100 THE BIG CANOE

after day he searched under rocks and roots and
stumps, under fallen logs and in piles of heaped-up
brush, in under the thickets of salal and berry bushes.
For he knew that many changes had taken place in
the forest in the years that had passed since the other
lad had hidden his precious treasure. Old trees had
fallen or been cut down, small trees had grown into
tall ones, old stumps had rotted away entirely, while
scattered through the forest were piles of uprooted,
twisted tree trunks left in the wake of a hurricane
that had torn across the islands many years before.

One day he came upon a long war canoe, half
finished, resting upon its supports, some tools lying
beside it, the chips still fresh, just as the workmen had
left it when they departed for the Nass River. Near
it was the stump of a huge cedar from which it had
been cut, and upon a root of this tree Kagan sat down
to rest while he looked at the big canoe. Some day,
finished, painted, the graceful craft would go speed-
ing over the waters, carrying the bravest of the Haida
warriors to battle, but he, Kagan, would never ride
among them—never, because of his crippled leg.

“T cannot fight, I cannot hunt; I cannot be a dancer
or a chief or a shaman! Not even in this big canoe
shall I ever ride, for I shall never be a warrior,”
Kagan thought regretfully. “It will always be my lot
to stay with the women and make baskets and cedar
rope and nets. Never shall I drink the sea water with
the warriors before they go to battle; never shall I