THE SILVER BRACELET 75

slowly along on rolling skids to the deep hole that had
been dug for it in front of the head chief’s lodge.
Above the chants and shouts of the workers, the cheers
of the onlookers, the cries and laughter of the children
and the barking of the dogs, Maada could hear the
weird cries of the medicine-men, the tum-tum-tum of
their drums and the click of their rattles in the house
where the white slave was held a prisoner.

Maada was not conscious of the other sounds at
all; she could hear only the incantations of the
medicine-men who were undoubtedly torturing the
white slave, her friend, with hot sticks to drive away
the evil spirits before he was sacrificed on the mor-
row. It was terrible to think about, terrible to bear!
Maada sobbed louder. Seldom had the Haidas sacri-
ficed a white slave beneath a totem pole! It was an
old custom revived on this special occasion to honor
Chief Edenshaw, who was chief guest at the potlatch.
Not for many, many years had a slave been sacrificed
in Quasset at potlatch time.

It was the part she herself had played in the
capture of the white slave that caused Maada such
grief and remorse. She and no other was to blame
for the plight of the prisoner. One day, months
before, she had been wandering along the shore a
mile or two from the village. There had been a storm
and the waves were still thundering in upon the beach,
though the wind had died down and the sun was
shining brightly.