Many of the myths relative to the later wanderings of the Raven after the release of the elements necessary to life on the earth, and particularly those in connection with animals, represent him as always hungry, unscrupulous and deceptive, and friendly only for selfish purposes. In the early spring before the salmon had come into the rivers, or the berries had ripened on the mountain sides, the season of little food, Yehlh happened to be on the seashore near Dry Bay and very hungry. He saw a king salmon jumping in the ocean and he commenced to plan how he could take it, for he had neither canoe, spear, nor line. Going back from the shore he found in a deserted camp a piece of an old cedarbark mat, an old woven spruce root hat, an eagle skin, and a jade adze "tsu-hootar." Putting on the hat, folding the mat about his body, and dressing his hair with eagle down, he took the jade and seating himself on a big boulder at the edge of the water said to the salmon, "Tsu-hootar is calling you bad names, he says that you have an ugly black mouth and that you are afraid to come up to the shore." This so enraged the salmon that he came towards the shore, when Tehlh said, "Wait a little, I have to go to the woods" for he had no club and the salmon must always be killed by striking it on the head with a club. When he returned, he again reviled the salmon and when it came and jumped in shallow water he killed it. He then kindled a fire with his rubbing sticks and prepared the fish for cooking. In the meantime many small birds came around hoping to get something to eat, and the Raven sent them off to gather skunk cabbage leaves to wrap the fish in, but those that they brought he condemned as too small or smelling bad, and told them to go to the far mountain where the proper kind grew. As soon as they had disappeared he wrapped the fish in the discarded leaves, scraped away the fire and the gravel beneath, buried the fish, and covered it with the hot stones and the fire. When the fish was cooked, he ate all of it and collecting the bones, carefully wrapped them in the old leaves and covered them with the fire and when the little birds returned with the mountain leaves he showed them the bones, saying that the fire had eaten the flesh. Then all of the birds felt very badly, the little chickadee cried bitterly and continually wiping its eyes with its feet wore away the feathers which ever after showed a white stripe from the corners down. The blue jay was so angry that he tied up the feathers on top of his head which have ever since formed a crest, for when the Tlingit are angry they tie the front hair up in a knot; while the robin in his grief sat too close to the fire and burned his breast red. TLUKE-ASS-A-GARS.