WUDUKISHER AND HER LOVER. 



FRANK FARNER. 



In the grand Northwest fir forest 

 Near the beach of great salt water, 

 On the banks of Leschi streamlet 

 Little milk-white running river 

 Flowing down from Cascade summits 

 Lived a little Siwash maiden, 

 Little cross eyed Wudukisher. 

 She had seen but eighteen summers 

 And as many snowy winters 

 Come and go while she had lived there. 



In a teepee built of fir bark 



Thatched with ferns and sallal bushes 



Dwelt she there with old Duwamish 



And his half a dozen Klutchmans. 



Waded in the ice cold water 



Of the roaring Leschi river; 



Hooked the great big dog-head salmon, 



Dragged it homeward to the teepee, 



Smoked it in a hollow spruce tree, 



Smoked it there with boughs of alder, 



That the lazy old Duwamish 



Then might take it to the village 



In his log canoe of cedar, 



Trade it there for fire-water. 



For the white man's thinker tangler. 



Oft this pigeon-footed maiden, 

 Little bow-legged Wudukisher 

 Tired of her lonely living 

 With Duwamish and his Klutchmans, 

 With the scolding snarling Klutchmans, 

 And the drunken old Duwamish; 

 Sighed and wished to have a lover 

 Who would build for her a teepee 

 Where they both might live in comfort; 

 She with only one to cook for, 

 Only one to carry wood for. 

 One and only one to fish for. 

 Envied she her white faced sister 

 Whom she thought should be so happy. 



Thus she thought and then determined 

 When she journeyed to the hop-fields, 

 In the golden days of summer, 

 To the hop-fields in the valleys, 

 She would try to win a lover, 

 Such a lover as she sighed for. 



For you know that in the North land 



Hops are grown in great abundance, 



And for miles the Siwash Indians 



With their Klutchmans and their children 



Go in great canoes of cedar; 



Journey far across the water 



To the hop-fields of the pale face. 



Where the Klutchmans and the children 



Gather them to earn some money 



For their selfish Siwash masters; 



So that at the season's ending 



He may take it to the pot-latch, 

 Lose it there in games of racing, 

 Games of chance and drunken revel. 



Little wolf-toothed Wudukisher 

 Fashioned her a comb of clam shell; 

 Polished it with bits of sand stone, 

 Till it shone as shines the moon beam 

 When it falls upon the water. 



From the hill side near the teepee 

 Gushed a spring of wondrous beauty; 

 Water pure and clear as crystal; 

 So that when she looked upon it 

 It reflected as a mirror. 



Sat she at its side for hours; 

 Combed her hair in many fashions 

 Just as does her white faced sister 

 With a mirror made of silver. 

 Thus to make herself attractive. 



'Mongst the people in the hop-fields 

 When they met the next 1 right summer 

 Was a young man named Snohomish, 

 He the fleetest of the racers, 

 He the strongest of the wrestlers. 



As she watched him Wudukisher 

 Thought if she might only win him 

 Then her life would be worth living. 



So with all the art and scheming 

 That this little maid could muster 

 Did she try to win Snohomish. 

 And he, wily young Snohomish, 

 Was as anxious to be captured 

 As the maiden was to have him. 

 So that, ere the season ended 

 Pledges made they to each other. 



When the frost had stopped the picking 

 Homeward journeyed they together. 

 Wudukisher never weary 

 Built for them a well thatched teepee 

 Near the beach of Puget waters; 

 Near the shell mound of her people. 



But ere the honey moon had ended 

 Wudukisher to her sorrow 

 Saw that she had been too hasty: 

 Learned she that her young affection 

 Had been given one unworthy. 

 Then she planned that ere the coming 

 Of the next hop-picking season 

 She'd arrange, if she could do so. 

 To get rid of young Snohomish. 

 That she might then, quite unhampered, 

 Try to win another lover 

 Just as does her pale faced sister. 



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