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Updated: June 27, 2025
He himself awaited her coming he who had never left her thoughts since that first arrow came to her from his bow-string. His eyes burned with warm fires, as she approached, but his lips said simply: "I have crossed the Tulameen River."
You see the power in it is just as great now as at first, for the rock feeds every day on the unspoiled sea that the Sagalie Tyee made." The Tulameen Trail Did you ever "holiday" through the valley lands of the Dry Belt?
With a little sigh, she slipped into his arms, her brothers' arrows buried into her soft, brown flesh. It was many a moon before his avenging hand succeeded in slaying the old chief and those two hated sons of his. But when this was finally done the handsome young Tulameen left his people, his tribe, his country, and went into the far north.
That is why the Indians of the Nicola country still cling to their old-time story that the Tulameen carries the spirit of a young girl enmeshed in the wonders of its winding course; a spirit that can never free itself from the canyons, to rise above the heights and follow its fellows to the Happy Hunting Grounds, but which is contented to entwine its laughter, its sobs, its lonely whispers, its still lonelier call for companionship, with the wild music of the waters that sing forever beneath the western stars.
It was an unequal combat, and at the close of a brief but violent struggle the younger had brought the older to his knees. Standing over him with up-poised knife the Tulameen brave laughed sneeringly, and said: "Would you, my enemy, have this victory as your own? If so, I give it to you; but in return for my submission I demand of you your daughter."
A week, a month, a long golden summer, slipped by, but the insulted old chief and his enraged sons failed to find her. Then, one morning, as the lovers walked together on the heights above the far upper reaches of the river, even the ever-watchful eyes of the Tulameen failed to detect the lurking enemy.
It was an unequal combat, and at the close of a brief but violent struggle the younger had brought the older to his knees. Standing over him with up-poised knife the Tulameen brave laughed sneeringly, and said: "Would you, my enemy, have this victory as your own? If so, I give it to you; but in return for my submission I demand of you your daughter."
It is the voice of the restless Tulameen as it dances and laughs through the rocky throat of the canyon, three hundred feet below. Then, following the song, comes a glimpse of the river itself white garmented in the film of its countless rapids, its showers of waterfalls.
"For," he said, as he sang his farewell war song, "my heart lies dead in the Tulameen River." But the spirit of his girl-wife still sings through the canyon, its song blending with the music of that sweetest-voiced river in all the great valleys of the Dry Belt.
"For," he said, as he sang his farewell war-song, "my heart lies dead in the Tulameen River." But the spirit of his girl-wife still sings through the canyon, its song blending with the music of that sweetest-voiced river in all the great valleys of the Dry Belt.
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