His reappearance was greeted with a chorus of howls that made the echoes ring. The Boston dude rowed his boat alongside, and the engineer, with the help of a hand extended by one of the ladies, clambered into the boat.

The canoe was soon righted, and his paddle, that was floating on the water, secured. Then entering it, he paddled with downcast eyes and heavy heart through the flotilla of Salmon-fishers, and never stopped until he reached the boat-house. When he secured his canoe he went and danced a war-dance, sung a scalp-song, loud and wild, and since then no one has dared to ask him how he likes the dude way of catching Salmon. And around the Indian camp-fires the story is often told, how a cultus white man attempted to improve on the method of catching Salmon practiced by their fathers since by-gone ages, and how the spirit of the waters, angered at his conduct, dragged him from his canoe and almost drowned him.

By W. A. Perry ("Silalicum").