young mother, the agonized
moans of the stricken chief--their father.

"'Something dire will happen to the tribe,' said the old men in council.

"'Something dire will happen to him, my husband,' wept the afflicted
young mother.

"'Something dire will happen to us all,' echoed the unhappy father.

"Then an ancient medicine man arose, lifting his arms, outstretching
his palms to hush the lamenting throng. His voice shook with the
weight of many winters, but his eyes were yet keen and mirrored the
clear thought and brain behind them, as the still trout pools in the
Capilano mirror the mountain tops. His words were masterful, his
gestures commanding, his shoulders erect and kindly. His was a
personality and an inspiration that no one dared dispute, and his
judgment was accepted as the words fell slowly, like a doom.

"'It is the olden law of the Squamish that lest evil befall the tribe
the sire of twin children must go afar and alone into the mountain
fastnesses, there by his isolation and his loneliness to prove himself
stronger than the threatened evil, and thus to beat back the shadow
that would otherwise follow him and all his people. I, therefore, name
for him the length of days that he must spend alone fighting his
invisible enemy. He will know by some great sign in Nature the hour
that the evil is conquered, the hour that his race is saved. He must
leave before this sun sets, taking with him only his strongest bow, his
fleetest arrows, and going up into the mountain wilderness remain there
ten days--alone, alone.'

"The masterful voice ceased, the tribe wailed their assent, the father
arose speechless, his drawn face revealing great agony over this
seemingly brief banishment. He took leave of his sobbing wife, of the
two tiny souls that were his sons, grasped his favorite bow and arrows,
and faced the forest like a warrior. But at the end of the ten days he
did not return, nor yet ten weeks, nor yet ten months.

"'He is dead,' wept the mother into the baby ears of her two boys. 'He
could not battle against the evil that threatened; it was stronger than
he--he so strong, so proud, so brave.'

"'He is dead,' echoed the tribesmen and the tribeswomen. 'Our strong,
brave chief, he is dead.' So they mourned the long year through, but
their chants and their tears but renewed their grief; he did not return
to them.

"Meanwhile, far up the Capilano the banished chief had built his
solitary home; for who