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Updated: June 1, 2025
On the side facing the lake he found the source of the cook's intoxication. A tall and swarthy lumberjack squatted on his haunches, gabbling in the Chinook jargon to a klootchman and a wizen-featured old Siwash. The Indian woman was drunk beyond any mistaking, affably drunk. She looked up at Benton out of vacuous eyes, grinned, and extended to him a square-faced bottle of Old Tim gin.
She did not reply until, wrapped about in her shawl, she had clasped my hand in good-bye. At the door she paused. "Yes," she said "and it is true." I smiled to myself. I love my Klootchman. She is so very Indian. Her Majesty's Guest
The klootchman lifted her arms from her paddle as she concluded; her eyes left the irregular outline of the violet mountains. She had come back to this year of grace her Legend Land had vanished. "So," she added, "you see now, maybe, why I am glad my grandchild is girl; it means big salmon-run next year."
I hurried up-shore, hailing her in the Chinook, and as she caught my voice she lifted her paddle directly above her head in the Indian signal of greeting. As she beached, I greeted her with extended eager hands to assist her ashore, for the klootchman is getting to be an old woman; albeit she paddles against tidewater like a boy in his teens. "No," she said, as I begged her to come ashore.
Port Angeles Village and the Indian Ranch. A "Ship's Klootchman." Indian Muck-a-Muck. Disposition of an Old Indian Woman. A Windy Trip to Victoria. The Black Tamáhnous. McDonald's in the Wilderness. The Wild Cowlitz. Up the River during a Flood. Indian Boatmen. Birch-Bark and Cedar Canoes. EDIZ HOOK, October 21, 1866. We are making a visit at the end of Ediz Hook.
"It is a beautiful story, klootchman," I said, "and I feel a cruel delight that your men of magic punished the people for their ill-choice." "That because you girl-child yourself," she laughed. There was the slightest whisper of a step behind me. I turned to find Maarda almost at my elbow.
I hurried upshore, hailing her in the Chinook, and as she caught my voice she lifted her paddle directly above her head in the Indian signal of greeting. As she beached, I greeted her with extended eager hands to assist her ashore, for the klootchman is getting to be an old woman; albeit she paddles against tidewater like a boy in his teens. "No," she said, as I begged her to come ashore.
No one could possibly mistake the quiet little tap at the door. It could be given by no other hand west of the Rockies save that of my old friend The Klootchman.
When we started the next morning, she came down to the canoe with the little klootchman, loaded with presents, which she carried in a basket on her back, supported by a broad band round her head, smoking-hot venison, and a looking-glass for the child's grave, among them. The old lady waded into the water, and pushed us off with great energy and strong ejaculations.
The woman yielded the child gratefully, saying, "It's not a boy, but a Tenas Klootchman." Maarda could hardly believe her senses. That splendid, sturdy, plump, big baby a Tenas Klootchman! For a moment her heart surged with bitterness. Why had her own little girl been so frail, so flower-like? But with the touch of that warm baby body, the bitterness faded.
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