My son, When you read this I will be peaceably on my way into the hereafter to join your mother, whom I have sorely missed these past 20 years. Sadly, after nearly 80 years of industrious endeavor, I will be able to leave you few worldly possessions. In my trunk you will find an old blanket of the Hudson's Bay style call a four point, which in the days when I first came to this country was worth four beaver plews. Never let this heirloom go, as it means much to me, and you, as I shall explain.

I am vexed with myself for not being man enough before this time to tell you of your origins. You know, of course, that I was a "Boston Man" that attended Harvard. And, that your mother was a full blood Klickitat. What I have kept a shameful secret all these years though I grew to dearly love her, as you know, is that I won your mother by gambling.

I arrived in the Northwest as an innocent. I was told that the days of trade along the rivers were past, and that I should head into the mountains to make my fortune. My informant then proceeded to sell me a string of pack horses. Two of these mounts turned out to be rather lame. And, a mare, to my eyes, fat healthy, apparently was carrying a foal, an object quite useless to me at the time of birth.

I also paid a goodly price for a load of blankets, and the services of a native interpreter to teach me the jargon used for trading purposes.

This fellow, Loolowcan by name, was by his own tongue, "kamooks," or a mean, tricky person. I was to discover much later that not only was he in cahoots with the horse trader, he also accidentally led me to trade with his own people, with disastrous commercial consequences for myself.

I, of course, abstained from joining in the spirited horse races these Indians seemed to devote so much time to, but was completely taken in by the singing of their " hi-ya" song. And their stick game. It seemed a tactful thing on my part to participate. I wasn't aware of the consequences of this action until I was forced to ask Loolowcan to translate, "Copa nika mitlite." The young man walking off with my trade goods was apparently saying, "It belongs to me."

This is how I was left with one mare, one foal, and my personal sleeping blanket.

I watched this slight-of hand game for a while longer, and decided to seek revenge. I chose my moment well and risked all of the possessions I had left to win back my trade stock. Of course, a Harvard man could easily see through such a simple form of deception, and I won.

However, I confess, if I had studied the language a bit better, I might have ended up with those blankets, instead of the girl who became your mother. As it happened, it took me rather a long while to translate her, "Nika attle copa mike," into, " I am pleased with you." By then you and the mare's foal were both half grown, and I realized that I had truly won after all.