CHAPTER IX.
QUESTIONING THE DEAD.
Then he said : " Cold lips and breast without breath, Is there no voice, no language of death? "
EDWIN ARNOLD.
T yf 7HILE Cecil was on his way that evening to seek
- * Wallulah, a canoe with but a single occupant
was dropping down the Columbia toward one of the many mimaluse, or death- islands, that are washed by its waters.
An Indian is always stealthy, but there was an almost more than Indian stealthiness about this canoe-man s movements. Noiselessly, as the twilight deepened into darkness, the canoe glided out of a secluded cove not far from the camp; noiselessly the paddle dipped into the water, and the canoe passed like a shadow into the night.
On the rocky mimaluse island, some distance be low the mouth of the Willamette, the Indian landed and drew his boat up on the beach. He looked around for a moment, glanced at the red glow that lit the far-off crest of Mount Hood, then turned and went up the pathway to the ancient burial hut.
Who was it that had dared to visit the island of the dead after dark? The bravest warriors were not capa ble of such temerity. Old men told how, away back in the past, some braves had ventured upon the island
