ed to the fortunate possessor of the talisman. There was
one particularly effective joint that had been treasured and
carried by the warriors of a great Squamish family for a century.
These warriors had conquered every foe they encountered, until
the talisman had become so renowned that the totem-pole of their
entire "clan" was remodelled, and the new one crested by the
figure of a single joint of a sea-serpent's vertebra.

About this time stories of Napoleon's first great achievements
drifted across the seas; not across the land--and just here may
be a clue to buried Coast-Indian history, which those who are
cleverer at research than I can puzzle over. The chief was most
emphatic about the source of Indian knowledge of Napoleon.

"I suppose you heard of him from Quebec, through, perhaps, some
of the French priests," I remarked.

"No, no," he contradicted hurriedly. "Not from East; we hear it
from over the Pacific from the place they call Russia." But who
conveyed the news or by what means it came he could not further
enlighten me. But a strange thing happened to the Squamish family
about this time. There was a large blood connection, but the only
male member living was a very old warrior, the hero of many battles
and the possessor of the talisman. On his death-bed his women of
three generations gathered about him; his wife, his sisters, his
daughters, his granddaughters, but not one man, nor yet a boy of
his own blood, stood by to speed his departing warrior spirit to
the land of peace and plenty.

"The charm cannot rest in the hands of women," he murmured almost
with his last breath. "Women may not war and fight other nations or
other tribes; women are for the peaceful lodge and for the leading
of little children. They are for holding baby hands, teaching baby
feet to walk. No, the charm cannot rest with you, women. I have
no brother, no cousin, no son, no grandson, and the charm must not
go to a lesser warrior than I. None of our tribe, nor of any tribe
on the coast, ever conquered me. The charm must go to one as
unconquerable as I have been. When I am dead send it across the
great salt chuck, to the victorious 'Frenchman'; they call him
Napoleon Bonaparte." They were his last words.

The older women wished to bury the charm with him, but the younger
women, inspired with the spirit of their generation, were determined
to send it over-seas. "In the grave it will be dead," they argued.
"Let it st