"I suppose your people all do this?" I replied.

"Yes, all of them," he answered. "They have done it for hundreds of
years. You see the power in it is just as great now as at first,
for the rock feeds every day on the unspoiled sea that the Sagalie
Tyee made."





THE TULAMEEN TRAIL


Did you ever "holiday" through the valley lands of the Dry Belt?
Ever spend days and days in a swinging, swaying coach, behind a
four-in-hand, when "Curly" or "Nicola Ned" held the ribbons, and
tooled his knowing little leaders and wheelers down those horrifying
mountain-trails that wind like russet skeins of cobweb through the
heights and depths of the Okanagan, the Nicola, and the Similkameen
countries? If so, you have listened to the call of the Skookum
Chuck, as the Chinook speakers call the rollicking, tumbling streams
that sing their way through the canyons with a music so dulcet,
so insistent, that for many moons the echo of it lingers in your
listening ears, and you will, through all the years to come, hear
the voices of those mountain-rivers calling you to return.

But the most haunting of all the melodies is the warbling laughter
of the Tulameen; its delicate note is far more powerful, more
far-reaching than the throaty thunders of Niagara. That is why the