The Mountaineer 31 
The Indians of the Reservation were invited to have dinner with 
us and to remain for the circus which was to be given in the evening. 
The big circle of Indians and Mountaineers which formed around the 
camp-fire was duly repaid when Mr. Caldwell, the ring-master, pre- 
sented original animals, the boy-faced girl, and all of the many won- 
derful circus attractions. Then a short talk was given by Professor 
Meany, who introduced Little-Big-Chief, who was to make the an- 
nouncements for the following day. “Why should they call him Little- 
Big-Feet,” whispered an Indian woman, “his feet are not so big.” 
One of the Mountaineers was heard explaining, “Not Little-Big-Feet, 
but Little-Big-Chief; he is our Tyee.” The dance which had been 
arranged by the villagers attracted a large number. Sounds of merry- 
making were heard until—well, until the strains of “Home, Sweet 
Home” were played the last time. 
August twenty-second, we left our pack train of thirty-two horses 
and our good friends, the packers, stepped into canoes, and pushed 
off from shore. Soon two long lines of canoes, manned by Indians, 
were attached to two motor boats which towed them down the creek 
and across Lake Queniult, releasing them where the current caught 
and bore them on down the river. 
The trip down the Queniult River with its manifold beauties and 
experiences beggars description—the swift current, the whirling eddies, 
the deep, dark-green water, trout leaping into the air to catch the 
flying insects, the banks clothed with magnificent forests, log jams 
through which or under which we passed, animated branches marking 
the rhythmic motion of the current, the floating canoes gliding into the 
deeper, darker water to seek the current that hurried them on and 
ever on to the ocean. The Indians skillfully guided the little craft 
through the dangerous places, then settled back to rest until the next 
test of skill or strength was necessary, in the meantime relating bits of 
history or legends which explained names or some natural phenomenon. 
The boom of the surf announced the end of the journey. As the 
Mountaineers left the canoes on the beach at Taholah, it was agreed 
that the trip down the Queniult marked the red-letter day of the 
1913 outing. 
That evening as we gathered around the camp-fire to hear the 
committee on resolutions give its report, to listen to Professor Meany 
tell the last camp-fire story, then to stand and join hands while we sang 
our last good-night song, we realized that our happy circle was soon 
to be broken. 
Saturday morning after breakfast, Chief Taholah talked to the 
Mountaineers through the aid of his son, Billy Mason, who interpreted 
the words of the old chief. He shook hands with us and bade us 
farewell. 
