Louie Paul looked so much more like a white man than like an Indian, and talked English so fluently, that I had persuaded the collector of customs--the only civil officer we had in that region--to permit me to lend Louie my new 45-75 Winchester repeating rifle. The repeater was a hard-shooting, accurate gun, chambering twelve cartridges in the magazine--the most efficient rifle made at that time. Louie was a fine shot, and the possession of this rifle gave him a great superiority over all the other Indian bear-hunters. He made more money in his three or four weeks of hunting in the spring than Tilly earned by her winter's teaching. "I should think you would not be afraid of a brown bear when you have my Winchester," I urged. "You could put half a dozen balls clean through him before he could get to you." Louie shook his curly head doubtfully. "Mebby so; mebby not." Then his face lit up with a broad grin. "Mebby so I be lak Buck. You hear about Buck an' Kokaekish?" "No," I replied, scenting a story. "What about them?" I knew both these men. Kokaekish was a fine old Indian, the father of one of our best boys, whose Christian name was Louis Kellogg, but whose Indian name was Kokaek. The name, Kokaekish, means "Kokaek's Father," illustrating the curious custom of the Thlingets of naming parents after their children. "Buck" was a French Canadian, Alex Choquette--a white man who had married a Stickeen woman and had been adopted into the tribe. He had seemingly become in heart and life an Indian, talking the language of his tribe, thinking their thoughts and pursuing their customs. How thoroughly he had become Indianized was evidenced by the language of Shustaak--the old heathen chief who had adopted Buck. "Wuck," he said, "delate siwash. Yacka tolo konaway nesika kopa klemenhoot." (Buck is a genuine Indian. He can beat all the rest of us lying.) True to this definition of him, Buck had built his log house--a combined dwelling-house, hotel and store--thirty miles up the Stickeen River, opposite the Great Glacier, right on the boundary line between Alaska and British Columbia. Here he sold blankets, guns, groceries and whiskey to the white miners and to the Indians. When the Canadian authorities attempted to arrest him for his illicit traffic he claimed to be on the American side. When the Alaska custom officers went after him, he was a Canadian. Thus for years he had carried on his crooked business and escaped punishment. "You know Buck," Louie began, "he worse siwash dan anybody; but he alltam make fun odder Injun. One day Kokaekish come Buck store, buy powder. "'Where you come?' Buck say. "'Iskoot,' say Kokaekish, 'make dry dog salmon. Now too many hootz, me come back.' "Buck laugh. 'Eehya-a-ah! You _shawat-too_ (woman-heart); you coward! What for you 'fraid hootz? S'pose me, I shootem all.' Buck much laugh.