It was in the dark of the moon and through the kindly night he led
her far up the rocky shores to the narrow belt of quiet waters,
where they crossed in silence into his own country. A week, a
month, a long golden summer, slipped by, but the insulted old
chief and his enraged sons failed to find her.

Then, one morning, as the lovers walked together on the heights above
the far upper reaches of the river, even the ever-watchful eyes
of the Tulameen failed to detect the lurking enemy. Across the
narrow canyon crouched and crept the two outwitted brothers of the
girl-wife at his side; their arrows were on their bow-strings, their
hearts on fire with hatred and vengeance. Like two evil-winged
birds of prey those arrows sped across the laughing river, but
before they found their mark in the breast of the victorious
Tulameen the girl had unconsciously stepped before him. With a
little sigh, she slipped into his arms, her brothers' arrows
buried into her soft, brown flesh.

It was many a moon before his avenging hand succeeded in slaying
the old chief and those two hated sons of his. But when this was
finally done the handsome young Tulameen left his people, his tribe,
his country, and went into the far north. "For," he said, as he
sang his farewell war-song, "my heart lies dead in the Tulameen
River."

* * * * *

But the spirit of his girl-wife still sings through the canyon, its
song blending with the music of that sweetest-voiced river in all