native races, notwithstanding the missionary labors of the Rev. Jason Lee.
The first Indian that made her a visit on the donation claim did not leave
a favorable impression on her mind.

This Indian had come to her door while she was engaged in the very hard
work of sawing wood. He had never seen a saw before, and, as it seemed to
him to be a part of the woman herself, he approached her with awe and
wonder. That the saw should eat through the wood appeared to him a
veritable miracle.

Mrs. Woods, unaware of her visitor, paused to take breath, looked up,
beheld the tall form with staring eyes, and started back.

"Medicine-woman--conjure!" said the Indian, in Chinook.

Mrs. Woods was filled with terror, but a moment's thought recalled her
resolution. She lifted her hand, and, pointing to the saw in the wood, she
said, with a commanding tone:

"Saw!"

The Indian obeyed awkwardly, and wondering at the progress of the teeth of
the saw through the wood. It was a hot day; the poor Indian soon became
tired, and stopped work with a beating heart and bursting veins.

"Saw--saw!" said Mrs. Woods, with a sweep of her hands, as though some
mysterious fate depended upon the order.

The saw went very hard now, for he did not know how to use it, and the
wood was hard, and the Indian's only thought seemed to be how to escape.
Mrs. Woods held him in her power by a kind of mental magnetism, like that
which Queen Margaret exercised over the robber.

"Water!" at last gasped the Indian.

"Saw--saw!" said Mrs. Woods; then turned away to bring him water.

When she looked around again, an unexpected sight met her eyes. The Indian
was flying away, taking the saw with him. She never beheld either again,
and it was a long time before any Indian appeared at the clearing after
this odd event, though Mrs. Woods ultimately had many adventures among
the wandering Siwashes.

A saw was no common loss in these times of but few mechanical implements
in Oregon, and Mrs. Woods did not soon forgive the Indian for taking away
what he probably regarded as an instrument of torture.

"I do hate Injuns!" she would often say; but quite likely would soon after
be heard singing one of the hymns of the missionaries at the Dalles:

"O'er Columbia's wide-spread forests
Haste, ye heralds of the Lamb;
Teach the red man, wildly roaming,
Faith in Immanuel's name,"

which, if poor poetry, was very inspiring.

CHAPTER III.

B