a tribe.
And now when their martial enthusiasm and fa talistic courage were all aglow, when the recital of their fathers deeds had stirred their blood and the portrayal of their own victories filled them again with the fierce joy of conflict, when the mountain of stone that arched the Columbia had risen before them in assurance of dominion as eternal as itself, now, when in every eye gleamed desire of battle and every heart was aflame, the chief made (and it was charac teristic of him) in one terse sentence his crowning appeal,
"Chiefs, speak your heart. Shall the runners be sent out to call the council?"
There was a moment of intense silence. Then a low, deep murmur of consent came from the excited listeners; a half-smothered war-cry burst from the lips of Mishlah, and the victory was won.
One only sat silent and apart, his robe drawn close, his head bent down, seemingly oblivious of all around him, as if resigned to inevitable doom.
"To-morrow at dawn, while the light is yet young, the runners will go out. Let the chiefs meet here in the grove to hear the message given them to be carried to the tribes. The talk i
