from the crowd. "Tenas Tyee," "Tenas Tyee," they shouted, and
Ta-la-pus knew that he had not failed. But the great Squamish chief was
beside him.

"Tillicums,"* he said, facing the crowd, "this boy has danced no
tribal dance learned from his people or his parents. This is his own
dance, which he has made to deserve his name. He shall get the first
gifts of our great Potlatch. Go," he added, to one of the young men,
"bring ten dollars of the white man's chicamin (money), and ten new
blankets as white as that snow on the mountain top."

[*Friends, my people.]

The crowd was delighted. They approved the boy and rejoiced to see the
real Potlatch was begun. When the blankets were piled up beside him they
reached to the top of Ta-la-pus' head. Then the chief put ten dollars in
the boy's hand with the simple words, "I am glad to give it. You won it
well, my Tenas Tyee."

That was the beginning of a great week of games, feasting and tribal
dances, but not a night passed but the participants called for the wild
"wolf-dance" of the little boy from the island. When the Potlatch was
over, old Chief Mowitch and Lapool and Ta-la-pus returned to Vancouver
Island, but no more the boy sat alone on the isolated rock, watching the
mainland through a mist of yearning. He had set foot in the wider world,
he had won his name, and now honored it, instead of hating it, as in the
old days when his brothers taunted him, for the great Squamish chief, in
bidding good-bye to him, had said:

"Little Ta-la-pus, remember a name means much to a man. You despised
your name, but you have made it great and honorable by your own act,
your own courage. Keep that name honorable, little Ta-la-pus; it will
be worth far more to you than many blankets or much of the white man's
chicamin."

The Scarlet Eye

"I tell you that fellow is an Indian! You can't fool me! Look at the way
he walks! He doesn't _step_; he _pads_ like a panther!"

Billy ceased speaking, but still pointed an excited forefinger along the
half-obliterated buffalo trail that swung up the prairie, out of the
southern horizon. The two boys craned their necks, watching the coming
figure, that advanced at a half-trot, half-stride. Billy was right. The
man seemed to be moving on cushioned feet. Nothing could give that slow,
springing swing except a moccasin.

"Any man is welcome," almost groaned little Jerry, "but, oh, how much
more welcome an Indian man, eh, Billy?"

"You bet!" s