Where the Sun Swings North

e during the day he had put on high leather boots but having neglected to lace them, the bellows-tongu

noes?" she echo

of slow eagerness, as if he had bee

the ashes o' their dead kin from u

m the cold, white mountains and glaciers, whispered in the trees and cackled derisively from the campfires; a world of hostile eyes spying upon them in the hope that some of their weird and mystic tabus might be broken, and of sly ears listening to avenge some careless remark. A childlike people they were, who spoke kindly to the winds and offered bits of fish for its favor; who begged the capricious sea to give them food, an

to deal; not because he hoped to benefit the natives and free them from the curse of superstition, but because owing to a belief in the black ar

sement with which the White Chief had

and if he wants him dead, he places the cloth over the heart in the coffin. Oh, they are a sweet outfit, I tell you!" The Chief had laughed as if these things were merely amusing. Then he had gone on to explain that across the Bay of Katleean in the shadow of the great blue glacier which was discernible on sunny days, there had been a lonely Thlinget graveyard. Because of its isolation this burial pla

ompany, for the brown heathens believe the spirits are really feasting and rejoicing with them." Kilbuck laughed as at some recollection. "The Company sends in hundreds of blankets every year for dead Indians. Whenever a Potlatch blanket is given away the name of a dead

te man only to have their beliefs and superstitions laughed at and exploited for the benefit of his company. She was beginning to feel, dimly, what every reader of th

and foreboding da

ow-hung cloud of tobacco smoke, and taking up an old almanac from the table, began fanning t

earnestly, "excuse me for cre

d up from h

smokes a good deal, too." She nodded toward the couch where her husband puffed on his pipe as he plied Kilbuck

es in, I'd aim to gather in the young sprout, Loll, and that little gal sister o' yourn. . . . We're purty civilized here in Katleean, but-wall, there ain't no tellin' what an Injine will do after he's taken on a couple o' snorts o' white mule

d himself for conversation, which Ellen had learned meant a monologue. The edge of his sombrero backed hi

'm off on the range for a spell down in Texas, and I ain't no nature for shavin' or none o' them doo-dads and besides I'd don't have no razor or no lookin' glass. Wall, six months or so goes millin' by and finally I comes down into San Antonio one Sataday night. And right away, havin' at that

by this time I'm feelin' purty groggy and I makes a bolt for the door again, aimin' to get through quick; but blamed if that durned son-of-a-gun don't do identical! Then back I sashays once more and my dander sort o' riz up in me. 'By the roarin' Jasus,' I yells, 'you lay offen that monkey business, you consarned whiskery cuss, or I'll fill you so full o' holes yore own mammy won't know you fr

oked into the serene face of the self-confessed murderer. K

in a beard a-tall, I pots my image! Ha! Ha! Ha!" Kayak Bill's laugh gurgled out slowly like mellow liquor from a wide-mouthed bottle. "Wall, after I got done a-payin' for the mirro' and a-settin' 'em up for the boys, and a-payin' for a saw bones to fix me up-me bein' conside-ble carved by glass, I don't have no more money th

tting, the corners of her mouth

have an effective way of making a confession. I don't really know whether t

t the couch where her husband sat still engrossed with the White Chief. Though she lingered Shane did n

sed him. "I'm going up now to warn Jean and Loll, but-" she hesitate

s, and as the door closed behind her she caught a remar

ly, "that little lady's husband has sur

etermined not to miss any detail of the strange Thlinget festival, watched till an opportunity presented itself, and then, disregarding Ellen's advice, slipped away to the beach to a pile of silve

chness of tone and fading through several hours. The mist of the afternoon had scattered before a faint sea-wind, and settled wraithlike in the hol

a sense of expectancy. She breathed deeply, conscious of a keen delight in doing so. As she waited, the rose and amber tints died on the white peaks at the head of the valley, . . .

urred distance they took shape one by one, the paddles dipping in solemn rhythm. . . . Nearer they came, . . . and nearer. Then o

of silent, blanketed figures from somewhere behind, began to slip down past her hiding place. Looming weird and tall in the dusk they halted at the water's edge.

e dust of the past might be revealed to her! Suddenly she became aware that one of the tall figures had stopped in the trail beside her pile of driftwood. In a tone singularly pleasing he was humming the air of the funeral lament, fitfully, experimentally at first, then as the haunting monotony of the strain became familiar, with a certain easy confidence. Jean forgot to be afraid. Almost unconsciously she found herself humming in unison with the motionless figure. Even when the man faced her and she saw in the dim light, not an Indian, but the young white man, Gregg Harlan, she did not cea

tartled Jean. She and her companion turned simultaneously

ng uncommonly friendly!" His red lip lifted on one side into a cynical smile that suddenly infuriated Jean, implying, as it did, that he

ut her hands in a short, angry gesture. A moment longer she looked at him as if he were

was walking up the du

nd vehemence of the girl's retort, rather than by what she had said. He had expected to place the two at a disadvantage. Findin

th Miss Wiley. I don't think her sister would approve, exactly. Since your affa

t do you mean?" The young man

t saw you two go off together the night the Hoonah came in. Boreland has heard the talk, of course. Too bad, my boy," the Chief put his hand on the astonished youn

e of Jean. His voice was sharp with hurt amazement, indignation, and

o, my boy. All

ll's window. The White Chief looked after him until he vanished. Gregg had been sober for a week now, but if Kilbuck was any judge of indications, the bookkeeper's sobriety was at an end.

getable odor from fox pelts dangling from the rafters, bear hides tacked to the slanting roof, and rows of smoked salmon and dried cod hanging from lines along the sides. Loll lay fast asleep on his small floor-pallet, his face half-burie

of the wilderness afterglow, the wild, illusive feeling that had touched her. She longed to use her bow freely on the strings of her violin until, at one with the instrument,

here. Down in the direction of the Indian village half a dozen shots were fired in rapid succession. Jean's heart beat oddly. Katleean was beginning to celebrate the Potlatch in the singular way of the male, who,

as they sang in the dusk had in it a peculiar stir. Jean found herself, h

rattle of

nchor co

und for Old

ke our st

tinguish, but throughout the singing she was aware of a feeling that these singers were men who had cast asid

y the sound of a lone baritone taking up the chorus again. She leaned over the sill

o the P

greasy w

strip of

rth to eig

frisky sea

floes bas

n comes up

-pack round

she hummed. The words stirred in her dim, venturesome imaginings. She felt suddenly on the threshold of adventure beyond which might lie the fierce, wild things of romance that only me

e man. Squaw-man he might be, and a drunkard, but he had the hear