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LEGENDS OF VANCOUVER

  

the scarlet fire-flower was first seen growing
along this coas .”

“It is a beautiful color—the fire-flower,” I
said.

“It should be fine color, for it was born and
grew from the hearts of fine tribes-people-—
very fine people,” he emphasized.

We crossed to the eastern rail of the bridge,
and stood watching the deep shadows that
gathered slowly and silently about the island;
I have seldom looked upon anything more
peaceful. _

The chief sighed. “We have no such men
now, no fighters like those men, no hearts, no
courage like theirs. But I tell you the story;
you understand it then. Now all peace; to-
night all good tillicums; even dead man's spirit
does not fight now, but long time after it
happen those spirits fought.”

“And the legend?” I ventured.

“Oh! yes,” he replied, as if suddenly return-
ing to the present from out a far country in
the realm of time. “Indian people, they call
it the ‘Legend of the Island of Dead Men.’

“There was war everywhere. Fierce tribes
from the northern coast, savage tribes from
the south, all met here and battled and raided,
burned and captured, tortured and killed their
enemies. The forests smoked with camp fires,
the Narrows were choked with war canoes,

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