as now
preparing to deal; not because he hoped to benefit the natives and free
them from the curse of superstition, but because owing to a belief in
the black art, the Indians of Katleean were not bringing in the amount
of furs expected, and this meant a loss of money to the Alaska Fur and
Trading Company.

Ellen recalled the superior air of amusement with which the White Chief
had told of the dominating belief in demons.

"When one of the beggars wants to cast a spell," he had said, his lip
curling in a sardonic smile, "he takes a bit of cloth from some garment
his enemy has worn and at the hour of midnight slinks into a graveyard
and digs down until he finds a body. If he wants to cripple his
enemy's hand, he puts the cloth in the fingers of the corpse. If he
wishes his enemy to lose his mind he puts it over the skull, and if he
wants him dead, he places the cloth over the heart in the coffin. Oh,
they are a sweet outfit, I tell you!" The Chief had laughed as if
these things were merely amusing. Then he had gone on to explain that
across the Bay of Katleean in the shadow of the great blue glacier
which was discernible on sunny days, there had been a lonely Thlinget
graveyard. Because of its isolation this burial place had been so
riddled with re-opened graves and so much killing, torturing and
fighting had ensued among the Indians in their efforts to detect and
punish so-called witches that he, their White Chief, had been obliged
to interfere. He had put an end to the reign of sorcery in that
particular graveyard rather cleverly, Ellen was forced to admit, by
having all the bodies exhumed and cremated on the spot.

"They'll bring the ashes over here where I can keep an eye on them and
prevent further 'witching,'" the trader had finished. "And after the
Potlatch we'll have a little peace in the country, I hope. I never
interfere with the Potlatches. They make good business for the
Company, for the brown heathens believe the spirits are really feasting
and rejoicing with them." Kilbuck laughed as at some recollection.
"The Company sends in hundreds of blankets every year for dead Indians.
Whenever a Potlatch blanket is given away the name of a dead man is
called and he receives it in the spirit world. Whenever a little food
is put on the Potlatch fire, a dead man's name is mentioned and he gets
a square meal up there in Ghost's Home. Altogether the Alaska Fur and
Trading Company does a lively business wi