of the war-chief was the only one that did not feel remorse and
self-reproach.

Ere the silence was broken, an old Indian woman came forward from the
crowd into the circle of chiefs. She looked neither to the right nor
to the left, but advanced among the warrior-sachems, into whose
presence no woman had dared intrude herself, and bent over the dead.
She lifted the wasted body in her arms and bore it away, with shut
lips and downcast eyes, asking no permission, saying no word. The
charm that had been around the white _shaman_ in life seemed to invest
her with its power; for grim chieftains made way, the crowd opened to
let her pass, and even Multnomah looked on in silence.

That afternoon, a little band of Indians were assembled in Cecil's
lodge. Some of them were already converts; some were only awakened and
impressed; but all were men who loved him.

They were gathered, men of huge frame, around a dead body that lay
upon a cougar skin. Their faces were sad, their manner was solemn. In
the corner sat an aged squaw, her face resting in her hands, her long
gray hair falling dishevelled about her shoulders. In that
heart-broken attitude she had sat ever since bringing Cecil to the
hut. She did not weep or sob but sat motionless, in stoical, dumb
despair.

Around the dead the Indians stood or sat in silence, each waiting for
the other to say what was in the hearts of all. At length the Shoshone
renegade who had so loved Cecil, spoke.

"Our white brother is gone from us, but the Great Spirit lives and
dies not. Let us turn from blood and sin and walk in the way our
brother showed us. He said, 'Remember;' and shall we forget? I choose
now, while he can hear me, before he is laid in the cold ground. I put
away from me the old heart of hate and revenge. I ask the Great Spirit
to give me the new heart of love and peace. I have chosen."

One by one each told his resolve, the swarthy faces lighting up, the
stern lips saying unwonted words of love. Dim and misty, the dawn had
come to them; reaching out in the dark, they had got hold of the hand
of God and felt that he was a Father. One would have said that their
dead teacher lying there heard their vows, so calm and full of peace
was the white still face.

That night the first beams of the rising moon fell on a new-made grave
under the cottonwoods, not far from the bank of the river. Beneath it,
silent in the last sleep, lay the student whose graceful presence had
been th