E-text prepared by Al Haines

WHERE THE SUN SWINGS NORTH

by

BARRETT WILLOUGHBY

A. L. Burt Company
Publishers ——— New York
Published by arrangement with G. P. Putnam's Sons

Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1922
by
Florance Willoughby

This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers
G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York And London

TO

MY MOTHER

WHO CAN MAKE A TENT IN THE WILDERNESS

SEEM LIKE HOME

In this book I write of my own country and its people as I knowthem—not artfully, perhaps, but truthfully.

BARRETT WILLOUGHBY.

Katalla, Alaska.

CONTENTS

PART I

CHAPTER

I.—THE WHITE CHIEF OF KATLEEAN II.—THE CHEECHACO III.—THE LITTLE SQUAW WITH WHITE FEET IV.—BAIT V.—THE FUNERAL CANOES VI.—THE WHITE CHIEF MAKES MEDICINE VII.—THE POTLATCH DANCE VIII.—THE OUTFIT IX.—HARLAN WAKES UP X.—THE PIGEON

PART II

XI.—THE ISLAND OF THE RUBY SANDS XII.—THE LANDING XIII.—THE CABIN XIV.—THE CASTAWAY XV.—THE GIANT BALLS OF STONE XVI.—THE STORM XVII.—THE MYSTERIOUS PRESENCE XVIII.—THE PERIL OF THE SURF XIX.—HOME MAKING XX.—GOLD XXI.—KOBUK XXII.—AT THE LONE TREE XXIII.—ELLEN XXIV.—MAROONED

PART III

XXV.—ON RATIONS XXVI.—WINTER DAYS XXVII.—SPRING XXVIII.—THE CLEFT XXIX.—THE SECRET OF THE CLIFFS XXX.—THE PIGEON'S FLIGHT XXXI.—THE JUSTICE OF THE SEA XXXII.—BENEATH THE BLOOD-RED SUN XXXIII.—ANCHORS WEIGHED

WHERE THE SUN SWINGS NORTH

PART I

CHAPTER I

THE WHITE CHIEF OF KATLEEAN

It was quiet in the great store room of the Alaska Fur and TradingCompany's post at Kat-lee-an. The westering sun streaming in through aside window lighted up shelves of brightly labeled canned goods and along, scarred counter piled high with gay blankets and men's roughclothing. Back of the big, pot-bellied stove—cold now—that stoodnear the center of the room, lidless boxes of hard-tack and crackersyawned in open defiance of germs. An amber, mote-filled ray slantedtoward the moss-chinked log wall where a row of dusty fox and wolverineskins hung—pelts discarded when the spring shipment of furs had beenmade, because of flaws visible only to expert eyes.

At the far end of the room the possessor of those expert eyes satbefore a rough home-made desk. There was a rustle of papers and heclosed the ledger in front of him with an air of relief. He clappedhis hands smartly. Almost on the instant the curtain hanging in thedoorway at the side of the desk was drawn aside and a small, brownfeminine hand materialized.

"My cigarettes, Decitan."

The man's voice was low, with that particular vibrant quality oftenfound in the voices of men accustomed to command inferior peoples onthe far outposts of civilization.

The curtain wavered again and from behind the folds a brown arm, bareand softly rounded, accompanied the hand that set down a tray ofsmoking materials.

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