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KLATSASSAN.

But notwithstanding all this, the Indians now deter-
mined to destroy poor Manning. They had always felt a
certain grudge against him for having settled in Puntzeen,
and taken from them so old and favourite a camping-
ground. Such a crime, they thought, nothing could
atone for. To their minds it vitiated all his actions; his
kindness appeared mere selfishness, and all his generosity
only a bribe to induce them to part unmurmuringly with
the immemorial inheritance of their fathers. It was
Anahim, this time, not Klatsassan, who planned the deed
of blood. Anahim was, however, too great a coward to
do the work himself. He accordingly seized on one of
his tribe named Tapeet and ordered him to kill poor
Manning. Tapeet was very averse to this (if his own
account of the matter is to be believed), but he could not
help himself. As for Manning, he was about his work
on his farm, suspecting nothing. He had, indeed, had
his fears, after hearing of the other murders, and had
done what he could to prepare himself against an attack.
But the Indians, who were afraid of the man, had resorted
to stratagem to put him off his guard. They sent a
squaw to fetch a woman known as Nancy, who stayed in

fanning’s house, and sent word back by her that they
were all going away to Alexandria to trade, and Manning
need not be afraid. The man was thus thrown off his
guard. Meanwhile Delilah Nancy took his arms and hid
them, and then went off to tell the Indians they might
venture to attack him. It was the general opinion that
but for this woman the Indians would never have killed
poor Manning.

He was shot by Tapeet, acting at Anahim’s instigation.
The two ruffians came up to Manning’s together one
morning. They met him in his garden, and said,
« Klahowya,—how are you,” shaking hands, and after a
brief conversation, Manning turned to go in and then
Tapeet shot him in the back and he fell, quite dead.
Tapect then went and sat down, and covering his face
with his blanket wept long and loud. Manning had
been a good friend to him, he sobbed out, and it was a
shame to make him shoot him. Shame or not, he was to
die for it, whilst the other greater villain unfortunately
escaped. Tapeet, I believe, never entered the house nor
did he take a pennyworth of the spoil.

Anahim then, calling the other Indians, proceeded to
loot the dead man’s house. They appropriated all the
flour and other edibles they could find, and destroyed
every thing else; after which they burnt the house.
They then proceeded to devastate the garden and field—
the plough and other implements of agriculture which
the late owner had contrived to bring to that distant
spot, they wantonly destroyed. Then, returning to where
the dead man lay, they proceeded to indulge their natural
ferocity by outraging his remains, battering in the head
and cutting the body in a horrible manner; finally, they
flung it, or as much of it as still hung together, into the
bed of a small stream, and then threw on it, for conceal-
ment, roots of trees—roots which had been dug out by the
hand of the very murdered man as he had cleared his land
to prepare it for the plough.

This was the last of the crimes committed by the
Chileoatens at this time. On the evening of the murder,
Klatsassan, who, for some reason or other, had not taken
{part in this affair, again appeared, and made his men
take up a position on an adjoining hill. The hill was
thickly wooded, and, themselves unseen, the Indians could

from it keep an out-look on the three trails converging
at Puntzeen.

There was great rejoicing among them that night on
the death of the man they feared, and little regret for the |
man who had given them flour and potatoes. There was
also much feasting on the spoil they had stolen. As
luckily no pire-chuck (whisky) was found on the white
man’s premises, they had not an opportunity of making
themselves mad—for the effect of strong waters upon
the savage mind is simply maddening. They quietly
smoked their calumet around the camp-fire and indulged
themselves only in strong harangues full of laudations of
themselves and of their ancestors and of denunciations of
the whites. In discussing the event of the day, one
Indian, more sagacious than the rest, was bold enough to
express his disapproval of part of the proceedings. He
did not see why Manning’s plough need have bee
destroyed. He had looked on it with admiration almost
amounting to adoration, as, moving in the rear of four
stout oxen, this wondrous thing had cut its slow but
certain way through the most tangled roots and the
most closely packed of sod, and prepared, in the primeval
soil, a bed for the bread-bearing seed. So he thought
they might have spared the instrument and learned to use
it themselves. This shrewd Indian, however, was ahead
of his age, and no one in the camp agreed with hin,
The chief, though he had not been present when the
plough was hacked to pieces, quite approved of the deed.
He spoke on this occasion somewhat as follows:—
“Keoochtan has spoken. The Hye-of-day has declared
the Redskins ought to have kept the white man’s
plough. Not so think Owhalmewha (all men, i.e. all
Indians). My children, ye did well to destroy it!”
“Well spoken, chief,” murmured his hearers. Katsassan
continued, ‘“‘ We do not want the white man’s machines,
nor do we want to till the soil or sow chappelell (wheat).
Our fisheries and hunting-grounds are very good for us. |
Our way of life, very good for us. It was good for our
fathers, it is good for us. We are not better than our
fathers, and have no wish to live differently. We want
to be let alone to enjoy our own beautiful country, and
our fishing-streams, and hunting-grounds. We don't
want these paleskins or their ways. They have no busi-
ness here, the accursed sons of dogs. Why come they te
thrust themselves upon our land? They choose our fairest
spots—they fence them off—they plough up our sacred
soil. We won’t have them here, nor their implements,
nor any thing that belongs to them.’ “Their bread,
nevertheless, is good, and their bacon not amiss, and!
wish we had only a little of their rum, or even their
coffee,” said the other, after the excitement produced by
the last speech had somewhat abated. “ Yes, their bread
is good, I allow,” said the chief, now subsiding into the
conversational, “and so is their coffee, but their hogs are
foul beasts, and as to their whisky, it makes our people
as mad as devils. You know that no Indian ever killed
another tribesman or ran away with his squaw till the
fire water came among us. Yes, this is one of theit
devil's actions, the bringing it among us. Indeed, I
don’t know any thing but ill they have brought us.
Now they are going to send gmall-pox to kill us all. We
must be beforehand with them. Let us all keep a sharp
look-out from here. We can see all the white men that
pass this way from the Great Sea, or from the Homatheo,
or from the Sitatqua (Fraser River); whichever way they

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