"And my father and Killamah hunted and fished. But the big fire burned the forest, and he had to work for the company. He worked in the mill. There was a woman there—she cooked their food. She was white — ugh!—white, with fair hair and little blue eyes. She was fat and red — ugh!—and her voice it was harsh like the marsh crane. And one day she made my father marry her. She told my father that she would cook for him and earn money—and—and he married her.
"She hated Killamah. She beat Killamah, and cut her hair, and made her cook, and take care of the baby. And Killamah ran away. Then my father was sick—he wasted away, and Killamah went back to him. My father died.
"The woman beat Killamah—because there was not food for me and her baby too. And she put this here with a hot iron when she was angry."
I shuddered. There was a long white scar on her breast.
"And Killamah ran away again. It was winter and the Great Whiteness was deep—deep. I went to the mill people. They had known my father. They laughed at me. They yelled, 'Get out of here—you half-breed. Go to your Injuns—they'll help you. "The Indians of Nehalem lived on the other side of the Great Canyon. I knew not the Indians. They had disowned ray father, because he had married my mother. But Killamah went to them. Sometimes she crawled like the great bear, on her hands and knees. Sometimes she walked. Killamah's moccasins were cut—when Killamah stepped, there was red on the Great Whiteness. For three days Killamah crawled and walked, and then she saw the Indians. They were poor—the women were cold and sick, and there was little food. But Killamah wa,iited just one buckskin to wrap around her and die.
"They set the dogs on her and cried 'Shame!—a half-breed! She is half-white! Go back to your white people! Go back to the company—mongrel, cur, half-breed! "Killamah didn't hear it all—she crawled away and lay on the Great Whiteness—the cold wind was freezing—the hungry wolves—and the big, still night—"
The girl trembled as I put my arm around her. Then, after a silence, she went on:
"When Killamah was nearly dead she opened her eyes—and there was some one kneeling beside her. Ah!—Margaret Hill—he was so strong and beautiful. He was a Nehalem. He was dark and deep-chested like my father. And he lifted me, like a baby in his strong arms—and we glided along on his great snow shoes. Then, Margaret Hill, he took me to a cabin — far, far up in the hills.
"Killamah wasn't beautiful then, but he loved her. And my father's people—his people—said they would kill him if he came back. And his father, the great chief, told none to speak his name, or they, too, would die as he had—to them. But Sea Cliff only laughed at them. He would take me in his arms and say, 'Killamah, little one, my people are the Sea. They
