The whole tribe had now gathered, and a thousand dusky forms awaited him
in the sunset.

There was another guttural sound. Another remarkable life-picture came
into view. It was the school in a silent procession, following the tall
masks, out of the forest trail on to the glimmering plain, the advent of
that new civilization before which the forest lords, once the poetic bands
of the old Umatillas, were to disappear. Over all a solitary eagle beat
the luminous air, and flocks of wild geese made their way, like V-letters,
toward the Puget Sea.

The school soon joined the dusky company, and the pupils stood with
uncovered heads around their Yankee pedagogue. But the old chief came
slowly. After each few steps he would stop, fold his arms, and seem lost
in contemplation. These pauses were longer as he drew near the silent
company.

Except the honks of the pilots of the flocks of wild geese, there was a
dead silence everywhere. Only eyes moved, and then furtively, toward the
advancing chief.

[Illustration: _The old chief stood stoical and silent._]

He reached the grave at last by these slow movements, and stepped upon the
earth that had been thrown out of it, and folded his arms in view of
all. A golden star, like a lamp in the windows of heaven, hung over Mount
Hood in the fading splendors of the twilight, and the great chief bent his
eye upon it.

Suddenly the air was rent by a wail, and a rattle of shells and drums. The
body of Benjamin was being brought out of the lodge. It was borne on a
bier made of poles, and covered with boughs of pine and fir and red
mountain phlox. It was wrapped in a blanket, and strewn with odorous
ferns. Four young braves bore it, besmeared with war-paint. They were
followed by musicians, who beat their drums, and rattled shell instruments
at irregular times, as they advanced. They came to the grave, lifted the
body on its blanket from the bier of evergreens and flowers, and slowly
lowered it. The old chief stood stoical and silent, his eye fixed on the
star in the darkening shadows.

The face of Benjamin was noble and beautiful in its death-sleep. Over it
were two black eagle's plumes. The deep black hair lay loosely about the
high, bronze forehead; there was an expression of benevolence in the
compressed lips, and the helpless hands seemed like a picture as they lay
crossed on each other.

As soon as the body was laid in the earth, the old chief bent his face on
the people. The