"He was killed," said Kalitan, "but we had blood-money from them," he added, sternly.
"What's that?" asked Ted, curiously.
"Long time ago, when one man kill another, his clan must pay with a life. One must be found from his tribe to cry, 'O-o-o-o-o-a-ha-a-ich-klu-kuk-ich-klu-kuk'" (ready to die, ready to die). His voice wailed out the mournful chant, which was weird and solemn and almost made Ted shiver. "But now," the boy went on, "Boston men" (Americans) "do not like the blood-tax, so the murderer pays money instead. We got many blankets and baskets and moneys for Kalitan Tyee. He great chief."
"Do you live here?" asked Ted.
"No, live on island out there." Kalitan waved his hand seaward. "Come to fish with my uncle, Klake Tyee. This good fishing-ground."
"It's a pretty fine country," said Ted, glancing at the scene, which bore charm to other than boyish eyes. To the east were the mountains sheltering a valley through which the frozen river wound like a silver ribbon, widening toward the sea. A cold green glacier filled the valley between two mountains with its peaks of beauty. Toward the shore, which swept in toward the river's mouth in a sheltered cove, were clumps of trees, giant fir, aspen, and hemlock, green and beautiful, while seaward swept the waves in white-capped loveliness.
Kalitan ushered them to the camp with great politeness and considerable pride.
"You've a good place to camp," said Mr. Strong, "and we will gladly share your fire until we are warm enough to go on."