THE LOST SALMON RUN

with poverty. Through the long win- ter that followed they endured hunger and starvation. Since then our tribe has always welcomed girl-children—we want no more lost runs.”

The klootchman lifted her arms from her paddle as she concluded; her eyes left the irregular outline of the violet mountains. She had come back to this year of grace—her Legend Land had vanished.

“So,” she added, “you see now, maybe, why I glad my grandchild is girl; it means big salmon run next year.”

“It is a beautiful story, klootchman,” I said, “and I feel a cruel delight that your men of magic punished the people for their ill- choice.”

“That; because you girl-child yourself,” she laughed.

There was the slightest whisper of a step behind me. I turned to find Maarda almost at my elbow. The rising tide was unbeaching the canoe, and as Maarda stepped in and the klootchman slipped astem, it drifted afloat.‘

“Kla-how-ya,” nodded the klootchman as she dipped her paddle-blade in exquisite silence.

“Kla-how-ya,” smiled Maarda.

“K1a-how-ya, tillicurns,” I replied, and

37

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