ose treasures, ere the vessel that carried them
was wrecked, had been sent as a present from one oriental prince to
another. Could it be that they had been purposely impregnated with
disease, so that while the prince that sent them seemed to bestow a
graceful gift, he was in reality taking a treacherous and terrible
revenge? Such things were not infrequent in Asiatic history; and even
the history of Europe, in the middle ages, tells us of poisoned masks,
of gloves and scarfs charged with disease.

Certain it is that shortly after the cases were opened, a strange and
fatal disease broke out among Multnomah's attendants. The howling of
medicine-men rang all day long in the royal lodge; each day saw
swathed corpses borne out to the funeral pyre or _mimaluse_ island.
And no concoction of herbs,--however skilfully compounded with stone
mortar and pestle,--no incantation of medicine-men or steaming
atmosphere of sweat-house, could stay the mortality.

At length Multnomah caught the disease. It seemed strange to the
Indians that the war-chief should sicken, that Multnomah should show
any of the weaknesses of common flesh and blood; yet so it was. But
while the body yielded to the inroad of disease, the spirit that for
almost half a century had bent beneath it the tribes of the Wauna
never faltered. He lay for days upon his couch, his system wasting
with the plague, his veins burning with fever, holding death off only
by might of will. He touched no remedies, for he felt them to be
useless; he refused the incantations of the medicine-men; alone and in
his own strength the war-chief contended with his last enemy.

All over the Willamette Valley, through camp and fishery, ran the
whisper that Multnomah was dying; and the hearts of the Indians sunk
within them. Beyond the mountains the whisper passed to the allied
tribes, once more ripe for revolt, and the news rang among them like a
trumpet call; it was of itself a signal for rebellion. The fall of the
magic Bridge, the death of Wallulah, and the fatal illness of
Multnomah had sealed the doom of the Willamettes. The chiefs stayed
their followers only till they knew that he was dead. But the grand
old war-chief seemed determined that he would not die. He struggled
with disease; he crushed down his sufferings; he fought death with the
same silent, indomitable tenacity with which he had overthrown the
obstacles of life.

In all his wasting agony he was the war-chief still, and h