170 
wondering if any of my friends had come through 
that terrible rapid alive and had escaped or been 
picked up as I was. I learned later that the water 
gods had claimed them, at least, none of them 
ever returned to the Kutenai country. 
“T thought that these strangers were very kind 
to drag me from the river and care for me. I 
tried to make them understand how I felt, but it 
was impossible; they did not understand the sign 
language, not a bit of it, which was very strange. 
“After the doctor had fixed my leg they gave 
me food, some fish, a piece of a large fat kind of 
trout. Fish, I found, was what they lived upon, 
spearing them in great numbers at the foot of the 
rapids, and drying them for winter use. It was 
a country of game, elk, deer, black bear, yet these 
queer men seldom hunted, being content to live 
upon fish and berries. Before I got well I suf- 
fered for want of meat. I was obliged to lie 
quite still in the lodge for a time, and then I 
hobbled out, a little farther each day, until I 
could go to the river and watch the fishing. Then 
I found work to do. I was given a pile of the 
fish, and a knife, and shown how to prepare them 
for drying. All at once I knew why I had been 
dragged from the river and cared for; I was a 
slave. I had heard that there was a people who 
made captives of their enemy instead of killing 
them, and made them work hard. I had found 
them, I, a Kutenai, broken-legged and unable to 
escape, was the slave of hairy-faced fish-eaters; 
I felt very sad. It was the women of these peo- 
ple, the women of the man who had captured me; 
that gave me work, showed me what to do. Not 
the young woman, his daughter, but the others. 
The girl never was anything but kind, sorry for 
me; when she could she did what had been given 
me to do, and when her mother objected, there 
was a quarrel, but the girl was never afraid. 
““When my leg is sound,’ I kept saying to my- 
self, ‘I will escape. I will steal the weapons of 
this man and make my way once more to the 
Backbone-of-the-world.’ 
“But the break healed slowly, before I could 
again walk well my plan was broken; one day 
everything was packed up, the bundles of dried 
fish, the lodges, everything placed in the boats, 
and we all set out down the river. Down we 
went, on and on, oh, very far, the river ever 
widening, passing great black forests, until at 
last we came almost to a great lake which had 
no other side, which was nearly all the time mad 
with great waves, and lost in thick fog. It was 
a dreadful place. There we made camp with 
many more of these same fish-eaters, and besides 
fish we now ate the flesh of water devils, which 
could swim faster than an otter. It tasted very 
bad. 
“Now, little by little I became able to speak 
some of this hard language, to make myself un- 
derstood. After a time I was allowed to take a 
bow and arrows and hunt, and I killed many deer, 
a few black bears, some elk. But I was not 
happy; winter was coming on, there was no use 
in trying to start for my country until spring. 
When I did start, how was I, who could not man- 
age a heavy, long boat, to get back up this great 
river, to cross others that we had passed? True, 
there was this shore we were camped upon. I 
could follow it back to the place of the terrible 
rapids and cross away above them, but the route 
was long, through deep forests, down-timber, 
thick brush. It was very bad, but I should have 
to try it, | 
“It was my dream that showed me the way. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[FEB, 3, 1906. 

One night he said to me: ‘Ask the girl; she likes 
you, will help you.’ 
“When I awoke in the morning I looked across 
the lodge at her; she was looking at me and her 
eyes were kind; she smiled. It was a good sign. 
I said that I would go hunting, and after eating 
I picked up the fish-eater’s weapons and went out. 
But I did not hunt; I went back in the timber 
a little way and hid. She would be after wood 
some time in the day, and if alone, I could speak 
with her. When I went out I had given her a 
strong look, which she seemed to understand, for 
she came almost at once, and seeing me, began 
picking up a piece of wood here, a piece there, 
but all the time coming nearer, often looking back 
toward camp. I slipped behind the roots of an 
overturned tree, and she soon come around too 
and we stood side by side, watching through the 
little roots as we talked. I was afraid to begin; 
I could talk but little of her language, so little. 
I tried for the right words, but they would not 
come. She looked up at me, put a hand on my 
shoulder, and said: ‘You wish to go to your 
people ?’ 
“ ‘Ves,’ I told her. ‘Yes, I want to go, but the 
big river—don’t understand boat.’ 
“She laughed a little, looked carefully to see if 
anyone was coming, and then said in little words 
I could understand: ‘I know boat—I take you— 
you be good to me—I like you.’ 
“*Ves,’ I said, ‘I will be good to you. I make 
you my woman. I give you everything, many 
horses, good lodge, pretty things to wear.’ 
“She laughed low, a happy laugh. ‘To-night, 
when all sleep, we go.’ 
“I stopped her. ‘It is far, 
must wait until leaves come.’ 
“She gave me a little shake, and went on: ‘T 
said to-night; I know where to go, what to do, 
you go with me to-night; I take everything; when 
ready I call you, so.’ She pulled my arm a little. 
“T sneaked away, but soon walked around to 
camp, said I was sick and could not hunt. One 
of the old women gave me some medicine. She 
was afraid her slave would not be able to work, 
and hunt, and bring in skins. I had to drink the 
medicine, and it tasted very bad. I should have 
told some other lie, I thought night would never 
come, but when it was time the sun went down, 
we had our supper and lay down. The fire went 
out, and it was very dark in the lodge. After a 
while the fish-eater and his woman began to 
snore, and at last I felt the little pull on my arm, 
for which I had been waiting. I arose very 
slowly, picked up the bow and arrows and the 
knife, which I had laid carelessly by my couch 
when I-came in from hunting, and stole noise- 
lessly out of the lodge. The girl took my han J 
and led me down to the river, to a small boat 
which belonged to another family. Already she 
had placed in it some robes, some little food, a 
skin of good water, for the water of that dread- 
ful lake was salt, and every little while it fought 
with the great river and beat back its water from 
the snows and springs. We got into the boat, 
I in front, the girl behind, pushed off without 
making the least sound, and she paddled us out 
into the darkness and stillness of the wide deep 
stream. After awhile she gave me a paddle, and 
I pawed the water with it, making much noise, 
but noise no longer mattered. On we went, and 
on, speaking no word, until day began to break; 
then we went ashore at a place where there were 
many small rocks, with which we loaded the boat 
until it sank out of sight. Then we went into 
much snow, we 
the deep timber and felt that we were safe; any 
pursuers could neither see our boat nor us, nor 
even suspect that we might be hiding there. 
“Thus for three nights we went up that great 
river, and then turned into a small one flowing 
from the north. It was a beautiful stream, clear 
and quite swift, and everywhefe its shores were 
tracked with game. Half a day we traveled up 
it, then. cached our boat and walked up a little 
narrow stream into high hills. There I killed a 
deer, my woman made a little lodge of poles and 
brush. We built a small fire and feasted. We 
were in a safe place now. Here we were to stay 
until spring. I would hunt and get many skins, 
she would build a good lodge. That is what my 
woman said. And I, for the first time in many 
moons, I was happy. I had some one to care 
for, one who cared for me. When summer came 
we would travel together to my people and live 
happily. Oh, yes, I was happy; I would sing all 
day, except when I was hunting. At night we 
used to sit by our little fire and feast, and I would 
teach her my language, which she quickly learned, 
and I would tell her about my people and my 
country, the plains, the mountains and the game. 
“I was no longer impatient for summer to 
come, the days went fast and every one of them 
was a happy day. But soon the leaves began to 
show on the willows, the grass to grow, and one 
evening we got out our boat and floated down 
into the big river, traveling up it by night until 
we came to the terrible rapids. There we sunk 
our boat, that none might know we had passed 
that way, and started on the long trail over which 
I had come with my lost friends. The wide for- 
est did not now seem so gloomy, nor the way so — 
long. At last we came to the lake of the Pend 
d’Oreilles. ‘From here on,’ I said, ‘we will ride; 
I am going to take some horses from these peo- 
ple.’ 
“My little woman objected to this, but I would 
have my way. She was tired out from our long 
walk, more tired I could see every day. I felt 
that I must take at least one horse for her. I 
could see the camp and plenty of horses near it. 
After the people slept, although it was bright 
moonlight, I went right in among the lodges, 
stole a woman’s saddle and cut out two of the 
best horses I could find and led them to where I 
had left my woman. She was terribly scared, for 
she had never ridden a horse. I saddled one, got 
on him and rode around a little; he was gentle. 
So I fixed the saddle good, put her up in it, 
shortened the stirrup straps and showed her how 
to hang to the saddle. Then I mounted the other 
horse, and leading hers, we started over the trail 
I knew so well. 
“We had not gone very far when it happened. 
The little woman cried out, her horse broke from 
me and began bucking around. By the time I 
had run back there she was dead. The saddle 
cinch had parted, she had fallen, her horse had 
kicked or-trampled her. 
“At first I could not believe it. I took her in 
my arms, called to her, felt her all over, and then 
at last I found the place; the top of her head was 
crushed. I must have gone crazy for a time. I 
jumped up and killed her horse; and then killed 
mine. I prayed to her gods and to mine, to bring 
her to life, but it was no use, no use. Morning 
came, I carried her to a place a little way off the 
trail and buried her as best I could. I looked 
back to the west, toward the country where [I 
had suffered so, had lost my companions, been 
made a slave, had found a loving woman only to 
