the Sagalie Tyee--He who is a man of peace--turned His face away
from His Indian children. About this island there was dispute and
contention. The medicine-men from the North claimed it as their
chanting-ground. The medicine-men from the South laid equal claim
to it. Each wanted it as the stronghold of their witchcraft, their
magic. Great bands of these medicine-men met on the small space,
using every sorcery in their power to drive their opponents away.
The witch-doctors of the North made their camp on the northern rim
of the island; those from the South settled along the southern edge,
looking towards what is now the great city of Vancouver. Both
factions danced, chanted, burned their magic powders, built their
magic fires, beat their magic rattles, but neither would give way,
yet neither conquered. About them, on the waters, on the mainlands,
raged the warfare of their respective tribes--the Sagalie Tyee had
forgotten His Indian children.

"After many months, the warriors on both sides weakened. They said
the incantations of the rival medicine-men were bewitching them,
were making their hearts like children's, and their arms nerveless
as women's. So friend and foe arose as one man and drove the
medicine-men from the island, hounded them down the Inlet, herded
them through the Narrows, and banished them out to sea, where they
took refuge on one of the outer islands of the gulf. Then the
tribes once more fell upon each other in battle.

"The warrior blood of the North will always conquer. They are
the stronger, bolder, more alert, more keen. The snows and the
ice of their country make swifter pulse than the sleepy suns of
the South can awake in a man; their muscles are of sterner stuff,
their endurance greater. Yes, the northern tribes will always be