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“Into his shrivelled fingers the great medicine man took a small, round stone, chanting strange words of magic all the while; his greedy eyes were on the girl, his greedy thoughts about her.

“Into his strong, young fingers Ulka took a smooth, flat stone; his handsome eyes were lowered in boyish modesty, his thoughts were worshipping her. The great medicine man cast his missile first; it swept through the air like a shaft of lightning, striking the great rock with a force that shattered it. At the touch of that stone the ‘Grey Archway’ opened and has remained opened to this day.

“‘Oh, wonderful power and magic!’ clamored the entire tribe. ‘The very rocks do his bidding.’

“But Yaada stood with eyes that burned in agony. Ulka could never command such magic–she knew it. But at her side Ulka was standing erect, tall, slender and beautiful, but just as he cast his missile the evil voice of the old medicine man began a still more evil incantation. He fixed his poisonous eyes on the younger man, eyes with hideous magic in their depths–ill-omened and enchanted with ‘bad medicine.’ The stone left Ulka’s fingers; for a second it flew forth in a straight line, then as the evil voice of the old man grew louder in its incantations the stone curved. Magic had waylaid the strong arm of the young brave. The stone poised an instant above the forehead of Yaada’s mother, then dropped with the weight of many mountains, and the last long sleep fell upon her.

“‘Slayer of my mother!’ stormed the girl, her suffering eyes fixed upon the medicine man. ‘Oh, I now see your black heart through your black magic. Through, good magic you cut the ‘Great Archway,’ but your evil magic you used upon young Ulka. I saw your wicked eyes upon him; I heard your wicked incantations; I know your wicked heart. You used your heartless magic in hope of winning me–in hope of making him an outcast of the tribe. You cared not for my sorrowing heart, my motherless life to come.’ Then, turning to the tribe, she demanded: ‘Who of you saw his evil eyes fixed on Ulka? Who of you heard his evil song?’

“‘I,’ and ‘I,’ and ‘I,’ came voice after voice.

“‘The very air is poisoned that we breathe about him,’ they shouted. ‘The young man is blameless, his heart is as the sun, but the man who has used his evil magic has a heart black and cold as the hours before the dawn.’

“Then Yaada’s voice arose in a strange, sweet, sorrowful chant:

My feet shall walk no more upon this island,
With its great, Grey Archway.
My mother sleeps forever on this island,
With its great, Grey Archway.
My heart would break without her on this island,
With its great, Grey Archway.

My life was of her life upon this island,
With its great, Grey Archway.
My mother’s soul has wandered from this island,
With its great, Grey Archway.
My feet must follow hers beyond this island,
With its great, Grey Archway.

“As Yaada chanted and wailed her farewell, she moved slowly towards the edge of the cliff. On its brink she hovered a moment with outstretched arms, as a sea gull poises on its weight–then she called:

“‘Ulka, my Ulka! Your hand is innocent of wrong; it was the evil magic of your rival that slew my mother. I must go to her; even you cannot keep me here; will you stay, or come with me? Oh! my Ulka!’

“The slender, gloriously young boy sprang toward her; their hands closed one within the other; for a second they poised on the brink of the rocks, radiant as stars; then together they plunged into the sea.”

* * * * *

The legend was ended. Long ago we had passed the island with its “Grey Archway”; it was melting into the twilight, far astern.

As I brooded over this strange tale of a daughter’s devotion, I watched the sea and sky for something that would give me a clue to the inevitable sequel that the tillicum, like all his race, was surely withholding until the opportune moment.

Something flashed through the darkening waters not a stone’s throw from the steamer. I leaned forward, watching it intently. Two silvery fish were making a succession of little leaps and plunges along the surface of the sea, their bodies catching the last tints of sunset, like flashing jewels. I looked at the tillicum quickly. He was watching me–a world of anxiety in his half-mournful eyes.

“And those two silvery fish?” I questioned.

He smiled. The anxious look vanished. “I was right,” he said; “you do know us and our ways, for you are one of us. Yes, those fish are seen only in these waters; there are never but two of them. They are Yaada and her mate, seeking for the soul of the Haida woman–her mother.”