befallen him. He was a great chief, and he ruled many tribes on the
North Pacific Coast; but what was his greatness now? His young wife
had borne him twins, and was sobbing out her anguish in the little
fir-bark lodge near the tidewater.

"Beyond the doorway gathered many old men and women--old in years,
old in wisdom, old in the lore and learning of their nations. Some
of them wept, some chanted solemnly the dirge of their lost hopes
and happiness, which would never return because of this calamity;
others discussed in hushed voices this awesome thing, and for hours
their grave council was broken only by the infant cries of the two
boy-babies in the bark lodge, the hopeless sobs of the young mother,
the agonized moans of the stricken chief--their father.

"'Something dire will happen to the tribe,' said the old men in
council.

"'Something dire will happen to him, my husband,' wept the young
mother.

"'Something dire will happen to us all,' echoed the unhappy father.

"Then an ancient medicine-man arose, lifting his arms, outstretching
his palms to hush the lamenting throng. His voice shook with the
weight of many winters, but his eyes were yet keen and mirrored the
clear thought and brain behind them, as the still trout-pools in
the Capilano mirror the mountain tops. His words were masterful,
his gestures commanding, his shoulders erect and kindly. His was
a personality and an inspiration that no one dared dispute, and
his judgment was accepted as the words fell slowly, like a doom.