red or black man:
I'm de-late hyas of the Kootznahoo quan.

Need I add that _tum-tum_ in the Chinook jargon signifies the soul!
Joseph merely announced that he was clean-souled; also _de-late
hyas_--that is, above reproach.

At the store of the Northwest Trading Company we found no curios, and it
is the only store in the place. Sarsaparilla, tobacco, blankets, patent
medicines, etc., are there neatly displayed on freshly painted shelves,
but no curios. On a strip of plank walk in front of the place are
Indians luxuriously heaped, like prize porkers, and they are about as
interesting a spectacle to the unaccustomed eye.

Our whistle blew at noon. We returned on board, taking the cannery and
oil-factory on the way, and finding it impossible to forget them for
some time afterward. At 12.45 p. m. we were off, but we left one of the
merriest and most popular of our voyagers behind us. He remained at
Killisnoo in charge of the place. As we swam off into the sweet sea
reaches, the poor fellow ran over the ridge of his little island,
looking quite like a castaway, and no doubt feeling like one. He sprang
from rock to rock and at last mounted a hillock, and stood waving his
arms wildly while we were in sight. And the lassies? They swarmed like
bees upon the wheelhouse, wringing their hands and their handkerchiefs,
and weeping rivers of imaginary tears over our first bereavement! But
really, now, what a life to lead, and in what a place, especially if
one happens to be young, and good-looking and a bit of a swell withal!

But is there no romance here? Listen! We came to anchor over night in a
quiet nook where the cliffs and the clouds overshadowed us. Everything
was of the vaguest description, without form and void. There seemed to
be one hut on shore, with the spark of a light in it--a cannery of
course. Canoes were drifting to and fro like motes in the darkness,
tipped with a phosphorescent rim. Indian voices hailed us out of the
ominous silence; Indian dogs muttered under their breath, yelping in a
whisper which was mocked by Indian papooses, who can bark before they
have learned to walk or talk.

Softly out of the balmy night--for it was balmy and balsamic (we were to
the windward of the cannery),--a shadowy canoe floated up just under our
rail; two shadowy forms materialized, and voices like the voices of
spirits--almost the softest voices in the world, voices of infantile
sweetness--hailed us. "_Alah, mika chahko