THE RECLUSE

crouched when the storm cloud broke and
bellowed through the ranges; and on its sum-
mit the Thunder Bird perched, its gigantic
wings threshing the air into booming sounds,
into splitting terrors, like the crash of a giant
cedar hurtling down the mountain side.

“But when the beating of those black pin-
ions ceased and the echo of their thunder
waves died down the depths of the canyon, the
Squamish chief arose as a new man. The
shadow on his soul had lifted, the fears of evil
were cowed and conquered. In his brain, his
blood, his veins, his sinews, he felt that the
poison of melancholy dwelt no more. He had
redeemed his fault of fathering twin children;
he had fulfilled the demands of the law of his
tribe.

“As he heard the last beat of the Thunder
Bird’s wings dying slowly, slowly, faintly,
faintly, among the crags, he knew that the
bird, too, was dying, for its soul was leaving
its monster black body, and presently that
soul appeared in the sky. He could see it
arching overhead, before it took its long jour-
ney to the Happy Hunting Grounds, for the soul
of the Thunder Bird was a radiant half-circle
of glorious color spanning from peak to peak.
He lifted his head then, for he knew it was
the sign the ancient Medicine Man had told

95