and I, were the pall bearers.
As we were burying him in an old & unmarked grave, with the corner of the other coffin sticking out, we had to lower him carefully.
The rope slipped through my hands for a while, then suddenly, it wouldn't go & as the other fellows were still paying out theirs – the coffin began to tilt. Without thinking, I shouted Whoa! The priest stopped the service & we then found that a number of Squaws behind me were holding my rope as they didn't want the Chief to be buried.
Their method of burial is up in a tree and they don't like the White man's way at all.
Needless to say – with only six white people in the Post – one of whom was a Woman – life during those Winter months was very quiet. Whenever a
