DEADMAN’S ISLAND

assailed that circle of canoes, and again and
again were repulsed. The air was thick with
poisoned arrows, the water stained with blood.
But day by day the circle of southern canoes
grew thinner and thinner; the northern arrows
were telling, and truer of aim. Canoes drifted
everywhere, empty, or worse still, manned
only by dead men. The pick of the southern
warriors had already fallen, when their great-
est Tyee mounted a large rock on the eastern
shore. Brave and unmindful of a thousand
weapons aimed at his heart, he uplifted his
hand, palm outward—the signal for confer-
ence. Instantly every northern arrow was
lowered, and every northern ear listened for
his words.

“‘Oh! men of the upper coast,’ he said, ‘you
are more numerous than we are; your tribe
is larger; your endurance greater. We are
growing hungry, we are growing less in num-
bers. Our captives—your women and children
and old men—have lessened, too, our stores of
food. If you refuse our terms we will yet
fight to the finish. Tomorrow we will kill all
our captives before your eyes, for we can feed
them no longer, or you can have your wives,
your mothers, your fathers, your children, by
giving us for each and every one of them one
of your best and bravest young warriors, who

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