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 •'•'i 
 
 
KIN-DA-SHON'S WIFE 
 
 AN 
 
 ALASKAN STORY 
 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. EUGENE S. WILLARD 
 Author of " Life in Alaska " 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 New York Chicago Toronto 
 
 Publuhtrt of Evangelical Littraturt 
 
 % 
 

 Copyright, 1892, 
 
 — BY — 
 
 EUGENE S. WILLARD. 
 
 I 
 
 K 
 
 •m 
 
 / 
 
TO 
 THE LITTLE MISSIONARIES 
 
 WHO HAVE BEEN SENT WITH 
 god's MESSAGE 
 TO 
 OUR HEARTS AND OUR HOME. 
 

 
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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," 
 
 X 
 
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 
 
1 
 
 %■ 
 
 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 
 
lO 
 
 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 
 
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 5.-' 
 
 AN ALASKAN STORY. 
 
 II 
 
 le little 
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 lie sheep 
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 lost im- 
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 a 
 
 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: 
 
,'>■ ' 
 
 xa 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
AN ALASKAN STORY. 
 
 13 
 
 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 
 
14 
 
 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 
 
ind fine, 
 strained, 
 ud from 
 d these, 
 rriment, 
 ;h are so 
 n. Her 
 K and a 
 id about 
 
 der, and 
 face is 
 a large, 
 Drehead, 
 3re con- 
 of those 
 ition to 
 colored 
 consists 
 IS sewed 
 or doffs 
 r travel- 
 
 lekah's; 
 woollen 
 h bent, 
 ourning 
 led with 
 e lower 
 of rings 
 ler nose 
 illen to 
 vements 
 die and 
 
 i-l: 
 
 
 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 
 
x6 
 
 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, 
 
 il 
 
 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 
 
 '■&^' 
 
tS 
 
 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. 
 
 19 
 
 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. 
 
20 
 
 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. 
 
 31 
 
 ■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. 
 
23 
 
 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, 
 
 23 
 
 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 
 
24 
 
 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. 
 
 25 
 
 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 ? " 
 
26 
 
 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, 
 
 a; 
 
 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. 
 
28 
 
 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. 
 
 29 
 
 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 
 
30 
 
 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. 
 
 31 
 
 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 
 
32 
 
 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. 
 
 Zl 
 
 g 
 
 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 
 
34 
 
 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. 
 
 35 
 
 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." 
 
36 
 
 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. 
 
 37 
 
 ;n 
 
 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. 
 
38 
 
 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 
 
 t 
 s 
 
 a 
 I 
 
 
AN ALASKAN STORY. 
 
 39 
 
 jn- 
 liii 
 of 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
40 
 
 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 
 
 X 
 
 uv 
 
AJV ALASKA M STORY. 
 
 41 
 
 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 
 
42 
 
 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. 
 
 43 
 
 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. 
 
44 
 
 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. 
 
 45 
 
 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 
 
46 
 
 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. 
 
 A1 
 
 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 
 
48 
 
 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. 
 
 49 
 
 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. 
 
 4 
 
5^ 
 
 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. 
 
 51 
 
 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 
 
s^ 
 
 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. 
 
 53 
 
 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 
 
54 
 
 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. 
 
 55 
 
 :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; 
 
56 
 
 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. 
 
 57 
 
 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! 
 
S8 
 
 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. 
 
 59 
 
 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 
 
6o 
 
 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. 
 
 6i 
 
 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. 
 
62 
 
 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. 
 
 63 
 
 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. 
 
64 
 
 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. 
 
T 
 
 66 
 
 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. 
 
 67 
 
 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 
 
68 
 
 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. 
 
 69 
 
 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. 
 
70 
 
 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. 
 
 71 
 
 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, 
 
72 
 
 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. 
 
 73 
 
 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^^ 
 
74 
 
 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, 
 
 75 
 
 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 
 
7^ 
 
 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. 
 
 77 
 
 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 
 
78 
 
 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. 
 
 79 
 
 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 
 
8o 
 
 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, 
 
 8i 
 
 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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 Photographic 
 
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 Corpomaon 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, NY. 14580 
 
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 9 
 
8a 
 
 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. 
 
 8- 
 
 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." 
 
84 
 
 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. 
 
 85 
 
 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 
 
86 
 
 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. 
 
 87 
 
 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! 
 
88 
 
 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. 
 
 89 
 
 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, 
 
90 
 
 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 
 
92 
 
 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. 
 
 93 
 
 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 
 
94 
 
 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. 
 
 95 
 
 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 
 
96 
 
 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 
 
f- 
 
 AN ALASKAN STORY. 
 
 97 
 
 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 
 
98 
 
 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. 
 
 99 
 
 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. 
 
 'K 
 

 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! 
 
no 
 
 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, 
 
 "3 
 
 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. 
 
 "5 
 
 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 
 
II 
 
 8 
 
 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. 
 
 U9 
 
 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. 
 
26 
 
 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 
 
 9 
 
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. 
 
 0/ 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 .4 
 
AN ALASKAN STORY. 
 
 139 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 K 
 
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. 
 
 JL 
 
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. 
 
 M5 
 
 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. 
 
 M7 
 
 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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74 
 
 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 
 
 d 
 
 y 
 
 id 
 
 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 
 
 k 
 
AN ALASKAN STORY. 
 
 311 
 
 dry 
 into 
 n to 
 
 301 
 
 ns 
 
 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 
 
 ii 
 
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 
 
 16 
 
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 
 
 to 
 
 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 
 
 n 
 
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 
 
 )U 
 
 I 
 
 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.