as he seen or heard of more. Upon his fate, lost in
the common ruin that engulfed his race, the legend casts no ray of
light. It is certain that the fall of the Bridge, with which his life
was interwoven, had a disastrous effect upon him, and as he said, that
the strength of his life was broken. It is probable that the
orator-seer, feeling within himself that his power was gone, crept
away into the forest to die. Perhaps, had they searched for him, they
would have found him lying lifeless upon the leaves in some dense
thicket or at the foot of some lonely crag.

Whatever his fate, the Indians never looked upon his face again.

Multnomah made no comment on the death of Cecil, or on the prophecy of
Tohomish, so much at variance with his own interpretation of the fall
of the Bridge. Whatever he had to say was evidently held in reserve
for the closing talk with which he would soon dismiss the council.

"You shall see Multnomah's daughter given to Snoqualmie, and then
Multnomah will open his hand and make you rich."

So said the war-chief; and a runner was dispatched with a summons to
Wallulah. In a little while a band of Indian girls was seen
approaching the grove. Surrounded by the maidens, as if they were a
guard of honor, came Wallulah, all unconscious of the tragedy that had
just been enacted.

Among the chiefs they passed, and stopped before Multnomah. As they
paused, Wallulah looked around for Cecil in one quick glance; then,
not seeing him, she cast down her eyes despondingly. Multnomah rose
and beckoned Snoqualmie to him. He came forward and stood beside the
war-chief. The Indian girls stepped back a little, in involuntary awe
of the two great sachems, and left Wallulah standing alone before
them.

Her face wore a patient look, as of one who is very worn and weary,
tired of the burdens of life, yet going forward without hope, without
thought even, to other and still heavier burdens. She was clad in a
soft oriental fabric; her hair fell in luxuriant tresses upon her
shoulders; her flute hung at her belt by a slender chain of gold.

There was something unspeakably sad and heart-broken in her
appearance, as she stood there, a listless, dejected figure, before
those two grim warriors, awaiting her doom.

Multnomah took her hand; the fingers of the other were clasped around
her beloved flute, pressing it closely, as if seeking help from its
mute companionship. The chief gave her hand into Snoqualmie's; a
shudde