THE WONDER-WORKER’S PIPE 209

could hear Kilko moaning, crying, begging Shim to
stop.

Strange to say, Teka was not the least bit pleased
to see his enemy being punished. Shim must not be
allowed to harm the helpless lad. Yet Teka knew that
he was no match for the Foolish One in this mad
mood. He had no knife, no club, no bow and arrows.
He was but a slave and wore no weapons. He did not
dare go back to the encampment for help; there was
no time for that.

In his desperation he remembered that Shim loved
music; loved to make it himself, loved to listen to it.
Teka could sing. No one but Shim knew it, but there
was no one among the Haidas who could sing like
Teka. His songs were his own. In his heart he made
them, and alone he had sung them for many years.
Shim always cried like a little child when he heard
them—cried and sometimes went to sleep. Teka de-
cided to sing them now. It was the only possible way
to quiet the Foolish One.

It required great courage to sing under such cir-
cumstances. Steep cliffs, jagged rocks below, deep
dark water on every side, gulls screaming overhead,
and a madman dancing, knife in hand, not many
feet away. But Teka sang. Standing up, he took a
deep breath and sang. From his throat came a clear,
sweet song that reached Shim’s ears and caused him
to stop his dance, lower his knife, and lift his head
to listen.