Gramps was a born storyteller revered across Indian Country. His powerful tales lingered in the mind and traditionally included far more than the navigability of the river. As Gramps spoke, you could see his Nisqually ancestors crossing snow-capped mountains  and erecting villages in the shadow of Tahoma (Tacobet), the massive volcano non-Indians call Mount Rainier. You could find them rejoicing in the salmon, the mystifying fish that braved a precarious path to sea and faithfully returned.

When the first salmon came home to spawn, drum beats echoed across the riverbank. The Nisqually praised the spirits. Children arrayed with red ocher and bird down gathered at the water’s edge. Outstretched arms passed the first salmon up the riverbank to a crackling fire pit. Practiced hands painstakingly separated flesh from the spinal column. The meat, secured to skewers, cooked high above a steadily burning fire. A mix of cedar and smoke wafted through the air. The intricacies of the ceremony are recalled in Uncommon Controversy: Fishing Rights of the Muckleshoot, Puyallup, and Nisqually Indians: “It is then parceled out to all, in small morsels or portions so all can participate. Doing this, all bones are saved intact. Then in a torchbearing, dancing, chanting, and singing procession, they proceeded to the river where they cast the skeleton of the salmon into the stream with its head pointing upstream, symbolic of a spawning salmon, so the run of salmon will return a thousand-fold.” The salmon blanketed the river upon their return from the sea. There were so many fish, the Nisqually could cross the river on their backs.

But a quarter century before Gramps was born, thunderous storm clouds gathered. The bright light of the Nisqually way of life dimmed. Gramps felt that he was there watching through the thick trees. That’s how often his father told him the story.

Gray skies settled overhead and held the region in its predictably drizzly state. Isaac Stevens—fiery, smart, and full of zeal— prepared for an unprecedented land deal.

At thirty-five, Stevens had survived a harrowing past. Born the third child of seven, he was so fragile as an infant that his parents feared he might not survive. Mild pituitary dwarfism accounted for his large head and his shorter legs. Stevens stood roughly five feet tall. His keen intelligence complemented his commanding presence. Stevens had graduated first in his class at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. President Franklin Pierce rewarded Stevens for his political support by appointing him Washington territorial governor and superintendent of Indian Affairs. The Massachusetts-born Stevens had never before set foot in Washington, nor had he acquired much knowledge of Northwest Indian tribes. But he never lacked for ambition.

Stevens neared Nisqually Country on an errand for the U.S. government in the winter of 1854. Enticed by the Donation Land Act and its promise of 320 acres for white men, non-Indians had been encroaching on Indian land. Stevens had come to do away with Indian ownership and open the West to American settlers.

Smoke from burning fires hung in the air at the council ground at Medicine Creek. Bands and tribes, including the Puyallup, Nisqually, Steilacoom, and Squaxin, greeted the visitors in anticipation of lavish gifts and a great feast. When the Indian leaders were presented instead with molasses and tobacco, they were taken aback.

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  billy Franks, spirit of the father, where the salmon run