So musing, he passed on down the bank of ths
river. He was now perhaps two miles from the camp
and seemingly in complete solitude. After a little the
path turned away from the beach and led toward the
interior. As he entered the woodland he came upon
several Indian sentinels who lay, bow in hand, beside
the path. They sprang up, as if to intercept his pas
sage; but seeing that it was the white shaman whom
Multnomah had honored, and who had sat at the
council with the great sachems, they let him go on.
Cecil indistinctly remembered having heard from
some of the Indians that this part of the island was
strictly guarded; he had forgotten why. So absorbed
was he in his gloomy reflections that he did not stop
to question the sentinels, but went on, not thinking
that he might be treading on forbidden ground. By
and by the path emerged from the wood upon a little
prairie; the cottonwoods shut out the Indians from
him, and he was again alone. The sunshine lay warm
and golden on the little meadow, and he strolled for
ward mechanically, thinking how like it was to some
of the sylvan lawns of his own New England for
ests. Again the shade of trees fell over the path.
He looked up, his mind full of New England mem
ories, and saw something that made his heart stand
still. For there, not far from him, stood a girl clad
in soft flowing drapery, the dress of a white woman.
In Massachusetts a woman s dress would have been
the last thing Cecil would have noticed. Now, so
long accustomed to the Indian squaws rough gar
ments of skin or plaited bark, the sight of that grace
ful woven cloth sent through him an indescribable
thrill.
