orty-rod whiskey--I have seen this "hooch," as it was called because
these same Hootz-noo natives first made it, kill at more than forty
rods, for it generally made the natives _fighting_ drunk.

Through the large company of screaming, dancing and singing natives we
made our way to the chief's house. By some miracle this majestic-looking
savage was sober. Perhaps he felt it incumbent upon him as host not to
partake himself of the luxuries with which he regaled his guests. He
took us hospitably into his great community house of split cedar planks
with carved totem poles for corner posts, and called his young men to
take care of our canoe and to bring wood for a fire that he might feast
us. The wife of this chief was one of the finest looking Indian women I
have ever met,--tall, straight, lithe and dignified. But, crawling about
on the floor on all fours, was the most piteous travesty of the human
form I have ever seen. It was an idiot boy, sixteen years of age. He had
neither the comeliness of a beast nor the intellect of a man. His name
was _Hootz-too_ (Bear Heart), and indeed all his motions were those of a
bear rather than of a human being. Crossing the floor with the swinging
gait of a bear, he would crouch back on his haunches and resume his
constant occupation of sucking his wrist, into which he had thus formed
a livid hole. When disturbed at this horrid task he would strike with
the claw-like fingers of the other hand, snarling and grunting. Yet the
beautiful chieftainess was his mother, and she _loved_ him. For sixteen
years she had cared for this monster, feeding him with her choicest
food, putting him to sleep always in her arms, taking him with her and
guarding him day and night. When, a short time before our visit, the
medicine men, accusing him of causing the illness of some of the head
men of the village, proclaimed him a witch, and the whole tribe came to
take and torture him to death, she fought them like a lioness, not
counting her own life dear unto her, and saved her boy.

When I said to her thoughtlessly, "Oh, would you not be relieved at the
death of this poor idiot boy?" she saw in my words a threat, and I shall
never forget the pathetic, hunted look with which she said:

"Oh, no, it must not be; he shall not die. Is he not my son,
_uh-yeet-kutsku_ (my dear little son)?"

If our voyage had yielded me nothing but this wonderful instance of
mother-love, I should have counted myself richly repaid.