“‘Now,’ said the god of the West Wind, ’I can show how great I am.  I shall blow a tempest that these men may not land on my coast.  They shall not ride my seas and sounds and channels in safety.  I shall wreck them and send their bodies into the great deeps, and I shall be Sagalie Tyee in their place and ruler of all the world.’  So the god of the West Wind blew forth his tempests.  The waves arose mountain high, the seas lashed and thundered along the shores.  The roar of his mighty breath could be heard wrenching giant limbs from the forest trees, whistling down the canyons and dealing death and destruction for leagues and leagues along the coast.  But the canoe containing the Four Men rode upright through all the heights and hollows of the seething ocean.  No curling crest or sullen depth could wreck that magic craft, for the hearts it bore were filled with kindness for the human race, and kindness cannot die.

“It was all rock and dense forest, and unpeopled; only wild animals and sea-birds sought the shelter it provided from the terrors of the West Wind; but he drove them out in sullen anger, and made on this strip of land his last stand against the Four Men.  The Paleface calls the place Point Grey, but the Indians yet speak of it as ‘The Battle Ground of the West Wind.’  All his mighty forces he now brought to bear against the oncoming canoe; he swept great hurricanes about the stony ledges; he caused the sea to beat and swirl in tempestuous fury along its narrow fastnesses; but the canoe came nearer and nearer, invincible as those shores, and stronger than death itself.  As the bow touched the land the Four Men arose and commanded the West Wind to cease his war-cry, and, mighty though he had been, his voice trembled and sobbed itself into a gentle breeze, then fell to a whispering note, then faded into exquisite silence.

“‘Oh, you evil one with the unkind heart,’ cried the Four Men, ’you have been too great a god for even the Sagalie Tyee to obliterate you forever, but you shall live on, live now to serve, not to hinder mankind.  You shall turn into stone where you now stand, and you shall rise only as men wish you to.  Your life from this day shall be for the good of man, for when the fisherman’s sails are idle and his lodge is leagues away you shall fill those sails and blow his craft free, in whatever direction he desires.  You shall stand where you are through all the thousands upon thousands of years to come, and he who touches you with his paddle-blade shall have his desire of a breeze to carry him home.’”

My young tillicum had finished his tradition, and his great, solemn eyes regarded me half-wistfully.

“I wish you could see Homolsom Rock,” he said.  “For that is he who was once the Tyee of the West Wind.”

“Were you ever becalmed around Point Grey?” I asked irrelevantly.

“Often,” he replied.  “But I paddle up to the rock and touch it with the tip of my paddle-blade, and, no matter which way I want to go, the wind will blow free for me, if I wait a little while.”