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he had had the forethought to burrow well into the
sand. As the chief’s canoe swept past, Yulan heard
him speak in a low tone to the warriors riding with
him.

“When the feast is over,” Yulan, who understood
some Niska, heard him say. Then the chief added
something about the hoot of an owl. The others all
nodded and looked so grim and fierce that Yulan
wondered, for visitors at a peace ceremony were
usually smiling and happy.

As the canoes neared the cove, the steady dip of
the paddles ceased and the clever paddlers imitated
the flight of a wounded eagle—three strokes, rest;
two strokes, rest—which indicated to the audience
on the beach that the visiting chief belonged to the
eagle clan.

When the last canoe had passed into the cove,
Yulan changed his position, though he remained well
hidden, and watched the ceremonies which always at-
tended the landing of a chief and his warriors. A
moment later the Niskas broke into a loud chant
which was answered by the ringing song of the Haidas
on the beach in front of Quasset. In the canoes the
Niska dancers in their finest dancing costumes stood
upright and kept time with their hands and bodies to
the marked time of the song. On the shore, also, the
Haida singers swayed gracefully from side to side,
using arms and hands in perfect rhythm as the chorus
rolled out across the cove.

174 THE BIG CANOE