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for the water to trickle through. Every I never was much of a Kearney man watchman had a chance to become a second "little Hollander."

The town was rich in an unwritten lore relating to floods at different times. Joe Brunt, when sick, stayed all night in a tree, shaking with ague. Young Lucas jumped upon a floating bale of hay when the water covered the strong branches of his little plum tree. The house of Mr. Wilkins's sister once floated several hundred feet with herself and her little ones in it. All these happenings were retold whenever the water rose.

Mr. Wilkins was conning them over as he stepped toward the fissure over which Jake Raymond was bending. "Not bad, if it's tended to now," explained Raymond, straightening himself and throwing the light of his lantern on the gaunt figure of his neighbor.

The threatened breach secured, they paced the levee discussing the news in the latest papers. No mail had reached them since the previous Tuesday, and on this Monday night both were longing for the Weekly Herald.

"I'd give a dollar to have the Chinese question settled," said Raymond. It was not a munificent offer, but since thousands would not have adjusted matters, why make large advances?

until I found that the other parties won't be outspoken and his men will. They are going to fight for their rights. It's got to be done."

"Don't you think the Kearneyites are a little too much excited?" asked Raymond.

"No, sir, it's to be war to the knife. If the Chinese keep coming, San Francisco will run with blood."

"There is n't a man in Grubbville who does n't want them shut out," said Raymond,-" from the way each one votes and talks."

"They talk well enough,-take Grubbs for instance," sneered Wilkins. "But just let Lung Loo's West Landing washmen get riled; every man, with Grubbs the biggest, would have other fish to fry and fire waiting. No use slicing beans, me and Grubbs don't love each other, and I've small use for him or his."

"I've always got on first-rate with Grubbs," remarked the peaceful man. "You are welcome to," curtly; "but I don't deal with him or his boys.”

"There won't be need of a special watch tonight,' said Raymond, as they separated.

Most of the men worked on the levee during the day. Weak places were strengthened by grain sacks of earth, and quantities of sacks were brought to the nearest building in case of need. At nightfall the levee was firm. Yet any hour might bring the dreaded wind to lash this great body of water, on

"I want to see the Chinese out of the country," returned Wilkins. "See what they are doing to the State. Why, cheap labor is what's ruinin' the workingman." "Not so much as the whisky he which one might sail to the ocean, drinks."

"Yes, sir, more; cheap labor takes the clothing off our children's backs and feeds it to Mongolians. The Chinese must go. They would rule our land in twenty years, and we may emigrate, or live on a handful of rice a day, as they do. If it was n't for our waking up to it," he went on, "they would sack the country. But there's one man who is n't asleep and that is Dennis Kearney.

though sometimes several miles from the summer river bed. It was an impressive scene,-only sea and sky, a far line of blue mountains to be seen on a clear day, and over the river a glimpse of West Landing.

But the men on the levee forgot the scene in their anxiety to get the mail. The strong down current prevented the boats from ascending the river. It was provoking to be wrought up by news of

disturbances in San Francisco, and then to lose one man, yet in fifteen minutes wait eight days for the next word. the town knew that the Chinese had "They might have made a treaty in the taken San Francisco, and were marchtime," said Uncle Eb Case, who knew ing upon Grubbville. Anson Burlingame before he became famous as maker of a treaty with China. "Or the streets of San Francisco may have run with blood," suggested Lon Byers.

"Boys, I'll wager you will know the news in less 'n an hour," exclaimed Joe Brunt, in a tone too eager for pure prediction.

All scanned the waters till a sound of oars was heard in the darkness, when a hearty welcome was given the adven

turous rowers.

They would not disembark, but in answer to the usual question, "What's the news?" one called out, "News enough." "More than enough," put in the other. "News from San Francisco,-they say the Chinamen were having a big time, and when the Kearneyites tried to interfere, the Chinamen rose in a body and sacked the city. They have the City Hall and all the arms."

Less excitement would have been caused had the levee broken, for that would have required instant work. Their enemy was yet invisible, and a dozen plans were soon on foot for the defense of Grubbville.

There was not a cannon in the place, nor was there a building strong enough for a fort. Most of the homes had just room enough to accommodate one family. Only one house was large enough for two,- that of Mr. Wilkins, farthest back from the levee.

The owner of this house was stamping backward and forward, the water in his leaky rubber boots swashing audibly. A week before he had broken his gun, and had left no better weapon than his ax and the knives used at pig-killing. Danger at hand and his gun broken! Wilkins was not a borrower, but had he been, who would spare his own defense? True, the Grubbs boys were well provided, but he would not ask there. Then, too, the Grubbs house was within a stone's throw of the landing place, and would be the first attacked. Thinking not of the town of Grubbville, but of the family of Wilkins, and too troubled to see that a garrison of the "Maybe the Chinamen are on their town would defend his own house, Mr. way," ejaculated Lon Byers.

"And they've put the Mayor and Kearney and all the policemen in jail." "Don't let them take you," called one of the hunters, as they rowed on.

"Grubbville will be the next place, Grubbville will be the next place they will attack," groaned Uncle Eb.

"They are already on the way here," gasped Snyder, and the cry was taken up and repeated.

"But we'll die hard, boys," said brave old Uncle Eb, taking out a broken jackknife.

"They may be a stone's throw off," cried Carse.

It was perfectly dark, but all looked toward the water. Perhaps they expected to see it black with the heads of their enemy swimming in upon them, as the rats came upon the wicked bishop of Bingen. The excited group seemed not

Wilkins started home.

with

Although in the darkness he could not recognize the man by the roadside gun, he knew the voice that said "Well, Mr. Wilkins, bein' 's I've got a gun, I thought you 'uns would like to have me hang round tonight."

It was Grubbs's second son, a tall, stolid, good-natured young fellow.

It was a time to let bygones be bygones, and Wilkins gave himself credit that there was no trace of malice in his voice when he thanked Tim and invited him in to supper.

"Thanks, I had supper at Minty's.

You'll feel safer if I watch here, though 'tain't much use. What would the Chiny want here? 'N I don't low they could find this handful o' shanties, if they searched."

Well for Tim Grubbs that his words did not reach the military company forming at the levee. Tim had always been called dull. Such a view of this momentous matter would have written him half-witted.

Wilkins went on to the house, saying with a chuckle, "Wife would rather the Chinese would take us than have one of the Grubbses outside."

The house was darkened for safety. Mrs. Wilkins looked troubled; she started at every sound, and glanced at her husband. The children were awed and silent, with none of the usual questions as to whether the levee would break, and how many ducks had been shot. Only the dethroned baby asked, "Will the Chinamen shoot us or dwound us?"

"O, we'll shoot them."
"But your gun is boked."

Would not the Chinese take immediate vengeance on a place where every man opposed them, and where every one of the twenty-five votes was given to the man who cried loudest, "The Chinese must go!" The morning light would show the Chinamen holding the town, and its inhabitants oarless and sailless on a raft.

When light did come it fell upon a tiny island town surrounded by still waters. A group of weary men stood on the levee, and their strained vision might have seen the city of Sacramento or San Francisco itself. Far as they could discern, no man-of-war floated; not so much as a duck-boat lay on the water. At last, relieved but disgusted, the military company dispersed for breakfast, promising to be back in half an hour.

Each member on entering his house was greeted with storms of questions,— each, perhaps, except Wilkins. Tim Grubbs, after all his kindness, must have breakfast; surely Mrs. Wilkins

"But the men with guns will take would receive him civilly. Wilkins care of us."

Just then a slight noise was heard overhead, and every little Wilkins put his hand before his face, and cried.

Remarking that the Chinese must be coming soon, Wilkins left the house, promising to return if there was any danger. He passed the sentinel, who demanded a countersign. "What news?" he asked of the armed body on the levee. "None."

opened the door, mentally composing an explanation — which was never given. There at the table sat Mrs. Grubbs and her children, cosily eating with Mrs. Wilkins and her children.

Mrs. Wilkins hurried to the door and whispered,. "Don't be angry, husband. Treat them nicely, and I'll explain afterwards."

Mr. Wilkins did treat them well. He told how they were indebted to Tim,

"Has anyone listened at the water's and brought him in, blushing at the

edge?"

"Yes."

It was a weird night. Only the babies slept. The houses outwardly dark were filled with weary watchers, who could only recount the news about the fierce Chinamen and noble Dennis Kearney, who, some said, had been murdered in cold blood during the sacking of San Francisco. And Grubbville would be the next place! Who could doubt it?

praise. He was wonderfully surprised at seeing his mother in a house she had not entered before for years, and wanted to know how she came to be there. Tim was slow spoken and never obtruded, but he was not one who could be frowned or winked into understanding that this was not the proper time for explanations; so Mrs. Wilkins said when the news came she thought first of Mrs. Grubbs and the sick baby, knowing the house

would be the first one attacked. "I sent Millie down to ask your maw and the children to come, and we are glad they did," she concluded.

"Why, it's a regular family gathering," said Mr. Wilkins, with unaccustomed warmth. "I'll go right out and bring Grubbs." And he did.

He was learning what he had never before suspected, that it was not his wife's fault if he quarreled with his neighbors. That the Grubbses had been in his house (unknown to him) while he ate his sup

per, was humbling. He spoke cordially to Mr. Grubbs, though in all the panic they had not exchanged a word.

Mr. Grubbs was too much interested in the arrival of the mail to answer. Pointing to a portly figure, he said, "Listen!" Uncle Eb Case, after looking through his Herald of the previous week, was spreading out the latest copy.

"It don't say a word," he announced, "about the Chinese sacking the city of San Francisco. I think it must have been a mistake." Adah Fairbanks Batelle.

INDIAN TRADITIONS OF THEIR ORIGIN.

IN the March issue of the OVERLAND MONTHLY Captain Dougherty says, concerning a consensus of thought upon the origin and unity of the Indian race, that "this part of the subject will probably always remain within the realm of speculation, for the Indians have neither record nor tradition of their origin, and none concerning them is known to exist in any part of the world."

I have been during the past forty years occasionally thrown among the Indians, and it has been a pleasure to me to converse with them concerning their antiquities and traditions. As a rule, their last wish seems to be to reveal these. But while they have been conversing among themselves at unguarded moments, and without exhibit ing a critical disposition, I have gathered from them much that could not have been learned by a stranger to them, or by one who criticised.

In 1883 I was clerk upon the Round Valley Indian Reservation, and during the early months of that year a Doctor L. A. Vawter, of Indiana, was appointed physician to the same agency. He was

anxiously curious as to the past history of the Indians, and longed to know about them more than I could tell him. So we talked the matter over often, and planned to win the confidence of some intelligent Indian from whom we could get the desired information. Doctor Vawter was a tall, unimpressive man, slow of speech, persistent in urging, and a good judge of Indian nature. I had some earnest friends among the Indians, and the agent, Rev. H. B. Sheldon, had given Doctor Vawter his co-operation in securing the confidence of the Indians. It was not long before our united efforts and the Doctor's pills and nostrums had given him the advantage he sought. John Brown was the hereditary chief of the Ukies, a tribe whose home had always been on Eel River. But when the Doctor tried to draw out his knowledge of the traditional history of his people he would not give any information. No persuasion, nor cajolery, nor flattery, would move him. But there was at the agency an intelligent middleaged Indian, named Charles Munsell, over whom we all had influence by

church relationship and the prestige accorded him above his fellows. Doctor Vawter, with his keen insight into the Indian's nature, after a few hours conversation began to unravel the mystery enshrouding the past history of the Concow tribe of Indians. Day by day he would get the facts as told by Munsell, and at night we would jot them. down for future reference.

Once each year the older men of the tribe gather in their "sweat house," and perform every part of the traditional record. This performance lasts seven nights, and every light must be extinguished. One evening about dark Munsell hurriedly came into my office, and asked me if I would go with him that night. I was eager to do so, and told him where I would meet him at a stated hour. We met, and sauntered away from a half-score Indians, who were in earnest conversation, toward the sweat house. A bright fire blazed in the middle of the house, which was mostly underground, and circular.

We went down, and several of the Indians began to take the wood and fire out of the house. In less than five minutes every trace of fire was gone, and the utmost darkness prevailed. Forty or fifty of the oldest Indians of the tribe were seated upon the ground, and leaned against the walls. The ceremonies began, and I stood for hours in the darkness, listening to things that were never listened to by any white man off that reservation, and probably by less than five upon it. The performance was weird and deeply earnest, sometimes seemingly verging upon savagery. It was wholly confined to their ancient traditional records, and in brief may be summed up thus:

"In the beginning of time God made himself, and then made all things, the earth upon which we live, move, and have our being, and also the heavens above. He made Hil-lo-ki also. ki and Wa-no-me were brothers. Wa

Hil-lo

no-me was the great creative spirit. Hil-lo-ki was a spirit noble, pure, and good, with whom Wa-no-me advised about his work. The work was done in six suns of making the lands and waters of the earth, the fishes in the waters, and the animals of the lands, and the trees, and the flowers, and grass.

After this Wa-no-me and Hil-lo-ki met in Wa-lu-u-ke, meaning a field of the east,— where Hil-lo-ki asked Wa-nome to create a woman for him, and leave him upon the beautiful earth, to enjoy the fragrance of blossoms, the scenes afforded by beautiful champaigns, undulating hills, and serrated mountains. Wa-no me (or God) then put Hil-lo-ki to sleep, and laid by his side a stick of wood. When Hil-lo-ki awoke, the wood had been changed to a beautiful woman.

Wa-no-me then said to them, “If you will obey me, you and your children shall live here forever."

But Hil-lo-ki said, “Not so,—you rule the world above which is your home, and I will rule here."

To which Wa-no-me said, "If you disobey, you shall die, for I am the tree that lives."

After saying this Wa-no-me left them, and went up to the world above, or Hepe-nain.

In process of time a son was born to Hil-lo-ki, who then said, "We will people the earth. We will not obey Wano-me, but I will rule my own children, and they shall obey me and not Wa-nome; he cannot make them die."

When the son of Hil-lo-ki was nearly grown Wa-no-me sent a rattlesnake to watch his way one morning, and bite him, that he might die. The serpent was obedient to Wa-no-me's command, and the boy died in the path. When Hil-lo-ki came in from the chase, he found his son in the embrace of death. Then he called for Wa-no-me, and Wano-me came.

Hil-lo-ki said, "Let my son live again, and we will obey you."

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