This Indian Sampson was a tall and handsome fellow, with sinewy arms and a body of muscle. His hair was extremely long, such flowing tresses of beauty and strength, wherein his wonderful physical powers lay. This man of wonderful physique was a Klamath Indian, a lone and mighty warrior for all who opposed him; and it mattered little how many in number were against him, they were always defeated. This warrior did not use bow and arrows, spears or shields to defend himself in his conquests, but used instead the sling and pebbles. He would raid whole villages in the quest of wealth and none dared combat him but what were defeated. The tribes feared him for his great strength, as they knew not where he got his super-natural power. The tribes of the Smith River, Hoopa and Klamath feared him greatly as he reached the dizzy heights of his powers and massacres. He refused to pay tribute to any of the tribes. One day this warrior bold, emboldened by his triumphs, met a beautiful and shy maiden of another tribe, with whom he fell desperately in love. Her people were the Smith River tribe (He-na’s) with whom he was fighting at the time. He defeated them and took her captive, and alas, love after a time proved his utter ruin. Ah, what monarch of earth that love will not conquer with her soothing hands! After he captured the maiden he married her so she could hold herself respected before all, and took her to his home at Auh-leek-kin, giving her the name of Auh-leek-kin-on. No children came to bless this union; no childish prattle or laughter to lift the gloom of the coming years. This Sampson’s dwelling place was in a house where he had made a cellar in the clay and in this cellar he always retreated at night that he might not be suddenly surprised and taken by his enemies. His wife yielded to his love, seeking the secret of his great strength, and alas, mighty man and warrior, the conqueror of tribes fell before the weak hands of the woman he loved. Day by day, so gentle and sweet her endearing words of affection fell like balm on his troubled soul, soothing the afflictions of a dark and turbulent career. Patiently as the months past by she gained his confidence. Ah, ’tis sweet to yield to woman’s wiles, though she leads you to the grave, yawning with the grim jaws of death. In this woman’s feeble arms, this powerful man revealed his secret, that his mighty strength was in his long and flowing hair, the beauty of night and the strength of nations. False woman came to dwell in his life as she gained the secrets of his mighty powers; siren like was the touch of her fingers upon his troubled forehead. Fascinated in the comfort of one he loved so passionately he fell asleep, and one fatal day with his head laid lovingly upon her lap, the cruel woman of destiny arose stealthily and stole from the fire embers a flaming torch and burnt the raven locks off closely to his head, as he slept soundly on.