SALMON. 63 
off, quietly watching it. These small bays, or 
saltwater aquariums, are the lurking-places and 
strongholds for shoals of anchovies and herrings. 
Often tempted to wander and make excursions 
beyond the gateway of their rocky home, they 
are at once spied by predatory piratical salmon ; 
seeking safety in flight, they dash headlong for 
their hiding-place, hotly pursued by their 
dreaded foe, and shooting easily through the 
cordy snare, laugh to see Master Salmon ‘run 
his head into the net;’ bob-bob go the floats 
beneath the surface, up paddles redskin, hauls 
up his net, clutches the silvery pirate, and with 
a short heavy club gives him a blow on the 
head, drops him into the canoe, lets go his net, 
and waits for the next. 
With this kind of net immense numbers of 
spring and fall salmon are taken, All their nets 
are made of cord, spun from native hemp, that 
grows abundantly along the banks of the Fraser 
and other streams. Squaws gather the plant 
about a week before the flowering-time ; first 
soak, then beat it into fibre; this, arranged in 
regular lengths, is handed to the Indian, who, 
seated on the ground, twists the bundles of 
tiffled hemp into cord—a cord as regular and 
symmetrical as the handiwork of a practised 
