ef had taken his place in the council. There was a long,
ceremonious pause. Then Multnomah arose. He looked over the council,
upon the stern faces of the Willamettes and the loyal tributaries,
upon the sullen faces of the malcontents, upon the fierce and lowering
multitude beyond. Over the throng he looked, and felt as one feels who
stands on the brink of a volcano; yet his strong voice never rang
stronger, the grand old chief never looked more a chief than then.

"He is every inch a king," thought Cecil. The chief spoke in the
common Willamette language, at that time the medium of intercourse
between the tribes as the Chinook is now. The royal tongue was not
used in a mixed council.

"Warriors and chiefs, Multnomah gives you welcome. He spreads the
buffalo-robe." He made the Indian gesture of welcome, opening his
hands to them with a backward and downward gesture, as of one
spreading a robe. "To the warriors Multnomah says, 'The grass upon my
prairies is green for your horses; behold the wood, the water, the
game; they are yours.' To the chiefs he says, 'The mat is spread for
you in my own lodge and the meat is cooked.' The hearts of the
Willamettes change not as the winters go by, and your welcome is the
same as of old. Word came to us that the tribes were angry and had
spoken bitter things against the Willamettes; yes, that they longed
for the confederacy to be broken and the old days to come again when
tribe was divided against tribe and the Shoshones and Spokanes
trampled upon you all. But Multnomah trusted his allies; for had they
not smoked the peace-pipe with him and gone with him on the
war-trail? So he stopped his ears and would not listen, but let those
rumors go past him like thistle-down upon the wind.

"Warriors, Multnomah has shown his heart. What say you? Shall the
peace-pipe be lighted and the talk begin?"

He resumed his seat. All eyes turned to where the peace-pipe and the
tomahawk lay side by side before the council. Multnomah seemed waiting
for them to choose between the two.

Then Snoqualmie, the bravest and most loyal of the tributaries,
spoke.

"Let the peace-pipe be lighted; we come not for strife, but to be knit
together."

The angry malcontents in the council only frowned and drew their
blankets closer around them. Tohomish the seer, as the oldest chief
and most renowned medicine-man present, came forward and lighted the
pipe,--a long, thin piece of carving in black stone, the workman