ation of victory his glance swept over the crowd, he met the
sad, unapplauding gaze of Cecil, and it made his ever burning
resentment grow hotter still.

"I hate that man," he thought. "I tried to thrust him down into
slavery, and Multnomah made him a chief. My heart tells me that he is
an enemy. I hate him. I will kill him."

"Poor Wallulah!" Cecil was thinking. "What a terrible future is before
her as the wife of that inhuman torturer of men!"

And his sympathies went out to the lonely girl, the golden thread of
whose life was to be interwoven with the bloodstained warp and woof of
Snoqualmie's. But he tried hard not to think of her; he strove
resolutely that day to absorb himself in his work, and the effort was
not unsuccessful.

After the races were over, a solemn council was held in the grove and
some important questions discussed and decided. Cecil took part,
endeavoring in a quiet way to set before the chiefs a higher ideal of
justice and mercy than their own. He was heard with grave attention,
and saw that more than one chief seemed impressed by his words. Only
Snoqualmie was sullen and inattentive, and Mishlah the Cougar was
watchful and suspicious.

After the council was over Cecil went to his lodge. On the way he
found the young Willamette runner sitting on a log by the path,
looking even more woebegone than he had the day before. Cecil stopped
to inquire how he was.

"_Cultus_ [bad]," was grunted in response.

"Did you see the races?"

"Races bad. What do I care?"

"I hope you will be better soon."

"Yes, better or worse by and by. What do I care?"

"Can I do anything for you?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"Go."

And he dropped his hand upon his knees, doubled himself together, and
refused to say another word. As Cecil turned to go he found Multnomah
standing close by, watching him.

"Come," said the stern despot, briefly. "I want to talk with you."

He led the way back through the noisy encampment to the now deserted
grove of council. Everything there was quiet and solitary; the thick
circle of trees hid them from the camp, though its various sounds
floated faintly to them. They were quite alone. Multnomah seated
himself on the stone covered with furs, that was his place in the
council. Cecil remained standing before him, wondering what was on his
mind. Was the war-chief aware of his interview with Wallulah? If so,
what then? Multnomah fixed on him the gaze which few men met without
shri