AN INDIAN TRIAL. 141
was the preconcerted signal for attack. Now among some of the tribes sentence was pronounced not by word but by gesture; there was the gesture for acquittal, the gesture for condemnation.
Multnomah lifted his right hand. There was breathless suspense. What would it be? Fixing his eyes on the armed malcontents who were waiting to spring, he clinched his hand and made a downward gesture, as if striking a blow. It was the death- signal, the death-sentence.
In an instant a deafening shout rang through the grove, and the bloodthirsty mob surged forward to the massacre.
Then, so suddenly that it blended with and seemed a part of the same shout, the dreaded Willamette war- cry shook the earth. Quick as thought, the Willam- ettes who had been lounging so idly around the grove were on their feet, their blankets thrown aside, the weapons that had been concealed under them ready in their hands. A wall of indomitable warriors had leaped up around the grove. At the same mo ment, the Cayuses in the rear bared their weapons and shouted back the Willamette war-cry.
The rebels were staggered. The trap was sprung on them before they knew that there was a trap. Those in front shrank back from the iron warriors of Multnomah, those in the rear wavered before the fierce Cayuses. They paused, a swaying flood of humanity, caught between two lines of rock.
