"Whuff! Sho's noble fish. Now I sees kin I sleep me."

The twinkling stars rattled in their orbits in cadence to the Wildcat's
snores. Sufficient unto the night was the evil thereof. Here, except
for a few sand fleas, was peace. The Wildcat snuggled deeper into the
intimate environment of the sand about him. His lower jaw dropped, and
his tongue lolled out less than a foot. Three or four mosquitoes landed
on him and did a little boring, but the Wildcat slept on. Presently the
halo of fish about him quit flopping. In the dark waters of the river's
margin their myriad brethren fought their way upstream. The Wildcat
mumbled in his sleep,

"Lady Luck sure done noble.
I sleeps mos' all de time.
I don' give a dog-gone
If de sun don't nevah shine."

2.

In the Cascades there had been berries enough for the bears and for the
Indians. Now that the salmon run was heralded in the Columbia by the
little fish scouts, all of the scattered members of the Flathead tribe
not otherwise engaged coagulated from their several loafing grounds and
headed for Memloose Island to pay their annual respects to the ghost of
the King Salmon.

Included in the tribe were a few solid citizens. Some of these were
college graduates. John Running Bear, better known to the business men
of The Dalles as John Franklin, left his tailored clothes at home and
painted his brown body with yellow ochre. He stained his arms and face
with the tribal marks of his people. He drove in his twelve-cylinder
car to a point near the upstream tip of Memloose Island, whereon the
Flathead salmon dance was to be held. He parked his car in a thicket of
willows.

"Safe enough," he said to his companion. "If some bundle-stiff or some
drifter from a sheep camp up the line needs the old wagon more than I
do, he's welcome to it. Let's go."

At dawn Running Bear and his companions encountered a hundred of their
fellows. From the camp the smoke of the cooking fires lifted in the
still air. Running Bear opened a tin of chicken. He sighed.

"This is the last civilized meal for the next six days."

He breakfasted slowly, lingering over his coffee, and then half
reluctantly the last trace of civilization's veneer was cast aside.

"Clee Hy Yah Skookum Kum chuck. Waugh!"

3.

Half a mile upstream from the Indian camp the Wildcat greeted the dawn.
Building a quick fire, he looked about him at the wrinkled little fish,
drying in the early morning sunligh