THE IRON MEN 65

awakened by the crane, clamored loudly for a mo-
ment, then were still. Terrified, Weah clung to the
long beak of the raven on the totem pole beside him;
he dared not take one step into the well of blackness
ahead. For a long time he stood there, his eyes closed,

his body trembling, as he fought that awful fear that —

had mastered him since early boyhood—fear of the
dark.

“I am the son of a great chief,” he kept repeat-
ing to himself. “My father is a famous chief. There
is no one more fearless than he. I am his son. I cannot
be afraid. I cannot be called Weah the Timid. I must
go out into the darkness, out upon the waters, out to
the canoe where the white people live.

“In this darkness there is nothing to fear,” Weah
told himself. “There is nothing here that is not here
in the daylight. My father is not afraid of darkness,
nor are my brothers. It will not harm me. It is only
daylight with the sun gone away. That is all it is! It
is daylight without the sunshine. I will pretend that
the sun is shining and I will walk bravely down to
the beach and find my canoe. Then I will paddle out
into the cove as if it were daylight instead of night.
I will not be afraid!”

Weah opened his eyes. Strangely enough, he no
longer felt any fear. In his mind he saw the sun
shining upon the village, upon the long line of totem
and memorial poles, upon the cove, upon the white