THE MAGIC ARROW 155

where she opened a Niska chest and took from it a
long graceful arrow. This she quickly carried down
and placed in the hands of Shim the Foolish One,
who sat dozing before the fire.

“Here is the magic arrow of the Niskas, Shim,”
she said, arousing him, “which has been handed
down in my tribe on the Nass for many generations.
All here have heard the story, but no one else can
tell it as you can, for you too have Niska blood. Tell
it to us again, Shim.”

Instantly there was silence in the lodge; silence
broken only by the crackling of the driftwood fire and
the moan of the wind outside. Silently they gathered
round the fire while Shim the Foolish One studied
the arrow, running his finger along the smooth sur-
face, caressing the faded, ruffled feathers on the
carved bone shaft, mumbling, frowning thoughtfully,
as his poor brain brought together the threads of the
story.

At last, to the relief of all, his expression of un-
certainty vanished and in its place came a shrewd,
eager look. His form straightened, his frown disap-
peared, his eyes shone as he glanced around the room
and noted the respectful faces turned toward him.
Gone was Shim the Foolish One; here was Shim the
Story-teller, whose strange stories of the Northland
had thrilled all the Haidas; had even become famous
among all the tribes that gathered on the Nass River
at fishing time.