "Tide big now— he want
quick go."

" I'm glad for that," the white man says. " If he will
take me with him, I am all ready to jump aboard."

" It's good you see Kah-sha, brother chief, he say."

"Where is the other chief?"

"In house; he wait— canoe most run away."

"Tell him to take me with him to the other man — now"
urges the white man; and, not many minutes after, Kah-
sha, for the first time in his life, is brought face to face
with one ordained to preach the glad tidings of great joy.

The arrangements are soon completed, and on the out-
going tide is launched the large canoe with its burden of
costly furs, the white man with his blankets in the midst
of the twelve Chilkats and six Tsimpseans.

One of the latter has now taken Kah-sha's place in
steering, being more familiar with the passage. Very re-
luctantly Kah-sha has taken a place this time without his
paddle. He has suffered more since leaving Yhin-da-
stachy than he has been willing to show, and the addition
to their crew has been very timely, relieving him of all
obligation at the paddle.

AM ALASKAN STORY.

143

Seated where he can help to manage the sails, he is
facing the missionary. Much and earnestly, though fur-
tively, he studies the man, and longing to discover if he
has that which can meet his own great need or satisfy the
hunger of his soul. Feeling that he has no time to lose,
he is yet more anxious to make progress with certainty.
It is the concern of his life; and, with the exception of
his little talk with Tashekah, it has never been spoken
of to any one; he cannot speak until he sees better the
ground he is stepping on.

The day has worn on without a favoring breeze. The
dip, dip, dip of the paddles has grown as monotonous as
the hum of insects on a sultry summer day. Both the
white man and Kah-sha fall under the soothing spell and
lie asleep against their packs.

It is late in the afternoon when the rounding of a cape
brings them into a fair wind, and until their course is
again changed two sails are filled, and the paddlers lie
back at ease.

The noise with which the change is made has awakened
the sleepers, and that just in time to see the ruins of the
old Stickeen village.

Its totem poles and huge corner-posts of ancient dwell-
ings arise before the travellers as a forest fire-robbed of
life and beauty. There are but few among the crew wh«
look upon the scene untouched.

Rank vegetation has sprung up, d->ing its utmost to
soften the rigid lines of death, and native bloom endeav-
ors to be-utify its desolation.

Here and there protrudes an end of fallen totems, and
among the rioting vines and drooping ferns lie the over-
thrown bones and ashes of those who once kept bright the
hearth-fires of this deserted village.

Upon the top of some of the corner- posts are still rest-

144

fCIN-DA.S/WN'S WIFE:

ing the great house-beams — some of them three feet
through and forty to sixty feet long.

" Do you see where the ravens sit croaking on the house
bones over there?" asks Kah-sha, putting out his thin
hand toward the ruins of a large building. " My mother's
father was at the feast and helped to plant those great
posts on the bodies of slaves, let down first into the pits
which they had dug, for the strength of the house. Two
thousand blankets were given at that time, and the poison
water was made as free as the rivers — till blood and hor-
ror of every kind seemed like to destroy the whole people. "

Very pale is the face of Kah-sha as he speaks, and his
voice is full of sadness. The missionary is becoming
deeply interested in him, and longs, as do the Christian
Tsimpseans, to be able to speak freely in the language of
the Chilkats, that they may tell of what the Gospel can
do for men. Little do they guess the longing of this one
poor heart to find the light!

The Tsimpseans know almost nothing of the Kling-get
tongue, and none of the Chilkats save Yealh-neddy knows
anything of the Chinook jargon used among the traders
with all the lower-coast tribes, and by the natives them-
selves among these southern tribes, as a means of commu-
nicating with the people of other tongues.

The conservative Chilkats, however, have never yielded
their more dignified Kling-get, and so it happens that
Yealh-neddy, little as he has picked up of the Chinook
during his trading trips, has become an important link in
the chain of communication with this mixed party.

The white stranger is entirely unfamiliar with any of
the native languages, and equally so with the Chinook.
He can speak only to the Tsimpsean, who knows a very
little English. When what he understands of the mission-
ary's words is put into Chinook, Yealh-neddy can turn

AN ALASKAN STORY.

what little he has been able to gather into Kling-get for
the benefit of his friends.

The avenue soon proves too obstructed for the mission-
ary to impart that of which his heart is full.

Soon after passing the old village another point is
made, and their canoe is then becalmed; idly flap the
sails until hauled down, and the men with a good will
again take to the paddles. As they do so the Chilkats
break out into one of their boat-songs, giving zest and
punctuation to their work. It is the song of the ancient
origin of their tribes, of their wars with other tribes and
among their own clans; of how one triumphed and then
another. As it is finished a good-natured iaugh runs
through their part of the crew.

The mountains have closed in upon them now; the
evening is growing cool, and the purple light hangs low
as the canoe glides through the shadows of the great hills.
One by one the stars come twinkling into the skies — the
sky above and the sky below; the song of the night-bird
comes clear and sweet from the woody shores; all nature
seems at peace. The dip of the paddles is not discordant ;
it comes as the liquid accompaniment, on which is soon
borne the sweet voices of the Tsimpseans in one of their
chapel-learned hymns. Sweet indeed — doubly sweet to
one who knows the theme:

" There's a land that is fairer than day—

And by faith I may see it afar,
For the Father waits over the way

To prepare us a dwelling-place there.
In the sweet by and by
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

*' To our bountiful Father above

We will offer our tribute of praise,
For the glorious gift of His love

And the blessings that hallow our days.
xo

146

KIN-DA. SffON'S WIFE:

In the sweet by and by

We shall meet on that beautiful shore."

And then follows:

" Jesus, and shall it ever be

A mortal man ashamed of thee ?
Ashamed of Jesus ! Sooner far

Let evening blush to own a star.
He sheds the beams of light divine
On this benighted soul of mine."
And again:

" The whole world was lost in the darkness of sin —
The light of tiic world is Jesus — "

and so on, through many lines familiar and dear to the
whole Christian world.

Although their words convey no meaning to the minds
of the Chilkats, as these hymns follow each other in ni»;.-
ural flowing melody, sung as they are with the spirit,
they bear in upon the mind of Kah-sha a quiet and rest
and hope such as he has never felt before. And at the
same time his longing increases to know about the Spirit
he feels sure they are singing of.

At length the desired camping-place is reached and
the canoe is run ashore. After a supper of dried salmon
and tea, and for the missionary his sea-biscuit in addi-
tion, the Christians bow their heads in thanksgiving and
a prayer for protection to the Father above. Silently and
attentively Kah-sha looks on, wondering; and long after
the others are sleeping soundly under the pines, he lies
thinking.

More and more it seems to him that his time to learn
cannot be long. He has been suffering more from short-
ness of breath, and he grows continually weaker. At
times the pain has been very bad, and to-night for a while
a strange, sinking sensation had come over him. Can it

AN A LA SKA S' STORY.

be, he thinks, that after all he may not find the light —
that he may not live to get to Fort Simpson? or, having
gotten there, shall he live to carry the word to Tashekah
and Kasko? He must speak to this white chief — even by
Yealh-neddy. He will ask if a teacher won't come to
Chilkat and bring help to his people.

But his desire is not met in all the way to Fort Simp-
son. At three o'clock in the morning all hands are busy
in getting off again, not waiting for any breakfast — dried
salmon and hard-tack can be eaten just as well in the
boat, and one meal a day suffices for the natives.

During the morning they come to the mouth of a shal-
low mountain stream, where the fish are running. Anchor-
ing their canoe with a large stone, the men wade up the
stream, and with clubs secure in a few minutes several
salmon apiece, weighing about twenty-five pounds each.
Just as they are taken the fish are thrown into the boat
and the journey is resumed.

In the afternoon a good beach is found, with fresh
water and plenty of drift-wood. The canoe is again
anchored in shallow water, and after wading ashore with
their fish, the men soon have a blazing fire in the shelter
of a great rock. The fish are cleaned and hung on sticks
to roast.

After a hearty dinner all indulge in the luxury of an
hour's sleep before getting under way again.

It is long past midnight when they find another suitable
place to land. By this time the rain is pouring down.
Unable to make a fire, the men seek the shelter of gnarled
trees and rocks; but of such uncomfortable rest an hour
or two prove enough, and they take to their canoe, gain-
ing warmth from exercise.

For several days and nights the storm continues. The
wind has been against them almost the entire way. At

148

KIN.DA.SHON'S WIFE:

times the men have continued at their paddles for twenty-
three consecutive hours, with but an hour's rest; until at
last they find themselves dropping to sleep with the pad-
dle in their grasp.

They have touched at the native village of Hydah,
where tae people have sought the missionary, asking for
teachers, and at Tongaas Narrows.

Some hours after leaving the latter place Cape Fox is
passed, and the little bark then launches boldly out to
cross a strong arm of the sea, once in the power of which
it were as hard to go back as to go forward.

It is a long, weary night. The darkness and fog are
heavy; the waves are rolling high; at its fiercest they
meet the stcrrn. Standing in his place in the prow, the
Tsimpsean '^aptain feels the course and directs the pad-
dles. Every strong man is at his place, their paddles
moving by a single inspiration — the measure of their
leader's solemn song.

Each huge wave is mounted with two strokes — then in-
stantly, with a click, the blade of each paddle lies mo-
tionless against the side of the canoe, awaiting the cap-
tain's count for the next swell, the frail boat quivering
from end to end.

After the long, hard night the native village of Ton-
gaas is sighted by its forest of totems — rising to heights
of sixty and seventy feet and seen long before any house
appears in the appr ach to the village. From top to bot-
tom they are carved with images representing the histo-'
ries and traditions of their families; and in attitudes of
peace or war may be seen the wolf, eagle, bear, petrel,
whale, the frog, and many other birds and beasts.

The whole crew^ is exhausted; and on reaching a cove
more nearly in their course than Tongaas they run ashore,
to find a little rest and refreshment. All efforts to build

AH ALASKAN STORY.

149

a fire are fruitless — everything is water-soaked, and the
driving rain extinguishes each long-coaxed flame.

With a piece of dried salmon the weary men take to
their wet blankets and lie down on the beach to sleep.

After two hours, the storm still continuing, travel is
resumed — this time with the determination of reaching
Fort Simpson if possible.

Getting out of cover ot the island, they find a favor-
ing wind, before which both sails are set, their corners
dipping into the sea as they cut through the high-run-
ning waves. The masts bend and creak, but the sailors
laugh. "Beat steamboat — beat steamboat! " the Tsimp-
seans cry.

About the middle of the afternoon the joyful shout of
'* Fort Simpson! " comes from those who know it best, and
in a very short time all have found warmth and welcome
within its sheltering homes. Dry clothing and cooked
food are among the comforts that all are prepared to ap-
preciate.

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers," has been one
of the well-learned lessons among these Christian Tsimp-
seans, and the weary, weather-beaten Chilkats are not
forgotten by their fellow-travellers, who have nov/ entered
the secure haven of their own households.

Yealh-neddy, Kah-sha, and Kin-da-shon have been
taken to the comfortable house of Samuel, the man
through whom the speaking has been done on the way
from Fort Wrangel.

Their white companion has found as warm a welcome
with their missionary, while the other Chilkats have met
equal kindness in other families.

After their physical comforts have received attention,
Samuel calls about him his wife and children, and, in the
presence of their guests, takes down from a high shelf his

150

KIN.DA.SHON'S WIFE:

little family Bible. Seating himself near the lighted
candle and opening the book, he looks up into the face of
Kah-sha, saying: "Friend, it is the word of our God.
We read it that he may speak to us, and then we speak
to him."

Yealh-neddy is called to give these words as best he
can with his poor Chinook, and in reply Kah-sha answers
in Kling-get:

" I thank you much if you will give me even a little of
his word — my soul is more in need than my body has been
this day; my heart is more cold, more hungry, more sick,
more blind than my body can ever be. O friend, if you
have medicine for sick souls, give me some before I die!
I have seen you talking to your great Spirit — you have
found one who makes you not afraid. I want to find him.
I have all darkness; I want light. I hear you say one
word many times, in gladness and in fear — ^ Jesus ' — what
is that? Isxi lighi? Is \tIove? Above all the boiling
sea of men and devils, does it mean light and peace and
help for crying souls? Tell me what you know! "

Leaning, with outstretched arm, toward the simple-
minded man who has found Jesus precious to his soul,
Kah-sha is trembling in his eagerness and weakness.

Little as Samuel is able to gather of meaning from the
words themselves, it is yet enough to give point to the
excited, pleading manner of the man whose wan face
speaks of speedy change.

"Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners,"
Samuel answers him, taking the trembling hand in his
own. " Jesus is the Son of God — and God so loved the
world that he gave his only Son to save it."

"And can he save it?" Kah-sha asks, his understanding
quickened by soul-hunger. "Can he save me? Can he
give light for darkness and peace for war? Can he beat

AN ALASKAN STORY.

151

down the spirits of evil and make clean^ through and
through, the souls of men ? "

" Help me, Yealh-neddy — I know not his speech; but
help me to say this: 'The people that walked in darkness
have seen a great light. They that dwell in the land of
the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.'
This light of the world is Jesus, and he will shine into
his soul. Try to tell him what I say," Samuel pleads, at
the same time putting up a petition for the help of the
Spirit, while Yealh-neddy gives a meagre morsel of this
word of life.

"Oh, tell me, friend, where is this Jesus? Let me see
him. I will go to-night; death is not far from me. I
cannot wait. Let me start to-night. Is he in this town ?
Will he show me this light to-night?"

Feeling his speech too feeble to trust in this case of
urgent need, Samuel lays up his book, saying:

"Wait. I must bring his messenger," and out into the
night he turns again to seek his teacher in heavenly
things.

" This very day John has come again from his river
trip. He speaks Kling-get well ; we will take him and
see this man who wants Jesus," joyfully responds the mis-
sionary when Samuel has told his errand; and leaving
his weary brother-minister to find rest, he and the inter-
preter are soon among the little group gathered about
Samuel's kitchen fire.

"You want to know our God, Kah-sha?" the teacher
says. " He has known you a very long time. This book
is his letter to us, written long, long before your grand-
father was born, and in it he speaks of your people and to
you. Shall I read you what he says?"

Kah-sha*s eager face assents; he will not delay the
reading by so much as a word.

15^

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

Opening his own well-marked pocket Bible, the mis-
sionary turns readily and reads:

" ' Bring forth the blind people that have eyes, and the
deaf that have ears — let all the nations be gathered to-
gether and let the people be assembled: who among them
can declare this or show us former things? Let them
brir;g forth their witnesses, that they may be justified: (.r
let them say it is truth.

" 'Ye are my witnesses, saith the Lord; and my servant
whom I have chosen that ye may know and believe me
and understand that I am he: before me there is no God
formed, neither shall there be after me. I, even I, am
the Lo-rd; and beside me there is no Saviour. . . . Jesus
Christ came into the world to save sinners ... to open
the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the prison,
and them that sit in darkness out of the prison house.
. . . God is light and in him is no darkness at all. . . .
If we walk in the light as he is in the light we have fel-
lowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ
his Son cleanseth us from all sin. . . . For God so loved
the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, that who-
soever believeth in him should not perish but have ever-
lasting life. . . . For God sent not his Son into the
world to condemn the world, but that the world through
him might be saved.' "

As one long perishing with thirst in a trackless desert
might lie at last by a living stream and drink, laving
blistered feet and hot, parched hands, saying, " Let me lie
and die in this sweet place," so is Kah-sha as, speech-
lessly, almost breathlessly, he drinks in the words of
life.

Passing at length from the language of Scripture, the
missionary in simplest words, suited to the minds of those
who hear, and meeting their unspoken questions, tells the

AN ALASKAN STORY.

153

old, old story of the creation and the fall — of God's won-
derful love for a lost world and his plan for its redemp-
tion — of the mission of Christ our Saviour and the work
of the Holy Spirit for all who will so much as lift up their
eyes to him who was lifted up for us all.

Then in earnest prayer he leads Kah-sha to speak to
the Father and seek a child's portion in his kingdom.
With implicit trust in this new-found Saviour, Kah-sha
kneels, and with tears of joy and the calm of utter peace
he comes to God with such words as a little child might
say, giving himself and his all into the care of the Great
Love which careth for s.

Several hours have passed before the missionary goes
to his own house, and Samuel and Kah-sha lie down for
the night. Yealh-neddy had fallen asleep very soon
after the talk began. Kin-da-shon had followed the con-
versation with growing interest, but at last was overcome
with the fatigue of the long, hard journey, and taking
his well-dried blanket from the line where it had been
hung, lay down in a corner and slept heavily. But in his
heart a little seed had been planted which was destined
to live and bear fruit.

Next day Yealh-neddy speaks to Kah-sha: "They say
that Fort Simpson never was good for anything till teach-
ers came; now I want a teacher for Chilkat. Why can't
we have stores and plenty of silver, just as they have
here, and better than the Stickeens? I'm going to ask
that stranger who came with us if he can't send a teacher
to us. I'd like to know their tongue myself. If I had it
no trader would ever get the best of me. I'll make you
sure of that."

" I'll go with you, Yealh-neddy. I've wanted to speak
to the man myself about that very thing. I'm glad you
want it, too. Our country will be better for all that

■miiiii

154

KIN-DA-SI/ON' S WIFE:

teachers can bring us — if they bring Jesus, too," and to-
gether the men set out to visit the missionary.

Though it is but a short distance, Kah-sha's strength
almost fails him before he reaches the house. After be-
ing admitted, Yealh-neddy is the spokesman, and very
earnestly he makes his request of the minister who had
been of their party.

"My people will leave their old ways if a teacher
comes. They will be Christians just as the Fort Simpson
people are if a minister comes. Will you send one right
away? "

"That I cannot promise," answers the missionary;
"but I will gladly carry your request and message to my
Christian friends in the East, and ask that a teacher be
sent you as soon as possible."

"I, too, have a strong word to say, friend chief,"
speaks Kah-sha, now somewhat recovered from his short-
ness of breath. "The Chilkat people are in thick dark-
ness; 'ley die with their eyes shut. Some souls are
crying for the light. O man of God! they cannot find
the way out unless you come and tell them. Tell God's
people that the Chilkats are dying — that their children
are born blind and cannot find the way."

"I will tell them," is the promise given in answer to
Kah-sha's appeal; "a teacher must be sent."

Eager to hear more of the true way, he remains for fur-
ther talk with the missionary. Yealh-neddy repairs to
the trading store and begins his day's dickering about the
disposal of his furs, keeping a sharp lookout too in re-
gard to the transactions of the other men of the party —
nothing backward in exercising his newly acquired rights
as chief, in dictating the terms of sale, none daring to
sell under the amount which he proposes.

It is several days, however, before the business of the

AN ALASKAN STORY.

155

party is finished and they are ready for the return trip.
Into the canoe are stowed then, in exchange for the furs
they had brought, shawls, silk handkerchiefs, white cot-
ton, cotton prints, blankets, several suits of men's cloth-
ing, guns, ammunition, shoes, a little cheap jewelry,
sugar, molasses, tea, hard-tack, and tobacco, with some
little extra purchases not always reported, among which
is a pack of cards by Yealh-neddy, whose passion for
gambling has led him to the discovery of some of the
white man's methods.

Kin-da-shon, faithful to his promise to Kasko and to
his love for Tashekah, has been ever at the side of Kah-
sha in his times of need, and the affection between the
two has warmed and strengthened.

Kah-sha has imparted to the boy much of the truth he
has himself received from the missionary, and although
not fully comprehending it, Kin-da-shon has imbibed
enough to give him comfort in many things and a true
hunger for further knowledge.

It is their first night out with faces toward the north
that Kin-da-shon, in a low voice, asks Kah-sha at their
camping-place to come aside with him while the others
sleep.

Putting his blanket about the shoulders of the elder
man, Kin-da-shon leads the way to a sheltered place, a
cleft in the rock where they may sit and speak together
without fear of being overheard.

Though cool with the first hint of frost the night is a
perfect one, and one never to be forgotten by Kin-da-shon.
He is feverish, restless, full of forebodings, anxious to
open his heart to Kah-sha, yet unable to begin.

All unconscious of the boy's state of mind, his own
heart filled with new joy and the hope of eternal life, yet
recognizing the daily increasing probability of his not

156

KIN-DA.SHON'S WIFE:

reaching Chilkat in the body, Kah-sha eagerly seizes the
opportunity of giving such messages as he longs to have
reach his children, and reach them through this beloved
youth.

" My son," he begins, and from the very fulness of his
heart the words are unready.

His beginning, however, short as it is, followed by his
silence, gives to Kin-da-shon just the impetus he has re-
quired.

"'My son,' you say? O sire, that is the strong wish
of my heart — to be your son. Your little Tashekah, since
I was a little boy, I have loved with the heart of a man.
May I be her husband ? May I hold her, and love her,
and take care of her all my life ? "

"Your words are gladness to my heart, Kin-da-shon.
There is none to whom I could give my little one with
such joy as to you. It was of Tashekah that I wanted
most to speak when I began, and now it is not so hard to
say. The child has some thoughts that are more than the
thoughts of a child, but whether she thinks of you I can-
not tell you, Kin-da-shon — only this tell hcr^ that if her
heart can hold you, her father will be more glad than for
great riches. You are as dear to me as a child of my
own, and it comforts me to think of Tashekah with you —
when I am gone. It can't be very long. The good God
has made me very happy. He has kept my breath till I
could hear his words and know his way of life. O my
son, if you should forget all else, if you lose everything
else, hold fast the words you have heard and share them
with my other children. Tashekah is hungry for them
now, and she will need them whether she has you or not;
and Kasko will need them. I pray the Good Spirit to
send a teacher to our country, and when he goes be sure
to learn of him and follow the way he shows you. An-

AN ALAS/CAN STOJiY.

157

Other thing: I want you all to learn to /r^:^ God's word
for yourselves; and, Kin-da-shon, tell my children that
my way is very light and my heart is full of peace and
joy."

Kah-sha sinks back exhausted by his excitement and
unusual length of speech. Kneeling beside him, Kin-da-
shon chafes the bloodless hands and speaks tender words.

It is long before Kah-sha revives sufficiently to be
helped to a more comfortable resting-place, and for the
remainder of the journey to Wrangel he attempts no fur-
ther talk — indeed, for the most of the way he lies in his
blankets, too weak to sit up, and at their camping-places
is carried to and from the canoe by the stronger men.

The fear that he may not live to reach home is becom-
ing general, and no one desires to make unnecessary
delay at Fort Wrangel. Reaching that village in the
evening, they simply rest for a few hours, and in the
early morning are off with a good wind at their backs.
Seventy miles are made before they stop again.

It is near the close of September, and fresh snows have
already touched the mountains; and except just in the
middle of such days as the sun shines the air is keen and
biting.

The favoring south wind v/hich drives them nearer
home, filled as it is with steam from the tropic kettle,
strikes these walls of glacial ice and snow and deluges the
country with rain.

On the third day out from Wrangel the travellers enter
Lynn Channel — the long, straight highway to the Chilkat
country. Hopes are now felt that Kah-sha may live to
reach home. After entering the channel, however, the
rain becomes sleet, and their blankets being wet the wind
pierces to the marrow of all.

The men take to their paddles in self-preservation and

158

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

endeavor to keep the wind from Kah-sha by extra cloth-
ing. It is a vain effort; the cold has already entered his
blood. Kin-da-shon lays down his paddle and, under the
blankets, takes in against his own warm breast the poor,
icy feet, while he rubs and holds the hands of his father-
friend.

Convinced at last that no such means will overcome
the settled chill, the boy begs to have the canoe run
ashore, that they may make a fire and warm him with hot
stones and tea.

"No, no," is Yealb eddy's reply; "he would only
get cold the sooner again. Having such a wind we must
go on, or his breath will not last till we get there."

" It will not last through this day, if I know aught of
the signs of death," insists the youth.

"You should have never had your hair cut, Kin-da-
shon; it rather weakens your words as a chief of spirits.
Just at what time by the sun will his shade leave us?"
sneers Yealh-neddy.

Seeing that words are worse than useless, Kin-da-shon
makes no further effort to change the course of the party,
but devotes himself to his dying friend.

Kah-sha, as he recognizes his condition and feels the
near approach of death, fixes his eyes on the face of the
boy in mute appeal, and the stiffening lips quiver with an
attempt to speak ; no sound is heard save a slight gur-
gling in the throat, though Kin-da-shon has bent his ear to
catch the faintest utterance. As their eyes meet again,
those of Kah-sha are lifted upward, and then, full of
meaning, they fall again upon his faithful friend.

"Yes, you are going; there is no night there," he
whispers low to Kah-sha; "and I will come — and Tashe-
kah — and Kasko. Jesus Christ came to save because
God so loved the world."

AN ALASKAN STORY.

159

An expression of unutterable peace shines in the eyes
of the man, making answer to Kin-da-slion's words; and
as they are raised again toward the sicy they become
fixed, as with great joy.

Silent with wonder and with awe, Kin-da-shon looks on
until the light has faded out, leaving the sightless balls
still uncovered and on the face of the dead a look of
perfect gladness. Never has the boy seen such a death
before, never such a face among the dead.

For a moment he feels nothing of grief for the wonder
of it all; and then, like a black wave, his own loss and
the thought of Tashekah's grief and Kasko's efforts for
his father's recovery — all these come over him with sud-
den and irresistible force; and burying his head against
the lifeless heap before him, hw sobs aloud.

i6o

KIN-VA-SHON' S WIFE;

CHAPTER XIIL

GAMBLING A HEAVY STAKE.

'\7'EALH-NEDDY did not invest in his pack of cards
simply as a curio; he had applied himself during
many a leisure hour while at Fort Simpson to learning
the art of using them.

Several others of the party who were expert gamblers
in native games were also interested in this new one, and
so far mastered it as to be able to hold their own against
Yealh-neddy so well at least as to render the game in-
tensely interesting during their homeward journey.

Indeed, every waking hour not necessarily employed
in eating, in the management of the canoe, or in keeping
themselves from numbness, was devoted to this absorbinj^-
business — for business it certainly became, the stakes be-
ing continually increased until they involved the entire
possessions of Yealh-neddy and his chief antagonist.

The excitement is running high; the last game is com-
ing to a close, when the sailsman calls that Yhin-da-stachy
is sighted.

No attention is paid to the announcement; the game
goes on, and is finished only as the canoe has grounded on
the sand and the villagers gather about to welcome the
travellers and to hear the news.

With loud curses Yealh-neddy acknowledges himself
better, and that to all his possessions he has forfeited his
right; that he has absolutely nothing to call his own, un-
less, indeed, his old wife and his witch slave might be
called his.

AN ALASKAN STORY,

i6i

He is desperate; he will not stop here. Never has he
had such luck; it must be the vile white man's cards;
without doubt he would have been the winner had they
used the native sticks.

"I challenge you," he cries, in a rage, to his victorious
opponent — "I challenge you to one last play, with our
own gaming-sticks. You have left me nothing. I will
put up against all that you have taken from me and all
that you possess — I put against it — myself! I will make
you a beggar or I will be your slave! "

"It is done, my chief Yealh-neddy; it is the last time
you shall hear that title — you are my slave! "

"The ravens take your tongue! Let us to the grass
and decide that matter,"

No time is thrown away on salutations to friends, in
speaking of the death of Kah-sha, or assisting in the re-
moval of the body to one of the houses from the canoe.
Nor do the gamblers go to any remote place of quiet.
The gambling-sticks are made of the wild apple-wood,
and number from seventy to a hundred in a set. Each
stick bears a name and is easily recognized by the initi-
ated. Yealh-neddy's set, in a leathern case, is slung
across his shoulder as he springs fron; the boat. Only a
few steps from the place of their landing, in the high,
rush-like grass which borders the beach, the players tramp
down a ring and di ade between them the beautifully pol-
ished sticks.

In positions facing each other the men lie at full
length, with elbows resting on the ground, while under
the loose trodden grass before them their "hands" are
kept concealed, two or three paces being left between the
players.

Knowing the temper of Yealh-neddy, his antagonist
has insisted on their each choosing three witnesses, and
II

l63

A'lX.DA.SIIOX'S WIFE:

these men are seated, three on each side, between the op-
ponents, thus forming a circle.

Meanwhile the news of Kah-sha's death has flashed
through the village and brought to the beach every man,
woman, and child who has been able to move. The sound
of mourning is already heard.

Grannie had so timed her visit as to be in Vhin-da-
stachy when the traders were expected to return. Greatly
pleased at the .settlement of Tashekah as Ka-kee*s wife,
she had, as the chief representative of her family, made
every arrangement as to terms, and awaited only the
formal acquiescence of Kah-sha.

Already through all the villages it has been received
as a fact that Tashekah has been given as wife to Ka-kee,
and she herself has settled down to an acceptance of her
fate, though not without inward struggles and a half-un-
derstood pain of heart.

She had thought — but no ; what had she thought ? It
was her father — he had thought that Kin-da-shon — had he
changed his mind? She had been sorry to hear her father
speak of giving her to any one; and yet — Kin-da-shon
was good and gentle, and she had liked to think that he
and Kasko would always take care of her. Having seen
more of her now, did Kin-da-shon think he couldn't love
her any more? Was that the reason her father had given
her to Ka-kee? Oh, if he could only have known how the
sight of the man caused her body to shake and her heart
to stand still!

Had he been afraid that he would not live to come
back — and did he do this to give her a home? Had he
found that Kin-da-shon gave her no thought, and so had
he tried to save her shame by this arrangement?

Well, she would try to bear it; there must have been
some good reason, or her father would never have done it.

AlV ALASk'AN STORY.

163

Still, hard-dying hope sometimes whispered that the
father's coming might change it all yet. She would let
him know her heart — that since she had seen Kin-da-shon
so much with Kasko she did not fear him, and since
Kasko has gone she will be very lonely. No one can
half so well take iiis place as his dearest friend. Dear
Kasko! no one can take his place or be just like him;
and yet Kin-da-shon is more tall — and, yes, more gentle;
and if he wanted her, as her father thought he did, she
would not he unhappy.

So Tashekah had thought, after learning from Ka-kee*s
wife what they expected of her. So she had thought until
after grannie's coming, when things seemed to be so set-
tled that there was little room to hope for any change.

She could not open her heart to grannie, and if she
could it were little comfort she would get. Grannie be-
lieved in making hearts fit the circumstances. And then,
if Kin-da-shon had not cared for her, after all? No, she
could do nothing but wait and see if her father could at
all help her.

And now that waiting is over — the blow has fallen —
Tashekah is fatherless. She had been sitting within
doors, trying to amuse the slowly recovering Ch-one,
when the word reached the house. She hears it as one in
a dream; she slowly lays down the pebbh,'s from her lap,
where the little thin hands of the sick boy has dropped
them one by one, rises to her feet, and, without exclama-
tion of any kind, walks deliberately out of the house and
down toward the canoe. The excitement, the cries of the
people, the gambling party which she passes, are all alike
unheeded. She sees only the canoe and the men who are
removing from it their packs. Eagerly she scans every
man, every pack; then the bed of the boat itself.

The men are coming down again from the houses; the

1 64

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

packs have all been carried in now except one of rinusual
size and shape down in the middle part of the canoe.

She approaches the side of the boat and lays a hand on
its edge. They are raising this strange burden now.
With care it is passed over into other waiting hands.

Moved mechanically by some unthinking sense, she
comes to its side and walks with its bearers. They reach
a vacant house ; the door stands open and through it the
little company passes. At the farther side of the room
they lay it down — this something. Not a word is spoken,
but there is louder crying at the door as the people follow
in. She touches the blankets; she kneels beside tb r^
and draws away the folded coverings. There are th:.^<
who would restrain her, but Ka-kee is at her side.

" Let her alone," is his stern command.

She has found now the still, cold face, and gazes upon
it without a sign of emotion. She herself is unconscious
of any grief, of any feeling; it is asthoug'^ her own '^eart
had ceased to be —had turned to stone.

But, unconsciously, her mind is receiving the image of
her father's face, so that by and by, when kindly Nature
has passed it through her " dark-room " developers, that
tender face, with all its new expression of peace and joy,
will stand out clear and true, comforting its possessor.

Kin-da-shon, longing to help her, is yet prevented from
making any sign. Already it has come to his ears that
Tashekah is the wife, by her grandmother's giving, of Ka-
kee; and over her the medicine-man is already showing
more of the master's authority than before the return of
the traders with the body of her father.

*' He gave me a message for you, Tashekah," begins
Kin-da-shon, with great effort. "You might like to hear
it with only your one pair of ears."

Slowly and steadily her eyes are lifted to the face of

AN ALASKAN STORY.

l6:

the speaker in a half-vacant stare. There is no effort to
withdraw them, no attempt at speech; but gradually there
steals through her frame a slight tremor — a hint of life.

" Hold your tongue, boy, " angrily cries Ka-kee. " Hold
your tongue and let the girl alone, or you may wish you
had."

At the sound of his voice the girl shudders and buries
her face against the lifeless form of her father. Seizing
her by the arms, Ka-kee brings her to her feet and bids
her go to his house.

For the first time she turns on him, with a glare not
unlike his own; and shaking off his loosened grasp, she
starts toward the door. When half-way across the room
she begins to sway, to stagger as one drunken.

Too angry to follow her, Ka-kee stands in his place,
while, springing past him, Kin-da-shon prevents her strik-
ing the floor in her fall.

Seeing that consciousness has gone, without a word he
gathers her into his arms, and through the astonished
crowd bears her swiftly to the house of Ka-kee.

" Make a place for her, Sa-allie," he says to the mother
with her child; "her spirit is asleep."

Tenderly he lays her down, longing to hold her ever,
and with a heart sick and hungering he turns to go.

" You are sick, Kin-da-shon. Wait and let me give you
food," kindly speaks Sa-allie, struck with the boy's hag-
gard face.

" I could not eat. You are good to me, but my heart
takes all my stomach's room; there is no place for food."

"Rest, then. Here is a blanket."

"I could find no rest in a blanket, friend. I must go
to my father's place." A sneer from the medicine-man
answered him.

" That is best. It is a good time to turn your face

1 66

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

toward your mother. But what is that message, now,
that you had from Kah-sha? You need not hope to hide
it from the medicine-spirit. Out with it! "

Ka-kec had entered in time to hear the latter part of
Kin-da-shon's reply to Sa-allie.

"I have no love for hiding things, Ka-kee," the boy
answers, with gentle dignity. "It is as well that ^w^
should tell her, when she wakes. Her father found the
medicine he searched for; his spirit found a great light
before it left the body. 'Tell Tashekah,' he said, 'that I
have found the (lod who so loved the world that he gave
the dearest thing he had — his only son — to save it. When
there was no eye to cry or heart to be sorry, he put his
arm around men to love them and to take the bad and the
soul-sickness out of them.' And Kah-sha thought his
spirit was going to live with that God — and he wants Ta-
shekah to come."

With a face almost as death-like as Kah-sha's own, Kin-
da-shon leaves the house. Approaching his pack, he makes
an effort to rise with it. Finding this impossible, he
opens it, and taking out the little trinkets which he had
brought for Tashekah and his mother and sisters, he puts
them into his "gualh," or neck-bag; and then, after en-
gaging that his pack be sent by canoe to Klok-won, he
takes his new musket in hand and starts out for his
father's village, on foot and alone, unable to remain
longer in this sad place.

Kin-da-shon has not yet reached the end of the village
when his steps are arrested by a series of excited yells.
Turning to look back, he sees a great crowd gathering
about the gamblers, though people seem to be coming as
well as going.

True to the native instinct, he retraces his steps to
learn the cause of this new commotion. As he approaches

AN ALASKAN STORY.

167

the crowd he finds himself side by side with Kah-da-guah,
the old wife of Yealh-neddy, who is speaking excitedly
and gesticulating wildly.

'' Lost^ hashe? Well, it'sthefirst time, without doubt,"
she has been saying.

"Yes, list — Yealh-neddy has — this time for sure," one
of the villagers rejoins, while another puts in:

"The fine 'King-George's-country ' shawl you bade
him get you is gone, and your dress and silk handker-
chief "

"And the tobarro and molasses and everything he
traded for," tiamors another.

"That's nothing! its all he had at home before he
started, as well; and, what's more, he's gone himself now.
You have a slave for a husband, Kah-da-guah! "

"What's that you say, fox?" Kah-da-guah asks with
venom.

" I'm saying what I know, that's all. Yealh-neddy
will get a little of his bite taken out, I'm thinking, when
he has to bring wood for another m.in's fire."

By this time the woman has pushed through the crowd
and stands before her husband.

"So you are lost, are you, Yealh-neddy?" she asks,
with just a touch of triumph in her tone. He turns away
in sullen contempt.

" You had rather go with your goods than have them go
without you, maybe?" Still no answer.

"Why didn't you stake your wife, too? It's a pity to
break the family."

More angry than he dares to show, Yealh-neddy main-
tains his dogged silence.

Turning then to the winner of the game, she con-
tinues:

'* What is a slave chief t*.'ortk t Meh! what will you sell

i68

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

him for?" A wicked light gleams in Yealh-neddy's eye,
but, undisturbed, his master answers Kah-da-guah:

"Would you like to own him yourself, woman?"

"Maybe I would; maybe he is not worth your price.
Let me hear."

" I own a hundred blankets, and what I got from him
was worth as much more. He put his own value against
that, and I am willing to pass him on at the same price."

"Two hundred blankets! It were a dirty thing to say
a chief is not worth that, but it's a good deal for a slave.
What do you say, Yealh-neddy? Two hundred blankets
is a good deal to give, but I've got enough to pay it.
What do you say ? "

"Say what you like," growls Yealh-neddy; "but don't
be at it all winter."

" Good ! There are not many words to say. You
meant to make me or my tribe pay for Kotch-kul-ah's
loss. Where she is I know nothing more about than you do
yourself. If I pay this iox you, you shall promise first in
the ears of this people that you will never bring this mat-
ter ap against us."

A contemptuous grunt and a shrugging of the shoulders
is Yealh-neddy's only answer.

" Don't be all winter about saying what >•<?« have to say
to this, Yealh-n*;ddy ; my berries are calling for their oil,
and I must go and fix them," speaks Kah-da-guah, rising
to the occasion and fee'ing quite equal to the matter in
hand.

"You must think Yealh-neddy a fool if you suppose
he would give himself for that white-faced woman. Bring
your blankets out and let this buzzard go."

"Yes: but my haste is not too great to wait for your
promise before these people; it ;;/tf^ take all winter for
that, and I must fix my berries first."

AN ALASKAN STORY.

169

"You woman fool! What would you hear? Your
daughter is a faded bearskin; she's worth nothing to me.
I shall never trouble myself to ask you or your tribe for
so much as a rabbit-skin — it would be a cheat. Do you
want to hear more? If you were to find the vile baggage
and give me five hundred blankets to take her back I
should spit in your faces," blazes Yealh-neddy in his
wrath.

** Men of our two tribes, you are witnesses to his words.
Witness now that I take both promises, and that his
master gets from my stores the two hundred blankets that
make Yealh-neddy free."

So saying, Kah-da-guab. without further parley, calls
to a serving-man to asski. her in getting out the required
number of blankets.

Having witnesix ;-^ this transaction also, Kin-da-shon
turns and, retracing hii way through the village, resumes
his journey.

170

KJN-DA'SJION'S WIFE:

CHAPTER XIV.

USHA-SHAWET, KOTCH-KUL-AH, AND KIN-DA-SHON.

TN escaping from Yhin-da-stachy Kotch-kul-ah was
guided by the experience and natural sagacity of her
companion. For many years Usha had been accustomed
to moving about the country as a trusted slave, getting in
supplies of berries and such herbs and barks as were con-
stantly in requisition for medicinal purposes, for tanning
and for coloring the grasses also and the bark-lining
needed for basket-making. Knowing the country so well,
and being versed in the art of //VvV/j; under such condi-
tions as attended independent out-door life, she was well
able to direct their course to a place of hiding which
would be both secure and comfortable, at least for a time.

Crossing the wide channel at once, they followed the
shore north for some distance, until, striking a small sand-
bank, which even the high tides did not always cover
and which now lay quite exposed, they disembarked.

Making a small pack for Kotch-kul-ah, including only
her own blanket and the paddles, with a small bundle of
dried fish, Usha gathered what remained of their baggage
into a large and compact bundle and hid it in the heavy
undergrowth on the shore.

Then taking up the canoe, overturned on her head and
shoulders, herself scarcely visible as she moved along, she
led the way over the hard, smooth sand. After a long tramp
they came to a softly flowing mountain stream which had
no visible outlet — its waters sinking into the gravelly

AN ALASKAN STORY.

171

shore and disappearing altogether far above the bed of
the river.

Hiding the canoe in the bushes and finding a comfort-
able retreat for themselves, they rested and ate their fish.
After such refreshment Usha went back for her pack, and
with it safely returned to Kotch-kul-ah and led the way
up along the course of the stream, till, about half-way to
the mountain's top, they came to a l(;vely little lake,
where the spotted trout were leaping in the sunlight like
truant beams of stronger growth.

Here, on the lake's sweetly wooded shore, these home-
less women found rest and peace and strength as full as
the natural world can give it.

To this spot Usha brought the canoe, and during their
sun mer's tarrying much improved it by sewing up its
cracks with twine of bark, lining and stuffing them with
fine miss and melted gum. They repaired the booth of
hemlock boughs which Usha had made and used long be-
fore, and within they made them fresh beds of the same
fragrant material.

For Kotch-kul-ah it was precisely the sort of life need-
ed for the counteracting of s^uch pestilential poisons as
her two-years' confinement had engendered. When, after
three months, Usha brought her out again to seek a win-
ter dwelling-place among the sheltering rocks of the east-
ern shore, it would have been hard to recognize the high
class of the girl by her complexion. All the angles of
face and figure had disappeared, charming curves of girl-
ish beauty had taken their place. The contracted chest
and stooping shoulders were transformed; the step was
elastic and free as a deer's; the eyes were full and bright
and the comple.xion dark and ruddy.

Thro'j^h the summer both women had found plenty of
employment in taking fish and drying them , in entrapping

172

A'IN'DA-SJION'S WIFE:

fowl and even sheep, which furnished them with both
food and bedding; berries were gathered, boiled, mashed,
and pressed into cakes, looking likedarkly cured tobacco,
then dried in an earth-oven.*

Neither did Usha forget her healing herbs; so that
when they were ready to go, the stowing of such generous
supplies became a serious matter, though finally arranged
with satisfaction.

Already, further up the mountain, light snows had
fallen warningly before Usha said: "We must go."

Having gotten their goods to the beach, the women
waited and watched the river until daylight began to
fade; then, being assured that no boat had ascended the
channel during the afternoon, they cautiously began their
own voyage, this time with very different feelings from
those with which they had left Yhin-da-stachy.

And yet, as Kotch-kul-ah found herself once more in
the world, as it were, thoughts came, and old-time feel-
ings revived, and longings grew, until she was almost
ready to risk a return to her own people.

**We must have great care," Usha had said in starting.
"The berry-picking is all done, but hunters may be going
out, and it is near the time when the Fort Simpson trad-
ers ought to be back, and some of them will be going to
the upper villages. We must not cross their path."

These woi !s and the getting out into familiar scenes
again had been the gentle stirrings which roused anew
her regard for Kin-da-shon.

"Yes," she thought, " it is time they were coming. If

♦ An cartli-ovcn is a large hole, say three or four feet square and almost as deep, dug
ill the ground and lined with flat stones. Fire is then made in it and kept burning
until the walls are thoroughly heated, when layers of large leaves are placed within it
and on these are placed the little rush racks or frames on which the berry cakes have been
shaped; over these more leaves, and above all fresh earth is heaped that the heat may be
retained. After being cured in this way the berries are ready to be eaten, either as
they are or stewed. By this process fruit is easily preserved as a winter supply.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

173

we should cross their path — what then?" And with this
question played her dreams, waking or sleeping.

Their destination was that night reached, however,
without discovery by a human being. HaT the distance
to Kutwulhtoo was made before they ventured to cross
the river shallows to the island which hemmed in the
swiftly flowing narrows.

The night was far spent, but the moon was old and late,
and by its waning light they found a small break in the
island wall, through which they passed. Down the stream
several yards the canoe was current-borne before it was
possible to touch the opposite shore. When they did
reach it, Usha, with a small coil of rope in hand, an end
of which had been made fast to the boat, sprang nimbly
to the bank and drew the rope about the trunk of a tree.
In this way it was secured until Kotch-kul-ah and the
cargo were landed.

Here Usha's experience again served. No time was
spent in searching for a dwelling-place. Usha knew the
very spot — had known it these many years, without so
much as hinting its existence to any living soul — a place
she had discovered in one of her long rambles, and she
believed herself alone in the discovery.

Only a few rods from the river course, along which runs
the trail from Yhin-da-stachy to the upper villages, the
mountains stand in a high, barren wall; here and there
abundant wood-growth and tangled vines hide these for-
tresses from the trail, and it was in a well-concealed and
unusual break in their rocky face, its approach tntirely
covered from the passer-by, that Usha soon placec their
wcrldly wealth and began to make the place habitable.

Her suspicions that it might be the winter retreat of a
bear were now upon examination confirmed; and while
the fact strengthened her opinion of it as a place of com-

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KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE.

fort, it gave her a little uneasiness as to their present
safety, since signs of winter were growing sharp. She
could make a trap which would settle the question of pro-
prietorship if the bear should fall into it before falling
on them. At any rate, they could do no better than take
possession, and to-morrow she would get the trap ready.

After so many hours of hard work such anxiety had no
effect in preventing sleep. Both Usha and Kotch-kul-ah
slept heavily for many hours. It was near sunset of their
first day in the cave when Kotch-kul-ah awoke from a
dream of rustling leaves, and under a strong impression
that some one was near them.

Creeping out of the cave and through its winding rocky
entrance, she very cautiously approached an opening
through rocks and undergrowth, whence she peered out.

Some moments passed before she was able to discover
the cause of the sound, if sound she had heard; but, wait-
inp- with eyes fixed on a point where the trail was visible,
there presently appeared, as from the river, a shaggy cin-
namon bear. Filled with fear, she was about to rouse
Usha, when, with a snorting growl, the great creature
raised himself to his hind feet and advanced along the
path until the bushes hid him from sight.

Glancing along in the effort to obtain a lower view of
the trail, Kotch-kul-ah was struck with horror at sight of
a single traveller, with face toward the north, and as yet
entirely unconscious of the bear's approach. A moment
later she recognized Kin-da-shon, who at the same instant
started back in surprise and drew his knife at his suddenly
discovered enemy.

The bear stood before him, face to face. The new Fort
Simpson musket was of no value in such an encounter,
though loaded ready for use. No right-minded Kling-get
ever stooped to take such advantage of a bear.

AN ALASKAN STORY,

175

Kin-da-shon had quickly dropped his gun to the ground
and grasped his ready knife for a hand-to-hand battle —
a very unequal contest at a man's best, but in Kin-da-
shon's exhausted condition defeat and a horrible death
were almost certain,

Kotch-kul-ah, not knowing what to do and hardly con-
scious of doing anything, yet did the best thing which
under the circumstances could have been done — she
shrieked and screamed with all her new lung power.

Usha, startled out of her sleep, was a moment or two
in comprehending the situation; then her voice in its
shrillest tones was added to Kotch-kul-ah's, and at the
same time down among the bushes near the trail she flung
such sticks and stones as were at hand.

The coward bear, afraid of what he could not see,
dropped to all fours and rapidly disappeared along the
lower trail, though Kin-da-shon had fallen under him and
lay as one dead — silent and blanched were the lips and
not a tremor stirred even the eyelids.

Unmindful of their own insecurity, the women run down
and kneel beside him.

"He is dead! he is dead! and all my heart dies with
him!" Kotch-kul-ah cries, burying her face against the
unconscious object of her love. To Usha it is a revela-
tion; she is not slow to understand, and to her it seems
almost wiser to let him die. Kotch-kul-ah's unrestrained
grief and cries of despair appeal too strongly to her wom-
an's heart, however, and, regardless of consequences, she
reassures the girl.

"He is not dead, Kotch-kul-ah. His heart is tired;
his stomach is empty. But see! his face is untorn and his
head is unhurt, and the blood is flowing only from his left
shoulder."

Examining further, she discovers a dislocation of the

176

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

right shoulder, caused by the disarming stroke of the huge
paw. Off at a little distance they find the knife, wet with
blood to its hilt. Evidently it had been raised for a sec-
ond stab when the bear struck down his arm, at the same
time driving his fierce claws into the other shoulder when
the outcry of the women frightened him away, thus pre-
venting the further mutilation and death of the defence-
less victim.

"He is not dead, Kotch-kul-ah; but you must help me
or he will be. Let us carry him to the cave, where I can
tend his hurts."

Roused to action by such hope, Kotch-kul-ah's strength
is equal to Usha's; and rolling him into his own
blanket, they thus bear him up and into their hiding-
place.

Usha's skill is quite sufficient to determine the extent
of the boy's injuries and, with Kotch-kul-ah's assistance,
to replace the disjointed shoulder. This is done before
any effort is made to restore consciousness, though Kotch-
kul-ah pleads anxiously.

" The pulling won't hurt him now, while he knows noth-
ing and the threads are all loose. They will be tight
and hard when he wakes," the woman answers, as she pro-
ceeds according to her own judgment.

This first task finished, she gives Kotch-kul-ah water
with which to bathe his face, while she busies herself with
making dried-mutton broth, having heated the stones by
burning oil on them — since the smoke of a wood fire
might betray them to any one passing on the trail below.
The broth for the weak stomach, and some cooling, cleans-
ing decoction of herbs with bruised leaves for the hurts
and open wounds.

It is after nightfall — at least in the cave there is but
the light of night; without, in the open, it is not yet quite

AN ALASKAN STORY.

177

dark — that Usha's efforts are rewarded by the waking of
Kin-da-shon's self.

After having done all, Usha retires to one side of the
cave, and, wrapped in her blanket, allows no unnecessary
anxiety to interfere with her natural rest. Deep-breathed
sleep has her now in full possession.

Not so Kotch-kul-ah — nothing could lure her from the
side of Kin-da-shon. Half-reclining, she leans over him
and with one hand brushes back from the high, smooth
forehead the soft, dark hair, while the other she holds
lightly and anxiously over the slow-beating heart, watch-
ing its faintest variation. A change has come — come so
gently and so gradually that the watcher is not yet cer-
tain of the quickened action, when the face turns slightly
toward her ; then, before she recovers from that surprise,
the '.veak voice is heard in slow questioning:

" Mother ? "

At the sound of his voice her whole heart rises in an
ecstasy of love and joy.

What did he say ? She could not have told — he is alive.
He is awake; she is with him!

Not a word could she have spoken even had she under-
stood his question. Her heart chokes all common utter-
ance. With impulse uncontrolled she lays her cheek to
his, and then to his cool forehead presses her burning lips.

His right arm reaches out toward her; but uncertainly,
feebly, and with a moan, he drops it before it has found
her hand. She takes it in both her own; she strokes it
fondly, tenderly.

He rests ; in a very short time she knows that he is
sleeping — sleeping as one whom his mother keeps.

Through all the weary night her faithful love — not his
mother's — keeps its unwearied vigil. His sleep is long
and refreshing, and when, in the morning's faint light, he

178

A'lN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

awakes, Usha is stirring about, getting fresh broth and
poultice-leaves ready for her patient.

For a time his gaze follows her, half-vacantly, before
thought and sense come again to inquire: **Who? When?
Why ?"

His lips move unreadily; his tongue sleeps. He need
not speak; his eyes can do the questioning; and without
turning his head they begin to search the place.

His own gun, the supplies of food, the rocky walls
have all passed under his scrutiny before he becomes
aware of the presence by his side, before he feels the
warm hand holding his own.

As he becomes sensible of its touch a flash of intelli-
gence — of recollection — comes into his face.

" Mother! " comes from his lips; but he does not try to
move; it is so good just to live — he would like to lie just
so forever. It would be hard to move, and she is so
seated that he cannot see her face without moving.

He presses ever so softly the hand which holds his own.

There is a warm answering clasp. It is enough; he
closes his eyes and would sleep, but a spoon, half-filled
with hot broth, is held to his lips, and the gentle hand
passes from his to turn his head and lift it a little, that
he may drink.

How warm and good it is! It is just like mother's
broth ! And now he wants to sleep.

It is near noon when he again awakes, and it is with
new strength. Usha has at last prevailed upon Kotch-
kul-ah to take her blankets and get some sleep, though
it was long before sleep came to bless the weary and ex-
cited girl. Now she does not stir even at the voice of
Kin-da-shon, as he at last lifts his head and questions
Usha of his whereabouts.

*' But my mother — where is she? "

AN ALASKAN STORY.

179

*' She has not been here."

" 'Not been here ' ? Surely I did not dream last night
when she sat beside me and touched my face?"

From Usha an unsatisfactory, wordless sound is his
only answer. She goes on with her work.

"Tell me, Usha; tell me who it was, if my mother was
not here. Is any one else here — any woman besides
yourself? I know it is so. This morning when I awoke
she was beside me still. Who was it? Where is she
now?"

" If that you hear, you must first promise to hide in
your heart the secret of this place. You must tell no one
who helped you or where you were sheltered. You shall
let no one know that Usha lives."

"I promise you, Usha. To cause you trouble were
mean pay for your kindness. But how can you live
here?"

With a broad sweep of her hand over her accumulated
stores, she asks:

" Does that look as if I could not live?"

" But through the winter — and alone? "

" You say I am 7iot alone! "

With something of a puzzled air, not unmixed with
amusement, Kin-da-shon asks:

^^ Are you alone, Usha? You promised to tell me."

" I would not have promised, even trusting you, if it
could be hidden. But to get you away from here we must
have her help. There " — pointing to the blanket-covered
figure in the darker end of the cave — " there is Kotch-kul-
ah, and she saved your life! " Then, after a full pause, she
adds: "She saved your life, and unless you can save hers
she must share my beast-life or die"

Startled by the woman's intense manner as much as by
her words, Kin-da-shon makes hasty answer:

I So

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

"Life for life is not too much; surely I will save hers
if I may. But why must she die? Why must she hide?"

** Yealh-neddy is not one to give up a mouse-skin with-
out pay, and when it comes to losing the wife he wanted,
nothing short of her life will satisfy him."

For the first time Kin-da-shon now takes in the situa-
tion, though at first bewildered. He recalls bit by bit,
as of half-remembered dreams, until all the parts of his
experience at Yhin-da-stachy and his sad walk cut short
by the bear's advent have been pondered over and pieced
together, and he is sure of the whole. Then to Usha he
turns again and says:

*' Kotch-kul-ah is free from Yealh-neddy. I myself and
others heard him make a vow that he would never take
her for his wife, and that he would hold neither Kotch-
kul-ah nor her tribe to answer for his loss." Then he
tells the story of Yealh-neddy's gambling difficulties and
their sequel, of which he has been a witness.

" But she can never go back to her mother
neddy would find ways to make her kill herself,
never forget; he will make her pay the last hair,
him well enough to be sure of that."

" Then she need never go back to Yhin-da-stachy. My
mother and father love Kotch-kul-ah; they will take care
of her always. Let her stay with them."

"That is good! She will go to them. Did you hear
any word spoken of old Usha-shawet, Kin-da-shon ? " the
woman asks, giving at last a thought to herself.

" Only that she had disappeared in the night, and that
among the dead-houses and through the villages she had
been searched for, then given up as a bad spirit."

"Then I am best in my own hiding-place. There is
no peace for me among the living. When I have suffered
enough to be a spirit I may do them as much harm as

Yealh-
Hewill
I know

AN ALASKAN STORY.

i8i

they think I do — if that is what spirits are for. Why is
it? I can't think why — when I like to gather roots and
make the sick folk better."

"In the south-land I have heard strange things, Usha;
stranger than tales of witchcraft. Have you heard ever
of a spirit that did not work evil — a spirit that loved peo-
ple and wanted always to help them?"

"Never; no spirit like that ever lived in the Chilkat
country."

"But there is such a spirit, Usha. I don't know him
much myself; but there is a white man in Fort Simpson
who told us about a Great Spirit who made the world and
everything in it, and that he loves the people as much as
a father loves his children."

"I don't believe it. If he was strong enough to make
all things he would be strong enough to keep them from
so much trouble. No, no, Kin-da-shon; don't be foolish.
The lying old raven made us on purpose to torment us.
That is easy to believe."

"I told you that it was stranger than our stories; but
that is not the strangest part of it. This Chief of the
Above made everything good and glad, the man said;
and I suppose it was the raven — ' the evil one,' he said —
fooled the people that lived first and got them to do things
he liked; so they got off into the dark among all these
witch-spirits, and got dirty and sick and full of trouble,
and then blind. And they forgot the way back, and at
last didn't know they had a Father that ever loved them
at all." As Kin-da-shon spoke, slowly and with an
effort recalling the connection here and there, a faint but
real glow of faith's assurance, such as had never appeared
during his hearing of the truth, began to burn in his own
heart.

What he had listened to as a new story only has become

102

KIN-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

a reality in which he, as one of those lost children, has
personal interest; and he stopped to ponder it.

"Is that all?"

"No: the rest is yet more strange. The evil one was
doing everything to spoil the Good Spirit's things.
Whole tribes of the people that he had made to be clean
and happy turned from him and worked with the spirits
of darkness. They broke his stick, and they got hurt so
they couldn't help themselves; and they lost all their
blankets, so they couldn't pay for what they had done;
and they turned from him more and more, and got so
they couldn't help working against him all the time "

"Well, I guess that's about what the Chilkats are do-
ing," Usha interrupted,

"And their debts to him got so piled up that they
took the life of every man and woman and child in the
world to pay, and then it wasn't paid "

"And then he threw them down and tramped on
them?"

"No, no; that's what a man chief would do, isn't it?
But he didn't; that's the strangest part; ]ie cried for them;
he loved them; and he tried to think how he could pay
for them and bring them back. His own boy, Jesus
Christ, was the Chief to do it, and he did; he paid for us
all himself, and he is living yet and loves us. Think of
that, Usha! a spirit, and he loves us! "

"How does the white man know?"

" He has a letter from God that tells, and it tells about
a happy place where God is. And, Usha, you knew Kah-
sha. He saw the I'^ht of that place before he died; he
said it was not far, and he was glad to go."

As Kin-da-shon has proceeded with the message to
Usha, his realization of it has deepened, and with the
mention of infinite love and its remedy for sin the mois-

AN ALASKAN STORY.

183

ture has gathered in his clear eyes, and something very
like a sob half-chokes his speech.

Usha sits as one into whose lap has been poured things
of uncertain but possible value, which she means to look
over before throwing them away.

Though the voices have failed to arouse Kotch-kul-ah,
the silence now has that effect; and starting up with a
vague sense of something wrong, she sits facing Kin-da-
shon before she realizes the situation. Then the full
waves of crimson flush her face and neck, the eyelids
drop over the flashing lights, while she is silent and con-
fused by her gladness,

Kin-da-shon, unembarrassed by any tender feeling,
looks at the girl with sensations similar to those with
which he had watched the night sun from the mountains
of the north. The peculiar thrill of a sensitive organiza-
tion passes through him at this vision of fresh womanly
beauty — beauty such as he had never before seen. Now
as her blushes rise and her eyelids fall he still gazes on
with wondering appreciation; it is also a rosy sunset — this
vision before him — more beautiful than in its full glory.

It is Usha who breaks the spell.

"You have slept long, Kotch-kul-ah. Eat; for there
is work enough to do before to-morrow."

As she speaks she rises, and setting food before the
girl, goes on to say:

" Kin-da-shon must go on to Klok-won to-night. There
is good to no one in his stopping longer here — and you
must go with him, Kotch-kul-ah."

A quick, questioning look is her only reply, Kotch-
kul-ah is eating now.

"Kin-da-shon has brought strange news for you: Yealh-
neddy has thrown you away, and you are to live where you
please."

i84

KIN.DA.SnON' S IVIFE:

not in Yhin-da-

" And you, Usha ? "

"I will live where I please, too
stachy."

"And not in Klok-won?"

" How long could I live there, do you think ? Witches
work best in the dark. This is my place now. It mat-
ters nothing to any one where I am to-morrow."

" Usha! " cries the girl reproachfully, "/want always
to know where you ire. You have been good to me. If
ever you had a witch-spirit, it is gone. I know you, and
I love you! "

Kneeling at her side, TJcha takes the girl's hands, hold-
ing them and smoothing them tenderly, while tears all
unused to flowing drop down over the wrinkled cheeks
and wet the enfolding hands.

" My little one — my precious! " she says over and over
again.

" Tell me what to do, Usha — you are wise! "

"You will help to take Kin-da-shon to his father's
house — your uncle's house — and there >v^/^ will find a nest-
ing-place; that is best."

"Yes, Kotch-kul-ah, my father will be a father to you,
and my mother will love you," Kin-da-shon says, grate-
fully and earnestly,

A look of joy is her answer; and Usha resumes:

"As soon as daylight begins to die we will take the
canoe and get out into the river; we can reach Klok-won
before the new day."

" Then you are going, too, Usha ? " Kotch-kul-ah asks,
in pleased surprise.

" To be sure I am going too. How else would you go?
But you and Kin-da-shon shall have no tongues in Klok-
won; and I will be down the rapids and safe in my hole
before any one else has eyes."

AN ALASKAN STORY.

i«5

So the arrangements are made, and afterward are car-
ried out with entire success.

As the little party nears Klok-won in the early purple
of the morning, before a house can be discerned they hear
the baying of the village dogs — hundreds of them; at
which familiar sound, so long unheard, Kotch-kul-ah falls
to crying. 'Tis one of the tokens of human life! — sweet
life! — ah! and bitter!

When Usha has set the "children " on the shore a half-
mile on the nearer side of the village, d watched them
for a moment as they start along the tra'i, it is with feel-
ings of such genuine motherly plea', ire for them that, for
a time at least, there is no sense of her own desolation;
aiiva then, when her poor little boat drop-f into the hurry-
ing stream, a certain exultation of spirit takes possession
of her — an almost defiance of the powers of darkness — a
feeling that, in spite of men and demons, Kotca kul-ah
shall be happy. There can be no other way now ; she
knows it full well, and laughs as she cons it. Kin-da-
shon must be her husband now. If all else were against
it the honor of both tribes is now at stake — coming as
they do out of the night together, from — no one knows
where.

Yes; no time will be lost in making it known through-
out the tribes that they are husband and wife. And yet
Kin-da-shon has not thought of such a thing — Usha is
sure of that; but Kotch-kul-ah thinks of nothing else than
that it is his wish and intention to make her his wife.

But Kin-da-shon is good, Usha knows. He will soon
see that he cannot let her honor or his own be dimmed.
He will marry her, and he will be none the less happy.
And in all this Usha is a true prophet.

The early rousing of Shans-ga-gate's household by the
coming of Kin-da-shon and Kotch-kul-ah is the occasion

1 86

KIN-DA. SIION'S WIFE:

of a great commotion, which soon extends through the
length and breadth of the village; and when their experi-
ence, or as much of it as they have agreed upon telling,
has been made known, they are welcomed as the lost now
found.

Kin-da-shon's story of Yealh-neddy's complete renun-
ciation of Kotch-kul-ah is received with unmixed delight
by the friends, who at once begin to name the gifts which
shall be made her mother on Kin-da-shon's account.

Kin-da-shon soon awakes to the necessities of the case,
which, even had Tashekah been free, would have been
almost impossible to flee from. As it is, though his
heart cries for his only love and will not be comforted,
he knows that his only peace, and Kotch-kul-ah's, is in
yielding to this arrangement so pleasing to his friends
and so exacted by circumstances.

Thus it comes about that from this very day Kin-da-
shon and Kotch-kul-ah, his wife, are amoi.g the " old
folks" of this household. Kotch-kul-ah full of life, with
high and happy spirits; Kin-da-shon quiet — often sad, but
always gentle and kind. Before his shoulders have fully
recovered their soundness, his mother and father, with
other friends, make the trip to Yhin-da-stachy, taking
such presents as fully satisfy Kah-de-guah and her family,
and give the final seal to the marriage.

Yealh-neddy hears the contract with a grinding of nis
teeth and with an inward cursing which bodes no good to
the young husband and his wife.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

187

CHAPTER XV.

THE WEDDING-PARTY.

jy" UN-UL-KOO'S betrothal trial of six months in the
family of his chosen bride is at an end, and with mu-
tual congratulations the friends of the couple meet again
in the house of Shans-ga-gate to ratify the marriage agree-
ment.

For many days snow has been falling heavily and con-
tinuously, and the Kutwulhtoo people have come up by
trail on snow-shoes.

The short journey has been a carnival, filled, as the
people always are, with childlike joy and exuberance of
spirits at the appearance of early winter snows; the young
men with their light and slender snow-shoes have run
races with each other the entire distance over the broad
white way — all minor obstacles being hid far beneath its
surface. Servants have carried the packs of blankets and
skins which go to Shans-ga-gate and Sha-ga-uk, the par-
ents of the bride. The groom's father and mother with
their friends follow, with merry speech and laughter.

And now, leaving their snow-shoes at the door, that no
ill luck may enter the house, the friends gather about the
great pile of blazing logs in pleasant sociability. Mes-
sengers have been sent with strict etiquette to bid those
of the village who are expected to come. The goods
have all been looked over and approved by the recipients,
who, on the other hand, make quite a display of Kahs-
teen's handiwork. Here stands her dancing-blanket loom,
with its blanket well begun, showing smooth, even work

1 88

KIN-DA.SIION' S WIFE:

of fine twisted thread; beside it are large baskets filled
with soft white and variously dyed wool "rolls "and yarn.
There are skins of the silver fox and sea-otter, as well as
others of less valuable kinds, which Kahs-teen has dressed
and tanned and made into robes. There are hides of
dressed leather, soft as velvet, of a creamy white color
and of a golden brown. There are also numerous articles
of clothing, fashioned by her b;isy fingers from other skins
similarly prepared — shirt and trousers with combination
moccasins, embroidered with beads and gayly colored
porcupine quills; there are mittens made of tanned skins,
with the fur inside, and fur caps and boots, with blanket
stockings.

Very flattering eulogies come from the examiners now
seating themselves in social fashion; but at length a
silence falls over all, in expectation of the few words
which will complete this high-class marriage.

A man of years, with whitening head, who is a relative
to neither family, but a friend of each, has been called
upon to speak. Without rising, he responds by address-
ing first the bridegroom, who has taken a more prominent
place in the company than on the occasion of his be-
trothal:

" Kun-ul-koo, son of the Bear, you have been allowed
your eyes and your ears, your smell and your taste in this
household for six moons — is your heart still the same?
Is your desire still for the daughter of Sha-ga-uk ? "

In a clear voice, and with a straightforward look, the
young man makes answer:

"Ah, ah! my friends! The heart of Kun-ul-koo is
made strong! "

Then to the young bride turns the old man: "Kahs-
teen, daughter of the Ravens, is your heart filled — do
you cry for no other ? "

AN ALASKAN STONY.

189

Blushing and shy, she draws back still more behind her
mother. Her answer is too low to reach the company.

" She wants him," speaks the mother; at which the old
man turns to the parents:

" This new man and woman have net changed their
hearts in the sight of each other for six moons. Sha-ga-
uk and Shans-ga-gate, are your hearts for this thing? Is
this young man what you want for )'^our daughter's hus-
band ? Are you and your friends satisfied with his gifts ? "

" His gifts are good! He is a good man! " answer the
mother and father of Kahs-teen, w/iile Kin-dd-shon adds:

"Kun-ul-koo is to my mother as I am, and to my
father as his brother. "

Then to the parents of Kun-ul-koo the old man speaks:

"Have you anything against this woman ?" and th'^y
answer :

"She is our choice."

Now there is a loosening of tongues among the assem-
bled company — merry laughter and noisy chatter soon
dispel all shadow of ceremony.

Great messes of fat bear-flesh have been set boiling,
sending their savory, steamy odors through the place.
When this part of the feast is nearly cooked dried fish are
set on slender sticks, to grow crisp before the fire, while
from their ash-pits under low-burning coals are raked out
a number of roasted fowl.

When these last have been deprived of their coat of
feathers and the stews have been dished and the fish
broken on their trays, the whole company is served.
Then the fire is built up anew — logs on logs somewhat as
a lo"- ' ■•:"■ ■- built — and as the early darkness falls upon
the village this home is the scene of hearty good cheer
and brightness.

After the protracted and satisfying meal the remnants

190

KIN-DA - SI I ON' S WIFE :

of food are cared for by the servants, who retire to the
further corners of the room and enjoy their portion, while
story-telling and fireside games occupy the company.

" Shans-ga-gate first," the Kutwulhtoo people demand.
'* Let him tell the story of his tribe, since he has taken an-
other dear into his family."

"No, friends, no; let us hear first something of the
raven from his friends — that were more fitting to begin
with, since they are my guests. Nalh-say," addressing
the father of his daughter's husband — "Nalh-say, tell of
his tricks, one or two — to quit before you're gray you
could not tell them all."

So urged, Nalh-say begins:

"Long time ago — he! he! he! cha-auk! [given with
closed eyes, prolongec^ intonation, and with the extended
right hand and index finger describing a half-circle with
horizontal base], two Kling-get women — sisters — lived all
alone in a little house they had made by the great water,
for neither woman had ever taken a husband nor wanted
one. They fished and hunted and lived full — only in
each woman's heart there was an empty house for chil-
dren; nothing could live in it but a baby. So, wherever
they went or whatever they did, they always thought about
a child.

" Yealh — the Raven — knew their hearts. They got
plenty of food; he was hungry, and hunting for himself
was not what he liked.

" He saw an easy way of getting what he wanted. So
one day he made himself look like a baby and lay down
on the beach, crying. The women heard the cry and ran
to find the child, which each woman wanted for her own;
but the one who touched him first claimed him and car-
ried him to the house, where she gave him fish and
berries.

AN ALASKAN STORY

191

" He ate all they had in the house and went to sleep.
Then the women went for more.

" Yealh wanted fresh meat, with the blood, and this is
the way he got it: he turned a young lynx into a baby,
just where it would be found by the woman who had no
child.

** When she had found it and brought it to the house,
her words swelled till her sister was angry and said:

*"I don't believe it is a baby! '

"'Maybe it isn't a baby. What is it, then?' sneered
the new mother.

"'A lynx, likely,' the angry sister answered, shooting
her arrow into the bushes and killing game unseen.

" 'Then^w/r baby must be Yealh — to eat as he does. '

" But when the babies went, both of them, to sleep, the
mothers went again for food. When they had gone,
Yealh ate the lynx baby and dug a hole in the sand, where
he covered the bones. He went to the water and washed
from himself all spots of blood; he picked from his teeth
all signs of the flesh he had eaten, then waited in the
house for the coming of the women.

" He was still very hungry, and ate all his mother had
brought home; but the lynx's mother was crying for her
child.

" 'Where is my baby ? Where is my baby ? '

"At last Yealh spoke:

"'Some people came in a canoe while you were gone.
They said the baby belonged to them, and they took it
away.'

" 'Where did they go? What people were they? '

"'They are not oi your people; they are far from here.
You can never find it. '

" All night the woman cried, but in the morning she
went again with her sister to get berries.

192

KIN-DA-SIION' S WIFE:

"Yealh ate all they gave him when they came home;
he was growing large and strong, and was always hungry.

"'To-day, while you were gone, ' he told the women,
'that same canoe came again, with a man in it. He said
your baby was hungry. He said if I would bring food to
a rocky place he told me of, the baby would be fed. If
you won't send the food your baby will die.'

"'I will go myself,' the woman said.

"'You can't go yourself; you can never know the place.
Even if your baby starves, the man will never let you
know. '

" So baskets of berries, sea-weed, and venison Yealh
carried to the forest, and alone among the rocks he ate
them all.

" But what the woman bad said in the flash of her anger
came back to her heart and married a thought. She had
said he was Yealh — she began to believe he was.

"Every day when he came again with empty baskets
she was vexed, and the spirit in her grew till she hid it
no more.

" As she sat with her sister on the beach one day, wait-
ing for the baskets to be brought again, she spoke out:

" 'I told you your child was Yealh — and he is.'

" Her sister was very angry and poured out words to bite.

" 'Well, if you don't believe it let us prove him. We
will take plenty of water and make it boi'. When he
comes we will put him into it. If he is Yealh he will fly
away. '

" To this the mother agreed, and when he came back
with his hungry baskets everything was ready for him.

" He kicked and struck and struggled, but they were
strong, and into the boiling water he went — when lo!
away flew Yealh, just aS black as ever — and that was the
last of the baby and of his eating in that house."

AN ALAS/CAN STORY.

193

A general laugh greets the conclusion of Nalh-say's
story, which, though by no means a new one, has been
listened to with fixed attention by young and old.

Back from the fire, which now receives a generous sup-
ply of animal oil to increase its light, against the inner
wall, sits Kin-da-shon, and close at his side, leaning
against his shoulder just a trifle now and then, but still
leaning, is Kotch-kul-ah, his wife.

Kin-da-shon looks down upon her tenderly, yet not
without that shade of sadness which has become habitual.

" Do all women have that empty house in their hearts,
Kotch-kul-ah?"

"Maybe," she answers, with a rosy smile.

"Would you have Yealh or the iynx \n yours?" he asks
again, with a twinkle of mischief.

"Neither: mine shall be Kin-da-shon," is her ready
answer, given with a shy touch of her hand upon his.
Whereat he takes it into his own and lays them both upon
his knee, resting on them his cool, moist forehead.
Tender thoughts, rising prayerfully, fill his soul. Though
his knowledge of the true God is but as a blade, he car-
ries soil which shall bring forth at least the "thirty-
fold."

" Shans-ga-gate — Shans-ga-gate's story! " is now heard
on all sides, and without further urging comes the re-
sponse:

" The story of the Bear tribe is a good one to tell. I
am glad I am a Bear." Here all the Bears laugh, and
with them laugh the Ravens.

"A long time ago — he! he! he! cha-auk — in the new
of the year, the village women went out to gather yan-a-
ate. They found only what was spoiled in the growing,
and very bitter; so they walked on a very great way into
the forest.
13

194

KIN.DA-SIION'S WIFE:

"The sun was not far from its setting-place in the
north, when they at last found what they went for, grow-
ing tender and tall — a whole village of it.

" Each woman gathered for herself a heavy bundle of
it, and getting it on their backs they started for their
home-place.

" One woman only was left behind; she had a very big
bundle and the string broke. While she stopped to save
her yan-a-ate the other women got out of sight.

" At last the new-tied bundle was on her back, and be-
cause of its weight her body was bent and her eyes were
on the ground; but she walked fast in following the
women,

** She had walked a long time before she stopped to
look and listen. There was neither sight nor sound of
her friends; her ears told her only of the night-bird and
the rushing of a mountain stream. Her eyes told her of
no footprint like her own — the way she was going was
not the way she had come. The sun was gone ; there was
nothing to tell her whither she should go,

*' She was frightened. She cried as the sea-gull. There
was no answer but that the mountain rocks gave her.

"Changing her course, she went a little way further,
when she heard a gruif voice say:

"'You have left your own people; you will never find
them,' She looked up and saw a very'great bear. She
began to cry again and dropped her yan-a-ate. Still she
did not run.

"'Never mind them,' the bear said. 'You shall be my
wife; you will be very glad; you will cry no more for
your people. Come: we are going down to the stream
for fish. *

" He picked up some of her yan-a-ate and tasted of it ;
and she saw then that a great many other bears, men,

AN ALASKAN STORY,

195

women, and children bears, were coming down toward the
stream,

"As they came near the first bear said to them:

"'Here is my wife. I have just found her.'

"All the bears looked at her and looked pleased, but
just the women bears — they didn't like her. She knew it
and was sorry, but she went with her husband, and when
all had got plenty of fish they went back into the woods.

" What at first seemed to her thick trees she soon saw
were houses — the bears' village.

"Then all the women bears made fires and cooked sup-
per for their husbands. She tried to do the same, but
her fire would not burn.

" Next day her husband went off to hunt, and when
evening came she tried again to make her fire burn as the
other wives did; but, as before, there wa- nothing but
black sticks; and when her husband came he found no
supper ready — only a crying wife.

"'Why do you cry?' he asked her.

"'I can't make a fire; and all the women laugh at me,'
she said.

"'How did you make your fire?' he asked her again;
and she answered him, with a strong voice:

"'My sticks were dry and I made it right.'

" Then her husband laughed as the women had laughed,
but not with their bitterness.

"'That is the reason that your fire burns not,' he said.
'You must make it with w^/ sticks; all the women make
fire that way. ' And when he showed her how to do it she
loved him.

"After a long time the woman's brothers rame near
this bears' village hunting: they were very hungry; their
people had no food, and many were dying for something
to eat. These seven brothers of the bear's wife had come

196

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

from far, finding nothing till they came to the bears* vil-
lage. They saw the very house where their sister lived;
and when they listened they heard the sound of voices,
but could not tell what was being said.

"The six big brothers said to their little brother:

"'Go close to that bear's house and shoot an arrow
into it! •

"The little brother crept close up to the house, but in-
stead of shooting he listened. He heard his sister's voice
— she was speaking to her husband about a little baby
which she knew would come soon to her arms. Then the
boy looked in and saw the woman.

" She had on a piece of the dress she used to wear, but
it was worn out, and on her arms and neck he saw soft,
warm bear's fur. He saw her husband very kind to her,
though his voice was the heavy voice of a great bear.

"Now, for a year after their sister was lost all her
brothers had cried for her and hunted for her; and then
had given a feast for her, believing she was dead.

"When the little boy saw his sister in the bear's house
he ran back to his six brothers and told them. They
were angry, for their stomachs were empty, and their
knees knocked together for want of strength. They must
have that bear; so they sent the little brother back again,
and again he shot no arrow; only listened.

" This time he heard the bear speak ; he had seen the
men and was telling his wife about them. Then the woman
looked out carefully, and when she had seen her brothers
she told her husband there was no danger — she was their
sister, she said; they would never harm her husband.

" But they did. When she went out to tell them, they shot
her husband and took her away with them — the meat also.

" For many days and nights her tears wet the ground of
their hut. None of her friends could make her heart glad

AN ALASKAN STORY.

197

again. But one day she laughed. It was the day her
baby came.

*'It was not a baby like her brothers — it was three
babies — brown as their father — and she was glad!

"Her friends were angry, and her brothers were veiy
hard to the young bears, complaining of the food they ate,
and many times planning to make food of them to pay.

" But their mother helped them always till they grew
stronger. They grew fast — faster and stronger than her
own people ever grew.

*' Then came another famine. The people were starv-
ing and ready to die. But the bear children, now grown,
went every day and brought food enough to the village
for all the people. There was no more hunger, no more
sickness. Old men and little ones laughed together, and
loved the bears.

"Stronger and stronger grew the new people till they
were the head of their country, and even the Ravens
looked up and praised them. That's the beginning of the
Cinnamon Bear tribe."

Although interested, many of the children had curled
up in their blankets and gone to sleep before Shans-
ga-gate had finished his story. At its conclusion, by
general consent, the party broke up with very little cere-
mony; the Kutwulhtoo people to return to their homes
after a few hours of sleep with their toes toward the
kindly house-fire of Shans-ga-gate.

The morning hours are more than half gone before the
tardy daylight comes to rouse the sleepers. The snow
has ceased falling and lies hard frozen on the earth. A
little before noon the sun rises lazily, as though merely
stretching itself in sleep, only a hand's-breadth over the
southern horizon; and after moving but a few degrees in
its low course drops suddenly out of sight again.

I9B

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

CHAPTER XVI.

THE GOOSH-TA-KAH — A BELOVED GHOST.

" IT'S true, Shans-ga-gate, if ever the raven lied. I

-'■ was crouching out of the way watching my trap
when I saw him, and at first I thought it must be my
chief, the bear himself, waked up, till he turned a little
and I saw his face."

Here Kun-ul-koo covers his own face as though to
shut out the terrible vision which haunts him, and
trembles violently.

" If it was not the bear, what was it ? Did you have
your trap baited ? "

" Ah, ah ! I had the best trap I ever made. The young
cotton-wood was just right for the bending, and the spring
was perfect; my oily noose wanted to slide, and the meat
was fresh and sweet."

" What then — what happened ? "

"Then — the goosh-ta-kah came! Uh!" And again
the young man hides his face at the vivid recollection of
his terror.

"Go on. 'Twas a dog, likely enough."

" If a dog — why, then, let me never see another."

" How came he, then ? Did he speak ? "

" Not a word. His voice, though, was as the voice of
bear and lynx — and — maybe man — I cannot tell ; but more
dreadful than any voice I ever heard besides. *Twas when
he saw the meat I heard it. I was lying near the trap as
I told you, listening and watching in the bushes, when
all at once I heard a noise like the step of a man. My

AM ALASKAN STORY.

199

eyes followed my ears. The night was raither light nor
(lark, but snow lay on the ground even in the forest, and
I saw what seemed to be the body of a bear coming toward
the trap.

" As he came nearer I saw that he walked as a bear and
his fur was as the fur of a bear; but his eyes were as the
eyes of the owl — with the sharpness of the lynx. His
nose was the nose of the raven and his mouth was a wolf's
mouth, with the long white teeth showing sharp and
clean. Then I saw that his step was not the step of a
bear, but free, as though the legs were longer, and his
arms swung long and loose, and wrapped about the trees
or clung to their boughs as he came.

" He stopped and smelled, and came nearer to the trap.
The light in his eyes was horrible, and his teeth made a
noise that shook my bones.

"He went straight to the trap; he looked at the meat
and let out the cry that cut my liver. He picked up the
stout green stick I had left ready for my own use, and
thrust it into the rope so that it could not slip; then he
sat down, just as sits a man. My heart was turned to ice
and my body to stone. My eyes were fastened on the crea-
ture as the eyes of the dead are fixed. I could no more
move — but I saw him all the time.

" He put out his hands and took the meat up. He
smelled it strong; he cried out again; he put his white
teeth into it and tore off a good half; he ate it with greed
as he sat. He put the other part back into the trap and
fixed it as it was at first. When all was done he turned
him about again and came closer to me. His eyes were
on me and I felt his breath so cold it burned me. As my
heart died, he lifted wings like a monstrous raven an^
flew off up the mountain."

" Where was it ? Where was your .ap ? "

200

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

"Not far from here — toward Kutwulhtoo."

" On the mountain ? "

"No; at its foot."

"Then you were near the images of the medicine-men —
their sacred offering-place! How dared you go there —
taught since ever you came irto the world that none but
a medicine-man can go near the images and live? Why
you have lived to tell the story is the only wonder of it.
You can look for ill luck and trouble the rest of your life!
What took you there, young fool ? "

" I was not by the images themselves, and I kept my
eyes the other way when I found they were near. The
snow was deep, and I v.andered a little from the trail as
I came from Kutwulhtoo the other day; all around that
place I found such numbers of tracks and signs of game —
more than I ever saw before. That's the reason I went
back and fixed my trap there. It was back from the
sacred place, and my eyes I allowed not to turn toward
the Ichts' images."

" Poor fool! What's a Avhole season's game to the evil
you have brought to my house ? You never heard, I sup-
pose, that the spirits of evil spread those tracks on pur-
pose to draw men to their strong places? You never
heard that the finest berries and the fullest bushes are
made to grow in the same place for the same reason when
the season turns? You never knew that people died from
eating them? You never saw old Koo-dake-clah, swelled
up like a frog, carrying about all her life the unsightly
load of stones in her body — stones that the demons turned
her berries into when she had got her fill, one time when
she lost her way and found the fruit near the offering-
place? These things were not enough for Kun-ul-koo —
he must see and taste the devil for himself! Queer he
didn't take you — too stupid for his use, 1 suppose. He'll

AN ALASKAN STORY,

20I

sharpen you, no doubt, by the life he'll give you now! "
And Shans-ga-gate turns away in disgust and miserable
apprehension, leaving his frightened and crestfallen son-
in-law to such thoughts as may devour him.

Kin-da-shon has overheard the entire conversation.
His sleep had been disturbed by a dream of Kasko — he
had seen him, wild and alone, on the mountains. When
he awakened it was with the cold sweat standing on his
face, and he lay in almost breathless silence, living over
again the events of his dream. 'Twas as he lay thus that
his sister's husband had rushed into the house, with the
terror of his night's experience on him; and Shans-ga-
gate, roused by twinges of rheumatic chill, sat up to rub
his knees just in time to question the affrighted Kun-ul-
koo.

To Kin-da-shon this story has seemed almost the inter-
pretation of his dream. Led by his night's vision, this
new story of the goosh-ta-kah suggests a new idea.

In common with others, he has heard of the ghost-man
ever since he can remember. Unspeakable terror has
many a time caused his heart to stand still. More than
once in the dead of night he has awakened, with the
sweep of death-cold fingers on his face, and staring, has
himself beheld the man of the dead world, and lay breach-
less and speechless till the daylight came and caused the
ghost io flee. But in all his own experience there has
been nothing so tangible as this vision of Kun-ul-koo's.
*^ Took up the meat dXi(\ ate it ! ' Kin-da-shoii must know
more of that! Does Kun-ul-koo know that some of the
meat was gone^ and the rest laid back in order 1 If he has
seen that, has he seen the tracks — can he tell what they

were like? Could it be No; hardly, after so long

a time. It is more likely that Kasko is dead. This is
not the only wonderful story of the goosh-ta-kah being

202

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

seen this winter, and last winter the people were greatly
excited through similar appearances. Why should the
thought of Kasko connect itself with this ghost-story
simply because he had happened to dream of him while
he slept? But the idea will not be reasoned down — it has
come to stay and grow until it can command.

Often and often during the past year of their separation
Kin-da-shon's heart has run out through the storm after
his brother-friend. For Kasko his heart has cried and
has been never wholly quieted. Kasko, hungry and suf-
fering — perhaps dying; and his father dead and gone,
unneeding his son's blood-bought aid. Yes, dead and
gone into such light and joy as Kasko never dreamed of
gaining; knowing, too, of a God who had been strong
enough to beat the devil. Oh, Kasko must know it!
Kin-da-shon himself will go, without speaking to a sou!.
Hv^ will go where Kun-ul-koo went! Yes, if necessary
he v.'ill go even a little nearer to the in^ages of the Ichts.
To-night, after all are asleep in the house, he will steal
out and see, perhaps, the goosh-ta-kah!

Kin-da-shon has lain a long time thinking and resolv-
ing. It is time to rise now. He will build up the fire
and go for his bath. From the ample store of fuel pro-
vided yesterday against to-day's need, the fire is soon
blazing well. Then taking his ?.xe in hand, Kin-da-shon
goes down to the ice-bound river and opens a hole in the
ice for his usual morning's plunge.

Taking back to the hcuse his axe, he calls the other men
and boy?., and with a bund'e of light switches in his hand
he returns to the river, entirely relieved of superficial
covering. Dropping the brush-whip, he throws himself
into the ice bafh, and out of it lightly springs again.
Then, not too hurriedly, he lies down on the snowy bank
and rolls over and over. On getting up he switches his

AN ALASKAN STORY.

203

body from head to foot, rear and front, until with the
stinging exercise he is in a crimson glow.

Before Kin-da-shon has finished, the male portion of
every house in the village has turned out in the same
style for the same purpose — even the little fellows of four
and five years are tossed into the icy water, thrown into
the snow and switched until their first poor tears are
melted.

Even within doors ordinary clothing is not at once re-
sumed. An old man may fold a blanket about him, but
the heat of the younger men scorns even this, as :hey sit
in unconscious nudity and eat their salmon with a relish.

On the other hand, the women, even in the care of the
youngest of their own sex — the baby women — guard their
persons with the utmost modesty.

Half a dozen brown cupids, with dried fish in their
hands, are soon deeply engaged in one of the many games
common among the people — games which are all adapted
to the cultivation and development of the faculties. T/iis
is a memory game; scores of tiny sticks, split from the
firewood and broken into equal lengths, are placed by one
boy, while the others hide their eyes, in a row of groups,
something like this: II HH I HI IIIII II I III II
IIIIII I IIII. When all are arranged, the boys, at a
given signal, open their e)^es, and while the leader counts
perhai)6 ten they study the arrangement; then, at another
signal, their eyes are again closed while each boy in turn
gives his count. The boy who first gives accurately the
number of groups and the number of sticks in each suc-
cessive group lays the sticks for the next play.

The little girls of the household soon have a rival at-
traction in the game of /la/i-goo (Come here). They have
divided their number into two parties, stationing them in
opposite corners of the room. The chief of the leading

204

KIN-DA-SflON'S WIFE:

party holds aloft a bright-colored rag on a stick, and
waving it back and forth, she calls the name of one of the
opposing party. Then all together the leading party give
the sing-song invitation, with every laughable grimace
and contortion of feature or of body, with pokings of the
fingers, and with side remarks calculated to upset the grav-
ity of a judge.

" Hah-goo, Kotzie! Hah-goo, Kotzie! Hah-goo,
Kotzie! " they sing, as Kotzie, responding to the call, ad-
vances toward the banner, which she is allowed to carry
back in triumph for the use of her own party, if she can
approach and take it without a change of countenance in
the face of all the monkey-shines invented by the banner
party.

High runs the fun, and the older folk, lying back
smoking, look on and enjoy it too, ofte.i throwing in a
bit of their own gratis to both parties.

As the day wears on Kin-da-shon finds it hard to re-
strain his nervous impatience. To employ himself more
than to furnish fresh fish for supper, he takes his dark
blanket and spear, with fish-eggs inclosed in a netting of
sinew thread for bait, and proceeds to the river.

Finding a hole of perhaps a foot and a half in diameter,
he lies down by it and into it drops his net of fish-eggs,
sinking them to the bottom of the shallow stream. Then
sending his spear down to within a few inches of this safe
bait, he covers himself and the hole with the blanket, and
awaits the gathering of the salmon trout.

They begin to come very soon, magnetized by the lovely
fish-eggs; and with his peculiar-shaped spear Kin-da-
shon takes them as fast as it can be lowered and raised.

It has been the work of a very short time to provide fish
enough for the large household, and while they are being
prepared for the evening meal Kin-da-shon takes Uis axe

AN ALASKAN STORY.

205

upon his shoulder and starts out for wood, taking the di-
rection of Kutwulhtoo.

After passing the point nearest by the trail to the sacred
place of the medicine-men, he turns to the left toward the
mountain. When he has come almost to the ascent he
suddenly turns his face back toward his own village, and
with caution, that there may be neither noise nor marks
from his snow-shoes, he proceeds, peering right and left,
in search of Kunulkoo's trap.

He has reached the point which is directly in line from
the river, back through the images of the Ichts, and yet he
has discovered no trap. He stops and looks keenly toward
the mountain; it is plainly not in that direction. It can-
not be nearer Klok-won — it w«x/ be nearer the place of
offering to the demons. He will go a little nearer; he
will make sure of its whereabouts, that he may be able to
come in the dark and lose neither time nor himself. In-
voluntarily he shudders. What may he not encounter in
carrying out his plan! But the thought of Kasko and of
Kah-sha— yes, and of Tashekah !— nerves him to the effort.
If he should find him, what rejoicing the little sister
would have, and how happy he should be to have his
brother once again !

Deeply engaged with his inner world, Kin-da-shon has
moved on mechanically in the direction of the sacred
images, nor has he noticed whither his steps are lead-
ing him, until suddenly his whole being is shocked and
thrilled by the sight which meets his startled gaze.

The huge, rough-hewn images are almost within reach
of his trembling hand. Before them is the nude figure of
a man, writhing as in unspeakable torment. The back
and breast and limbs of the man are stained with blood—
the snow about him also bears evidence of his suffering.

As I^in-da-shon looks on in dumb amazement, he per-

2o6

A'IN-DA-SIWN' S WIFE:

ceives that by self-wrought gashes in the flesh the devotee
is making an offering of his own blood, with cries and
prayers brought from the depths of an agonized soul.

Only love's instinctive power could recognize in this
gaunt and blood-stained creature the noble and handsome
Kasko, But such instinct belonged to Kin-da-shon. He
sees and knows the youth he loves. Wild, hollow eyes,
from which the light of reason has fled, giving place to
frenzy, haggard cheeks, bony arms, and hands with their
talon-like nails — the long, shaggy mane — all fail to dis-
guise the beloved friend who dreams of no approach.

The heart of Kin-da-shon rushes to his lips tumultu-
ously, in its passage turning him sick and giddy. As he
grasps at the nearest tree for support one word only es-
capes him:

''Kasko!"

As though smitten from heaven, the demented youth is
arrested in his work of self-destruction! Wildly he gazes
about in search of the voice. When his eyes have met
those of Kin-da-shon, with a wild shriek he turns and
has fled.

But Kin-da-shon's effort is not to be so easily frustrated.
Dropping his axe, he pursues the maniac, who, through
loss of blood and nervous reaction, falls helpless and un-
conscious before he has scaled half the height of rocky
cliff leading to his covert.

Already the early winter night is setting in, and the
house-fires of the village have been brightened until
great volumes of ascending stars proceed from each roof-
hole, as Kin-da-shon, bearing on his back his living but
insentient burden, returns to his father's house.

Few questions are considered necessary by the family:
they know that Kin-da-shon went for wood; he tells them
that he found Kasko helpless and bleeding on the moun-

AN ALASKAN STORY.

207

tain; it is natural and right that he should bring him
home.

Kin-da-shon insists on himself tending his old-time
friend. With his own blanket he has carried and covered
him through the frosty night, and with it he now shields
him from too close scrutiny on the part of others.

When the house is still and asleep he cuts close the
long, tangled hair of his friend, and with the gentleness
of a woman bathes the body. With his own garments
he clothes him who has none, and, sitting by him, watches
for the return of Kasko's self.

It is not until the first faint light of morning begins to
greet the smoke, which Kin-da-shon has kept going up
from their hearth all night, that, as he holds Kasko's hand
and bathes his forehead and lips with the ball of snow he
has freshly brought, the quivering eyelids open and Kas-
ko's true self looks out at his faithful friend.

**Kasko," Kin-da-shon whispers, "do you know me,
brother?"

" O Kin-da-shon I " And the great, hungry, hollow eyes
fill with tears, the poor hand trembles in its loving press-
ure; then in utter weariness the eyelids fall. Bits of
snow, wet in a cup of water, Kin-da-shon places between
the lips of his friend, and presently the eyelids open and
the dark eyes seek again the faithful face bent over in
anxious attention as the white lips move.

"Why — did you — Kin-da-shon? I wrestled — with —
the powers — of — darkness. I was just — discovering —
how — to — throw them."

" No need, no need, Kasko brother. Your dear father
has found a better way; he does not need that you should
overcome the demons for him now."

" How ? What do you — say ? My Jather ? What does
he — say ? "

208

KIN.DA-SHON' S WIFE:

"He said to tell you that he is well now — that he had
found a friend stronger than all evil. He is safe and
well now, he said."

" 'Safe' ? ' Weir ? My /rt/Z/^A-— is— safe and— well ? "

"That is what he told me to tell you, and more than
that. I will try to remember it all when you get more
strength. Rest now, Kasko. "

A heavenly smile, bringing to the gaunt face more than
its early boyish beauty, has touched his eyes and mouth.

"Father," he murmurs again — "father — safe — a.\\6.weil!
What friend — was — so — strong? Tell me — now — Kin-da-
shon."

" The God he learned about at Fort Simpson, Kasko —
the God who so loved the world that he gave his only son
to come and save it. He found your father and took him
home to make him well."

" Where ? Where ? "

"To the blessed country, up above."

" Can — / go ? Do — you — know how ? Is — the door —
open?"

"I don't know," Kin-da-shon makes answer sadly;
then, struck with a sudden faint recollection, he adds:

"Stop! It comes likes a dream; but I'm sure I heard
the teacher say, if one knocks the door will open."

" The dioor— where— is it ? "

"I — I don't know. I wish I had listened better. I
was a happy boy, and I was thinking of — a little singing
bird. I didn't seem to need anything else — and I didn't
understand very well."

" ^M\.— God— loved "

"Yes, yes; I know the very words he said about that,
for your father said them over till we both had them in
our hearts. ' God so loved the world that he gave his
only Son.* "

AN ALASKAN STORY,

209

" He — came — to ssi\t— father ? "

" Yes; your father was very happy when he told me so."

" He — came with — God's — /ove — to — save — me tooV

"That's just what your father wanted me to tell you,
and I couldn't bring back the words."

One poor, thin hand is lifted toward the pale stars shin-
ing down the smoky way; the deep, dark eyes, lustrous
with new depths of spirit-beauty, are raised to heights be-
yond, while from the already death-chilled lips Kin-da-
shon catches the low-breathed prayer:

" God — love — save — me too. "

Slowly sinking drops the cold hand to his breast. The
look of peace grows deeper.

Kasko, the loving, is with the Father — beloved.
14

3IO

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

!; I

CHAPTER XVII.

KIN-DA-SHON's son THE RESCUE AT YHIN-DA-STACHY

TO THE YUKON.

A NOTHER summer has come and gone. It is a
■^^ forbidding early November day. Gray clouds go
scurrying across the low, leaden sky, jostling from each
other great showers which angry winds carry spitefully
and dash in cutting sleet upon the earth.

From the woods some distance back of Klok-won Kin-
da-shon is bringing on his back a huge bundle of green
hemlock boughs and trailing behind him over the snow
a lot of light poles, which, with the help of one of the
older women of his father's household, he is soon forming
into a booth, or place of retreat, for Kotch-kul-ah, his
wife.

As he works thus, under the stinging sleet, his heart
yearns over her who is so soon to be banished in her suffer-
ing to this frail shelter, and he strengthens anew the poles
he has set and weaves more closely the boughs of hem-
lock.

A few hours later, from this same booth, mingling with
the shrill voice of the winter wind, comes the first cry of
a new creature — a little Kin-da-sbon, awakening in the
mother-heart an ecstatic response.

After being anointed with oil and wrapped in dry
moss and pieces of blanket, the child is tied snugly into
its basket and carried into the house for presentation to
its father and relatives.

When, after ten days of exile, the young mother rejoins

AN ALASKAN STORY.

311

dry
into
n to

301

the family, Kin-da-shon settles down to an increasing
peace and quiet joy in his new possession.

As the months go by and little Kah-hlid-zeen (strong
man), as the child is called, grows in strength and stature
and develops intelligence, his many bright and winning
ways draw more and more the father's heart, until at
length regret is swallowed up — father-love consumes old
emotions and heals old sorrows.

His boy is the joy and pride of Kin-da-shon's heart, and
by reason of the child the mother grows more dear.

When Kah-hlid-zeen is a year and a half old he has
learned to let the arrow fly while his father holds the
bow, and toddling across the house brings it again to
his father's knee.

On their canoe trips for berries and game he dips his
toy paddle, trying to keep the time of his father's stroke.
At their feasts his little round head is dressed in highly
fantastic fashion, and, filled with the spirit of the occa-
sion, his little body sways in perfect rhythm of movement
to the songs of his people. Often, too, with his father's
bow on his shoulder and his father's snow-shoes on his
tiny moccasined feet, he struts about on mimic hunting-
grounds — often falling, but never crying at such disaster.

Little Kah-hlid-zeen's second spring has come. Not
yet has the ice broken on the slow-flowing river, nor have
the snow depths on the mountains softened. The last
trading party of the season is setting out for the interior —
Kin-da-shon in higher spirits than have ever possessed
him on such occasions since his first trip in the long ago,
when his heart was young and hope was high.

As he fondles his boy, while Kotch-kul-ah adds a last
touch to some handiwork of her own and places it with
his pack of articles for trade, tender recollections fill his
heart of that other setting out, and he turns with glad-

313

JCIN-DA-S/fON'S WIFE:

ness to this new happiness which has taken the place of
what he had hoped for.

" Kotch-kul-ah, you are a good wife," he says, as he
puts the boy into her arms; ** keep the child safe."

And with that he joins his party, who are already in
their canoes impatiently awaiting him.

Their route is the same as on that first trip which he
has been thinking of, when he brought the beaded pouch
for little Tashekah. It is the first time he has made the
trip since then, having in the intervening seasons gone in
from Klok-won to the westward.

Their boat glides down the rapids to Yhin-da-stachy,
which he has not visited since his unhappy return from
Fort Simpson. He has ever shrunk from doing so, but
now he is looking forward with calmness to a meeting
with those who once shook his heart.

Having made an early start from Klok-won, in order to
reach the head of Dy-ya inlet before night — a distance of
fifty miles — there is to be no unnecessary delay at Yhin-
da-stachy, for though the greater part of the distance is
accomplished with so much ease, the portage of canoes
and goods across the peninsula is tedious and heavy; and
then, should head v.-inds be encountered, the remaining
twenty miles will be long.

Making the last turn in the rapids and coming out
against the full tide, Uuy find a high wind lashing the
waters to a foam. So suddenly does it strike their boats,
demanding attention and skill, that it is a moment be-
fore they discover a canoe in advance of their own party.
It is heavily laden with wood and manned by two small
boys. Even in a calm, the water must have been within
three or four inches of the canoe's edge.

The little fellows have evidently expected to drive in,
for their sheet is spread to the full, and even as the men

n
o
g

AN ALASKAN STORY.

213

catch sight of it the little craft is whipped over and its
burden turned into the sea.

The men themselves arc but holding their own against
the elements. The icy spray cuts like knives as it strikes
their faces. Several attempts are made at landing before
they finally succeed in getting ashore. As soon as they
have done so they turn to look for the unfortunate chil-
dren, whose empty boat has now been flung ashore with
the roaring waves, and, with their breaking, broken. A
few pieces of the wood are still being dashed about, and
on one of these short logs the men descry two small hands
clinging.

With the directness of an arrow Kin-da-shon has shot
under the breaker, and with swift, strong strokes, timed
to the waves, soon reaches the child, whose hands seem
frozen to the log's rough bark — scarcely conscious of
either his danger or his rescue.

His hands are loosened and his sturdy little body is
thrown astride the log; then, holding and pushing before
him his buoyant burden, Kin-da-shon seeks a landing
further down among the mud flats, and succeeds in
getting ashore with few bruises either to himself or the
boy.

It is Kunz ; a good deal shaken up, but he soon gets
upon his feet and shares the anxiety of the now aroused
village in regard to the fate of his companion. It was
Chan-ka, nephew of Yealh-neddy, that was with him;
and Yealh-neddy at this moment is lying within his wife's
house, heavy with drunken sleep, a result of last night's
feast, for which he had provided several boxes of hoots-a-
noo of his own manufacture. Now, after several hours
of wild excitement, he and many others are lying in dis-
gusting stupefaction.

Already among those who have gathered on the beach

214

JCIN-.DA-SHON' S WIFE:

is heard the sound of wailing for the dead; but it is not
such as is made for those who die on shore.

There is no death so held in terror by the Kling-gets as
that by drowning — doomed as they believe such a soul is
to eternal wandering in cold and pain, ever and vainly
seeking rest.

The shrieks and the groans of the women are heard
high above the thundering of the waters, which are dash-
ing and breaking on the shore.

Some of the men have gone to look at the boat. As
they turn over its ruined, broken hull they find the sail-
sticks wedged inco it and the sail curiously wrapped and
caught between them.

Stop! There is something within. Can it be one of the
logs? With haste they disentangle it, and — their shout is
only unheard by the mourners because of their own shriller
noises! But they are silenced when the men have taken
up the body and start across to one of the dwellings.

It ib indeed Chan-ka! And now great is the regret that
Ka-kee is not at home. The medicine-man has gone to
Chilkoot, and there is nothing for it but to do, without
the medicine-spirit, what they can to restore the breath of
the drowned boy.

Such women as Usha-shawet are speedily at work, and
before Kin-da-shon and his party hav^e refreshed them-
selves with food and made dry their clothing by the hos-
pitable village fires, the boy is breathing and conscious,
causing great talk and rejoicing among the people.

Kunz has restored lumself to his household, of which,
in his father's absence, he has felt himself the guardian
and provider.

Sa-allie has gone herself and brought Kin-da-shon to
their own fire, setting before him the hearty breakfast
which she had kept warm for Kunz.

str;
inj
hisi
real

Hal
of

h\i
witJ
I

nesj

owe

AN ALASKAN STORY.

215

, and
them-
le hos-
iscious,

While he sits eating it she holds his clothing and dries
it about the leaping flames.

At one corner of the hearth, on a little feather-bed,
is the once chubby Ch-one. So greatly has his body
shrunken that the head seems to have doubled its size,
though the ears and nose are small and pinched and the
mouth is sadly drawn. The eyes, however, are unnatu-
rally large and bright, with a world of woe and appeal in
them.

For a long time he sits in perfect silence, looking on
with expression so wise and grave that at length his
mother, with a silent gesture, calls Kin-da-shon's atten-
tion.

"He is always just like that," she says, in muffled
tones.

"Does he walk?" Kin-da-shon asks.

"No: see!" And Sa-allie draws out the little shriv-
elled legs, crooked from long doubling under him.

" He has never stood on them since that dreadful night.
All his life is in his head. You can see that he knows
things that other people never think. He will never grow
again, unless we find that witch."

At this the child lifts his wonderful eyes, with their
strange light and darkness — their indefinable and haunt-
ing expression — to the face of Kin-da-shon, striking into
his superstitious soul a terror that he dares not face — a
realization of his own share in this child's blighted life.
Has he not for more than two years known the hiding-place
of this spirit of evil, and still has kept it hidden? What
is he likely to get for his kindness to her? What can a
witch give but evil ?

In vain his heart tells him that it is Usha's own kind-
ness which is being repaid by his silence; that to her he
owes his own life, and Kotch-kul-ah's also; and more

2l6

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

than that, if his own and Kotch-kul-ah's, their little
Kah-hlid-zeen's life as well.

His child! his son! Oh, what if — and again his eyes
are fixed in horror on the child before him, who is still
gazing into his face — what if such a thing as this should
be visited on his own! And the strong man quails before
the suggestion.

"Tashekah!"

The boy has turned to his mother, with this single
word, in which he both beseeches and demands.

"Where /"■$■ Tashekah?" Kin-da-shon asks, glad of '*ve
distraction.

"She is gone to Chilkoot, with her husband.''

With a half-felt shock the words strike the heart of the
man. Her husband — his little Tashekah's husband! But
what is he thinking of? Surely the witches are beginning
their work on him. He must get away; and hastily put-
ting aside what is left of his breakfast, he prepares at
once for his journey.

At this moment Kunz, who appears but little the worse
for his morning's experience, enters the house with a mes-
sage from the rron, who are ready and anxious to start.

" And, mother, the people that came from Stickeen last
night say that a trader — a white man — is coming to live
in the Chilkat country! "

"A white man — coming to live in the Chilkat country!
When ? "

"At the end of summer — this next one."

"Worse and v/orse! " and the mother's face shows dis-
tress and vexation.

Kin-da-shon's movements slacken as he listens.

'Why is it worse, mother? Is it not good to sell skins
and buy white man's things here instead of going away to
Fort Simpson ? "

da-
whi
anc
dil

hac

AN ALASKAN STORY.

217

intry!

dis-

ll skins
Iway to

** Hush! You know nothing about the white man. Do
you think he's coming here to make us rich? Neh! if
Sa-allie knows anything he will bring us plenty of
trouble."

"Well, I can't see what trouble there is in having every-
thing the white men have. Why, I know I could get
skins enough myself to buy a gun, and then just think what
I could do!"

"Hush, I tell you! Think what you could do thenl
Yes, it's easy enough to think of that. If you should try
half as hard, maybe you could think of what Goosh-ta-
hcen did with his gun last winter when he killed his wife,
and of all the trouble there's been between the tribes ever
since! "

"But he was drunk, mother; he was crazy with hoots-
a-noo. / would "

"Drunk! crazy with hoots-a-noo, was he? Well, how'
did he come to have hoots-a-noo ? Did the Chilkats get it
from the devil ? You silly boy! didn't you know that
the white man taught the Kling-get people to make that
blood-of-witches to kill themselves, and now sells them
f^uns to help them do it quicker? * Devils?' Yes, they
a"e devils in white skins. I want to see none of them in
'Irs country."

"But not all are like that, Sa-allie," now puts in Kin-
da-fehon, rising under his slov ly adjusted load. " I saw a
white man in Fort Simpson who never mude hoots-a-noo,
and he sold no guns. He was there to teach the people very
different things — things to do them good and make them
glad — and he didn't do it to get rich, either. I wish we
had one of that kind here! "

"Well, / don't! And it would take a good deal to
make me believe there is such a white man. What does
he know that we need to learn, anyway? Don't we know

2l8

A-IN-jjA-SHON'S WIFE:

enough to eat and keep warm? And is there anymore
we could do if we knew never so much ? "

"What if he could teach us how to kill witches, and
how to be full and happy after we are done living here 7''

" What do devils know about that ? "

"More than we do, likely. But the men who teach
these things are not devils — at least, they say that being
drunk and killing people are bad things; and they make
the men i i " that do their way. But my brothers will
be half-wa^ jr the trail — and that without any good
thoughts of me. I will hasten! "

Kunz springs to open the door for his friend. Kin-da-
shon has taken two or three long strides, v/hen, with a
thought, he suddenly turns and puts his head in at the
door again just long enough to say:

" When ^ve were at Fort Simpson, two years ago, we
asked them to send a teacher to Chilkat. Maybe that is
who is coming, Sa-allie."

He is gone without v.'aiting to hear her contemptuous
grunt.

"If it is, what will he teach, mother?"

"Nothing — that I want j'(9« to learn," she shortly an-
swers Kunz, and then turns with more tenderness to wipe
Ch-one's wondering face.

Silently and persistently longing to see the white man
— of whatever nature he maybe — Kunz turns his attention
to the rebuilding of the fire and getting himself something
to eat.

When Yealh-neddy awakes from his drunken sleep it
is with his natural love of evil intensified and with a
beastly desire to hurt and destroy. One cf his first sensa-
tions is that of cold; his head seems filled with fire, but
his body is cold — shivering. He looks around him; be
is alone; the fire is all but out.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

219

eep It
with a
sensa-
ire, but
lim; be

*' Devils ! " he mutters ; " they would like me to freeze ! "

The feeble, wailing cry of a babe is heard as the door
opens, and the thin, bent form of a woman comes into the
room, the babe in her arms, and on her back a great
bundle of beach-gathered wood.

As she sets her baby's basket-board, into which the
child is securely bound, against the wall, she loosens the
leathern strap about her shoulders, and, stooping, drops
the wood beside the hearth.

" Lazy dog! " curses Yealh-neddy from his place on the
other side; "you tried to kill me, did you?"

There is no answer frohi '^.e woman. She is blowing
the half-dead coals under a handful of dry moss.

"Answer me, slave!" yells Yealh-neddy, half-raising
himself in his rage.

For one instant the woman lifts her face — such a wan,
wrinkled, yet strangely young face, to that of her lord
and master.

"I have not tried to kill you." Then the blowing is
quietly resumed, but the poor, bony hands are shaking.

"Vile creature, you lie! Why else did you let this fire
go out and fill the house with the breath of icebergs?
Speak ! "

" My baby was sick. I nursed it and went to sleep
when it did," she answers, with hard patience.

"Baby! sick! sleep, did you?" shrieks the man, wild
with passion. "I'll teach you to nurse the brat and
sleep!" and almost with a single bound he seizes the child
and flings it past her into the now blazing fire.

Out of the flames she snatches it, and springing over
them herself she stands facing the fellow, with such light
burning in her eyes as now for the first time makes it pos-
sible to recognize Sha-hehe.

"Yealh-neddy," she says, in a tone that has long

230

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

seemed gone with all her youth and fire — " Yealh-neddy,
did I ask you for this child? Is it the fault of Sha-hehe
that its sickly cries disturb your peace? Treat me as
you do — worse than the dog you kick in its mothering ; but
this child is of your own flesh and blood. Be careful
what you do."

Confounded as he is for an instant by her now infre-
quent resistance, she gains the door just in time to escape
his cruel hands; and he will not follow his slave through
the village, but stretches himself out by the comfortable
fire.

Here Kah-de-guah finds him when she comes from gos-
siping over the morning's occurrences, ready to take her
in hand because hot food is not aw.iting him.

"Where have you been, woman?" he asks of his wife,
not without a shade of — not respect, surely, but speaking
not as he spoke to Sha-hehe.

" Do you speak to me, my husband ? " asks Kah-da-
guah, with the most exasperating coolness, which she
knows he will not dare to resent. " I was getting news to
please you. A company of Klok-won traders have just
crossed the trail."

"What's that to me, old fool?"

"Oh, nothing, little bird, nothing to you. Kin-da-shon
was one of them. "

" What's that you say?"

She is playing with the silver bracelets which cover her
fat arms nearly to the elbows; she does not hear his ques-
tion.

" Kin-da-shon, did you say ? " he asks again, a little less
uncivilly.

" Kin-da-shon ? No, I do not say Kin-da-shon. Why
should I say Kin-da-shon?" and shp dra^vs ort ? biskef

AN ALASKAN STORY.

221

of such odds and ends as, with Kling-get women, stand
for an old lace bag or a trinket box.

Since Yealh-neddy has become an adept in distilling,
hoots-a-noo is much oftener to be had than ever before in
the Chilkat country ; and through the quarrels and inju-
ries, imagined and real, consequent upon its use, there
have come to be such heart-burnings and jealousies and
desires of revenge as threaten to bring the tribes to war.

Among the many hatreds which Yealh-neddy himself
has nursed none is greater than that of Kotch-kul-ah; and
ever since he heard of her marriage to Kin-da-shon he has
but awaited the opportunity of accomplishing a revenge
worthy his passion. The determination to have such re-
venge has but grown and strengthened in the dark. It
has been with an understanding of her husband's interest
that Kah-da-guah introduced the subject of Kin-da-shon's
presence in Yhin-da-stachy.

Knowing that further questioning is useless with his
independent spouse, Yealh-neddy begins to growl for his
breakfast.

"Is there nothing to eat in this house?"

"Oh, yes; plenty, I think. What was it you took in
the hunt yesterday — a mountain sheep ? And last night —
was it a bear? Yes: there is plenty, I should say."

"Call Sha-hehe to get me some dried fish," he says,
half -cowed by her easy sarcasm.

But he knows that Kin-da-shon has gone to the land of
the Gun-un-uh and that he cannot return for a month — six
weeks, it may be. In the mean time Kotch-kul-ah is at
Klok-won, without her husband.

His time has come: if he fails to use it he is not the
son of Yealh that he knows himself.

2^2

KIN-DA-SUON" S WIPE:

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE VOUNG MOTHER — YEALII-NEDDY's PLOT.

" TSH, ish, my dear ish — say it, my baby; you must say
it before ish comes again. See my lips — now try it
again," and at his lisping she takes him into her bosom
with passionate love.

" My little Kin-da-shon! my baby! my Kah-hlid-zeen!"

Many an hour is spent thus by Kotch-kul-ah with her
baby, until the thrifty mother almost loses patience with
her son's wife, and asks if love will keep them warm next
winter or feed them.

*' It will go more than half-way, good mother," the girl
answers, with a bright laugh, in which is no trace of fear
or care. And she tosses her baby over her shoulder,
where he holds to her hair in a glee, and drives as she
goes about her wool-dyeing and the dressing of skins.

" It is not you, my dear — my little one, my baby man —
not you, nor me, but ish, yours and mine, Kin-da-shon;
not the little but the great; he is our dear one, he is the
one we are foolish about. Tell the good grandmother; it
shall not shame me. Tell her, baby; say it — ish, ah,
ish."

Toward the grandmother's corner, where she sits at her
loom, turns the laughing, chubby face of the child as ho
says it.

"Iss, ah, iss," and his reward is the mother's dance all
around the fireplace before they begin work again.

"Another seven days and the moon will be as great as
it was when he started; we will begin to look for him

AN ALASKAN STORY.

223

she

;at as

then," Kotch-kul-ah says. "It will not be too soon, will
it, Shans-ga-gate-ish ?"

"Not a day too soon," is his answer. Then in a tone
too low for her ear he adds: "I like not these spring
trips."

"Canoe coming! Canoe coming!" rings through the
village, and soon, in common interest, all turn out to see
the arrival and hear the news.

A number of guesses are made before the identity of
the new-comers is decided.

The person first recognized is Yealh-neddy. Before
his name is spoken Kotch-kul-ah has turned pale and gath-
ers her toddling boy back into her arms, as if to shield
him from some hurt. But already the native boy traits
are showing; his eye cannot be turned from the approach-
ing canoe, and he struggles to free himself from his
mother's unconsciously tightening grasp.

At her side is Sha-ga-uk, who laughs at the contest
and says:

" Do you think you can keep him always in your bosom,
foolish girl?"

"I will not want to — when he can have his father's
hand — but — oh, I wish that man's bones were in his box! "

" Let no other ear hear that. Kotch-kul-ah, you are
daring the devil to think it."

"I know it — they are such friends! But ah clah, Sha-
ga-uk, must he stay in your house?"

" If he is so pleased. You know he must."

" Then he will please to, be sure of that! What can we
do, baby?" she cries, catching up the child in a torment
of apprehension.

"You are foolish, Kotch-kul-ah. What can he do?
What do you suppose he wants to do? It's coming three
years now that you've been safely Kin-da-shon's wife."

324

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

"Will a lynx spring while his prey is in its hole?"

" I do not see your heart. Is not this house your strong
place?"

" No — no — ah clah ! " now half-sobs the girl, " You are
good to me; but — with Kin-da-shon away I am out of
doors; it is night, and my eyes are not as the eyes of the
lynx."

Already Yealh-neddy's goods are being carried into
the house of Shans-ga-gate; his intentions are thus far
evident.

The Kling-get manner of coming and going on ordi-
nary occasions, without salutation or farewell, spares
often much embarrassment, and several days thus pass
without a word between Kotch-kul-ah and Yealh-neddy.

But the child — with that strong contrariety which
mothers refuse to acknowledge but continually encounter
in their little ones, whose pure instincts, they say, lead
them unerringly to trust only the noble and love the good
— has made immediate friendship with the man; and he,
to whom children are all brats and love is a thing un-
known, has yet been pleased by the child's preference,
and has even begun to see how it may be utilized against
the woman he hates.

With displeasure and dismay Kotch-kul-ah has seen her
boy worry out of her own arms and go, with the certainty
of a spark flying upward, to the man of evil. With much
ingenuity and with unremitting endeavor she has done what
she could to keep the child from him, yet with an intui-
tion which makes her fear to have her intention suspected.

A day comes when she is worn out with bootless effort,
and in nervous desperation she takes up her baby into
the blanket on her back, saying:

" I am going to Kutwulhtoo, ah clah Sha-ga-uk, to
take the moccasins I have finished for the old chief."

AN ALASKAN STORY.

225

"You will come again to-day?"

"Yes — no: I cannot tell. Have no trouble about me if
I stay. I wish to weave a basket pattern of Yah-doos-
kah's."

She is half-way to the neighboring village — entirely
out of sight and sound of Klok-won — before she stays her
hurried steps a moment to rest.

The resting-place she chooses is a gnarled, moss-grown
tree, hanging low and heavy branches out over the river:
into these she creeps, her "man little one" still on her
back.

When she has settled herself into the great mossy arms
she takes baby into her own, to have and to hold him with-
out let or hindrance.

With a pout on his lip, which makes it lift the ring in
his little pug nose, he takes his now freed stub toes into
his small, indignant hands, saying:

''Man—ivalkr

"Yes; man walk," laughs his delighted mother. "We
will tell it to ish when he comes; he will say 'man walk,'
too," and she covers him with kisses. All her fears are
put aside. He is her own and Kin-da-shon is her own.
She will be happy to-day — as free and happy as the birds
— as happy as she was before Yealh-neddy came.

Higher up on the crotch of a lighter bough she puts her
boy, and there, holding him by his little leathern shirt,
she swings him free as air until his glee doubles ...:. own
joy.

" Look, Kin-da-shon, child," she says, now holding him
over where he can see the spotted trout down in the
sparkling, rushing water; "see the pretty fish with the
bead flowers on their shirts. Some day will ' man walk,'
and take the fish for mother. He shall have a spear, just
the same as ish, and he shall take — come! let us count
IS

226

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

them on your fingers — klakt\ lif/i, niisk^ dok-won^ ke-jin;
now the other hand — kla-(///-sha, deh a-du-sha, nusk-kla-
du-sha, goosh-ook, jin-kaht; yes, he shall take ten — the
hands of a man, and more; we'll count the toes, too: jin-
kaht — \id\i-klake^ jin kaht kah deh, jin kaht-V\i\\-nusk^ jin-
kaht-kah-dok-won, jin-kaht-kah-kejin, jiny('a///'-kah-kla-^//^-
sha, jinkaht-kah-deh-a-du-sha, jinkaht-kah-nusk-kla-du-
sha, jinkaht-kah-goosh-ook — klake-kah; yes, twenty: one
whole man — of fish!" And baby laughs at the tickling
of his toes as if he understood it all, and his young
mother laughs with him — neither of them noticing the
warning rustle of the leaves nor seeing that their enemy
is near, until suddenly startled by his voice.

Yealh-neddy's cunning had not failed to penetrate th
innocent ruse of Kotch-kul-ah to rid herself of him. i
had not been blind to her aversion, though he had buu
touched her through her child; but he had bided his time
with a daily growing passion, and promised himself that
the time should come soon. To-day's opportunity should
certainly not beg. Soon after Kotch-kul-ah started he
coolly took down her husband's fish-spear from the wall
and said he would try his skill at fishing.

Passing out of the village by the Kutwulhtoo trail,
he hailed Goosh-ta-heen, a kindred spirit, though weaker
far than himself, and together they followed the steps of
the woman.

Something of his plan he unfolded to his fellow, and
when his quick eye and ear had discovered her position
on the tree, he seemed to have reached the desired spot
for fishing, and to be wholly unconscious of the proximity
of any one save Goosh-ta-heen himself, to whom he gave
a wink of intelligence and continued to speak as they
threw themselves down on the ground.

Yealh-neddy has made sure of being within her hear-

A.V ALASKAN STONY.

227

Lil,

:er
of

ar-

ing, and at the same time to be screened from Kotch-kul-
ali's sight by a thicket of rushes growing between them,
giving lier t'le impression that her presence has been un-
discovered.

With swift anxiety at the sound of their voices, she
tucks her now hungry babe down under her blanket; and
lie, content with such mother comfort, holds his peace
and at length sleeps.

"Pay?" Yealh-neddy is saying; ** are blankets the only
pay a man can have for shame ? Your words are not al-
ways the words of a fool, Goosh-ta-heen. Is there nothing
to satisfy shame-hunger in seeing her a slave V*

"A slave?"

"Yes, a slave. What else is she? If not a slave, then
worse — it matters little which you call it. It were easy to
see, if a man were blind, what his people think of her.
Bah! a woman that could ask a man to marry her — isn't
that low enough? And then to follow him in the night
to his mother's house, till for very shame they call them
married! Kin-da-shon was too much ashamed to even
show his face when his mother went to give blankets to
Kotch-kul-ah's friends."

" Was that why he didn't go down to Yhin-da-slachy
with them?"

"Yes: and then I suppose they were afraid he would
see young Tashekah and kill himself."

" That's a thing new to me. What had he to do with
Tashekah? That's Ka-kee's wife, isn't it? A pretty
girl — but what had Kin-da-shon to do with her?"

"What didnt he have to do with her? Do you think
she would have been Ka-kee's wife if Kin-da-shon could
have got home to his mother without being caught by that
girl, Kotch-kul-ah? Why, Tashekah wears his love-gift
around her neck now! Ka-kee doesn't know it, though."

C28

KIN.DA.SHON'S WIFE.

"That's a good thing to know. You've got it in your
quiver, haven't you, Yealh-neddy ? "

"Ah! Yealh-nedd)'s quiver holds more than that of
things that will stick when they are shot."

"When did that begin with Tashekah?"

"/knew it before Kin-da-shon began to pull his beard.
He gave her a fine present the first time he ever went into
the Stick country; and her father carried it home to her."

" Kin-da-shon was w'th her father when he died, wasn't
he?"

"Yes; and so was I. They were together all the time.
It was all settled that Kin-da-shon should have his wife
when they got back to Yhin-da-stachy. Kah-slia died b?
fore they got back, but Kin-da-shon got Tashekah all the
same. I saw her in his arms myself — just before he
started to Klok-won."

" And when he got here he was already married to
Kotch-kul-ah!"

"Yes; that's the reason, of course, that she ran away
from me — she meant to throw herself on Kin-da-shon."

Hew much more was said Kotch-kul-ah never knew.
From the first sentence which caught her ears to the last
which reached her brain, she had seem«d to be in a tor-
ment of ice and fire — held immovable by the ice-field
about her heart and burned by the slow torture of every
word they uttered, until, with the ease of such natures
as live a life in a moment, sen:e slept; and, held secure
as she was by the close arms of the tree, she sank back
and knew nothing more until, cramped and chilled —
dead her body seemed to be, and wet with dew — she at
last rouses with the nestling and fretting of the rrightened
child in her arms, whose nursing has stirred and started
the tired life-flood.

Flooding back with it comes all the shame. How can

AN ALASKAN STORY.

229

she live? Where can she go ? Not at this hour to Klok-
won with \ealh-neddy there! To Kutwulhtoo, then —
and the people believing her shameless? What may they
not think of her being abroad alone in the night ?

"O Kin-da-shon, my husband!" But even as her
heart utters the cry bitter comes the mocking echo : " Hus-
band!"

Except the shame of conjugal love between two of the
same tribe or an exposure of her own person, there is no
shame to the Kling-get woman like that of yielding her
woman s right to be sought and bought; and shame, as the
Kling-gets define and hold it, is the most prolific cause
of trouble and suicide among both sexes. Suicide is the way
out, and very often it is the only way out.

Sitting then? in her darkness and bitterness, Kotch-kul-
ah feels herself liiore utterly alone than ever before.

Heavy as is this Weight of shame, it is as nothing to
this other — that Kin-da-shon is not her own — that his
heart has all these years been yearning for another.
Shame she dared, though not realizing all that it seems
others had thought of her. It had been but a light
burden, Kin-da-shon bearing equally with her — for love's
sake. She has been so happy it has never occurred to her
that her husband's heart was not as her own. He has
been often grave, but she thought that was because he
was a man — wiser and greater than sh' It was the iittle
bird's part to sing and to flutter, the ragles soar high and
noiselessly.

But now! — oh, he has been so good to her! He saw
her love and her trouble and took care of her! He
thought he owed his life to her — and she had let him give
it, when his heart was breaking for another! He saw
and felt her shame, and would not let her bear it alone.
Oh, if she had only died! Why didn't Usha bewitch

230

KIxV-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

her? Ah! she had forgotten in her happiness; but now,
with the thought of Usha and witch- work, comes rushing
into her heart and brain the curses ever sure to fall on those
who put out a hand in aid of these powers of darkness.

"They have got me! " she cries; "that is it. Why did
I not let you die, Sha-hehe? Why did I not bruise you
enough to kill your demon? O Usha — did you help
me to live only that I might get the more hurt ? "

Many things in her husband's manner, unthought of in
her happy fulness of heart, come back to her now with
new and terrible meaning.

" He has never loved me — his heart has died as mine
would have died without him — as it is dying now! He
has never gone back to Yhin-da-stachy till now; he has
been afraid to go! But tiow — he will see Tashekah.
Now his love will be greater than before, and the woman
who came between them he will hate! "

What will come of it? What can she do? She thinks
again of Usha-shawet, but she could not keep her haby
there. She thinks of death, but her child is Kin-da-
shon's and he loves him — and the baby needs her yet —
she 7nust live!

But now — to-night! What for to-night? She cannot
go to either Klok-won or Kutwulhtoo before morning.
If she stays where she is, Kin-da-shon's mother will think
she has stayed at Kutwulhtoo, and the Kutwulhtoo people
will not know that she had left her home.

She can only stay where she is; but her limbs are so
numb — she must try to stir them a little. She tries to
move along down the tree, but, with her baby, fears to trust
herself; so she settles back again to wait for daylight,
and at length both she and the child sleep.

When Kotch-kul-ah awakes again, it is again the child
who has called her back — this time to the broad glare of

AN ALASKAN STORY.

231

day, in which shame is doubly shameful and hopelessness
becomes despair.

It is the hard light which she feels first; then the
shame, and then the despair.

"O baby, don't cry !" she says, as she holds him still
closer to her heart. But now he does cry, and struggles
so that her benumbed arms tremble with tlie effort to hold
him.

''Man— walk!" he cries, and the words bring back
strange echoes, as of a day in another world— a life long
past.

"Man— walk! " the baby demands again, and this time
with kickings so violent that his mother's grasp is power-
less to keep him; and she but half-realizes that he has
gone when she hears the splash in the waters below— the
swift, dark-flowing waters, where yesterday she had shown
him the fishes shining in the sunlight!

She tries to loosen herself from the tree — to fling her-
self down after him; but before r heavy body is free
a strong arm is thrust out from the 1 ush below her, and
now— O joy!— her boy has been caught )y his little
leathern shirt on a bare, dead, broken branch which
droops into the river. He may be dead; but he has not
been carried down with the current— his little body can
be burned.

A moment more and she sees her darling swung by the
heels and choking; and then — joy and horror! — he x^alirs
— in Yealh-neddf s arms! With a cry of — she knows no*
which emotion— Kotch-kul-ah covers her face and cowers
down, trembling and helpless.

"Come, Kotch-kul-ah, you had better go home," he
says; "here is your boy."

She tries to move, but her limbs refuse to obey.

"Come, get your young one; I don't want him!"

232

KIN. DA • SHON' S WIFE:

Vainly she tries again. She is frightened at her con-
dition; she tries to speak, but a strange, inarticulate
sound is all that escapes her lips.

Yealh-neddy drops the child upon the ground, mutter-
ing as he ascends the tree, and takes a bottle from his pouch —
a bottle gotten in the south country, and covered by
Kah-da-guah with woven grass. He grasps Kotch-kul-
ah's hair, throws back her head, and forcing the opened
bottle into her mouth, pours the clear liquid down her
throat.

Pure liquid fire it seems to the strangling woman —
mouth, throat, and stomach are filled with such strange
burning. But in a moment she feels it flying through
her veins; fingers and toes tingle; her head grows both
full and light. She can go now, she says, in a voice not
quite her own, and she even feels grateful to Yealh-
neddy. If he will help her a little. She is strong, but
not quite steady yet. She needs to get down on her feet.
If Yealh-neddy will help her a little she will go down to
baby; and then she will soon be right and go home.

With that in his face which she cannot now appreciate
or fear, he takes her by the arm and almost lifts her
down. She takes up her shivering child, strips him of
his wet shirt, and gathers him into her bosom, where he
soon recovers warmth and vigor. Then folding him into
her blanket, she takes him on lier back and starts toward
Klok-won, with Yealh-neddy behind her.

Faster and faster fly her steps, until, having made the
turn of the trail — the very point where she and Kin-da-
shon left the canoe and Usha and went alone together
to his mother's house, in the dim morning light which
was so sweet and strange to h-er then md has been so
sweet and familiar ever since until now — having come
to this point, with these recollections in her heart and

AN ALASKAN STORY.

^Z2>

the village in full view before her, and the fire medicine
in her blood having burned low, heart and flesh seem to
fail her. She staggers, and at length sits down by the
trail and buries her face in her hands on her shaking
knees.

"What's the matter now?" It is Yealh-neddy's voice,
and she shudders perceptibly.

"Go on — take your young one home; or do you want
me to take it?"

" No — no! " she cries; "but I can't go; my strength is
gone from me."

"You are sick — you want more medicine?"

"What is that medicine, Yealh-neddy ?"

"Spirit — life — it will bring the dead to life. Don't
you believe it?"

"I don't know. It's from the devil, I'm afraid;
but it made me strong. Yes, if you will give it I will
take a little more — I must go home! "

"See here, girl; I don't owe you much good, but you
may have this bottle if you keep it quiet; it's a friend
for trouble." And tossing the bottle into the grass at her
feet he moves on, with his borrowed fishing-spear over
his shoulder, toward the house of Shans-ga-gate, nor
turns his head to look until he has reached the door; then
he sees her with the bottle raised to her lips.

Breakfast engages the household as Yealh-neddy en-
ters; and he, seating himself within reach of the boiled
fish-eggs, draws from his pouch his own spoon and pro-
ceeds to help himself.

His appearance has been greeted with looks of inquiry
only; but after a time Shans-ga-gate, with a sly smile,
asks:

"Who carries yoMx fish, Yealh-neddy?"

"Kotch-kul-ah — and the river," is his ready answer.

234

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

" Kotch-kul-ah! " exclaims Sha-ga-uk, in utter conster-
nation, hardly noticing the strangeness of his answer as
a whole — "Kotch-kul-ah! What has she %o\. to do with
your fish? "

" Maybe she can tell you."

" Have^^« been to Kutwulhtoo?"

" No — only part way."

"Where is Kotch-kul-ah?"

"Coming — at the door, I think."

More and more mystified, Sha-ga-uk glances at the
door, which gives no sign of any coming; then, unable to
restrain herself further, she rises and goes to the door.

On stepping outside, she sees Kotch-kul-ah but a few
steps off, and waits till she comes nearer.

The strangeness of her appearance and manner would
seem to match that of Yealh-neddy's speech. What are
the witches working among them?

"Kotch-kul-ah, where are you from? "comes in more
peremptory fashion than any question ever before put by
her mother-in-law.

"From — from the river," stammers the girl, with an
utterance strange and thick.

" What do you mean ? Where did you sleep last night ?
Speak! answer me! " Sha-ga-uk almost screams, as Kotch-
kul-ah stands looking this way and that, her lips moving
without a sound. But, roused at length by the elder
woman's vehemence, the girl laughs, while tears flow from
her eyes — eyes that show no resemblance to Kotch-kul-
ah 's — as she answers:

" On a — a tr — tree," and again the silly laugh.

" Girl ! " And in a second Sha-ga-uk is beside her. She
knows the effect and the smell, and it may be the taste of
hoots-a-noo. Nothing could exceed her horror and disgust
at this discovery.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

235

" Girl, who gave you drink ? Where did you get this
stuff?"

" Yealh-neddy — give — medicine — good medicine."

"Yealh-neddy! " shrilly demands the mother. "What
has any honest wife to do with Yealh-neddy, I want to
know? O Kin-da-shonI my son, my son! To think she
has fallen so low! " Then to the girl:

" Give me the child, woman! " And with strong, ungen-
tle hands she forces down the blanket and takes from it
the naked child.

"Where is his shirt, you vile creature?"

Fumbling with half-senseless hands, from the upper half
of her dress — held in place by a string of leather about
the waist, thus forming a receptacle for various things —
the poor girl draws out not only the soaked little shirt,
but one of the moccasins which she had gone to carry.

Snatching the shirt, Kin-da-shon's mother looks at it
with angry questioning, disdaining the moccasin. Then,
as though realizing the uselessness of further words, she
turns, and taking Kotch-kul-ah by the shoulder pushes
her into the house, and following, makes her lie down in
the corner near the door, where she leaves her to herself.

A week has passed — the Kling-get week, marked by
Seven settings of the sun, but unmarked by any seventh
of blessed rest or joyous rising of the hope of resurrection.

It has been a week of daily increasing anguish to Kotch-
kul-ah, upon whom has fallen the unlifting blight of
public dishonor, which needs only the small additional
evidence of an eye-witness to her infiuclity to cause her
to be driven naked through the village at the head of a
jeering rabble, and killed, that her husband's shame may
be atoned for.

So slight is this missing link considered in the face of
what is already known — her night out with a man of

3^6

KIN.DA.SIION'S WIFE:

Yealh-neddy's well-known character, her drunkenness,
and Yealh-neddy's nonchalance a id innuendoes — that ex-
istence itself is made slow, undying death to the girl;
and this is but added to the eating of heart in regard to
her husband.

He has failed to come with the other men who arrived
the day after her shame was proclaimed. She had thought
at first that she might tell him what it were worse than
useless to tell any one else — the true history of that day
and night. She thought that for their baby's sake he
might listen. Then, he had been so good, he had done
so much, he might believe her; and — vain hope! — she
knew it was — might cover her from the people.

But now! he has stopped by the way; his love for
Tashekah has kept him. When he comes will he not even
rejoice that she who has held him can hold him no more?
She will go away; she will leave him his son, and she
will go where she can die in peace.

" His son," did she say ? No ! he is her son — the son of
a woman dishonored He will never be known as the
son of Kin-da-shon the good, but ever and ever the son of
vile Kotch-kul-ah! They will make of him a slave — the
lowest of her tribe. Never! She will never leave her
baby to such a fate as that. It were better to kill him
with her own hand.

The thought of flight grows upon her, She will go;
she must go! Her mother's mother was a Sitka woman.
If there is any place for her on earth it is there, among
her own family. She will try it. She will take Kin-da-
shon's own canoe, the little one in which they have so
often gone hunting and fishing together. She will go in
the night.

But she has eaten nothing for so many days she fears
her strength maj fail her. Even now she is trembling

AN ALASKAN STORY.

237

like the birch leaves she used to watch and love as they
shook their sweetness out upon the soft south wind. The
memory makes her sick and giddy.

In her weakness her fears increase. She is even afraid
that she has not the courage to risk the effort of getting
away. She thinks of Yealh-neddy's wonderful "life-
water," and recoils at the thought. Vet that would help
her to get away; it would drown her fears and give her
courage. He has the bottle. It was empty, but he has
more to put in it; he told her so, and that if she wanted
more she might have it. Even Yealh-neddy is kinder
than Kin-da-shon's friends. How is it — hating him as she
does? She must ask him to give her the bottle again.
She will tell him that she is sick, and indeed she is more
sick than ever she has been before.

The night has come, the bottle is in her possession, the
canoe is safely hidden in the long grass at the point; for
she has fancied to start from the place where she and
Kin-da-shon began to be alone together.

She has gotten together in a little pack what she must
have to keep herself alive and to make baby comfortable.
The village is quiet; the people are asleep.

Her new place by the door, showing her degradation, is
at least more easily escaped from than her old place of
honor beyond the fire.

She is out; she has reached the point — coming almost
breathlessly, and with a swiftness that in her weakened
condition leaves her exhausted. She sinks down, under
her double burden of boy and bundle, turning her hot
face into the frosty last year's grass lying gray and dead
above the tender shoots already started by a few bright
suns. She lies a long time so.

Stirring herself at last, she sits up and looks about her.
It is so dark she cannot see even the water. It is such a

238

KrA'.DA-SnON'S WII'E:

night as the spirits of evil love. She is so alone — fear-
fully alone! Her heart fails her, yet she dares not return
to the village. She tries to rise to her feet, but her
shaking limbs will not bear her. Helpless, she drops
again to the kindly earth beside her sleeping babe. She
will wait a little. When it grows lighter with the old
moon by and by she will be stronger.

She is shivering. She thrusts her cold hands into her
bosom — what is that? The bottle! She had forgotten
it. It is now that she needs it. And drawing it out, she
raises it to her unwilling lips and — she has swallowed of
it — once, twice! Ah! it is the life she needs; it is
strength! More — more! She will be able to do what she
:nust. That will do. She is too weary to put the stopper
in the bottle now. After her strength has more fully
come she will fix it. What warmth creeps through her
frame! How soft the grass is, and how sweet to rest on!
Strength is coming; she will soon be ready to go. Just
a little more of resting till the moon comes!

Lying prone upon the ground there, clutching the un-
corked bottle — her babe a few paces off in the grass, the
bundle between them, Yealh-neddy, in the twilight of the
morning, discovers the wife of Kin-da-shon in heavy,
drunken stupor.

With a hoot of such gratification as fiends know, he
approaches the prostrate woman, and with his foot turns
her to one side. A heavy snore is all the sign she makes.
At the same moment his ear detects the dip of paddles,
and stretching himself low in the grass he watches the
canoe approaching from the south. It is coming to this
very spot! Quickly dropping his face upon his folded
arms, Yealh-neddy feigns sleep.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

239

CHAPTER XIX.

kin-da-shon s return from the ytjkon-

ah's flight.

-KOTCH-KUL-

;s.
s,

lis

" P)UT, Kin-da-shon, I have been over this trail more
times than I have fingers and toes to count them on.
I tell you it is best to go no farther. We have made a
middling trade, and now we must be back before the rain
begins to fall and the mountain's snow to soften."

It was Chuh-le, one of the older men of the party, who
spoke.

"I know it, Chuh-le; and you must not wait for me.
But Koon-teh says that his house is not above a short
sun's journey from here, and his wife has finished by this
time just such a black-fox robe as I want for Kotch-kul-ah.
I can't go back without it."

"Would you throw life to the ravens for the sake of
one more fox-skin, young man?"

"No: neither your life nor mine; but I will gladly
take the extra run and risk the rains — not for you, but
for myself — to see the suns rise in my good wife's eyes."

" Don't be too sure that they wont set in your own for-
ever! I don't like it, Kin-da-shon. I wish you would
come."

" Beg no trouble, good friend, and waste no time for
us both. You must all go on just as if I went too; and
/ — my legs are young and long, you know. I will go
with Koon-teh to-day, and come again by this time to-
morrow. The third day I will overtake you as you enter
the pass. Go now! '* And turning lightly, having given

£4^

KIN.DA-SHON' S WIFE:

the skins he had already traded for into the keeping of
his man, he joined Koon-teh, who some time ago took
the trail up the river.

Chuh-le shook his head as he looked after him, but,
with his own pack already on his shoulders, he turned
and took the lead of his party in the opposite direction.

On the third day, when they had reached the pass, the
party halted, and making a fire refreshed themselves with
food and sleep. A longer rest than on ordinary occasions
they allowed hemselves, in the hope that Kin-da-shon
would join them.

But the clouds were moving swiftly and low, and their
breath was from the southern sea. Time was precious
and life was dear. By losing one they were risking the
other. They must go on without him.

Up they went, now and again turning to look back over
the lower trail, and sometimes firing a gun, hoping to get
an answering signal; but they reached the cloud-swathed
summit without a sign of their tardy comrade. Already
the rain had begun to fall, and on the descent they found
it blinding and perilous.

Before taking to their canoes at the end of the trail
another long halt was made. Then, seeing no indication
of his coming, their journey was resumed and in due time
completed.

In the mean time Kin-da-shon, after making a satisfac-
tory bargain with Koon-teh and his wife, started gayly on
the return trip. Short was the rest he gave himself, for
both heart and pack were light; and he made even longer
legs than he had promised.

"I will be with them to-night," he laughed to himself.
** Chuh-le shall say that neither my head nor my feet are
soft when he finds me sleeping beside him to-morrow."

He was within half a day's tramp of the last camp

AN ALASKAN STORY.

341

before the ascent, when, in some unaccountable way, he
made a misstep, spraining his ankle; and though he made
nothing of it for a time, the pain became more and more
severe and the foot so swollen that he was obliged to
stop and cut the leather of his soft boot. The lameness
increased, and so retarded his movements that night found
him more than one such day's journey from his friends.

When he found himself obliged to halt for the night,
it was on a dreary stretch of snow, without so much as a
twig with which to make a fire. Digging out a hole in
the snow, he crawled into it and slept until the pain
awakened him.

Finding after a time that he could see to travel by the
late moon's light, though herself was unseen through the
thick atmosphere, he again took up the march. And so,
day after day, as he could drag the heavy painful limb,
he made by slow degrees the tedious ascent, and with
somewhat lightened heart started down the long and dan-
gerous decline.

He had not gone many yards, however, down the tortu-
ous way before he discovered that all trace of the trail
was lost, and that at every step the snow became more
soft and treacherous.

Now and then he was startled by an ominous roar, as
of raging waters underneath the honey-combed snow he
was treading. Once it seemed to be trembling, and he
sat down, half-paralyzed, to see from another spur of the
mountain a field of ice fifty feet in depth and more than
twice that in breadth go thundering down into an abyss,
which made him shudder.

Snow-shoes he soon found useless, and himself unable

even to carry them. There were places where he was

obliged to lie down against his little pack and slide.

Again, turning on his face, he went clinging with toes

242

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

and fingers, scarcely breathing, lest the final Impulse
should be l^given the mass beneath him. At times, in
taking a step, he sank into the softened snow to his out-
stretched arms, and struggled slowly and cautiously out
of the grave until his body lay its outspread length and
breadth on the sur^^ace again.

Half of the descent had thus been made. He had not
felt the pain in his limb, so tense had been the strain on
his whole being; but the time seemed an eternity, and
looking down from his dizzy height there seemed no end
to reach.

He had come to the edge of a long glare of harder snow
— more precipitous than the last he had struggled through ;
and finding himself almost exhausted he fastened his fin-
gers and toes into it, and lay resting before he should
begin the fearful feat of crossing its sheeny surface.

Suddenly he became aware of the frightful roaring
which always made his heart stand still. It grew louder
— nearer! The mass beneath him shuddered, creaked,
rocked, and then, as though heaven and earth had parted,
with a noise as of the bursting of worlds, Kin-da-shon felt
himself hurled into chaos.

Down, down, forever down! His eyes lost the power
of sight; his ears burst; there was the crash of a shat-
tered univeise, and the atom, Kin-da-shon, ceased to have
an identity.

As an unknown quantity in aa unknown sphere Kin-da-
shon awoke — if that may be called waking where there is
neither feeling nor conscious thought; where knowledge of
naught past can make comparison with aught present.

Where? whence? whither? were questions that did not
rise to perplex him; nc'ther when nor how.

Moved by an impulse which sprang from no intelligent

AN ALASKAN STORY.

243

not

volition of his own, he extricated himself from the debris
of the avalanche, the course of which had been directly
toward the canyon from which flowed the creek at the
head of Inlet Dy-yd.

By the same power he found a small canoe, left by
Chuh-le in the rushes, in which he launched upon the
noisy, rapid, swollen stream, and was borne swiftly out
to the inlet.

The flood-tide was just beginning *o ebb, and thf wind
was falling back with it also. Together they carried the
little boat straight out to channel. Once there, it could
not long have been drifting about before it was discovered
by Ka-kee and Tashekah, just returning with full sail
from Chilkoot.

Thinking it to have been carried out by an unwatched
tide from some hunting-party, they paddle across to make
investigation. Great was their horror at the unexpected
sight of the silent form lying within the drifting boat.

After coming to themselves, Tashekah implored Ka-kee
to allow her to draw the boat after them to the portage,
where they could examine it further. This was finally
done.

They were yet a little distance from Portage Bay,
when a shout came from the wooded shore. They an-
swered, and found by the second call that Chuh-le and a
helper were making a canoe among the trees of cotton-
wood.

Chuh-le, still anxious for Kin-da-shon, had been daily on
the lookout, hailing every canoe that came into sight
from above. When in response to his urging Ka-kee
came within *^asy speaking distance, the sight of the
canoe in tow caused his heart to leap.

"Where did you get that canoe?" he asked, unable to
see him who lay within it.

244

KIiV-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

"Drifting — from Dy-ya;" then, cautiously, "Do you
know it?"

" It is mine.

" From where? "

" From the inlet's head."

" Who has taken it out ? "

" How can I tell ? The spirit of the mountains, maybe ! "

A momentary pallor overspread the faces of the two who
had the boat in charge, but almost instantly Ka-kee re-
covered himself enough to say with assumed lightness:

"We've got him with us, then."

"What do you mean?" Chuh-le demands, dropping his
adze and coming to the water's edge.

"Come and see," Ka-kee said, making steadily to
shore, relieved to share the burden which had been grow-
ing no lighter as they neared the portage.

"It is Kin-da-shon! " groaned Chuh-le in a voice of
mingled pain and terror, "Kin-da-shon, poor man!"
Then, after a moment's thought, during which his own
feelings too greatly absorbed him to allow any notice of
the man and woman sitting before him:

" Let us go with you and help to take him home."

To this plan Ka-kee very readily agreed, and taking
Chuh-le and his man into his own canoe, they soon reached
the Da-shu trail.

A litter was then made by tying a blanket on two poles
which were carried on the shoulders of Chuh-le and his
man, disturbing the body — in which they had discovered
that life was not extinct — as little as possible; and it was
thus borne to the village Yhin-da-stachy, Tashekah and
Ka-kee following with their packs.

The gradual coming back of life and thought, lifting
the curtains of memory and quickening realization — these
experiences of Kin-da-shon*s let us pass them over —

he
ha
hi
he

AN ALASKAN STORY.

245

physical agony also when the circulation sought its ac-
customed channels. Poor mangled and frozen body!
The outward grandeur of the man was gone forever.

Of the long, supple feet, whose tread had been so light
and fleet and elastic, nothing remained but the black,
swollen, toeless stumps. The hands, too, strong and full
of character, but slender and delicate as a woman's —
where was their beauty and their cunning? The thumbs
and two or three of the fingers were all that could be
saved to their deformed bodies.

Great kindness was shown the sufferer by the Yhin-da-
stachy people, but Kin-da-shon longed to get home; and as
soon as possible they made a box-litter, in which he could
sit or lie and be carried from place to place without dis-
turbing the body, now racked more and more with pain.

They took him home — Ka-kee and Chuh-le — he lying
in the canoe, while they walked much of the way, draw-
ing it with a rope to avoid the lurching which would have
been caused by poling it through the shallows.

At the dreary close of the first day Kutwulhtoo was
reached, and the tired men gladly shared the shelter and
the supper of their friends; while Kin-da-shon, too
thoughtful and unselfish to demur, felt the — for him
sleepless — delay was hardly to be endured; the more
hardly endured because so very near his home.

More and more, through the long hours of waking and
suffering, his heart ran before kirn to his boy, his baby —
dearer than ever child was to a father before — and to the
baby's mother. How good she was to him always, and
tender! How all these years she had warmed him with
her love! When his own heart was cold and dead she
had brought him light and warmth and love. Yes, he
loved h^v. He felt that more and more. He would tell
her so when he got home. He would make her glad.

246

KIN-DA-S/IOiV S WIFE:

Then for the first time came thoughts of his ruined,
broken body — his helplessness, so despicable in a man!
What had he now to give her? A burden of broken,
suffering flesh! His heart groaned in deeper suffering
than his flesh had ever known.

"And this is how I slall make her glad!" was his
bitter thought.

But gradually, as the night wore on, the edge of this
keen pain was worn dull with grinding, and softer
thoughts came.

" Kotch-kul-ah loves me. She will not hato my de-
formity." And as that thought grew, the desire for her
sympathy and for the tenderness of her touch became so
strong that h.. called his friends and urged them to get
started.

Without any alarming haste they complied, and stolidly
climbed the river again. As they proceeded Kin-da-shon
became impressed with the similarity of his present home-
coming to that of nearly three years before, when Usha
and Kotch-kul-ah brought him.

It is almost the same hour of the morning. The same
pale blue is about him, with the white mis. hanging above
as it did then. He recalls the early crying of the village
dogs, and Kotch-kul-ah's tears, which ht, did not under-
stand. He thinks he understands them now. At this
very moment his ears catch the same familiar sound, and
to his own eyes it brings a mist of tears.

So lost has he become in the memory now grown tender
that he would not have one link broken.

"Take me ashore at the point, good friends," he says;
and they, thinking it a sick man's idle whim, pay no
attention, but make for the village beach.

"Stop, then! let me go alone! I must go ashore at
the point! " Then, half-frightened at his feverish anger.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

247

tender

they obey, and a moment later bear him on his litter to
the top of the bank, where, standing an instant undecided
liovv to proceed, they advance a few steps, lay their bur-
den on tlie grass, and turn to make secure their canoe and
blankets. This has not been half-accomplished when
tiicre comes from Kin-da-shon such a shriek as never before
has startled their dull ears. When they turn he is sitting
up in his litter, staring before him with such an expres-
sion as hell itself might cause.

Though confident that he is suffering from delirium,
they follow his gaze and retrace their steps. What — what
is this?

There, almost within a well man's r ^ch, lying before
Kin-da-shon are — Yealh-neddy and Kotch-kul-ah! Yes —
and her baby! Its father's shriek has awakened and
frightened it. There in the wet grass, untended and
alone, his baby — Kotch-kul-ah's baby — sits crying!

"Give him tome," Kin-da-shon presently says, in a
voice they have never heard before.

They bring the frightened, struggling child, and the
father essays to take it in his arms. The futility of the
effort and the now wondering eyes of the babe complete
the man's undoing. Turning his white, strong face into
the coverings of the litter, he makes neither moan nor
outcry.

They lay the babe beside his unconscious mother, and
bearing the litter back to their canoe — all unheeded and
unchecked — their swift, steady paddles soon bring them
to the village, which for Kin-da-shon is forever home-
less.

Yealh-neddy's revenge is almost complete. He is
ready to release his victim, since her life's wrecking is
assured. It is not a part of his purpose that she shall
pay the life penalty to satisfy her husband's people. He

24S

K/N-DA-SIION'S WIFE:

owes them more sting than that. Moreover, a longer stay
in Klok-won \z not convenient to himself.

Ere her broken husband has been borne to the still
unawakened village Yealh-neddy has dragged the un-
knowing Kotch-kul-ah down the bank and placed her in
the canoe which she herself had hidden. Bringing then
her bundle and her baby, with equal tenderness, he throws
them in over her, and, pushing off, springs in himself
anJ is out of sight from the village before its people have
even discovered that a canoe is approaching. The men
• — Ka-kee and Chuh-le — bending to their paddles, with
thoughts on what they have seen and their faces village-
ward, have no suspicion of Yealh-neddy's movements.
Even Kutwulhtoo is still asleep as the little boat glides
swiftly and noiselessly by its grassy doorways.

The keen, fresh air has its effect in awaking and reviv-
ing the miserable Kotch-kul-ah. When, after a few hours'
run, they reach Yhin-da-stachy, she is able to carry her
bundle and her baby up to her mother's house.

Yealh-neddy ^as told her only what it has suited his
purpose to have her know of her husband's arrival, and
how he — Yealh-neddy — had rescued her from shame and
death.

The meeting between herself and her mother is word-
less and without demonstration of feeling of any sort.
She learns that a canoe has but a few hours ago arrived
from Sitka to trade for oil, and that they wish to return
by the first tide to-morrow if the wind is fair. Arrange-
ments are soon made by which Kotch-kul-ah is to accom-
pany them.

As the evening draws on Kotch-kul-ah sits, lonely and
apart, in the great house, almost too numb to fear any-
thing or to realize her distresses, except that just which-
ever way she turns there is darkness and suffering and a

hej

AN ALAS/CAN STORY.

249

hopeless dragging of life. Her baby has fallen asleep in
her arms. She has him, but what shall she do with him?
That is as dark as all the rest.

Sitting thus in the gloom she does not notice the slow,
silent approach of a woman — a woman younger than her-
self — does not notice until the woman has come very near
and sits looking with shy and kindly eyes up into her
own, so heavy and sad. She has not even noticed the
eyes until touched gently by the woman's small, smooth
hand. Younger, and she is smaller than Kotch-kul-ah,
Her dress is a print of delicate pattern and of the nicest
workmanship. Everything about her betokens a gentle
and refined spirit. The face is not so handsome as Kotch-
kul-ah'sown, but it is round and smooth and has a healthy
color. It has, withal, an expression of truth and strength
and simple sincerity, such as wins you as soon as the
trusting eyes have looked into yours; and then, when the
mouth has smiled, you know that you could not distrust
the indwelling soul of that woman, with the world's evi-
dence against it.

Kotch-kul-ah sits and gazes at her until she has felt all
this, and feels not so sure that somewhere there may not be
a little light. Then —

" You are Tashekah ? "

"Ah! " with a shy dropping of the eyes.

"Why did you come here?"

Without a word the little brown hands take from under
her blanket a small basket of fresh, white herring eggs —
an early spring delicacy — and a curiously-carved bone
dish of the pure, white oulachan oil, and set them before
Kotch-kul-ah.

"You have eaten nothing; you cannot have a strong
heart," she says.

"What is that to — -'•♦'-nie?" the weary Kotch-kul-ah

250

KIN-DA-SIION' S WIFE:

asks, her heart touched enough to make her lips un-
gracious.

An instant's silence, with a pained, questioning look
in the child-like face, then:

"You are cold," the gentle voice says, "Wait: I have
tea that my father got at Fort Simpson. I will bring
you some; it will do you good," and she has gone.

Kotch-kul-ah lays her sleeping babe down against the
wall beside her, and covering her face on her knees, sits
so until aroused again by the same peculiar touch. There
is Tashekah low at her side, with a bowl of steaming,
fragrant tea.

"Drink it, dear!"

Taking the bowl into her own hands, Kotch-kul-ah
drinks it eagerly. Then, handing back the cup, she says:

"It is good; it — is likejw^.'"

With a look of gladness Tashekah is about to go,
when Kotch-kul-ah catches at her dress.

"Wait! Give me your hand!" And taking one from
a number of silver bracelets on her own arm she fastens
it on the slender wrist of Tashekah,

"You will never see me again, but you will think of
me many times; and / — I will not forget you. Be happy! "

Tashekah looks in tender wonder, while Kotch-kul-ah,
with a passionate gesture, covers her head and creeps
closer to her baby. Then, taking up her bowl, the child-
woman goes silently back to her little corner in the house
of Ka-kee, where soon she is wrapped in dreams of peace;
nor knows when, a few hours later, the storm-tossed
Kotch-kul-ah sets sail with the trading people for Sitka,

un-

AN ALASKAN STOR^,

251

CHAPTER XX.

A BIT OF HISTORY,

TT was no idle rumor which led the people to expect a
white trader that fall. It was on a crisp, bright
morning in October when the intelligence was brought into
Yhin-da-stachy that he had arrived on a boat that ate fire
and breathed like a porpoise; that he had brought boards
as many as six men could hew in as many months, with
boxes and casks beyond counting; and that these things
were all being landed at Da-shu, on Portage Bay. Was
he going to build a house there all by himself ? Surely
he would come to Yhin-da-stachy, and that would give the
people much work in packing all his stuff across the trail.

Then arose visions of money — silver money — of which
they had never seen many pieces beyond those they had
used in hammering out their jewelry — bracelets, and
labrets for the women's lips, and rings for fingers, noses,
and ears.

To their easily excited minds the indications promised
vast wealth and many luxuries.

But the trader was not going to Yhin-da-stachy His
plank cabin was built on Portage Bay, where better an-
chorage was obtainable, and because the portage would
bring the trade of both sides of the peninsula and all thaJ:
came from the interior by Dy-ya.

The anticipations of the people in regard to the pecu-
niary advantages which would accrue to them through the
establishment of the post were unrealized, but there cer-
tainly was a ready market for all their articles of trade;

252

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

and though there was just as great a dearth in silver as
before, many articles of dress and food never before heard
of by the people came to be known and used among them
when so easily procured in exchange for their furs.

Encouraged by the bonus offered by the traders, the
distribution at "pot-latch" feasts became more prodigal,
while in proportion the comfort of families was disre-
garded. Jealousies grew and bitternesses strengthened.
Muskets and ammunition more generally superseded the
bow and arrow. Hoots-a-noo — before made by long and
laborious process from native productions or from sugar
and molasses, made too costly for frequent use by the
difficulty in procuring them fi ii such distances — now
became an easily acquired luxury, without which the fur-
nishings of a feast were incomplete.

Before half the winter had passed the Chilkat country
became the scene of war and bloodshed. Some of the
roots of the trouble we have already seen. There were
others also, which, though long dormant, needed only
the stimulus of alcohol to spring up and unite with the
forces of later birth in causing blood to flow as water.

The trouble culminated in the village of Klok-won.
Opposite tribes held different parts of the town, with
heavy barricades between. Mothers and children, bound
to their tribes in the strongest relation known to the
Kling-get people, were held on both sides against hus-
bands and fathers of the opposite tribe.

After the first mortal wound had been inflicted, the
killing must be kept up until the loss of the opposing
tribes should be equal. A man of high class was held to
be worth two men of lower class, or four slaves. Any
man was worth two women of the same class, and so on,
even to the mutilation of an ear or a wound of any nature
whatsoever. It was not only " an eye for an eye and a

AN ALAS/CAN STORY.

253

tooth for a tooth," but a tooth of the same size and an
eye of tlio same color.

It will be easily seen what an endless blood-letting
such a system entails where exists such numberless shades
of caste, such wild, drunken, aimless shooting, and such
ideas of hhame and dishonor as those holding among the
Kling-gets. Insults and suicides in both parties still fur-
ther complicated affairs by requiring a life of equal value
from the tribe of him who gave the "shame."

Occasionally came a time — when hoots-a-noo ran low
and the hearts of the people were weary with the long con-
flict — that a settlement was aimed at by cool calculation,
and the voluntary offering of their own lives by men
and women both.

Foreseeing the endless misery with nothing to be gained,
and unwilling to touch the vile spirit whicu made men
ready for such work, Kin-da-shon had, on the first out-
break, gone quietly to the little village of Chilkoot,
where, during all the months of subsequent trouble, he
remained — struggling to make good his heavy physical
loss by the invention of tools fitted to his maimed hands
and by the cultivation of what remained to him.

His father and his sister's husband were obliged to
stand with their tribe, leaving the women and their little
ones on the other side.

Shans-ga-gate was killed. His wife, overwhelmed by
such a succession of troubles as had befallen her family,
hung herself. This half-paid her tribe's indebtedness for
the death of Shans-ga-gate, and at that moment the bal-
ance was so nearly struck that, urged by reckless grief
and a desire to acquit her family, Kahs-teen rushed into
the fight and demanded that her life be added to that of
her mother, thus filling the measure required by her
father's death

254

K/X.DA.SIfON'S WIFE:

She was shot down, even where she stood, but the end
was as far as ever. A high-class man in her own tribe
had now been wounded, and it was uncertain what reward
would be required until the result of iiis injury could be
known.

In the mean time more hoots-a-noo must be made. A
band of such men as Yealh-neddy and Goosh-ta-heen vis-
ited the trading post for a further supply of molasses.

The trader — by this time thoroughly frightened — barred
his doors and fled to the loft of his house, leaving his
native wife to deal with the infuriated men, who, finding
themselves denied an entrance, were wild enough with the
taste of fire-water and blood to burn the barred house
down over its owners, for revenge and the chance of get-
ting what they had come for.

The woman yielded; the doors were opened; with what
they required the ruffians were furnished, and they went
their way to manufacture that which still deeper sank the
fair country in blood and ruin.

Men were found to carry the trader's message of alarm
to Sitka, where lay the man-of-war in whose force was
embodied that of the United States Government for
Alaska; and within a reasonable time a detachment was
sent to Portage Bay to bring the natives to a better under-
standing among themselves.

Boasting of their inland position at Klok-won, unap-
proachable by any boat of size, the warriors stood little
in awe of any man-of-war power, and laughed to scorn
the idea of a few white men intimidating them. Never-
theless, on the arrival at Klok-won of the officer in charge
and his handful of men, warlike demonstrations were at
once laid aside, and the fighting tribes listened with
much show of respect; then, with as little delay as possi-

AN ALASKAX STORY

fD3

hie, made a promise of peace — a promise jjroadly includ-
ing all that was asked of them.

To Sitka the peace-makers returned and declared the
trouble at an end — the Chilkats at peace with themselves
and the world.

'Twas immediately after the dispatching of this peace
party to Chilkat that the missionaries, coming in response
to the Chilkats' request, arrived at Sitka, expecting there
to take a small trading boat for the country of the north.
Hearing of the trouble among the people with whom they
had chosen to live and labor, they wished the more ear-
nestly to go among them at once.

Passage was engaged, when the commander of the man-
of-war, with kindliest intentions, interfered, refusing to
allow any further complications by the entrance of whites
at such a time; and the return of the embassy was awaited
with anxious interest.

When they came, their favorable report immediately
removed every obstacle in the way of the missionaries,
and without an hour's unnecessary delay the new work-
ers were aboard the little boat which was to visit the
post for furs.

By actual visitation of each village and the interview-
ing of their people, such jealousies were found to exist
between their petty chiefs, and such rivalry in their de-
sire to claim the mission, it became very clear that if the
missionary were left free to act and to teach it must be in a
place over which no native jurisdiction was recognized as
superior to his own — a place to which persons of each
and every tribe and village would have equal welcome
and equal rights. This fact decided the location of the
village, and Portage Bay offered advantages for the work
of the missionary as well as to the trader. There a

256

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

building was soon erectei.', in the hope that all persons
from each and every native Chilkat village who really
desired better things would come and unite in building
up a new village and an enlightened community, and that
from this centre there might emanate influences which in
time would affect the whole peninsula. From this cen-
tral station, too, the missionary would make visiting and
teaching tours among the different settlements, extending
and not disturbing the regular work at the mission vil-
lage.

On the earliest possible day after getting into their
new and unfinished home, the missionaries set out together
to make the initiatory of these tours, receiving at every
place warm welcomes and the sinccrest hospitality. Be-
ginning at Yhin-da-stachy, a night and a day were spent
there, and the same at Kutwulhtoo, holding public
meetings at each place, then proceeding to Klok-won,
where such serious work was found that even this first
visit was a prolonged one.

Run; ers had taken to Klok-won news of the missionary's
coming. As his party left Kutwulhtoo return messengers
came, saying that the people did not wish to see the
strangers; they were in blood and in heaviness of heart.
Their shame also weighed them down to the earth. They
could not look up to the faces of new friends, and they
were not ready to hear of their God. They must first
have satisfaction and an end of this trouble among them-
selves, they said; and they had now but ceased fighting
long enough to burn their dead. Even now they were
returning, the messengers «;aid, from this duty, and were
loading their guns for further warfare.

On receiving this message the missionary urged his
oarsmen to redouble their speed, and at this point that
became possible, with the greater depth of water. The

AN ALASKAN STORY.

257

village of Klok-won was reached before the fighting had
been resumed.

On every hand throughout the village were seen the
sad and terrible evidences of the conflict. On the fronts
of the houses — over their thresholds, often, marking the
spot where fell the slain — hung mementoes of the dead.
Snow-shoes, knives, moccasins, aud other articles of dress;
and above them were the hastily-constructed receptacles
for the bones and ashes of those who once had used these
things.

Everywhere were found death and desolation, wailing
and cursing, darkened homes and fireless hearths. The
finely-colored and costly carvings — household gods of
many generations, whose massive strength supported the
heavy arches of many houses in the village — were closely
veiled with coverings of native straw- matting. The
wounded lay among their tribal friends. No wife nursed
a husband, nor any daughter her father — stoics, in suf-
fering unrelieved.

Nowhere appeared the ordinary vocations of domestic
life. No busy every-day work, no cooking of food nor
making of ^arments. A pall hung over the once busy,
thriving town.

In the house of the medicine-man — himself solitary
priest among his demons — were exposed hundreds of his
"utties" — carved charms of bone, wood, and shell, huiig
on long lines crossing and recrossing the room. From
the corners of the house also peered horrid heads and
masks — heads with red eyes to wink and snake-like, fiery
tongues to thrust out and in by sinew springs. Head-
dresses and gi-dles of many materials and various styles
had place in the collection. Indeed, every tool and token
of his trade was there.

The medicine-man was known also to visit now, with

258

KIX.DA . SHOX' S WIFE:

sacrifices, the great altar outside the village, which for
one unclothed with power like his was death to ajiproach.
It was truly a harvest-time to this emissary of evil, who,
by every artifice and device, kept the people in a state of
abject slavery to himself.

On leaving their canoe the missionaries were met by
the steward of a rich old chief, who bore with true dig-
nity the distinction of being highest in rank of all the
Chilkat people. Yet, strange to say, this chief was in
nowise involved in the war; but, alone in his high caste,
he maintained a pt)sition so neutral that he could confer
with either side while attempting to control neither.

This chief's servant was sent to meet the missionaries
and tc say that it would please his master to have the
visitors come to his house. On accepting his invitation,
every kindness, both delicate and substantial, was shown
them.

An adjoining ancestral house, built in honor of deceased
relatives and kept as a guest-house, filled with oddest
dishes and quaintest carv" ^s, was opened to the stran-
gers as a more retired i-.dging-place than the already
well-filled dwelling of the chief; and stores of fish,
mountain sheep, berries, sugar, and even a little fine flour
were brought for the use of the guests.

Bales of snowy blankets — soft as down — were opened
and spread on the floor for those whc^m this ** i>avage" was
pleased to honor.

He urged them also to make their stay longer than they
had arranged for, saying that the people would not fight
while the missionary remained. His stores would hold
out, he said, if those of the strangers should fail with the
tarrying.

He gave permission also for the calling of a meeting
in the great lodging-house — a meeting of the largest, tribe.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

259

whose caste was higher than that of the tribe they were
fighting. He sent his servants to bid tliem come and hear
the nicssa;.je which tlie man of God had brought them.

They came in a mass. It was a congregation to thrill
the *^f ^ft of one bearing the message of peace and love —
of p'-cre to a suffering, f>truggling world — peace to Chil-
katy torn and bleeding as she was — of love from a God
who "so loved the world " — the world which struggled in
enmity against him — so loved that he gave — not took
from them all they had, to pay the " shame" they gave
him, but after they had done all against him — he gave
his only begotten and well -beloved Son, that they might
not perish but have everlasting life. This mighty loi'e,
the missionary told ihem, was given to the Chilkat peo-
ple, not to one tribe only, but to all tribes. Would they
receive it? Would they obey it, that they might live by
it in peace, and forever?

Hungry, despairing eyes were filled with wonder. Such
a message to such a people, with whom no effort of the
imagination had ever produced any power greater than
their own which was not a malignant, scourging power!
Even them this God so loi^ed ! Would they forgive each
other as God was willing, as God was longing, to forgive
them? That was the question. To be r^-r^m/ his love
must be obeyed.

Hard faces softened, dull faces kindled. Their hearts
had been touched. The Chilkat war was at an end.

When the message had been given and prayer had been
made, a silence fell upon the house. Then, one after
another, the leading men, out of the fulness of their
hearts, spoke.

With wondering gratitude they acce{Kcd this token
from the great God that they had been interrupted in
their work of self-destruction as a people.

36o

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE:

They rehearsed the story of their troubles, acknowl-
edged the power for evil that hoots-a-noo had been among
them, and they told with perfect frankness how little
they had meant by the promise of peace given to the
'men of war." It was an easy and quick way of getting
them out of the country, that their own plans might work
out unhindered

"But, missionary chief," one speaker said, '''this is
what the Kling-gets do when they make peace: The head
men of the fighting tribes exchange homes. They go
into each other's houses as its honored, t«rusted guest.
They eat and sleep, unarmed and unsuspicious, in that
house among their old-time enemies, proving thus Iheir
own sincerity.

" For a week they live so, and the barricades are takyn
down, the carvings are uncovered, and all things rejoice
together when the people, reconciled, feast and sing as
friends.

*' Has this been done here? You t.ee the answer for
yourself. We were this morning as far from the end as
from the beginning.

" But now it is different. This God of yours takes the
taste ri blood out of our mouths and makes us see that
we are brothers. If he wants us to have peace we will
make peace in truth. We will take our enemies' head
man into our chief's place. He shall eat of our food and
sleep by our side." This was the new spirit of the larger
tribe.

Then the weaker, the broken, bitter, and resentful
remnant of the other tribe was visited, beyond the barri-
cade. Guided to the house of the chief, the i.trgest
house in that part of il;e village, the missionaries went
to ask permission to ho.d there such a meeting as had
been held on the other side.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

261

On approaching the house, their attention was called
to the Wdn-eaten appearance of the heavy plank walls —
caused, they were told, by the bullets and lead slugs shot
by the enemy having been picked out again to shoot back.

A few feet from the steps which led up to the house
door was pointed out the spot where the chief's mother
had fallen — shot at her own request, after one of her sons
(whose life had been demanded for the honor of his tribe)
had escaped to the interior. At the foot of the steps the
ground had been saturated with the blood of his sis-
ter, who, with her nursing babe in her bosom, had taken
her place and demanded that her life be taken with iier
mother's, as the full equivn'ent of her coward brother's
life; and so the honor of their house was preserved.

At the top of the steps a dark stain and a hundred
bullet-holes showed where the chieftain brother had met
his end.

Entering, the great house seemed a first to be unoccu-
pied, 'twas so dark and hollow; but, on growing more
accustomed to the gloom, they saw, sitting on the edge
of the fireless, wreck-strewn hearth, the emaciated form
of a man, with head buried between his knees, his thin
hands clasped over it, so lost in his own dark musings
he had not noticed the entrance of any one.

The touch of a brother's hand, with strong, kindly,
sympathizing words, caused him to raise his hopeless face
for one glance. His expression was one which once seen
long haunts the soul of him who sees it. He could not
have been above nineteen or twenty years of age, yet he
had lived to see every member of his family destroyed.
He alone was left — the head of a tribe which saw before
it nothing but blood and final extinction as a -esult of
this war; for even such entire defeat were less bhameful
than giving it up while a raan was left.

263

KJN.DA.SHON' S WIFE:

With no stirring of spirit the young chief gave his con-
sent to having the people brought together in his house.
They came and heard the words which fit every need.
There were tears, and a relaxing of stern, hard-pressed
souls. Then the young chief himself spoke, thanking
the bearer of God's peace for coming to them with the
word of life — with the offer of a life worth having. His
own life, he said, he had found too heavy to carry.
Having lost all that made life dear, being utterly hope-
less as to any brighter future, he was saying good-by to
iiimself when the minister touched his hand. He had
determined to make an end of such living, and, with the
weapon which was to accomplish his release, he had taken
his seat on the desolate hearth of his fathers, ready for
the deed. But he had felt the touch of a strong brother.
He had heard words which made his dead heart live again.
He was saved !

They would indeed agree to this true peace-making.

And so the peace was made. And there followed feast-
ing and fellowship in which was no sign of bitterness,
though, in the reuniting of families, in the homein^
again of husb-inds and wives and children, there must
have been many sorely sad hearts over the places made
vacant by the twin demons, drink and ivar.

After returning to their station, the missionaries visited
the village (^hilkoot, and >s -x. result of this first touring
many of the people in all the villages were brought into
sympathy with the work, with the workers, and with each
other; so that, leaving their native places, they gathered
to the settlement on Portage Bay where they could have
the advantages of regular school and church.

Kin-d^-shon was among the first to identify himself with
the new community. Though so maimed in hands and
feet, there was no man so busy as he in all the Chilkat

AN ALASKAN STORY.

263

country. In stormy weather, and when his feet were too
painful to allow him to be about much, he sat at his
silver work, always patient, never complaining; he often
carried his carving to the school-room, where he worked
while studying. In good weather he worked out of doors
at canoe-hewing and many other things; his industry and
energy never flagged.

With his steady growth in the knowledge of God there
was a corresponding A/zr of God— a oneness ol will with the
will of God — a growth of grace and of peace which showed
more and more plainly in his fine face, and which, in his
life^ was an open book.

264

JCIN'DA-SIION'S WIFE;

CHAPTER XXI.

LITTLE CHUB CH-ONE.

"/'"^HUB wants to see missionary — Chub must go.

^-^ Somebody calls Chub's spirit, but Chub can't j^o
till he hears the big bell and hears God's talk. Take
Chub quick ; something pulls Chub too hard here — it hurts
Chub" — putting his poor little hands on his breast.

From day to day Ch-onc's plea and the plaint came alike.
At night it varied a little.

" To-morrow — ah clah, to-morrmv — take Chub to see
missionary; Chub must go." And on a half-promise,
which was still unkept by those who made it, the little
one would fall to sleep, only to awake with the same cry
on his lips.

It would have been difficult to find anything so hard for
his parents to grant as this request of Ch-one to go to the
missionary. Already it had become very evident that
his work was at war with the work of the medicine-spirits.
Already the effect was being felt in the falling off of
their gains. Nearly all of the village of Yhin-da-stachy
had gone to the mission at Portage Bay. They were be-
ing taught that much of their sickness was due to the
breaking of laws which had been given by the God who
made all life. These laws the people were being taught,
and the sick were not treated as thouyh "witched," but
were given medicines and nourishing food.

In many cases such patients as had been by their
friends expected to die came back to health and strength,
and every such case was of course a substantial loss to

AN ALASKAN STORY.

265

see

cry

the medicine-men, not only in the returns which each in-
dividual case would have brought them, but also in the
growing infidelity regarding their power which each re-
covery under the missionary's treatment was fostering.

Ka-kee meant to stay away and do what he could to
turn the tide which had set in toward the missionary.
Whispers and vague, mysterious hints were kept flying
hither and thither as to the missionary's witchcraft, and
what would sooner or later befall the people who listened
to him.

Much of the "new way" had been reported in the house
of the medicine-man and talked over between Ka-kee
and his wife and those who had heard of the true God,
through the mission — talked over in such a spirit as had
caused Ka-kee to harden his heart yet more and to resist
all influences of the CJospel.

To little Ch-one, sitting silently in his corner of the
hearth, unnoticed by "the wise and prudent," who never
dreamed of his noticing or understanding their conversa-
tion, had come, through their words, whisperings of a
wisdom above this world; and a longing to see and hear
more of this wonderful life and love and God took pos-
session of his being. Never before had he seemed to
care much, or long at a time, for anything, and they
thought he would forget this; but days and weeks had not
altered his pleading.

" Take me — /V//, ah clah; Chub must go. Chub wants
to go to the house where they tell about God. Chub will
die — take him quick."

At last, convinced that he was indeed dying with this
last desire unheeded, they packed up such little stores as
might be necessary for a few weeks, and taking Chub
they set sail one bright, early w^inter day to make the
thirty-mile trip around the peninsula.

266

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

Along the whole length of the journey he lay silent
and almost motionless. One might have thought him
sleeping, but Tashekah — whom he could never bear to
have out of his sight — sat holding his head in her lap
and saw that his eyes were often lifted to the sky — that
the little thin hands were folded together while the lips
moved as though he spoke.

As the day wore on and it was said they were almost
there, he laid one little hand on Tashekah's and said:

"Tell me, Tashekah, tell Chub when you see the
house."

A few minutes later the last point was passed. The
mission with its belfry stood out high and clear in the
glory of the setting sun, and, stretching away to the
right, along the gray and purple beach, lay the native
village nestling in the shadows of the pines.

"There is the house."

"Lift me up, Tashekah," cried the child, now trem-
bling with excitement. "Let Chub see the place of
God."

His head was raised against her breast, and, with his
tiny hands tensely clasped, the child fixed his gaze upon
the poor buildings so gilded and glorified to his vision.

The missionary had heard of his coming, and went
down with the evening into the little village to carry
such good things as were found for the sick; best of all,
the words of life for hearts weary and sick unto death.

The soulful eyes of Chub were raised to the loving,
pitying face above him, while his hands were folded in
a warm, strong clasp. Sitting thus by the child, very
tenderly the messenger led his thought; and very plain
was made the way for Christ's little ones coming home.

Next morning — the Sabbath — dawned clear and still.
Out on the early breeze floated the bright folds of the

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AN ALASKAN STORY. 267

large mission flag, the signal to all passing canoes that
the day of rest had come, when the " church house"
would be filled with music, the words of God to men,
and the voice of prayer from man to God.

Very beautiful was the scene: a new robe of snow had
fallen during the night — which gave not so much the idea
of cold as of purity. The tall rich grasses waved their
brown heads above it, and the taller ferns bowed in
grace. From the booths and huts of the hastily con-
structed village arose the blue smoke curling close against
the dark greens of the forest; while immediately in front
of the village the clear mirror of the bay gave back again
the inverted picture.

As voice to the living scene, the sweet, heavy tones of
the mission bell fell with the certain sound of "peace on
earth, good-will to men,"

At its first vibration the waiting people began to emerge
from their little homes, moving along the snow-covered
path, among the ferns and rushes, up to the little chapel
on the hill. The colors of their kerchiefs and their
blankets — red, orange, and purple — gave the last touch of
beauty to the scene, as was the response of the people to
the call to prayer the filling in of its spirit.

The morning had found Chub very, very weak ; he had
not spoken, but refused silently the proffered food, and
lay, as he had lain the day before, almost without moving.
At the sound of the bell his eyes opened wonderingly;
then :

"Take Chub," came in feeble, pleading tones.

Looking into each other's faces the father and mother
shook their heads. Chub did not notice them. In a few
moments his expression changed before their wondering
eyes, a far-away look fell on the face of the child — a
look which presently brightened into one of inexpressible

268

KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE :

'■* !

joy and peace, and from his white lips came the words:
"Ah — ah — God's house — Chub comes."

The beautiful eyes were closed, and over the poor little
hands and feet were drawn warm coverings of wool. They
hung around his neck their charms and paints, they laid
around and about the little dead body all that their love
and their possessions could give, and it was then ready for
the burning.

A handful of ashes, a little box of bones, and a void
in the hearts of those who loved him were all that re-
mained of little Ch-one. Yet no! Eternity may show
far more than these.

An eventful year passed at the mission village. The
winter was one of unprecedented storm and consequent
suffering to the people in their open, hastily-built huts;
for, provident people that they were, they would not leave
their fishing and curing and oil-making and berry-pre-
serving until their store-houses were filled against the
winter's need.

They seemed to think that with so much comfort for
the stomach, and with the school for mind and heart,
small provision would be necessary as to shelter.

The storms came early and with such violence that
even the natives themselves were housed for weeks unable
to go to their old villages for supplies they greatly needed.
When afterward a lull came and they went to get the
food they had so laboriously prepared and so carefully
housed, it was found that their houses had been broken
open and the food was gone — stolen.

Many weeks of privation and suffering followed, during
which the viain^ and to many the only^ article of diet was
the little black mussel found at low tide on the rocky
beach.

il'i

AN ALASKAN STORY.

269

A terrible epidemic broke out among *he peop) i; many
died. Many, whose superstitious minds were wrought
upon by the prophecies and curses of the medicine-men,
gave to these birds of evil even their last blanket, that
the spirits might forgive them the welcome they had
given the missionaries. That was the cause, these
prophets said, of all the evil which had befallen the
people.

Others, seeing how many of the sick recovered when
tended and fed by the missionary, while nearly all whom
the medicine-men danced over died^ held to the teachers,
and the mission house was filled daily from morning till
night with the sick and suffering, who in many cases were
carried by their friends for treatment. Often through
the night was heard the call at the window: *' Come! oh,
come quick! my husband is dying;" or, "my child;" or,
" my wife. " Calls which were always promptly answered.

Thus were formed two growing elements — the grateful
love of the people toward their new friends and the mis-
chief-working hatred of the medicine-men and their en-
slaved followers who feared to not follow them. When
sickness had increased the medicine-men had appeared
as birds of prey, coming from the other villages. The
missionares were charged with witchcraft and were both
publicly and privately warned that if any of their patients
should die they should give life for ///<?, which threat made
no change in their manner of working among the people.

Time after time was their school emptied by the threats
and assertions made to the villagers by these false and
wicked men, though it was soon filled again by the
hungry, knowledge-loving people whose superfj*itions
were strong as life.

Spring came at last, bringing light and food and health,
and, to a great extent, freedom from the troubles of the

2 70

KJN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

long winter. Many of the people returned to their old
homes for the summer, intending before another winter
to put up comfortable log houses at the mission village.
Ka-kee left with his family among the first; but the
mission seemed to possess a strange fascination for him,
and very, very often his peculiar, stealthy, creeping
step was seen — not heard — as he haunted the place.
When he thought no one noticed, he would crouch by the
low window and study the interior of the rooms, but no
earthly power could induce him to enter the place until —

There was a baby at the mission, " the sweet snow baby"
she was called by the natives, who idolized her. She
had a smile and a "picked-off" kiss, given with tiny
thumb and finger, for every one who approached her, and
all her baby words were in the language of her dark
friends. It was the baby who drew him in !

Many times, from an adjoining room, the mother, at
hearing her baby tap on the window-pane, with the ac-
companying invitation " Hah-goo" (Come to me), had
peeped in to see the tiny hands extended, beckoning to
the wild-looking creature outside. One day, having not
noticed for a longer time than usual, on going in to see
what baby might be playing, the mother's heart stood
still for a moment at the sight which met her eyes. So
noiselessly had he stolen into the house, no sound had
reached her ears; but there on the floor lay the medicine-
man, asleep: and on a marmot robe beside him, unsoiled
by any touch, lay the fair, sweet babe, asleep also! And
so she won him. After that day he came often, and as
often he heard the words of life.

Another winter he did not come to the mission. But
Kunz, having gotten a taste of learning, could not give it
up ; all the way from Yhin-da-stachy he came to school and
to church, though not regularly, for his father was hav-

AN ALASKAN STORY.

271

ing hemorrhaf^cs, and Kunz was the man of the house in
the matter of fuel and fires. Eve.i Tashekah was sometimes

allowed to come.

As the spring came on Ka-kee's long-abused body
wasted very rapidly. Again and again he asked for the
missionaries, and when they went to him his cry was for
medicine for body and soul.

"I am dying — give me medicine — I want to see God,"

he said.

One day at church the subject had been: " If thy right
hand offend thee, cut it off." Poor Kunz was deeply
touched. After the meeting, though the evening shad-
ows were gathering, and the long, lonely tramp through
forest and field lay before him ere he could be safely
housed, he lingered behind all others to speak with the
missionary.

"Oh! good, kind friend, my poor, poor father is dy-
ing," Kunz said; "give me the medicine that will 'cut
it off ' — his sins."

Very lovingly and patiently the missionary explained
to him again the simple way of salvation — the meaning
of repentance, of love, and forgiveness. Then, with a
heart so filled with holy things that he seemed never to
think of the forest goblins, Kunz went home to his
father.

Not many days after came the message- "Ka-kee is
dead." He had had many talks with Kunz and had him-
self prayed. He died without watchers in the silence of
the night. In the morning they found him with his cold
hands clasped upon a little book; it was the New Testa-
ment.

272

KIN.DA-SHON'S WIFE:

CHAPTER XXII.

ON THE STREET-SITKA.

" nnHERE goes 'drunken Luce' again. Strange,
"*• whether howling drunk or sullenly sober, she
has always that child by the hand, isn't it?"
"Who is she, anyway? Belong to Sitka?"
*' I don't know; seems to me I've heard she came from
the north somewhere; but I've seen her about here ever
since I came to the country, two years this fall, and I
tell you there's been an awful change in her since then."
"How?"

"If you mean 'how,' I imagine that's considerable of a
story; but if you want to know what the change is, I can
tell you in a few words. She was the best-looking native
girl I ever saw — not like the common slouches you see
every day, but with a step that meant something; neat
and clean; and her face — why, you would never think of
its being the same! She had the child with her then,
just as she has him now; that's the only thing that Aasn'f
changed about her."

" What's the matter ? Gone to the bad ? "
"Well, yes; I rather think she has. It would be hard
to find a worse case than she is and has been for many a
day. She'll wink out in a spree some of these times —
before long, too. Did you notice her eyes and the color
of her face? It's there, sure as death itself."
" Is she never sober? "

" Never, I believe, when she can get anything to drink
— and there's no lack of moisture in Alaska. There's an

AN ALASKAN STORY.

273

awful leak between prohibitory law and high license;
with rogues to guard the bunghole there's enough spilled
to bring all the natives of Alaska to the gutter. Pity,
too. They'd rather work — if there's money in it."

"That's peculiar. But this 'Luce. ' I'd rather like to
hear her story; do you know it?"

"Only what I've seen since coming here. She was
living at first with a white man called Bill, in that
cabin over there. And you might go a long ways and
find no neater place than that was. She behaved like a
decent woman and went about very little.

"But she always had a terrible sadness about her, and a
look in her eyes that — you needn't laugh, Jim, but if
you could imagine your sister looking like that, it would
make you cry, man of the world as you think yourself.

"Well, of course the man she lived with was a worthless
scamp, and before many months he skipped the country
and left her with two children to keep instead of one,
and not a dollar to live on. I never saw her drunk be-
fore that. But she had to leave the cabin; what things
she had went to pay the rent ; and she went, as poor as
she was born, into the ranch. For a while she went
around like the ghost of a person starved to death. I
declare it was a positive relief to see her drunk at last.

" There are always plenty of chances — such as they are —
for a native wo'tian to make a living in these towns; but
with most of them it's not long they «^^^ anything to live
on after they take the chance.

" Luce must have taken hers then, and she's gone from
dance-house to hovel and from drunken rows to the
lock-up ever since. She's thoroughly bad^ and yet — that
child — I don't understand it. The baby died, but that
child is always with her. Funny, don't you think so?"

" Don't like the story. Have a cigar, and walk me to
18

274

KIN-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

Indian River. I'll dare you to do it before the China-
man's gong. Done?"

"The marshal has poor Luce again, mother; three
times in a week — can nof/ting be done to help her?"

"That woman is a mystery to me," answered the mis-
sionary's wife. ** I can make nothing of her at all.
When she's drunk, as she usually is, it seems useless to
speak to her; and when she's not drunk she is so stub-
bornly silent and sullen that it is just as hard to know
what to do. I've been wondering myself how she could
be reached; it seems such a hopeless work among those
women; they run such a headlong race."

'Twas evening of the second day after Luce's arrest
that very unceremoniously the door of the missionary's
house was opened, and Luce, wild-eyed, haggard, and
despairing, asked:

"Where is the man who knows God? Quick! "

"The missionary, you mean? I will tell him." And
in a few moments the minister stood, kindly asking:
"What is it. Luce?"

Not waiting for his question or greeting, the woman
had begun to speak, with her breath coming in gasps and
her hand held tight above her heart as if to hold it still.

"Me baby," speaking in such English as she had
picked up, *^ sick. You God-man make him no die:
come quick! "

" Your little boy is sick ? How many days sick ? "

" One dav — come ! "

" But where is he sick ? I must know something about
it to give medicine."

" He head crazy; come — you see — quick! "

Without further delay the missionary followed her to
one of the most miserable houses of the village, and there.

AN ALASKAN STORY.

275

in one corner, wrapped in the mother's poor old shawl,
was the child — the idol of her heart — lying quietly,
with heavy, labored breath, with flushed face and wide,
unseeing eyes.

"A very sick child," the missionary said to himself,
as he examined pulse and temperature. " Poor woman! "
he added aloud as Luce took her boy into her arms and
sat looking from his face to that of the minister.

'* He no die ? " she asked at length with her heart in
her hungry eyes.

" I cannot tell — I hope not. How did he get sick ? "

Her eyes fell, her face dropped low on her breast
above the child, while a crimson flush took the place for
a moment of its awful pallor, leaving it then more ghastly
than before.

"Tell me about it," the kindly voice urged; "I may
know better what to do for him. How did he get sick ? "

"In lock-up."

" How was that ? Was he cold there ? "

" He cold there — he wet first, and one night all dark —
no fire — he shake. "

"I see. I will go get what may make him better; we
will try it."

Returning later with such remedies and comforts as
seemed to be required, the missionary himself stayed to
administer them. And Luce, though she had slept none
for two nights, sat watching him with eyes which seemed
unable to close.

Several hours passed before any change was noticeable
in the little patient's condition, then a slight moisture
dimmed the glistening forehead and the breath came
more softly. Gradually the eyelids drooped, without
the quiver; and natural sleep held him in her safe em-
brace.

a'j6

KINDAS/WN S WIFE:

"Your child is better; it is good sleep now. When he
wakes his head will be all right, 1 think," the missionary
said.

The woman looked at him — looked at the child. An
indescribable expression passed over her face ; then, reach-
ing out, she rearranged the old blanket on the floor,
laid the child on it, and covered him tenderly with her
faded shawl. This done, she went to another part of the
room, and sitting down, buried her face in her hands,
sobbing and crying and writhing in a tempest of emotion.

Anxious beyond expression to give to the poor crea-
ture the help she needed, yet fearful of making a mistake
in his choice of words, the minister sat still by the child,
silently praying for direction.

When her passion had at last spent itself she arose and
went to the good man's side. Kneeling there, she li^rhtly
touched his arm, and with the tears still streaming down
her cheeks she said:

'* Me baby — you good God-man make him no die. He
head crazy — you make sleep good. Me — me bad — me very
bad — allee same crazy heart. Too hard my heart — too
big stone^ heavy too — can't carry me sometimes,

"White man give whiskey, * no heavy,' he say; too much
lie — too much bad — white man. One stone heavy my
hearu -one whiskey — then three stone heavy me.

*' Now long time me don't care. Me heart all stone.
Just now me baby get well — me heart all break, it all
mix up bad, stone, sorry. You God see it — everything!
You God strong maybe — maybe — " and she clutched the
arm in her eagerness — "maybe you God make me well
heart. "

With a joy which found expression in silent thanks-
giving for such a call to preach the free and blessed Gos-
pel, the minister led this poor, defiled, and broken heart

AN ALASKAN STORY.

277

he
lary

An
[ch-
)or.

to the Fountain opened for cleansing and for the heal-
ing of the nations.

By degrees he gathered something of her story since
coming to Sitka. Of her previous life she only said;

'* In Chilkat me no bad — me husband very good — but
plenty trouble, me — no more live Chilkat. "

Coming to Sitka, in her simplicity she had supposed
that the people lived altogether as they did in Chilkat,
and that she would be welcome to a place by the fireside
of her friends, with the privileges of helping to secure
and prepare stores of fc c! for winter and of then sharing
in their use.

But her friends were of those who no longer lived
honestly earning br?aa by ilie sweat of their brow. They
had money — ill-gotten — and with it bought what they
fancied at the traders'. They told her how she could
do the same, and v/hen she refused they turned her out.
Homeless and not knowing what to do, she had wan-
dered about the town until, weary and heart-sick and
her child crying with hunger, she sat down in a lonely
place, wishing they might die together.

While she so sat " Bill" had come and made a proposal,
which, according to the only law of marriage she had
ever known, was honorable and fair: " He would give her
fifty dollars if she would be his wife."

The husband of her love, who was her husband no
* more forever, had given more than three times that
sum, but she could not expect that now. " They would
live in a little house of their own," he said, "where she
could have all the food she wanted for herself and the
child — and clothing, too. Winter was coming on: by
whose fire would she warm or feed her babe ? "

Too sick at heart to care for anything else than her
child, she accepted his offer. More than the amount he

278

KIN.DA.SHON'S WIFE:

gave her was claimed by the friends who had brought her
with them from Chilkat: she had nothing to lay by.

When he threw her off — poor, sick, hopeless, friendless,
and ignorant of the world she had fallen into — her ruin
had been sure and rapid. And now she knew it herself
— death was at her door. But, blessed thought ! life also
was near; and she was entering in.

About a week later a messenger came — the child him-
self, it was.

"Mother can't get up," he said; "will the minister
come?"

There was only time, after getting there, to give the
assurance that " her baby " should be taken into the mis-
sion home and taught the better things. Then she folded
her one earthly treasure — her beloved boy — to her bosom
in a long, last embrace, crying in their own familiar
tongue :

"Kah-hlid-zeen, my heart's child, forget never that your
vwther was Kin-da-shon' s wife !''

And it was by this, in after-years, that KIn-da-shon,
visiting the Sitka Mission School, found, half-grown,
manly, and intelligent, his long-lost and only son.

AN ALASKAN STORY,

279

CHAPTER XXIII.

CLOSING GLIMPSES.

TTOW she had heard of the city of refuge, it would
have been hard to discover; but to the mission-
ary's place came Usha-shawet, a gray, shrivelled, stoop-
ing, creeping creature, who talked in whispers to herself
and seemed to inhabit a world entirely her own.

She came to the church services, sometimes appearing
to hear what was said, and again chattering to herself as
though conscious of no other presence.

She interfered with no one — found her own food, some-
times sat or slept by friendly village fires, but oftener
no one knew where.

In one of the village houses there was a little cripple
from an affection of the spine, caused by her mother's
own carelessness, but who her friends persistently de-
clared to have been bewitched. It was during an ab-
sence of the missionary that old Usha was seized, bound,
and flogged within an inch of her life on the charge of
being this troublesome witch. Nine days, without food
or water, had she been in this torment before the mis-
sionary returned, and her release was had. Utterly nude
she lay on her bed of devil-sticks, too weak to struggle.
Her speechless tongue hung from her mouth, black and
swollen.

She was released, moved to comfortable quarters, and
bathed. The power of swallowing was gone, but drop
by drop nourishment enough reached the life-channels

28o

A'/iV-DA-SHON' S WIFE:

to revive her, and after a time she got about again and
became one of the common grannies of the village.

'*Usha,"the missionary asked her, "what made you
say that you were a witch when they asked you?"

"It is true," the old creature said in her queer absent
way, her weak eyes watering; "the bad spirits they got
Usha. Bad spirits talk to Usha — they take Usha to
medicine-man's dead-house; Usha get plenty bad medi-
cine there for everybody. Usha flies high over all the
houses — nobody catch Usha, She walks far on the
water and she don't sink. Big, strong devil; Usha has
strong devil inside, too. Usha's spirit makes many little
men and women sick. It's good if Kling-gets kill devil
spirits. " Then, sitting down, she began to pluck the grass
and leaves, speaking to them as to children, apparently
forgetting that any one else was with her.

Usha was thenceforth allowed to remain or go about
the country unhindered, while a number of others, res-
cued in a similar way from conditions of torture as great
as hers, were made outcasts from home and friends.

During a later absence of the missionary, six adults,
accused of witchcraft, were tortured and killed during one
winter. Among them was the grandmother of Tashekah.

When Tashekah was no longer bound to the family
of Ka-kee she followed her heart to the mission: her
quick, hungry mind feasted on what she found there,
and she became proficient, too, in many of the simple ac-
complishments which go to make a happy home.

She was the same Tashekah, yet not the same. Sweet
and even she was by nature, but mental and spiritual
growth had developed and ripened a character of price-
less worth.

He who now sought her for his own true mate had,
through a long, hard road, gained faith and light and

A^V ALASK'AiV STORY.

281

peace^ and now followed /(^y — the satisfying of a pure
heart.

"I want my new house only just big enough for Ta-
shekah and me," he had said to the missionary in build-
ing the pretty nest which was so greatly to differ from
the many-family shelters of old. " I want to hold her so
close that no evil may be able to fall betvreen us."

'Twas the first Christian marriage in the tribe — the first
establishing of a two-one heme, where the true God was
held in loving reverence, and where at morn and eve the
man with his wife knelt in prayer and praise together.

And the next year when, on a sweet Sabbath morning,
they brought their baby daughter — pretty she was as
Kotch-kul-ah herself — and together stood presenting her
for baptism, the fulness of the benediction seemed to have
fallen on Kin-da-shon and his wife.

THE END.