birth, handsome in shape and limb, fleet-footed as the deer. They were
slender and sinewy in build, with aquiline features and sharp
searching eyes.

Their garb was light. Leggins and moccasins had been laid aside; even
the _hiagua_ shells were stripped from their ears. All stood nerved
and eager for the race, waiting for the word that was to scatter them
throughout the Indian empire, living thunderbolts bearing the summons
of Multnomah.

The message had been given them, and they waited only to pledge
themselves to its faithful delivery.

"You promise," said the chief, while his flashing glance read every
messenger to the heart, "you promise that neither cougar nor cataract
nor ambuscade shall deter you from the delivery of this summons; that
you will not turn back, though the spears of the enemy are thicker in
your path than ferns along the Santiam? You promise that though you
fall in death, the summons shall go on?"

The spokesman of the runners, the runner to the Chopponish, stepped
forward. With gestures of perfect grace, and in a voice that rang
like a silver trumpet, he repeated the ancient oath of the
Willamettes,--the oath used by the Shoshones to-day.

"The earth hears us, the sun sees us. Shall we fail in fidelity to our
chief?"

There was a pause. The distant cry of swans came from the river; the
great trees of council rustled in the breeze. Multnomah rose from his
seat, gripping the bow on which he leaned. Into that one moment he
seemed gathering yet repressing all the fierceness of his passion, all
the grandeur of his will. Far in the shade he saw Tohomish raise his
hand imploringly, but the eyes of the orator sank once more under the
glance of the war-chief.

"Go!"

An electric shock passed through all who heard; and except for the
chiefs standing on its outskirts like sombre shadows, the grove was
empty in a moment.

Beyond the waters that girdled the island, one runner took the trail
to Puyallup, one the trail to Umatilla, one the path to Chelon, and
one the path to Shasta; another departed toward the volcano-rent
desert of Klamath, and still another toward the sea-washed shores of
Puget Sound.

The irrevocable summons had gone forth; the council was
inevitable,--the crisis must come.

[Illustration: "_The Earth hears us, the Sun sees us._"]

Long did Multnomah and his chiefs sit in council that day. Resolute
were the speeches that came from all, though many secretly regretted
that the