"I will visit you when I pass," had been McLoughlin's message to Dr. Whitman, with a gift of apples, rare as gold dollars on the Columbia.
Then a second courier brought word to the Whitman door: "I cannot stop. Meet me at Walla Walla. We are belated."
Dr. Whitman rode over to Fort Walla Walla, and by the hand of the flying chief sent word to the States of the birth of a little daughter, the first white child born in Oregon.
Next to Vancouver, Fort Colvile was the great Hudson's Bay fort on the Columbia. Behind that palisade, two square towers with portholes guarded the stores of furs. Down in the Colvile valley the traders had a mill. Seventy miles over hill and dale the Spokane Indians came to grind their wheat.
On a three-legged stool in the old log fort Rae added, subtracted, divided, outfit for this post, outfit for that, furs from this, furs from that, balance a king's ransom, to be divided in that Hudson's Bay house across the sea. Oregon's wealth, three million a year, all went to England. Down by the river, "rattat-tat "the hammers flew. Skilled Canadians were building canoes for the spring brigade. Ten days behind the doctor, Tom McKay's Shoshonie brigade set out for its summer hunt. And with it came Jason Lee. The mission on the Willamette had become crowded. Sons and daughters of the Canadian farmers were eager for books. Distant tribes sent for teachers.
"We must extend the work," said the missionaries. " Some one must visit the States and lay this matter before the churches. We must set up branch stations all over this country." Day and night the question was discussed. All eyes turned to Jason Lee.
