“It is a way of the Thlinket-folk,” Palitlum vouchsafed half apologetically.

And I remembered the gun-fighters and bad men of my own Western land, and was not perplexed at the way of the Thlinket-folk.

“In time,” Palitlum continued, “we came to Chief Niblack and the Skoots.  It was a feast great almost as the potlatch of Ligoun.  There were we of the Chilcat, and the Sitkas, and the Stickeens who are neighbors to the Skoots, and the Wrangels and the Hoonahs.  There were Sundowns and Tahkos from Port Houghton, and their neighbors the Awks from Douglass Channel; the Naass River people, and the Tongas from north of Dixon, and the Kakes who come from the island called Kupreanoff.  Then there were Siwashes from Vancouver, Cassiars from the Gold Mountains, Teslin men, and even Sticks from the Yukon Country.

“It was a mighty gathering.  But first of all, there was to be a meeting of the chiefs with Niblack, and a drowning of all enmities in quass.  The Russians it was who showed us the way of making quass, for so my father told me,—­my father, who got it from his father before him.  But to this quass had Niblack added many things, such as sugar, flour, dried apples, and hops, so that it was a man’s drink, strong and good.  Not so good as ‘Three Star,’ O Hair-Face, yet good.

“This quass-feast was for the chiefs, and the chiefs only, and there was a score of them.  But Ligoun being very old and very great, it was given that I walk with him that he might lean upon my shoulder and that I might ease him down when he took his seat and raise him up when he arose.  At the door of Niblack’s house, which was of logs and very big, each chief, as was the custom, laid down his spear or rifle and his knife.  For as thou knowest, O Hair-Face, strong drink quickens, and old hates flame up, and head and hand are swift to act.  But I noted that Ligoun had brought two knives, the one he left outside the door, the other slipped under his blanket, snug to the grip.  The other chiefs did likewise, and I was troubled for what was to come.

“The chiefs were ranged, sitting, in a big circle about the room.  I stood at Ligoun’s elbow.  In the middle was the barrel of quass, and by it a slave to serve the drink.  First, Niblack made oration, with much show of friendship and many fine words.  Then he gave a sign, and the slave dipped a gourd full of quass and passed it to Ligoun, as was fit, for his was the highest rank.

“Ligoun drank it, to the last drop, and I gave him my strength to get on his feet so that he, too, might make oration.  He had kind speech for the many tribes, noted the greatness of Niblack to give such a feast, counselled for peace as was his custom, and at the end said that the quass was very good.

“Then Niblack drank, being next of rank to Ligoun, and after him one chief and another in degree and order.  And each spoke friendly words and said that the quass was good, till all had drunk.  Did I say all?  Nay, not all, O Hair-Face.  For last of them was one, a lean and catlike man, young of face, with a quick and daring eye, who drank darkly, and spat forth upon the ground, and spoke no word.