LEGENDS or VANCOUVER

blood-dyed with the killing of a score of my
tribe? You ask for this thing?”

“I do not ask it,” replied the young brave.
“I demand it; I have seen the girl and I shall
have her.”

The old chief sprang to his feet and spat
out his refusal. “Keep your victory, and I
keep my girl-child,” though he knew he was
not only defying his enemy, but defying death
as well.

The Tulameen laughed lightly, easily. “I
shall not kill the sire of my wife,” he taunted.
“One more battle must we have, but your
girl-child will come to me.”

Then he took his victorious way up the
trail, while the old chief walked with slow and
springless step down into the canyon.

The next morning the chief’s daughter was
loitering along the heights, listening to the
singing river, and sometimes leaning over the
precipice to watch its curling eddies and
dancing waterfalls. Suddenly she heard a
slight rustle, as though some passing bird’s
wing had clipt the air. Then at her feet there
fell a slender, delicately shaped arrow. It fell
with spent force, and her Indian woodcraft
told her it had been shot to her, not at her.
She started like a wild animal. Then her
quick eye caught the outline of a handsome,
erect figure that stood on the heights across

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