One day a rumor went abroad that the Statlemulth (Lillooet Indians) were making their way through the Marble Canyon, and down Hat Creek, to attack the Shuswaps on the Bonaparte, in revenge for some misdemeanor at some former time, on the part of the latter.  It was just about the time of the year when the Shuswaps were in the habit of invading the Fraser river at Pavilion for their winter supply of salmon; and, to be cut off from this source of revenue would mean a great deal to the Bonaparte Indians.  The invading army must be met and the entire band put to death, or made prisoners.

Telephone messages in Indian fashion were flashed from kikwilly house to kikwilly house, and in a couple of days the entire strength of the Shuswaps was gathered in a great army with Netaskit at its head.  The march began at an early hour the following morning, and the enemy was met near the mouth of the canyon where they had called a halt for the purpose of hunting and putting up o-lil-ies (berries).  In a moment the air was filled with war whoops, and the arrows flew thick and fast.  The women took to their heels and ran the moment the fray began, and they did not stop until they reached Squilachwah (Pavilion) near the Fraser river.  The smumtum and the groundhog betook themselves to the high mountains, so great was the battle, and their fright—­and it is only within recent years that they have ventured back to that spot.  The battle raged loud and long.  Netaskit was in the thick of the fight and claimed that he had killed twenty of the enemy with his own bow.  Many were wounded and slain on both sides; but the Shuswaps won the day, and they led home in triumph fifty prisoners.  And now comes the most interesting part of our story.  A counsel of war was held, and it was decided that the prisoners should be put to death the following day.  When the time arrived, the unfortunate men were brought out, bound with thongs hand and foot and placed in line near the big chief’s wigwam.  Fifty victors were lined up in front of them with their bows and arrows ready to shoot at the word of command from their chief, who was pacing up and down in his dignity and anger.  Suddenly the love demon took possession of him.  He thought of his love for his wife—­her love for him.  He pictured to himself his possible death and the agony of his widow.  He pictured her death and his own agony of mind at his loss.  He shuddered as the messages flashed through his mind.  He looked at the unfortunate victims—­he thought of their women—­sweethearts, wives.

“Halt!” he shouted to his men.  And turning to the wretches before him he said: 

“Statlemulth! listen.  You have committed a great wrong in making this expedition against the Shuswaps.  The Ko-cha Kookpi (god) is very angry.  You should be shot dead but you can save yourselves.  Listen.  I will pardon every man of you who can produce a wife or a sweetheart who can prove to my satisfaction that her love for you is greater than the voice of the Thompson, and fiercer than the roar of the Fraser.”