ins 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 JUL 17 1935 
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 Co agions ge¥\® 
 

 
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 (mars 
 
 
 
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 We Must Moen 
 
 ANOVEL OF THE WINNING OF OREGON | 
 
 By HONORE WILLSIE MORROW 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 “The Enchanted Canyon,” “The Exile of the Lariat,” 
 “Forbidden Trail,” “The Heart of the Desert,” 
 “Judith of Godless Valley,” “Lydia of 
 the Pines,” “Still Jim,” “The 
 Devonshers,” etc. 
 
 Ante BURT COMPANY 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with Er eea tas A. Stokes Company 
 Printed in U. S. A 
 
 
 
Copyright, 1925, by 
 Honort WItitsic Morrow 
 
 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
CHAPTER 
 
 i 
 
 (BL 
 
 . Jo BuFFALo . 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 FoREWORD 
 
 THE GOVERNOR OF RUPERT’S LAND . 
 
 Tue Horse CANOE 
 
 ~ DHE PIrvaR or FIRE’. 
 
 . ForT VANCOUVER 
 
 . Matcotm CAMPBELL . 
 
 . THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS . 
 
 . THe Little WHITE CAYUSE 
 
 . TREACHERY 
 
 . COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR 
 
 . THE WatcH-Doc oF THE COLUMBIA 
 . THE RETURN OF THE COURIER . 
 
 . Marcus TurNS THE OTHER CHEEK 
 . THE GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS . 
 . “MALBROUCK” 
 
 . LOCHINVAR 
 
 . THE BATTLE JOINED . 
 
 . Marcus WHITMAN’s RIDE 
 
 . WASHINGTON 
 
 . THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE . 
 
 . THE PRoMISED LAND . 
 
 r 
 \e 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 In 2022 with funding from 
 Princeton Theological Seminary Library 
 
 https://archive.org/details/‘wemustmarchnovelOOmorr 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 This story of NarcissA WHITMAN attempts to give an 
 authentic picture of those heroic souls who played so vital 
 a part in the early history of northwestern America. All 
 the names and all the places are fact. As nearly as pos- 
 sible, after almost ninety years of careless time have blurred 
 reports and accounts, the descriptions of persons and places 
 have been drawn true to history. The background, the ways 
 of living, thinking and talking, are, I believe, accurate, as 
 are all the larger and more significant events. 
 
 The more I read of Narcissa and Marcus Whitman, of 
 Jason Lee, of Sir George Simpson, of Dr. McLoughlin, the 
 more I was convinced that their lives belonged not only to 
 the historian but also to the writer of sagas; that while his- 
 tory could embody in permanent form, the stern facts that 
 made great figures of these people, only the saga could hope 
 to picture the beauty and the poignancy of the efforts and 
 the sacrifices that made their plain, human souls heroic. 
 And so I have tried to describe the pageant of their lives as 
 history has thrown it up on the screen of my mind, which 
 is the mind of a writer of fiction. 
 
 My main source of information has been Narcissa Whit- 
 man’s Journal, published in a report of the Oregon Pioneer 
 Association, in 1892, and my thanks are due the New York 
 Public Library which permitted me to take a photo-stat 
 copy of the Journal for my own use. I owe thanks, as 
 well, to many historical writers on whom I have drawn 
 freely for the purposes of the novel, particularly to Eva 
 Emery Dye and her delightful chronicle of Dr. McLoughlin 
 
 Vil 
 
vill FOREWORD 
 
 and his associates. Following is a partial list of other books 
 which I have studied. 
 
 Tue Story oF THE AMERICAN Boarp, W. EF. Strong. 
 
 How Marcus WHITMAN SAVED OrEGON, O. W. Nixon. 
 
 McLouGHLIN AND OLD OREGON, Eva Emery Dye. 
 
 Marcus WuHiTMAN, W. A. Mowry. 
 
 FREMONT AND 749, Ff. S. Dellenbaugh. 
 
 HANDBOOK OF AMERICAN INDIAN, Bureau of Ethnology. 
 
 Soncs oF OLD CanapDA, Collection. 
 
 History oF Otp Orecon, W. H. Gray. 
 
 THE AMERICAN COMMONWEALTH, James Bryce. 
 
 New InpIaAn SKETCHES, P. J. DeSmet. 
 
 Memoirs oF My Lire, John Charles Frémont. 
 
 THe Cotumpia River, W. D. Lyman. 
 
 OVERLAND JoURNEY RouND THE WorLpD, Sir George 
 Simpson. 
 
 Lire AND LETTERS, Sir George Simpson. 
 
 Orecon Missions, P. J. DeSmet. 
 
 Ex. Document No. 30, SENATE 41ST CONGRESS, IST 
 SESSION, I871. 
 
 CALIFORNIA AND OREGON TRAIL, Francis Parkman. 
 
 HIsTtorRy OF THE OreGon Missions, H. K. Hines. 
 
 History oF THE UnitTeD States, George Bancroft. 
 
 THE WHITMAN Controversy, G. H. Himes. 
 
 Essays IN Historica Criticism, E. G. Bourne. 
 
 Marcus Wuirman, M. G. Wells. 
 
 Turrty Years’ View, Thomas H. Benton. 
 
 OREGON, THE STRUGGLE FoR Possession, William Bar- 
 “OWS. 
 
 RIVER OF THE West, F. F. Victor. 
 
 LirE AND LEeTTers oF DanrteEL WessTER, F. Webster. 
 
 LETTERS AND TIMES OF THE Ty ers, L. G. Tyler. 
 
WE MUST MARCH 
 

 
WE MUST MARCH 
 
 GHAR DERG 
 
 THE GOVERNOR OF RUPERT’S LAND 
 
 T was late in May, 1836. Winter, at last, had released 
 
 its hold on Rupert’s Land and the Peace River country 
 was open to travel. A wide land, of indescribable grandeur 
 and of indescribable loneliness was this early Canada, with 
 only the far-flung posts of the Hudson’s Bay Company t¢ 
 give evidence that white men had explored it. 
 
 But, widely separated and sparsely manned though they 
 were, these posts controlled the destinies of the Indians, 
 who roamed the wilderness; controlled them peacefully and 
 sent to England, every year, the priceless packs of fuf 
 traded by them for goods from the Hudson’s Bay Company. 
 
 So vast had grown the Company’s business, so difficult 
 was it made by the isolation of the posts, so complicated and 
 delicate had become the task of handling the men whe 
 manned the posts and the Indians who traded with them, 
 so important in the governmental plans of Great Britain had 
 the administration of Rupert’s Land grown to be, that only 
 a man of mark could be appointed by the Company as 
 Governor of Rupert’s Land. 
 
 Such a man was Governor Simpson, who, on this last day 
 cof May, 1836, was mid-flight on his annual inspection trip 
 of posts. He had been at Fort Dunvegan, on Peace River, 
 for two days, inspecting books and holding court. And 
 having finished, late at night, he strode out of the stockade, 
 shortly after dawn, in a perfect fury of impatience. 
 
 1 
 
2 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 He was about five feet seven in height, and powerfully 
 built, with the sandy complexion and gray eyes of a Scotch- 
 man. He was smooth shaven and his chin, above the black 
 stock and ruffled shirt, was aggressive and stubborn. He 
 wore a high, gray beaver hat, a blue broadcloth cape and 
 polished riding boots. When he appeared in the open gate- 
 way, the two bagpipe players, in kilts, who stood beside the 
 bright red canoe began skirling ‘““Bonnie Dundee.” 
 
 “Silence, fools!” roared the Governor. Then, as the 
 musicians stopped, abashed, he turned to one of the men, 
 who had followed him through the gate. “Don’t presume 
 to argue with me longer, James! They were due here the 
 day before yesterday. I must go on without my dispatches.” 
 
 “But only two days off schedule, Governor! What do you 
 expect in Rupert’s Land?” demanded the tall, Scotch factor, 
 in no wise perturbed. “Do you think this is stage coaching, 
 in England?” 
 
 “No, sirrah! I think it is wretched express work, over 
 a route I, myself, have covered promptly, to the moment!” 
 shouted Governor Simpson. “You’ve been with the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company for twenty years, James, and—” 
 
 “Twenty-one years, Governor,” interrupted the factor, 
 “and in that time I’ve learned the lesson of the wilderness. 
 Patience! Patience!’ 
 
 “Patience!” snorted the Governor, striding toward the 
 canoe. ‘‘’Twas the curse of the Hudson’s Bay Company 
 for a hundred years, until the Nor’westers showed us a 
 clean pair of heels and threatened to wipe the fur trade out 
 of Rupert’s Land. You are an admirable factor, James, but 
 your meals never are served on time, nor— Be Gad! 
 
 What’s that?” pointing down the river. 
 | All eyes, as well as ears, had been concentrated on the 
 Governor, who was greater than a king, in Rupert’s Land. 
 At his sudden gesture to the north, musicians, voyageurs, 
 Indians and clerks, all turned to stare over the dancing blue 
 
THE GOVERNOR OF RUPERT’S LAND 3 
 
 waters of the wide stream. A canoe was approaching, cut- 
 ting diagonally across the wind, which blew taut the flag 
 of England at her stern. There were eight men, paddling, 
 and the boat traveled toward the settlement with astounding 
 rapidity. And faintly, as the figures of the paddlers be- 
 came more distinct, the sound of a familiar song reached 
 the shore. 
 
 “Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, 
 Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 But when will he return?” 
 
 A voyageur, standing beside the Governor’s canoe, sud- 
 denly jerked off his coonskin cap by the tail, and waved it, 
 shouting at the top of his lungs: 
 
 “Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine!” 
 
 Awe of their great visitor, which had held the crowd 
 silent, melted into thin air, as with waving caps, it joined 
 in the song. After all, this was the Montreal Express, the 
 yearly event of paramount interest in Rupert’s Land. 
 
 The canoe, a bright scarlet, swept into shallow water. As 
 one man, the voyageurs leaped into the stream and ran it 
 lightly to the shore. One of them, a tall, grizzled man, in 
 fringed and elaborately beaded deerskin, strode up to Gov- 
 ernor Simpson. 
 
 “Deespatch, Sar!” he said, pulling out from the breast of 
 his tunic, a thin packet, wrapped in oilskin. 
 
 “Will you return to the office, Governor, and read away 
 from this hubbub?” asked the factor. 
 
 From the moment he had sighted the Express, the blood 
 had been receding from the Governor’s face. He took the 
 dispatch with a friendly nod to the French voyageur, and 
 turned to the factor. 
 
4 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Thank you, James,” he replied, urbanely. “Tl read the 
 letter here, and unless it needs immediate attention, I’ll start 
 at once.” 
 
 He undid the packet as he spoke. It contained but a 
 single letter. The Governor tossed the wrapping to his sec- 
 retary, a slender young man, who stood nearby, obviously 
 keenly amused by the whole scene, tore open the seal and 
 began to read. 
 
 The chief factor, with a murmured excuse, turned to 
 speak to the head voyageur, leaving the Governor and his 
 secretary alone beside the mooring post. The Governor 
 looked up from the letter. 
 
 “°Tis from our minister to the United States, John,” he 
 said in a troubled voice. “There is a new menace. That 
 American missionary, Jason Lee, whom Dr. McLoughlin, 
 in 1834, permitted, against my advice, to settle in Oregon— 
 you will remember he is established on the Willamette 
 River, south of Fort Vancouver?—that missionary, on 
 whom the Hudson’s Bay Company, through McLoughlin, 
 has heaped favor after favor, and to whom it has given 
 protection, has written a report to the Congress, so full of 
 praise of Oregon territory, that the Congress has sent round 
 to the Pacific a naval brig, bearing an American named 
 Slacum, who is to investigate Jason Lee’s report. The min- 
 ister believes that Slacum is now with Lee.” 
 
 Young John Leslie’s blue eyes snapped. “Slacum must 
 be sent back!” he exclaimed. 
 
 “But how?” cried the Governor, the blood flushing back 
 again to his forehead. “I can make better speed than the 
 Express and even I cannot hope to reach Fort Vancouver 
 before August. Heaven only knows what Dr. McLoughlin 
 will do for the man!” 
 
 “Dr. McLoughlin is loyal to the Company, I’m sure,” 
 declared John. 
 
 “Se am I sure of that! But he is oversure of his own 
 
 — 
 
THE GOVERNOR OF RUPERT’S LAND 5 
 
 power and that of the Hudson’s Bay Company. He con- 
 descends too much! I tell you, I’m afraid of these mis- 
 sionaries! And as if Messrs. Lee and Slacum were not 
 menace enough, this letter tells me that four more mis- 
 sionaries are on their way to Oregon, overland, this time. 
 They left New York State in March. Be Gad, they shall 
 not settle in Oregon! After the missionary comes the plow, 
 as I’ve warned McLoughlin, repeatedly. Let them settle 
 elsewhere. There are millions of acres to the south, in the 
 Louisiana Purchase, crying for settlement. But no! Noth- 
 ing will suit these American missionaries but Oregon. And 
 Oregon shall belong to England and the Hudson’s Bay Com- 
 pany, as I’m a man!” 
 
 The Governor’s aggressive lower jaw thrust itself for- 
 ward, his clear, gray eyes contracted, as he stared at his 
 secretary. 
 
 “But, sir, Captain Thing, I’ve heard, has made an excel- 
 lent record at Fort Hall. He has deflected all overland 
 settlers into California. They say there’s a dozen deserted 
 wagons lying about his stockade. He’s persuaded every 
 American who has come as far as Fort Hall, that it is 
 impossible to take a wagon westward over the five hundred 
 miles between Fort Hall and the Columbia. Certainly, you 
 can trust him to turn back these four missionaries.” 
 
 “Tf it were trappers, I’d have every confidence in Thing,” 
 replied Governor Simpson. “But these are missionaries, 
 Protestant missionaries, and the armies of Her Majesty 
 couldn’t stop them, once they are persuaded they must save 
 souls.” He took a turn or two up and down the sandy 
 shore, then, squaring his great chest, he exclaimed, “T shall 
 turn them back, myself! This business of inspection shall 
 be reduced to a minimum. I will hold no court proceedings 
 until my return trip. Where’s James?” 
 
 The young secretary hurried after the factor, who was 
 watching the unloading of the express canoe. 
 
6 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “I’m away, James!” cried the Governor, shaking hands, 
 heartily. “Ill see you, on my return trip, next spring. 
 Come, John.” 
 
 The two canoes of the Governor’s brigade, each manned 
 by eight voyageurs, were drawn to the landing. Governor 
 Simpson, John Leslie and the bagpipe players entered the 
 first canoe and it swung out into the stream. The second 
 canoe, loaded with luggage and the camping outfit, received 
 the two buglers and paddled close to the stern of the first 
 boat. The musicians struck up “Bonnie Prince Charlie,” 
 the crowd on shore cheered, the Governor and his secretary 
 waved their handkerchiefs and a moment later were lost to 
 sight behind a curve in the river. 
 
 For a long half hour after the music had ceased and the 
 voyageurs had settled to the heavy task of paddling the 
 canoes upstream, Governor Simpson sat in silence, scowling 
 heavily, as was his wont when deep in thought. Finally, he 
 turned to young Leslie. 
 
 “Tl have out the map, John. We must remake our 
 schedule.” 
 
 The two were seated, side by side, on the floor of the 
 canoe. Leslie spread on their knees a parchment of 
 Rupert’s Land and the little known territory of Oregon. 
 The Governor pointed, with a well cared for finger. 
 
 “We'll not stop but a day at Fort St. John. We must 
 teach the Pass in a week’s time. God help them at Fort 
 McLeod if they have not our horses ready for us, for I 
 intend to embark on the Columbia River by the first of 
 July. And look you, John, my lad, this is n6é child’s play 
 you are undertaking. The Pass through the Rocky Moun- 
 tains will be full of snow, and every man must carry pack. 
 Even when we are over the Rockies, still the forests are 
 wild and there are no roads and we'll sweat blood in making 
 the speed I shall require. Fraser River will help, but there’ll 
 be many a long portage before we reach the Columbia. 
 
THE GOVERNOR OF RUPERT’S LAND 7 
 
 Once we reach the Columbia, we’ll make a hundred and 
 fifty miles a day till we reach the Snake. We'll go as far 
 as we can on the Snake, then horses again, to Fort Hall, 
 three hundred miles to the southeast.” 
 
 John, who was beginning to find his maiden trip into 
 Rupert’s Land decidedly impressive, looked from the parch- 
 ment to the Governor. 
 
 “You must fear these missionaries, very much, sir!” 
 
 “T fear what they presage, John. Monique!” he called to 
 the head voyageur, seated high in the prow. “Monique, a 
 shilling extra to every man and two to yourself, for every 
 day cut off the two weeks between here and Fort McLeod. 
 There’s a great danger threatening the Company’s inter- 
 ests in the Oregon territory, Monique, a danger that I can 
 avert only if I can reach Fort Hall before the first of 
 August.” 
 
 Monique, his half-breed face, saturnine in the brilliant 
 sun, turned and called a long order back to the second canoe. 
 Instantly, the tempo of the paddling in both boats quickened 
 and the Governor, sitting, tensely, arms folded, eyes dark, 
 gave a grunt of satisfaction. 
 
 The Governor’s tensity infected the whole brigade. The 
 “French half-breeds, those greatest boatmen in the world, 
 threw themselves with enthusiasm into establishing a new 
 record for speed over the trackless way where, for years, 
 they had been performing miracles of swift going. These 
 voyageurs, composing the Governor’s crew, were picked 
 men; the best of an extraordinarily efficient lot. Chosen 
 not only because they deserved the highest honor in their 
 calling—that of belonging to the brigade of the Governor 
 of Rupert’s Land—but also, because Governor Simpson 
 always had been afflicted by a mania for speed that never 
 could be satisfied. As Factor James had suggested, he 
 seemed to look upon the terrible trails that ran hither and 
 yon across Rupert’s Land, from Hudson’s Bay to the Pa- 
 
8 WE MUST MARCH - 
 
 cific, as one might look upon the famous turnpikes of Old 
 England, where stage coaches ran upon the minute. His 
 annual tours of inspection were prodigies of celerity. 
 
 Yet, impatient as Simpson had always been of any delay, 
 eager as he always had been that the paddles should move 
 faster and yet faster, Monique caught in the Governor’s 
 new demand a note of real anxiety and he rose to meet 
 it, gamely. 
 
 The hours in camps, between forts, were cut to the 
 minimum. The speed on the rivers, and over the portages, 
 impossible as it seemed, was doubled. The time allotted to 
 each post inspection was cut in half. Only on one point did 
 Simpson insist on no elimination. None of the pomp or 
 ceremony of his expedition was dropped. He made his 
 elaborate daily toilet. His meals were served, in courses, 
 and with wine. Before sighting each post, both crews must 
 pause and furbish themselves up with their best beaded and 
 fringed clothing. The musicians must strike up, and, as the 
 seven guns, saluting the governor, sounded from the post, 
 all must join in singing Simpson’s favorite song, “Mal- 
 brouck has gone a-fighting!”’ 
 
 Thus with pomp and speed, with each day adding curi- 
 ously to the Governor’s anxiety, the little brigade swept up 
 the Peace River. It toiled with unbelievable difficulty 
 through the passes of the Rockies, Simpson and his sec- 
 retary on horseback and the men afoot, laden like pack 
 mules. They rushed upon Fort McLeod, demanding 
 horses, and, the business of inspection scantily attended 
 to, were off to the Fraser River. 
 
 The examination of the Company’s books, the punishing 
 of the Company’s criminals, might well wait. For George 
 Simpson knew, better than any man in Rupert’s Land, bet- 
 ter even than the Company’s most brilliant chief factor, Dr. 
 McLoughlin, in Oregon territory, exactly how great was 
 the threat behind the simple fact that four more mission- 
 
THE GOVERNOR OF RUPERT’S LAND 9 
 
 aries, two of them women, were crossing the Rockies, to 
 the Columbia. 
 
 For, before George Simpson was a Hudson’s Bay em- 
 ployee, he was a Briton, and a Briton with most distin- 
 guished blood in his veins. He saw the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company in the large. He saw it not merely as a trading 
 corporation of great wealth and prestige. It was, in his 
 broad view, one of the most potent means by which the 
 British Empire was moving westward, across the world. 
 
 It was a bitter truth that the American colonies had 
 slipped away from England, and with them a great slice of 
 American continent. But Oregon still remained and Cali- 
 fornia. These must belong to England. And as long as 
 the Hudson’s Bay Company could maintain that vast region 
 surrounding the Columbia as a fur preserve, for its own 
 interests, it was maintaining it for the British Empire. 
 
 Settlers must not come into the Oregon territory! Set- 
 tlers would not come, unless they could bring their women 
 folk. And two missionary men with their wives were, at 
 this moment, headed for the Columbia River. No white 
 woman ever had crossed the Rockies. Employees of the 
 Hudson’s Bay Company, in Oregon country, were married 
 to half-breed women. These missionaries must not be per- 
 mitted to demonstrate to the United States that white 
 women could enter the Columbia country and thrive there. 
 
 Simpson was no fool. He knew that the movement west- 
 ward, to the Pacific coast, of American citizens, was inevi- 
 table. But he believed that the tide could be held back 
 until the ignorant and indifferent American government had 
 sold or traded its share in the marvelous Oregon territory 
 to Great Britain. And he had no illusion as to the difficulty 
 of bringing about delay. For here, the British were not 
 dealing with French, nor with Russians, nor with the Hindu. 
 Here, it was the men of Great Britain fighting men of their 
 own blood and of their own colonizing traditions: blood and 
 
10 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 traditions that had produced the greatest colonizers the 
 world had known. 
 
 Sitting taut in the bottom of his canoe, his eyes aching 
 as the brilliant waters reflected into his face, or bending low 
 in his saddle as his horse wallowed through the eternal 
 snows of the mountain passes, watching the rows of buffalo 
 ribs roasting for his dinner before the evening fire, or 
 wearily following the fur lists, in the candlelight, at some 
 factor’s desk, Simpson thought of these things. Thought 
 of them as men think of their most terrible and personal 
 responsibility, with a quick intake of breath, a setting of 
 the jaw, a stiffening of the shoulders to the forward push! 
 Nay, with this man, there was even more than personal 
 obligation. There was the urge of the blood within him; 
 a sense of noblesse oblige, that made England’s desires and 
 England’s problems his. 
 
 “Monique! A little faster, for a time. And, pipers, give 
 me a song.” 
 
 And obediently, through the everlasting reaches of the 
 forest skirled the old ballad: 
 
 “Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine 
 
 1»? 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE HORSE CANOE 
 
 Nabe the time that Governor Simpson was embarking 
 on the Fraser River, there was a mighty stir, in a 
 great camp on the banks of the Green River, in what is now 
 western Wyoming. It was a curious camp, utterly lacking 
 in the orderliness that prevailed about ea Hudson’s Bay 
 Company’s posts. 
 
 This camp was the “Rendezvous” of the American Fur 
 Trading Company. The crude log hut, which served the 
 Company as a store, was surrounded by the tents of per- 
 haps a hundred and fifty traders, French and American. 
 Each trader’s tent was his castle, in which he lived an em- 
 battled existence, guarding his belongings not only from the 
 Indians but from other trappers and traders. Scattered at 
 intervals along the banks of the river, were the camps of 
 different Indians, Nez Percés, Flatheads, Snakes, each with 
 a carefully maintained guard against other tribes and 
 against the predatory Americans, the “Bostons” as they 
 were called, to differentiate them from the English and 
 Scotch. 
 
 There was plenty of whiskey in the “Rendezvous.” Most 
 of the traders and trappers were temporarily married to 
 Indian wives. There was much wild sport; gun play and 
 horse racing, and an infinite deal of bickering and fighting. 
 Remotely, above the camp, lay the exquisite blue of the 
 western sky. In every direction about the wide valley, 
 wherein the Fur Company grazed its tired pack horses, 
 stretched the vivid orange and red of canyon and butte and 
 the threatening peaks of the Rockies. 
 
 11 
 
12 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 It was into this camp that there rode, on the fifteenth of 
 July, with a convoy of fur traders, the four missionaries, 
 with their secular agent. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when they reached the “Ren- 
 dezvous” and began to make their camp at some distance 
 from the trading store. The three men of the party were 
 given only casual scrutiny by the men and squaws, lounging 
 about their tents. But when, out of the covered wagon 
 which had been jerked into camp by a tired pair of mules, 
 there emerged the two missionary wives, a sudden shout 
 swept up the river bank. 
 
 “White women, by God! White!’ 
 
 There was a sudden rush for the newcomers’ camp. Bat- 
 tered hats and fur caps were pulled from heads to which 
 the gesture had become a forgotten thing, and a man cried: 
 
 “Welcome, ladies! You're the first white women in this 
 part of the world.” | 
 
 “The first white women I’ve seen in twenty-seven years!” 
 cried another voice. ‘Shake hands with us!” 
 
 The two women standing beside the wagon were an in- 
 teresting contrast to each other. The taller one was Nar- 
 cissa Prentiss Whitman, daughter of Judge Stephen Pren- 
 tiss, of Angelica, New York. She was about twenty-eight 
 years of age, tall and of noble proportions and bearing. 
 She was fair, with long braids of yellow hair wrapped 
 round her head. Her eyes were a light blue and her fea- 
 tures were very regular, almost Greek, in their chiseled 
 purity of outline. She was wearing a dark blue riding 
 habit. The waist fitted her beautiful torso without a wrinkle 
 and the skirt, flowing in the gracious lines of the fashion 
 of that day, added a majesty to her tall figure that almost 
 dwarfed the woman standing beside her. 
 
 This woman was Eliza Spalding, the daughter of a 
 farmer in Herkimer County, New York. She was a frail, 
 dark person, with blunt, heavy features, of so plain a cast 
 
THE HORSE CANOE sis’ 
 
 that even the deep kindliness expressed in eye and lip could 
 not lessen the impression of homeliness she made. She 
 wore a riding habit, badly made, of gray wool, and a sun- 
 bonnet pushed back from her dark hair. 
 
 As the two women stood smiling, Dr. Marcus Whitman, 
 laughing heartily, came to their rescue and introduced them, 
 with a broad gesture of his sunburned hand. Whitman was 
 a physician, a native of Rushville, New York, about thirty- 
 five years of age, tall and compactly built. He wore a 
 ragged deerskin coat and trousers and frayed leather riding 
 boots. He was smooth shaven, his hair a light brown, his 
 eyes blue and extraordinarily clear and keen. His face was 
 of the New England type, thin, with rather high cheek 
 bones, a long, clean jaw line and a broad forehead that 
 thrust well forward over his eyes. His lips were thin, but 
 mobile, with sensitive corners and his nose was straight and 
 well cut. 
 
 “This is my wife, gentlemen,” he cried, “and this is Mrs. 
 Spalding, wife of my fellow worker, the Reverend Henry 
 Spalding. There he is yonder, with William Gray, our 
 secular agent. Come here, Henry, and make your manners 
 to the crowd!” 
 
 Henry Spalding came forward, slowly. He was about the 
 doctor’s age, clad in somber black, a thin, stoop-shouldered 
 man, with a bald head and a skin prematurely wrinkled. 
 He bowed solemnly, while William Gray, the jovial, blue- 
 eyed young man beside him cried, with a grin that showed 
 every white tooth: 
 
 “Sorry I haven’t a wife also, to present to you, gentle- 
 men !”’ 
 
 The introductions began a long evening’s ordeal for the 
 two women. The rough trappers were hungry for a word 
 with these two human beings who brought back to them all 
 of gentleness and sweetness they ever had known. The 
 Indians, braves and squaws alike, were devoured by curi- 
 
14 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 osity; and the missionaries had, finally, to set a laughing 
 guard about the camp fire, before which Mrs. Whitman and 
 Mrs. Spalding sat. The Indians then turned from their 
 contemplation of the white women to a minute examination 
 of the wagon. Few of them ever had seen one before and 
 this “horse canoe” as they called it, was as remarkable to 
 them as were Mrs. Whitman’s white skin and golden hair. 
 
 The errand which had brought the two women to the 
 Rockies was discussed vociferously about the camp fire. 
 The consensus of opinion was that they could not get be- 
 yond Fort Hall. 
 
 “The Honorable Hudson’s Bay Company ain’t encourag~ 
 ing any Americans to trade on the Columbia,” declared an 
 old trapper who lacked an eye. “And as for letting white 
 women through—why, white women means homes and 
 farms! You'll never pass Fort Hall.” 
 
 “Oh, yes, we shall!’ Dr. Whitman, standing beside the 
 fire, spoke grimly. ‘The ladies and the wagon are going 
 to the Columbia.” 
 
 A great guffaw of laughter rose. Then the one-eyed 
 trapper spoke again. “We're for your getting the ladies 
 across the mountain, but, man, you just can’t get the wagon 
 over! There ain’t any trails and the route you’ve come 
 is baby play compared with what’s before you.” 
 
 Dr. Whitman looked at his watch and yawned. “Bed 
 time, friends! Seems that I'll need all my strength in the 
 next month! You see,” he added, as his audience stared 
 at him, “I’ve been argued with about that wagon ever since 
 we left Fort Laramie. I’ve heard every argument that can 
 be conceived, mostly about the horrors of what T’ll find 
 beyond Fort Hall. Now, I want to tell you men, that at 
 times, since we left Fort Laramie, I’ve almost carried that 
 wagon on my back, and by the eternals, if it’s necessary, 
 after we pass Fort Hall, I’ll carry the mules and the wagon 
 too!” 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 15 
 
 Cheers mingled with the laughter that greeted this sally 
 and the crowd stared from the doctor to the lone wagon, on 
 which the firelight rose and fell. Its canvas top was green 
 with mildew and yellow with dust and forlorn with rents 
 and patches. 
 
 “Tm not boasting about it as a thing of beauty!” ex- 
 claimed Dr. Whitman. “But if it will accomplish the task 
 I’ve set it, I can do without looks. It’s going to prove to 
 the world that, right now, wagons, with women folks and 
 household furniture can go through to the Columbia.” 
 
 “Can’t be done, Doctor!’ insisted several voices. 
 
 “That’s what I keep telling him,” cried Henry Spalding. 
 “That wagon is a terrible nuisance. He’s no right to hold 
 us all back, just to satisfy a foolish whim.” 
 
 Narcissa Whitman rose and took her husband’s arm. “TI 
 suppose I ought to be thankful we’ve not two wagons,” she 
 said with a little laugh. “Perhaps it is foolish of him, but 
 I want to tell you all that he’s been wonderful about that 
 terrible old wagon, wonderful! So patient, so unwearying! 
 I’m proud of him!” She looked into the doctor’s face with 
 an expression so loyal that one of the trappers exclaimed: 
 
 “Lord, Doctor, but you are lucky!” 
 
 The one-eyed trapper took a huge bite of tobacco. “What 
 I got to say, Doc, is that your wife must be terrible romantic, 
 a lady like her to marry a rough and ready chap like you!’ 
 
 Dr. Whitman patted Narcissa’s beautiful hand, as it lay 
 on his coat sleeve, and burst into a great guffaw of laughter. 
 The crowd joined him and under its cover the missionaries 
 went off to bed. 
 
 The following day was spent in resting the saddle and 
 pack horses, the mules, and the eight or ten cows that be- 
 longed to the mission outfit. The missionaries had planned 
 to go on alone into the Rockies, for the American Fur con- 
 voy would go no farther west. There was considerable 
 danger in this, for although no Indians were on the war- 
 
16 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 path, there was not the friendly relationship between the 
 “Bostons” and the Indians that there was between the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company employees and the Indians. A small 
 party of Americans, containing women, would be a great 
 temptation to marauding braves. And for murder or rob- 
 bery of “Bostons” there was no avenging Dr. McLoughlin 
 or Captain Thing. 
 
 The Whitman party was unabashed by the recital of all 
 these facts, but Dr. Whitman, as leader of the expedition, 
 anxiously examined, with William Gray, the meager supply 
 of firearms carried in the Conestoga wagon. They were 
 busy at this, when two men rode into the camp and intro- 
 duced themselves as Thomas McKay and John McLeod, 
 factors of the Hudson’s Bay Company, on business with 
 the American Fur Traders. 
 
 They were bearded Scotchmen, extremely courteous of 
 manner, and they invited the missionaries to join their small 
 convoy, leaving on the morrow for Fort Hall. Marcus ac- 
 cepted with alacrity, a little puzzled, it is true, by the unex- 
 pected gesture, but none the less grateful. 
 
 While the two factors stood chatting with his wife, the 
 doctor turned to William Gray. 
 
 “That doesn’t seem to agree with what every one’s been 
 telling us,” he said. 
 
 Young Gray stared, with bright blue eyes, at the Scotch- 
 men. |) ‘I! fear) the; Greeks, |bearine gilts)! heisaids fh Wied 
 put it to the attractiveness of Mrs. Whitman, however. I 
 suppose they’ve got half-breed wives, too. Lord, their 
 stomachs must be strong!” 
 
 No one was inclined to be too curious about the invita- 
 tion. Even the marked coldness that existed between the 
 Scotchmen and the American traders did not trouble the 
 missionaries much. 
 
 The march began early, the next morning, and pushed 
 steadily onward into the fastnesses of the Rockies. The 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 17 
 
 people of the Hudson’s Bay Company were in no hurry and, 
 had it not been for the exhausting demands of the wagon, 
 which increased, day by day, as they neared Fort Hall, Mar- 
 cus would have enjoyed the leisurely journey as much as 
 Narcissa did. Slowly, they crossed what is now Wyoming, 
 through the North Pass, down into unspeakable canyons, 
 over mountains that scratched the heavens, until, on an 
 afternoon of late July, they emerged from the fastnesses of 
 a barren range, in what is now eastern Idaho and saw 
 before them the valley of the Port Neuf and Snake rivers. 
 Wonderful rivers, it seemed to them, with their border of 
 cottonwood timber making an unbelievable contrast to the 
 burning ranges and plateau that hemmed the valley all about. 
 The gleaming white walls of Fort Hall lay across the valley 
 to the northwest. 
 
 The main body of the pack train forded the Port Neuf 
 with the usual commotion: the shrill protests of horses and 
 cattle, the barking of dogs, the cursing of men. It was not 
 until the train was a slender spiral moving along the valley 
 toward the fort that the last man of the outfit emerged 
 from the pass in the eastern mountains and paused on the 
 bank of the stream. It was Dr. Whitman, left to struggle 
 alone with his emaciated mules and the only wagon in the 
 convoy. 
 
 The mules endeavored to lie down in harness. The doctor 
 shouted at them, then stood for a long moment, studying 
 the stream. He examined the rough trail, left by the pack 
 train, down the steep drop of two hundred feet to the river 
 bed, then walked over to the wagon and inspected it thor- 
 oughly. Ragged, mildewed and paintless, it still looked 
 sturdy enough for travel. Marcus nodded with satisfac- 
 tion, drew a heavy pole from beneath the canvas and ran it 
 through the two rear wheels, then mounted to the spring- 
 less front seat. He lifted the reins and shouted to the 
 mules: 
 
18 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Hi, Jennie! Up, Jewell!’ The black whip cracked 
 over the bony necks. 
 
 The mules kicked viciously at the whippletrees and lunged 
 violently over the edge of the bank. The wagon immedi- 
 ately skidded into their heels. The mules squealed, kicked 
 and fought to turn to the left to avoid the thrust of the 
 Conestoga, but Dr. Whitman, leaning far back under the 
 canvas to maintain his balance on the steep incline, held 
 them firmly with the rope reins, and mules and wagon 
 lunged heavily downward, the wagon twisting and turning, 
 now shoving against the mules, now turned half around, 
 dragging the mules off their feet, now stalling against a 
 giant boulder, while the mules hung by the dilapidated har- 
 ness over the rushing stream. One of these hangups oc- 
 curred perhaps fifty feet above the water and the doctor 
 was obliged to descend from the seat and, with the reins 
 caught over his shoulder, pry the front wheels free from 
 the crevice in which they had lodged. When, with a mighty 
 heave of his great back, he had accomplished this, he made 
 a jump for the wagon seat. But he was not quick enough 
 to accomplish his design, for the wagon, the instant it was 
 freed, skidded violently downward, carrying with it the 
 kicking, biting mules and the man, dragging by the reins 
 over his shoulders. They landed‘in an indiscriminate heap 
 in the roaring stream. 
 
 Fortunately, the water was not above three feet deep. 
 Dr. Whitman struggled to his feet, clothes streaming, face 
 bleeding, and rushed to disentangle the mules from the 
 harness and from the wagon top which they were rapidly 
 demolishing. This accomplished,—strangely enough in this 
 part of the world, without oaths,—he righted the wagon, 
 which was lying on its side, rescued a small trunk which 
 had slid out into the water, reharnessed the mules, climbed 
 again into the wagon seat and called above the roar of the 
 current: 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 19 
 
 eit, jennie Getiupsiewelll? 
 
 The mules began a mad scramble across the rocky river 
 bed. The current was strong and though it could not carry 
 them off their feet, it deflected them downstream and, in 
 spite of the doctor’s immense efforts, brought them across 
 the river at a point where gravel gave way to mud. Here, 
 in six inches of water, the wagon sank to the hubs and the 
 mules to their bellies. 
 
 The sun was now setting. The bank of the river, on this 
 side, not over fifty feet high, threw the floundering team 
 into deep shadow. But the cottonwoods above were sil- 
 houetted against pure gold. Silhouetted, too, suddenly ap- 
 peared the figure of a woman on horseback, who stared 
 silently for a moment on Dr. Whitman who had tossed 
 blankets out from the wagon and was crawling on them 
 slowly, toward a bed of dried rushes. It was Narcissa. 
 She waited until he had thrown a dozen armloads of reeds 
 in front of the trembling mules before she spoke: 
 
 “Marcus! Shall I go back for help?” 
 
 The doctor, crouching on the sodden blankets, looked up. 
 Narcissa, outlined against the sky, might have been a god- 
 dess, with her blond hair, her fine shoulders, her splendid, 
 lilting voice. 
 
 “You must be half dead, Marcus! Will you rest while I 
 go back for Miles Goodyear or an Indian?” 
 
 Marcus shook his head. “You couldn’t get any one, Nar- 
 cissa. I’ve worn my welcome out with this wagon.” 
 
 “Oh, leave the miserable thing, dear!” exclaimed Nar- 
 cissa. “It’s killing you and it’s estranging you from all the 
 others.” 
 
 Marcus shook his head and proceeded to throw another 
 armload of rushes on the path he was making between the 
 mules and the solid ground, ten feet beyond. Narcissa slid 
 from her horse and, leaving him nibbling at cottonwood 
 leaves, made her way down the bank. 
 
20 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 5 
 
 “Tf you'll toss me the reins,” she said, “I can tug at the 
 mules to better advantage than you.” 
 
 Marcus followed her suggestion, then set his shoulder to 
 the rear of the wagon. There followed a long half hour 
 of breathless endeavor, during which Narcissa tugged and 
 called, while the pitiful, dumb brutes trembled and fought 
 for foothold, and Marcus lifted until blood gushed from his 
 congested fingertips. But at last, just as dusk crept under 
 the bank, mules and wagon drew free of the dragging mud 
 and Marcus pulled the dripping blankets to dry ground and 
 threw himself, panting, beside the recumbent team. 
 
 “Marcus Whitman!” exclaimed Narcissa, “another month 
 of this will kill you!” 
 
 Marcus wiped his dripping face on his deerskin sleeve. 
 He did not seem to find an adequate return for his wife’s 
 comment, for he said after a moment, “Where’s the camp 
 to-night ?” 
 
 “Just outside the fort. The factor, Captain Thing, has 
 asked us missionaries in, for supper. I came back to tell 
 you that. Marcus, leave the wagon and the mules under 
 the cottonwoods here, to-night. You can easily get them 
 in the morning. The road is so soft up to the fort that the 
 going will be too much for them, tired as they are now. I 
 brought your horse back with me.” 
 
 “Did you, Narcissa? Well, you’re good to me, even if 
 you do think I’m a fool about the wagon.” Marcus rose 
 stiffly and began to unhitch the mules. When he had done 
 this and had hobbled them, he followed Narcissa slowly 
 up the bank. Here there was still afterglow. By its light, 
 Marcus made a desultory attempt to scrape the mud from 
 his clothes, then mounted and followed his wife, whose 
 horse already was cantering toward the fort. 
 
 The red gleam of a dozen camp fires marked the site of 
 the camp. As the two rode closer, a single tent became 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 21 
 
 visible in the murky light and it was before this that they 
 dismounted. 
 
 “T suppose the others have gone into the fort,” said Nar- 
 cissa. “You'll find your other tunic in your bed roll, 
 Marcus. IT’ll get you a pail of water while you take off 
 that mess. You are nothing unusual as a physician, Mar- 
 cus,’—she chuckled as the firelight disclosed the disheveled 
 condition of her husband—“but you’d make a wonderful 
 chimney sweep! Do hurry, dear!” 
 
 Marcus dragged his weary body into the tent. “I sup- 
 pose I ought to be thankful you don’t make me get into 
 my black broadcloth,” he groaned, as Narcissa returned with 
 a pail of water. “This going out to dinner, this society life, 
 Narcissa—” 
 
 “T know, poor dear,” agreed his wife. “Let’s see, the 
 last time we ate at a table was at Fort Laramie! ‘That is, 
 only once, since we left Westport!” 
 
 “That was once too much,” grumbled Marcus, wiping his 
 face and obediently taking the comb Narcissa handed him. 
 “Whew! I feel ready for food! I wonder what we’ll have. 
 Hope the others will leave a bite for us.” 
 
 The others had had, it proved, no opportunity to do other- 
 wise. For Captain Thing, with English punctilio, did not 
 order the meal served until the Whitmans appeared in the 
 doorway. Then he nodded at an inquiring head that evi- 
 dently belonged to the cook, and came forward to greet the 
 last arrivals with a manner that belonged to London and 
 not to this crude and tiny fastness of the wilderness. 
 
 “Mrs. Whitman, I am John Thing, the factor here. And 
 Dr. Whitman! I am glad you’ve not been injured, as Mr. 
 Spalding feared you might be. We'll sit down to dinner 
 at*once.”’ 
 
 He bowed them to the crude bare table, with its single 
 candle competing with the stars that glimmered through the 
 
2) WE MUST MARCH 
 
 wide opening in the roof. Chairs of split logs, covered with 
 buffalo skins, a fireplace on which cottonwood blazed, a 
 medley of saddles and riding boots in dusky corners, filled 
 a room devoid of comfort, yet which to the missionaries 
 seemed almost luxurious after their terrible journey from 
 the States. 
 
 The dinner, though served on wooden plates and in tin 
 cups, was a treat to people who had lived for weeks on 
 dried buffalo meat and nothing else. It consisted of turnips 
 and buffalo stew, bread fried in buffalo fat, with “trapper’s 
 butter,’—the marrow drawn from buffalo bones,—and tea. 
 
 “We were very grateful for the privilege of traveling with 
 a Hudson’s Bay Company’s convoy,” said Narcissa, when 
 the bustle of serving the meal had subsided. “Are the In- 
 dians, here, seriously hostile to Americans?” 
 
 “They are to many of the men of the American Fur 
 Trading Company,” replied Captain Thing. 
 
 “How do you account for that?” asked young Gray. 
 
 “The American Fur Trading Company has no clean-cut, 
 sane policy for handling the Indians,” replied the factor. 
 “The Hudson’s Bay Company has.” 
 
 “And what is that policy?’ demanded Henry Spalding, 
 abruptly. “If it’s not unchristian in its tenets, we may want 
 to use it.” 
 
 Captain Thing raised his blond eyebrows. “It’s not pos- 
 sible that you’ve come to live among the Indians without 
 a settled ‘modus vivendi’?” 
 
 “We have one. It’s found in the teachings of Christ!” 
 declared Marcus. 
 
 The Englishman shook his head. “It won’t work!” 
 Then, with a little smile at the shocked faces of his guests, 
 he went on, “You see, it has been necessary for the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company to operate without an army, in a huge 
 territory. So it has been necessary for the Company’s 
 servants to possess certain qualities. One thing all Indians 
 
THE HORSE CANOE ZO 
 
 fear is fearlessness. So a factor or trader must have iron 
 nerve. He must accompany justice with sternness. For 
 example, it’s the universal custom among Indians to de- 
 mand a life for a life. You must make the same demand 
 of them. Blood pays for blood. Sometimes a factor or a 
 clerk will enter an Indian camp alone, shoot a known mur- 
 derer and walk away, while respect holds the Indians from 
 protest. White man’s justice, thus administered, is as pow- 
 erful as superstition among the Indians.” 
 
 “How horrible!” exclaimed Mrs. Spalding. 
 
 “T know!” agreed Captain Thing, “but you must realize 
 that you are going to live among people utterly devoid of 
 our ideas of decent conduct. Their idea of sportsmanship 
 begins and ends with providing a scalp-lock on their own 
 heads for the enemies’ hand hold! I tell you that if you 
 go among them with the ‘turn the other cheek’ policy, 
 instead of ‘an eye for an eye’ you will sow the wind and 
 reap the whirlwind. I very much fear...” Captain Thing 
 stopped short, then looked at the two women, before saying 
 tersely to the doctor, “You are a fool to take women into 
 such a situation!” 
 
 “The Lord is our fortress!” said Eliza Spalding. 
 
 “The Lord protects those who protect themselves,” re- 
 torted Captain Thing, sharply. 
 
 “If we settle near one of the Hudson’s Bay Company 
 posts, I don’t see what we have to fear,” declared young 
 Gray, coolly. “Your policy with the Indians should protect 
 us. But what about the policy you don’t mention? Haven't 
 you had orders from headquarters, to keep Americans out 
 of the Columbia River country? Don’t you turn them back 
 or south from here, by telling them the mountains west of 
 here are impassable?” 
 
 “It is impassable for settlers,” said Thing. “My sugges- 
 tion is that you settle near the Green River ‘Rendezvous.’ ” 
 
 Marcus shook his head. “No, it was the Flathead Indians 
 
24. WE MUST MARCH 
 
 who sent delegates to St. Louis two years ago, asking for 
 Christian teachers and to the Flathead country we are 
 going.” 
 
 “There is only the merest apology for a trail,” said Cap- 
 tain Thing. “You'll never get your wagon through.” 
 
 “Tl have a try at it,” returned Marcus, dryly. 
 
 “There’s no heading him off, Captain!” ejaculated Henry 
 Spalding bitterly. “That wagon is more important to him 
 than his friends.” 
 
 The clergyman was entirely out of patience. The trip, in 
 fact, was getting on his nerves. He was an excellent 
 preacher, but he was no pioneer and the wagon had become 
 the last straw, added to the many discomforts of the jour- 
 ney. Ever since leaving Westport, in what is now Mis- 
 souri, the unfortunate vehicle had held them back. It had 
 become the béte noir on which Spalding vented the spleen 
 accruing from all his weariness and suffering during the 
 trip. 
 
 Dr. Whitman laughed. “How familiar it all sounds! 
 We've certainly worn our welcome out, old lady Conestoga 
 and I. Even Miles Goodyear went back on me to-day, the 
 last prop I had to lean on! But we came through, the 
 wagon and I.” 
 
 “Miles has reached the parting of the ways!” Narcissa 
 smiled. ‘He says if the wagon goes on, he stays at Fort 
 Hall.” 
 
 “And who is this possible guest of mine?’ asked the 
 factor. 
 
 “A youngster who joined us near Fort Leavenworth,” 
 replied Narcissa. “A runaway of sixteen. He earned his 
 way by helping the doctor with his wagon. But it’s killing 
 work and he’s little more than a child. If he does refuse 
 to go on with us, Captain, I wish you would look out for 
 him.” 
 
 “I'd like to see him, before I make any promises,” said 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 25 
 
 the factor. “A boy that age could be very useful here, but 
 only if he is of the sort who will lend himself to discipline.” 
 
 “Let’s have him in now!” exclaimed young Gray. Then, 
 in answer to the inquiring looks of the rest of the party, 
 “The wagon has got on Spalding’s nerves, but it’s Miles 
 who’s got on mine. He’s harder to feed and care for than 
 all our outfit, including the mules!” 
 
 Captain Thing laughed heartily and sent a servant to hunt 
 up Miles Goodyear. Shortly there appeared in the door- 
 way a boy who scarcely looked the sixteen years he claimed. 
 He was thin, tall, towheaded and burned to a brilliant red. 
 He wore a tattered straw hat, a ragged fustian coat and 
 buckskin trousers. Hanging from his shoulders were an 
 old flintlock and powder horn. He stood mutely staring at 
 the company around the table. 
 
 “Captain Thing, this is Miles Goodyear,” said Narcissa. 
 
 “Come in, Miles,” the factor nodded, pleasantly. 
 
 Miles came in slowly, not at all bashfully, but warily, as 
 if he feared a trap set by these grown people. 
 
 “You deserted me, to-day, Miles!” cried Dr. Whitman. 
 
 Miles snorted. “Where’d you leave that damned old 
 wagon, Doctor?” he exclaimed. 
 
 “No swearing, Miles!” said Marcus. “The wagon is 
 down on the river bank. You and I'll have to be up before 
 dawn to-morrow, So as to join the others, when they start.” 
 
 “T’ll be everlastingly—” began the boy indignantly. 
 
 “Wait a moment, Miles!” It was Narcissa who inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 “T can’t help it, Mrs. Whitman!” Miles turned his blue 
 eyes toward hers, which gleamed like crystal in the candle 
 light. “That wagon has just ruined the trip for me. I ain’t 
 had a chance to track Indians or hunt buffalo or anything. 
 Just that wagon, bump, bump, creak, creak! Now it’s 
 stuck in the quicksand, now it’s twisting in a whirlpool, 
 now it’s breaking its dirty neck—only it never does break 
 
26 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 —down a canyon, now it’s on its back, now it’s riding the 
 mules, now the mules are riding it. And always the doctor 
 stands by the rotten thing as if—as if it was his woman. 
 ‘Come, Miles, old fellow, one more heave and we'll have 
 her on dry land.’ ‘Don’t be discouraged, Miles, we’ve only 
 five miles more of mud, and she'll be right as a lady.’ 
 ‘Brace up, Miles, some day you'll be boasting that you 
 brought the old Conestoga first over the Rockies !’—And 
 I’ve pushed and pulled and cussed the mules, day after 
 day, and I haven’t had any fun on this trip at all. I might 
 just as well stayed home on the farm.” 
 
 Miles uttered this tirade in a voice that was now bass, 
 now high falsetto, and with indescribable rapidity and 
 earnestness. The adults grouped about the candle watched 
 him with faces in which sympathy and amusement struggled. 
 
 “And would you have me leave the old wagon behind, 
 Miles?” asked the doctor, “after the many times I’ve ex- 
 plained to you that if we can get the wagon through to the 
 Columbia it will prove that settlers can come through with 
 their household goods?” 
 
 “It ain't fair to put it all on you and me!” cried the 
 boy. “Let some of the others take their turn. Like old 
 Spalding! He don’t earn his salt. He’s worn two leather 
 seats on his pants out, just sitting, since we left the States. 
 No, sir! I’m through.” 
 
 “You are an impudent hound and if I were your father 
 I’d thrash you,” declared Spalding, his face purple and his 
 brown eyes snapping. 
 
 “My father tried that once too often!” boasted the boy. 
 
 “Tf you took a position with the Hudson’s Bay Company, 
 you'd have to take a thrashing when you deserved it,” said 
 Captain Thing suddenly. “If you are looking for a place 
 where youngsters receive no discipline, you’d better join the 
 American Fur Trading Company.” 
 
 Miles took an eager step toward the British factor. “But 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 27 
 
 don’t you see, sir, I don’t mind being trained—broke in for 
 some real job. My father was always licking me when he 
 was mad, just to ease his own temper. If you let me work 
 here, [’ll show you I can take training as well as the next 
 one.” 
 
 “They will make an Englishman of you, Miles,” said 
 Marcus. 
 
 “No, they won't!” exclaimed the boy. “But they’ll make 
 a rich man of me. If you get to be a chief trader and 
 then a factor with the Hudson’s Bay Company, they give 
 you a share in the business. The American Fur Company! 
 Say, you all saw what a riot they kept going at the 
 ‘Rendezvous’! The British haven’t had this fort but a 
 little while, but I’ve seen more bossing and business since 
 sunset than I saw all the time at the ‘Rendezvous.’ Gosh!” 
 Miles shifted from one bare foot to the other and gazed 
 appealingly at Captain Thing. 
 
 That gentleman, obviously, was warmed by the young- 
 ster’s admiration. “I think we might begin thrashing you 
 into shape for the Company, to-morrow,” he said. 
 
 “Whoop! I’m hired!” shouted the boy, grinning broadly 
 at the doctor. 
 
 “He ought to go home!” said Narcissa. 
 
 “We're well rid of him!” ejaculated Spalding. “Now, 
 how about that everlasting wagon, Doctor?” 
 
 “Oh! The wagon!” The doctor spoke as though an 
 entirely new topic were being introduced. “You mean the 
 ‘horse canoe’ ?” 
 
 “Ts there any other wagon within five hundred or a thou- 
 sand miles?” demanded the clergyman. 
 
 “Well,” said Marcus, “with all due respect to the Captain 
 and his hospitality and his opinion, I shall take Jennie and 
 Jewell and old lady Conestoga westward with me, when we 
 leave, to-morrow.” 
 
 Captain Thing leaned toward Marcus, his eyes like blue 
 
28 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 steel. “Do you mean to tell me, Dr. Whitman, that you 
 are deliberately taking your wife to live where the most 
 horrible fate for a woman inevitably awaits her?” 
 
 “You exaggerate the danger, Captain,” returned Marcus, 
 grimly. 
 
 “I do not, sir. I know these Indians, intimately. And I 
 am warning you, that from the moment you settle among 
 these savages, they will know no rest until your wives have 
 been dragged captive to their lodges. No Hudson’s Bay 
 Company employee would think himself a man to bring a 
 white woman into this country. Do you understand me?’ 
 
 “Only too well,” replied the doctor, scowling thoughtfully. 
 
 “Tf you'll pardon me, for speaking frankly,” Narcissa 
 thrust her plate from her and clasped her beautiful hands 
 on the table, “while we are grateful for your solicitude, we 
 can’t help feeling that you are not a little influenced by your 
 desire to keep Americans out of this country.” 
 
 Captain Thing tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes and 
 ran his finger round the high stock at his neck. “I want 
 very much to keep settlers out of this country, it is true,” 
 he said. “But, and his voice carried conviction with it, 
 “T am speaking truth, without bias, when I tell you that 
 while Mrs. Spalding, with her dark complexion and hair, 
 may possibly escape the ravishing hands of the Indians, 
 Mrs. Whitman, with her blond skin and braids, cannot.” 
 
 Narcissa, watching the factor keenly, lifted her head as 
 if she were a soldier called to arms. 
 
 “You convince me, more than ever, that missionary work 
 is needed among these savages.” 
 
 Captain Thing glared at her as though utterly baffled by 
 the turn she had given to his warnings. Then exasperated 
 beyond control, he brought his fist down on the table. 
 
 “Dr. Whitman,” his voice rang with authority, “I forbid 
 you to go to the Columbia. You must turn southward from 
 here; to’ Calitorniay? 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 29 
 
 For a moment, complete silence filled the crude room. 
 Miles Goodyear, standing, forgotten, by the fireplace, stared 
 as though his blue eyes must pop from his head. Here, in 
 earnest, was the iron hand he professed to admire. The 
 missionaries looked at each other and then at the British 
 factor, as if not believing the evidence of their own ears. 
 
 Then Marcus broke the silence, his great voice calm but 
 carrying an edge with it. “You forget yourself, sir! This 
 territory is not British. It is held by joint treaty between 
 our two countries. We have every right that you have, to 
 settle here.” 
 
 “We have the rights that come with prior occupation, 
 sir!’ Captain Thing’s face was so deeply flushed, that 
 Narcissa wondered at it. “Who is it,’ Thing went on, 
 “that has brought a semblance of government and order 
 into this Oregon country but the Hudson’s Bay Company? 
 Do you realize, gentlemen, that we maintain four forts on 
 the Snake and Columbia alone, Fort Hall, Fort Boise, Fort 
 Walla Walla and Fort Vancouver? That we have, beside 
 our white employees, eight hundred half-breeds employed 
 by us, in Oregon territory? That we control the fur in- 
 dustry here, and that you cannot exist in this arid waste, 
 unless you have the privilege of purchasing the necessities 
 of life from our posts? And do you realize that with the 
 exception of Jason Lee’s pitiful little mission on the Wil- 
 lamette, the United States has not so much as a ragged 
 shirt to represent its interests in Oregon?” 
 
 “What has all this to do with us?’ cried Spalding. “We 
 are here to work for the Lord!” 
 
 Marcus made an impatient gesture at the clergyman, then 
 turned to Captain Thing. 
 
 ““We were informed before we left the United States, of 
 the conditions here, sir. We are leaving, to-morrow morn- 
 ing, for the Columbia River.” 
 
 “Why did McLeod and McKay bring us in here, anyhow, 
 
30 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 if this was to be your attitude?’ demanded young Gray. 
 
 “Because I told them to bring you on for this interview 
 with me,” retorted the factor. “I cannot hold you prisoners, 
 of course, but I certainly can and shall—by Jove!” He in- 
 terrupted himself, by springing to his feet. ‘“‘Listen to that!” 
 
 Faintly through the open door came the sound of instru- 
 ments that the Americans never before had heard. But Cap- 
 tain Thing knew that they were bagpipes! 
 
 “Malcolm!” he shouted. “Malcolm! Fire seven rounds! 
 It’s the Governor, heré a month before his time!’ He turned 
 to his guests. “Now, then, my friends, we can settle this 
 matter as it should be settled. The Governor of Rupert’s 
 Land has arrived.” 
 
 “Who, in time, is the Governor of Rupert’s Land?”. mut- 
 tered young Gray, but his query was lost in the ear-shattering 
 report of the first cannon shot. The factor excused him- 
 self and hurried out, followed by Miles Goodyear. 
 
 Dr. Whitman grinned cheerfully. “The Governor of 
 Rupert’s Land must be something like a king. I wonder if 
 we kiss his hand.” 
 
 “T’ll bet I don’t!” snorted young Gray. Then he assumed 
 the doctor’s own grin. “I didn’t know our little party was 
 so important, did you? What’s back of it all?” 
 
 “British impertinence!” said Spalding. 
 
 “He’s not impertinent!” exclaimed Narcissa. “He’s very 
 much worried about us.” 
 
 “He may well be,” agreed Marcus, grimly. 
 
 The wailing of bagpipes was just without, now, and was 
 drowned by huzzas. 
 
 A moment later Governor Simpson appeared in the door- 
 way. 
 
 As has been said, he was not a tall man, nor a handsome 
 one. Yet as he stood, his blue broadcloth cape thrown back 
 over his shoulders, gray beaver hat in hand, there was that in 
 the lift of his chin and the gleam of his eye that caused the 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 31 
 
 Americans, even young Gray, to come to their feet. John 
 Leslie and Captain Thing followed the Governor into the 
 room. “Your Excellency,” said Thing, “this is a company 
 of Protestant missionaries, who desire to settle on the 
 Columbia.” Beginning with Narcissa, he then presented 
 each member of the group. 
 
 “You must be very tired, sir,” said Narcissa. “If Captain 
 Thing will excuse us, we will withdraw and leave you to 
 your rest and supper. We plan an early start and will say 
 good-by.” 
 
 “Pray don’t!” exclaimed Simpson, tossing his cape and 
 hat to Malcolm, and giving Narcissa his peculiarly winsome 
 smile. ‘Ladies are an enormous novelty to us poor travelers 
 of the wilderness. I dined before sunset and am not at all 
 weary. Just in the mood for a chat before Captain Thing’s 
 comfortable fireplace.” 
 
 Malcolm, while the Governor was speaking, was pushing 
 the crude chairs before the fire. Narcissa eyed Simpson 
 speculatively. She knew almost nothing about the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company. Few Americans did have information 
 regarding the great British corporation. She wished, sud- 
 denly, that she understood the rank of the Governor of 
 Rupert’s Land. That it was something very impressive to 
 Captain Thing was obvious. But, if he was a person of 
 exalted position, why did he wish to chat with the humble 
 little mission band? She proposed to discover why. 
 
 Marcus, with a formal bow, utterly foreign to his cus- 
 tomary careless manner, was beginning to make excuses and 
 to edge toward the door, the Spaldings and young Gray fol- 
 fowing, when Narcissa, standing tall and beautiful beside 
 the table, returned the Governor’s smile and said: 
 
 “Tf ladies are rare in your life, sir, so are Governors rare 
 in ours! Perhaps we might profitably explain ourselves to 
 one another.”’ She moved deliberately across the room and 
 seated herself. 
 
od WE MUST MARCH 
 
 The others hesitated. Henry Spalding scowled impa- 
 tiently, but Marcus, who had learned, in his five months of 
 marriage, that Narcissa did nothing heedlessly, took Mrs. 
 Spalding by the arm and seated her beside his wife. 
 
 “Tf explanations are in order,” he exclaimed, “I must be 
 here to take the part of old lady Conestoga!” 
 
 “Old lady Conestoga?” asked the Governor, seating him- 
 self where he could watch the fire and candle light on Nar- 
 cissa’s face. She, he told himself, would be the brains and 
 the diplomatist of the ‘group. 
 
 “Yes, sir,” replied Marcus. “She’s a vixen, too! Made 
 lots of trouble coming across the plains, that old prairie 
 schooner! But she’s standing just outside the fort.” 
 
 “You did well, Dr. Whitman!” exclaimed Simpson. “I 
 can imagine your struggles.” 
 
 “Perhaps you can imagine, too,” said Narcissa, in her voice 
 of lovely overtones, “the doctor’s feeling when Captain 
 Thing tried to persuade him that it’s impossible for him to 
 take the wagon farther. ‘Old lady Conestoga’ is the very 
 apple of my husband’s eye.” 
 
 “Is she indeed?’ ‘The Governor laughed softly. “And 
 you show no jealousy, madam?” 
 
 “Impatience, perhaps,” replied Narcissa, “but not jealousy. 
 And I really am a little ashamed of the impatience, when I 
 apprehend the doctor’s dreams.” 
 
 “The doctor’s dreams!” repeated the Governor, quietly. 
 “Are they, perchance, not your dreams, too?” 
 
 There was a pause during which the cottonwood and 
 buffalo chips in the fireplace crackled. 
 
 Narcissa looked from Simpson’s face, with breeding in 
 its every line, to the doctor’s homespun visage, then back to 
 the fire. “My husband’s dream of a mission on the Colum- 
 bia is my dream, certainly.” She hesitated and again looked 
 at Simpson, appraisingly, then went on, calmly, “His dream 
 that, by showing that a wagon can cross the Rockies, he 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 33 
 
 makes it possible for settlers to follow, is less important 
 to me than that of converting savages to Christianity. 
 Nevertheless, I shall use every effort to help him to realize 
 that dream.” 
 
 Simpson observed the throwing of the gauntlet with a 
 certain sensation of relief. He was trembling with weariness 
 after the terrible trip up the Snake River, and his desire 
 for fencing was not keen. He would have put over the 
 conversation until the next day, had not Captain Thing re- 
 plied to his hurried question in the stockade, by saying that 
 the missionaries were determined to go on at dawn. He 
 was utterly weary and moreover, he had been utterly unpre- 
 pared to find in the missionary group a person of Narcissa 
 Whitman’s kind. He had thought he knew what he called 
 the “sniveling Methodist” type that turned to missionary 
 work. ‘They were persistent as only the spineless human 
 can be—not to be shaken from a purpose any more than a 
 limpet from a rock. He had thought to change their plans 
 by the force of his own often brutal will. 
 
 And here was Narcissa Whitman, American and mission- 
 ary though she was, a person of his own world! The Spald- 
 ings and young Gray he swept aside as of no moment, as far 
 as making decisions was concerned. The doctor, frank, 
 determined, a bit crude in externals, one fought him, with- 
 out gloves. But Mrs. Whitman! How, he asked himself, 
 was it possible that she could be a missionary, that she could 
 be married to a man like her husband, and how was he to 
 force her into California? 
 
 “Perhaps you’d not mind telling me what means you have 
 of support in the wilderness,” he asked suddenly. “Do you 
 hope to draw on the Hudson’s Bay Company posts for 
 supplies ?” 
 
 “We are sent out,” replied Marcus, “by the American 
 Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, which al- 
 ready has a thriving mission in the Sandwich Islands. We 
 
34 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 plan, if necessary, to get staples from there. We shall grow 
 our own grains, vegetables and meat.” 
 
 “And, pardon me for being personal,” said Simpson, “do 
 you feel that Mrs. Whitman will make a success of such a 
 life ri 
 
 “Pshaw!” exclaimed Henry Spalding, irritably. “Why 
 shouldn’t she? She’s a big, strong female, who’s stood up 
 a good deal better in this ordeal of overland travel than my 
 delicate wife. Yet it’s Mrs. Whitman who gets all the sym- 
 pathy and Mrs. Spalding none. I’m sick of it. Come, 
 Eliza, we’re going to bed. We start at dawn.” 
 
 Mrs. Spalding looked deprecatingly at the Governor, who 
 rose and bowed over her hand. “Madam, I hope, indeed, 
 that you will soon grow strong enough to enjoy the re- 
 mainder of your journey.” 
 
 “Oh, my sickness hasn’t had anything to do with the trip,” 
 returned Mrs. Spalding, frankly, “lve got a weak stomach 
 and my food r’ars up on me. And youw’re right about Sister 
 Whitman. She’d ought to be singing in a big church choir 
 in Boston or New York instead of roughing it out here. Tl 
 say good night to all you folks, now.” She yielded to the 
 impatient jerk of her husband’s hand on her skirt and fol- 
 lowed him out the door. 
 
 “Old lady Conestoga and I,” said Narcissa, with a low 
 laugh, “are really rivals to see which is less desired in the 
 Columbia River country.” 
 
 “You’ve heard no complaints from me!’ exclaimed Mar- 
 cus. 
 
 “Nor from me,” chuckled young Gray, his intelligent eyes 
 twinkling. “Doctor and I both admit you’re the brains of 
 the expedition.” 
 
 “Nonsense!” protested Narcissa. “Marcus is that! I’m 
 merely a strolling minstrel—thus far in the adventure, at 
 least.” 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 35 
 
 “Adventure?” queried the Governor. “Is it an adventure 
 to your” 
 
 Narcissa’s eyes glowed. “Yes! An adventure after God! 
 A Pilgrim’s Progress that ends in—” she hesitated, her eyes 
 on the fire. 
 
 “Yes! In what way does it end, my dear Madam Whit- 
 man?’ Simpson was bending toward her. 
 
 She gave him a full look from her fine eyes. “In peace,” 
 she said. 
 
 Captain Thing, who, during all this conversation had re- 
 mained silent but observant, in his place beyond the Gov- 
 ernor, now said, suddenly: 
 
 “If you do go on to-morrow, do you realize that it must 
 be without escort?” 
 
 “Yes,” replied young Gray, “but that doesn’t worry us.” 
 
 “You have the valor of ignorance,” said the Governor, 
 scornfully. “Madam Whitman, Doctor, Mr. Gray, I will 
 make a suggestion. Come into the Hudson’s Bay Company. 
 Establish a school for us at Fort Vancouver. Life at the 
 fort, where Dr. McLoughlin lives, will be vastly congenial to 
 Madam Whitman. There will be unlimited opportunities to 
 make money, and to win advancement.” 
 
 Narcissa suddenly laughed. “Every moment, Governor, 
 you advance us in our estimate of our own importance! 
 After all, as we have reminded Captain Thing, this terri- 
 tory is held jointly by our two countries and you cannot 
 legally detain us or divert us. We are going on, and we are 
 going with the earnest desire not only to convert the savages 
 to Christianity, but to make way for Americans to settle on 
 the Columbia, if we discover it to be a land appropriate for 
 settlement.” 
 
 “You are aware, are you, madam, that the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company will lose money if this section ceases to be pre- 
 served for fur producing purposes? We are a cold-blooded 
 
36 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 corporation and we shall do all in our power to keep settlers 
 away from the Columbia.” 
 
 “Just how far does your power extend?” asked Narcissa, 
 quietly. 
 
 “That, Madam Whitman, remains to be seen,” replied the 
 Governor. “As a test, I make a suggestion. To-morrow, 
 turn southwest instead of northwest and establish your mis- 
 sion among the Indians of California.” 
 
 “But we have been directed by the American Board,” 
 said Marcus, impatiently, ‘to work among the Indians of 
 Oregon, whither we are going. . . . Captain Thing, I would 
 like to purchase four horses from you and a month’s supply 
 of flour, sugar and tea.” 
 
 It was Governor Simpson who replied. “I’m sorry, Dr. 
 Whitman, but, unless you agree to turn south to California, 
 the Hudson’s Bay Company cannot sell you anything.” 
 
 The doctor flushed angrily. “After this evening’s con- 
 versation, I’m not surprised.” 
 
 “T am astonished,” went on Governor Simpson blandly, 
 “that a well established institution like the American Board 
 of Commissioners should send an ill equipped expedition 
 to set itself against the Hudson’s Bay Company.” 
 
 “But the American Board,” returned Narcissa, “sent us 
 out for the sole purpose of doing missionary work among 
 the Indians. It did not dream but what you would be glad 
 to receive us.” 
 
 “Pray do not misunderstand me!” said the Governor, 
 hastily. ‘To receive you, socially, Madam Whitman, I 
 would consider a privilege. But the American Board has 
 sent you to us to undermine us.” 
 
 “Nothing of the sort,” growled the doctor. ‘This idea of 
 the wagon and all it signifies is mine! The Board has noth- 
 ing to do with it. We are sincere missionaries, but we are 
 Americans, before we are missionaries.” 
 
 Narcissa rose. “Well, Marcus, since we are to travel 
 
THE HORSE CANOE 37 
 
 without food supplies, it behooves us to get to sleep early and 
 conserve our strength.” 
 
 Marcus and young Gray rose with alacrity, and to the 
 surprise of Captain Thing and John Leslie, Governor Simp- 
 son made no objection to their departure. But when he had 
 finished bowing Narcissa out the door, he said abruptly to 
 Thing: 
 
 “What are their supplies?” 
 
 “Practically nothing, sir. They lived on jerked buffalo 
 meat and tea all the way from the ‘Rendezvous.’ ” 
 
 “And their horses?” 
 
 “Are in frightful condition, sir,” replied the Captain. 
 
 Governor Simpson dropped wearily into his chair and for 
 a long time, stared at the fire. Finally, he looked up to say, 
 with apparent irrelevance, “That’s a beautiful woman, and 
 a fine one, too.” He sighed, then went on, “She may have 
 influence enough over the other missionaries to get them to 
 start off without supplies. So even their scarecrow horses 
 must be lost for a day or so. It’s a scurvy trick, I know, 
 but—I must have time to work on her.” 
 
 Captain Thing nodded, then said, ‘““You must have left 
 Montreal very early, this year, sir. Rupert’s Land gave you 
 an early spring, I suppose.” 
 
 The Governor smiled, “No, Thing, the season was as 
 usual. But I received word on Peace River that these mis- 
 sionaries were coming and I made haste to help you. These 
 Whitmans are precisely the sort of people we must not have 
 in Oregon. If I can have a few years more, even two years, 
 before the Americans find a trail across the Rockies, I can 
 save this whole territory to England. Those two years, I 
 must have, at any cost!” 
 
 Young John Leslie spoke for the first time. “Dr. and 
 Madam Whitman are not the sort of people one can intimi- 
 date. Madam Whitman will enjoy a war of wits and the 
 doctor is a bulldog for tenacity. They are not my idea of 
 
38 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 missionaries. The Spaldings are the accepted type. What 
 sort of a doctor is Whitman, Captain Thing?” 
 
 “He’s an accredited physician. Left a good practise, I 
 understand, for this missionary work,” replied the Captain. 
 
 “Well, we have them safely delayed for a day or so, at 
 any rate,” sighed the Governor. “I’d like to retire, Thing, 
 and give a night’s sleep to the problem.” 
 
 Captain Thing rose and lighted the Governor’s bedromm 
 candle. 
 
CHAPTER IIl 
 JO BUFFALO 
 
 T dawn, the following morning, Marcus squatted before 
 
 a little fire of buffalo chips, watching with an air of 
 comical dismay, the unsavory balls of flour and water which 
 he was frying in buffalo tallow. Narcissa, setting out bat- 
 tered tin plates and cups on an oil cloth which she had 
 spread near the fire, caught his expression and laughed 
 softly : 
 
 “You are saying a last fond farewell to fried bread, aren’t 
 you, Monsieur the cook!” 
 
 Before Marcus could reply, Spalding came up with a pail 
 of water. “Eliza is poorly again. [ll take her some tea, 
 right away, please.” 
 
 “Sorry, Henry!” the doctor looked up from his cookery, 
 into the preacher’s irritated morning face. “The tea is 
 all out and our amiable hosts refuse to sell us any.” 
 
 Spalding uttered an exclamation of impatience. “Then we 
 shall have to buy from one of the traders!” 
 
 Marcus shook his head. “I’ve already made the rounds. 
 Every one, it seems, is as destitute as we are. Heat a little 
 milk for Mrs. Spalding. It will be better for her than tea, 
 anyhow.” 
 
 “Has Miles brought the cows up, yet, so’s I can milk?’ 
 demanded Spalding. “Or is he already working for Captain 
 Thing ?” 
 
 “He started after the herd, both horses and cows, a half 
 hour ago,” said Narcissa. “He should be here any minute 
 now, especially as breakfast is ready!” 
 
 And certainly Miles’ nose made a punctual timepiece, for 
 at the moment he raced into camp. “Breakfast ready?” he 
 
 39 
 
40 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 cried. “Say, I can’t find one of our beasts, hair, hoof or 
 hide. The Indians sure have driven them off.” 
 
 “Indians?” Narcissa and Marcus stared at each other, 
 consternation in their eyes. 
 
 “Could you get no trace of them, Miles?” asked the 
 doctor. “Who attended to hobbling them, last night!” 
 
 “T did,” answered Spalding. “They wouldn’t have wan- 
 dered by themselves, for I left them in a patch of grass 
 down by the river that they went for, ravenously, and there 
 was more than enough to keep them busy, all night.” 
 
 “This will bear looking into,” murmured Marcus. “Miles, 
 when you’ve finished your breakfast, borrow a horse, and 
 scour the valley. I’m going into the fort to make inquiries.” 
 
 But inquiries were futile. The employees of the Hudson’s 
 Bay Company were polite but astoundingly ignorant. 
 Baffled in the fort, Marcus went off to call on the Indian 
 encampment, a few hundred feet beyond the stockade. But 
 the Indians knew nothing nor did they have horses to sell 
 to the “Bostons.” 
 
 In the meantime, Spalding having joined Miles in the 
 search and Mrs. Spalding being asleep in the tent, Narcissa 
 ‘seated herself on a great rock that overlooked the valley and 
 gave herself over to thought. And it was here that Gov- 
 ernor Simpson found her. 
 
 Immaculately groomed, his white ruffles fluttering in the 
 breeze, he doffed his high hat and made a deep bow. 
 
 “Good morning, Madam Whitman !” 
 
 “Good morning, Governor Simpson 
 
 “May I join you in your contemplation of this wonder- 
 ful scene?” 
 
 Narcissa swept her riding skirt aside, and smiled, as she 
 said, “It’s fitting that we should contemplate it, jointly!” 
 
 The Governor seated himself, not so closely but what 
 he could observe easily the classic perfection of Narcissa’s 
 profile. 
 
 {?? 
 
JO BUFFALO 41 
 
 “You did not start at dawn, I see,” observed Simpson. 
 
 “You are discerning, being a Scotchman!” Narcissa raised 
 her eyebrows. “Our cattle seem to have grown impatient. 
 They have disappeared and my surmise is that they’ve gone 
 on into the Columbia valley to await our coming.” 
 
 “That would be a pity, indeed!” murmured Simpson, eye- 
 ing her blond braids and feeling a sudden aversion to all the 
 red-skinned beauties that graced the various Hudson’s Bay 
 Company posts. 
 
 Narcissa’s eyes twinkled. “I’m lost in admiration of your 
 sympathetic nature!” she exclaimed. 
 
 “And I,” retorted the Governor, “am lost in admiration 
 of your valor in undertaking this adventure.” 
 
 “One needs very little personal valor when taking the 
 trip with a man like Dr. Whitman,” observed Narcissa. “He 
 thinks of everything. He does everything.” 
 
 “You're a bride, so your enthusiasm is excusable,” smiled 
 Simpson. 
 
 “My enthusiasm needs no excuse!” cried Narcissa, her 
 face flushing. 
 
 “Nay, but your marriage does,” retorted the Governor, 
 coolly. 
 
 Narcissa rose. “What do you mean, sir? Apologize at 
 once !” 
 
 “T apologize,” the Governor rose with her. “My remark 
 did not in the least reflect on your husband’s excellent quali- 
 ties. He is a noble lad, in my estimation, a rough diamond, 
 but none the less a diamond, and a man to be feared by us, 
 in his fixed purpose. But I know my world, madam. I 
 have lived in it longer than you and I say to you frankly—” 
 
 Narcissa raised her hand as though to ward off a blow. 
 “Don’t say it, Governor Simpson, I am not interested.” 
 
 “Ah, but you are! You think of it day and night. You 
 were thinking of it, with desperation and tragedy in your 
 eyes, as I came upon you. I know my world, and women of 
 
42 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 culture in it do not marry uncultured men and undertake 
 a life suitable only to the farmer’s wife, except on the re- 
 bound from some unhappy affair of the heart.” 
 
 Narcissa’s eyes were dark with anger. Had she followed 
 her impulse, she would have swept away from the man 
 without a word. But she dared not do so. She must estab- 
 lish and keep a friendly relationship with this highest power 
 in Oregon territory. The Governor, watching her hand- 
 some face, with a clear and sympathetic gray eye, gave her 
 no opportunity to speak. 
 
 “T know precisely what you are thinking!” he went on, 
 gently. “That I am impertinent. That I presume on my 
 position. That you would annihilate me with a glance, were 
 it not so important for your party to maintain terms of 
 friendship with me. Dear Madam Whitman, I acknowledge 
 all that. But be patient with me, and let me explain myself!” 
 
 Narcissa did not speak. Still flushed, her eyes still dis- 
 dainful, she realized that there was that about this man 
 which one could not disdain. She did not speak. Her 
 loyalty to Marcus forbade that. But she did not leave him. 
 Her loyalty to the adventure bade her stay. She waited. 
 
 Governor Simpson looked slowly across the valley, to the 
 burning ranges to the west. 
 
 “The life one leads in the wilderness would mean, as far 
 as personal gain is concerned, nothing but sacrifice, were it 
 not for certain subtle qualities of mind one accumulates. 
 For my soul’s sake, I have kept to physical pomp and 
 formality. You have seen to what degeneracy careless habits 
 lead one on the plains? But also, for my soul’s sake, I have 
 cast aside those formalities of personal intercourse, which 
 clog and hold back men’s understanding of each other. You 
 and I will never, in all probability, see each other again. 
 I feel drawn toward you by all that could be fine in an 
 enduring and noble friendship. That we must be hostile to 
 each other is another sample of nature’s amazing wasteful- 
 
JO BUFFALO 43 
 
 ness. It must be so. Yet, I ask you, how can you con- 
 sider me impertinent when I see a person who roused in me, 
 immediately, feelings of profound admiration and _ liking, 
 immersed in an impossible situation, how can you, I repeat, 
 call me impertinent when I utter a word of comprehen- 
 sion?” 
 
 “My situation is in no sense impossible,” said Narcissa. 
 “T look forward with keenest intellectual relish, to attacking 
 its problems. You must waste no sympathy on me, Governor 
 Simpson.” 
 
 “Then you do not share that strong feeling of friendliness 
 that was born to me last night?” asked Simpson, his clear 
 eyes intent on hers. 
 
 “Yes, I do!” said Narcissa, suddenly. “But that doesn’t 
 mean that I can permit you to criticize my marriage.” 
 
 “It merely permits us to be enemies, then?” exclaimed the 
 Governor, with a smile. 
 
 “So long as you persist in opposing us, yes,” retorted 
 Narcissa. “Supposing, Governor, that we would give you 
 a solemn pledge not to try to help the American cause, but to 
 stick strictly to our endeavor to Christianize the Indians. 
 What would be your attitude ?” 
 
 Simpson shook his head. “Once white women have settled 
 on farms in the Columbia valley, a terrific blow has been 
 struck at the supremacy of our Company. But why discuss 
 it? You’d never make such a promise, eh?” 
 
 “Marcus and I were wondering if our duty to the Ameri- 
 ican Board did not demand it,” replied Narcissa, simply. 
 
 “*Twould not be enough!” the Governor’s voice was 
 brusk. “Madam Whitman, why not accept my offer of 
 last night? You and your confréres could found a wonder- 
 ful school, and who knows but what it might mean to the 
 Pacific coast and Rupert’s Land, in the dim future, what 
 Edinburgh and Cambridge Universities have meant to the 
 British Isles? What could be a more fitting work for you? 
 
44 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 McLeod was telling me, this morning, that you have a glori- 
 Ols singing voice that has received the finest of training. 
 Then, be Gad, we could establish a conservatoire—music 
 and the arts!” The Scotchman’s gray eyes burned with the 
 sincerity of his dream. “I have welded the Nor’west Com- 
 pany and the Hudson’s Bay Company, so that, commercially, 
 we are impregnable. But why should the Corporation be 
 purely commercial? Why should we not foster British 
 culture as well as British trade? Madame Whitman, join 
 me in this!” 
 
 Had he a full conception of how violent a temptation his 
 offer was to Narcissa? 
 
 She stood with her back to the crude stockade, staring at 
 the tortured orange ranges that blocked the way to the 
 northwest. Fort Hall was surrounded by no such chaos as 
 marked the American ‘‘Rendezvous.” Yet its crudeness, its 
 isolation, were unmistakable. And Fort Hall, Narcissa 
 knew, was a seething metropolis compared with the solitude 
 that awaited her, should their mission be established on the 
 Columbia. And isolation and crudeness did count with her, 
 she acknowledged to herself, for the first time since leaving 
 the Mississippi steamboat that had landed their party in 
 St. Louis. 
 
 Staring at the threatening ranges, Narcissa suddenly faced, 
 from a new angle, the life to which, in a moment of pro- 
 found emotionalism, she had committed herself. Where 
 now, suddenly looking at herself and her undertaking from 
 the point of view of the man beside her, was that soul stir- 
 ring emotion? With a deep sinking of the heart, she real- 
 ized that it was with her no longer. She closed her eyes for 
 a moment. And instantly, she saw the parlor of her Aunt 
 Hetty’s house in Bleecker Street in New York City, and 
 herself, standing beside the piano, singing, while she looked 
 down on the long, strong fingers of the man who was play- 
 ing her accompaniment. She had not loved this man, but 
 
JO BUFFALO 45 
 
 when he had asked her to marry him, she had consented, 
 for he epitomized for her the great passion of her life— 
 which was music. To go with him to Europe, to consum- 
 mate her dream of a singing career under his tutelage; for 
 this, she had told him frankly, she would marry him. 
 
 This had been two years ago. And even after two years 
 of contemplation, she could not believe that her father could 
 have been so blindly obdurate. She always had thought of 
 the judge as both tolerant and ambitious. Yet it had meant 
 nothing to him that the man his daughter wanted to marry 
 was a great composer. To Judge Prentiss he was merely 
 a foreigner, who wanted to carry his daughter to Paris, 
 there to lead her life living among grand opera goers! To 
 the deeply religious household in Angelica, there was some- 
 thing blasphemous in the very name, Paris. And such was 
 his hold in Narcissa’s deep heart, such was the strength of 
 the influence of the narrow home training, that Narcissa 
 gave in to the old judge. 
 
 The violence of her reaction, the judge had not antici- 
 pated. She gave up New York. She gave up her musical 
 studies and turned to church work. All the passion that she 
 had poured into the pursuit of her music, she poured into 
 the revival work to which her church was dedicated. For 
 months, she lived in a madness of soul-saving, a madness 
 that she cultivated to keep herself from dwelling on the 
 blissful days in Bleecker Street. 
 
 When, not seven months ago, Marcus Whitman, fresh 
 from his marvelous trip to the Indians of the West, had 
 come to the little church and had told, with his peculiar elo- 
 quence, of the needs of the savages, the whole town had 
 been stirred. For two months he had kept Angelica at fever 
 pitch. And Narcissa, whose love of adventure had helped 
 her to force her father to send her to New York to study, 
 felt suddenly an overwhelming desire to follow the track- 
 less way that would lead thousands of savage souls to God. 
 
46 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 When Marcus, buoyant, virile, on fire with his dreams of 
 carrying Christ across the Rockies, after a whirlwind wooing, 
 had pleaded with her to marry him and help him to establish 
 the mission for which the American Board had destined him, 
 she assented eagerly. Eagerly! Oh, how eager to leave 
 behind all the poignant reminders of the happy days of music 
 and of that music master, who had lifted her soul to the 
 very heights of God. 
 
 The excitement of this greatest of adventures had buoyed 
 her consistently, until their arrival at Fort Hall; until this 
 man of her own world, the world to which Marcus could 
 not belong, had turned her eyes inward. All night, she had 
 lain awake, among her sleeping comrades in the community 
 tent, appalled by a sudden realization of the coarsenesses, 
 the deprivations, the loneliness, the futility to which she 
 had dedicated her life. Her courageousness and her truth- 
 loving instincts told her that Captain Thing had been neither 
 lying nor exaggerating when he had told them that the 
 Indians could not be Christianized, that she would be dwell- 
 ing in the midst of alarms and horrors. She was not 
 physically afraid; but now, as she for the first time realized 
 that never again would she see men and women of Simp- 
 son’s type, that Indians, from whom already, she turned 
 away, sickened by their filth, that Indians and blasphemous 
 trappers, were to be her portion, nostalgia clutched her in- 
 most soul. 
 
 To establish a school at Fort Vancouver! What a way 
 out! She had heard much of Dr. McLoughlin at the 
 “Rendezvous,” of his brilliancy, of his high-handed ways, 
 and of the elaborate manner of life carried on at the fort. 
 And Narcissa knew temptation. 
 
 Governor Simpson waited patiently, white ruffles flutter- 
 ing below his stock, his fingers holding firmly to his cane. 
 It was long before Narcissa turned to him. She was a little 
 white about the lips, a little strained about the eyes. 
 
JO BUFFALO 47 
 
 “You must let me think about this thing, alone,” she said. 
 
 She turned from him abruptly and walked slowly past the 
 stockade toward the Indian tents that clustered south of the 
 fort. The Governor watched her for a moment, then he re- 
 turned to the fort where the Company’s accounts were await- 
 ing him. Narcissa, after gazing, unseeingly, at the gaily 
 decorated tepees, moved on down the valley. She would 
 walk until she had settled on an answer for Simpson. 
 
 After some three months on the plains, she had learned 
 several rules of the trail; one of the most important of these 
 being that, when in camp, one must never wander out of 
 sight of the tent. So now, absorbed as she was by her 
 thoughts, she did not fail, from time to time, to glance back 
 at the gleaming white walls of Fort Hall. The men had 
 scattered in their search for the live stock, to the north and 
 west, toward the Snake. Somewhere, back of her struggle 
 with Simpson’s temptation, the idea persisted that in the 
 sagebrush hills, several miles south of the fort, some trace 
 of the animals might be found. She had heard that the 
 Indians sometimes found grazing there for their herds. So 
 she moved steadily southward. 
 
 Narcissa was a swift and tireless walker. She frequently 
 had dismounted from her tired horse or had left the wagon, 
 on the long day’s trail, to tramp for miles over the trackless 
 way, just for the sheer joy of walking. So, now, she was 
 finding rest and refreshment in her splendid, swinging stride. 
 When she reached the hills, she carefully oriented herself, 
 then plunged rapidly into a little draw or valley that was 
 overgrown with sagebrush, higher than her head. But the 
 roots were thick-set with grass which mountain horses 
 would devour with gusto. 
 
 Watching, automatically, for herd signs, Narcissa prowled 
 in this sagebrush forest, for some time, then clambered to 
 the top of a rock heap for a view of Fort Hall. But she 
 could not discover it. Annoyed at herself for not keeping 
 
48 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 a closer watch, but not really worried, Narcissa turned to 
 the right, to clamber up the hillside, from which she was 
 certain she could obtain a better view. But the hillside 
 proved to be ugly and steep. Hampered by her heavy rid- 
 ing skirt, she gave up trying to climb it, after a few minutes 
 and decided to turn back on her own trail. But to her 
 annoyance, the valley floor at this point was covered with 
 a broken lava that retained no footprints. She wore loosely 
 around her neck, a handkerchief which she had purchased 
 at Fort Laramie, to be used, trail fashion, to cover her lips 
 and nostrils when dust was unbearable. This she removed 
 and fastened to the top of a sage bush by bending down a 
 tall branch. It was a brilliant yellow and she used it as 
 a beacon, while she beat about in a wide circle. But she 
 could not pick up her lost trail. 
 
 The sun had sunk below the hills but she knew that the 
 plains must still be covered with bright sunshine, and she 
 knew that, with the sun at her left, she must be facing north; 
 and northward lay the fort. But immediately to the north 
 lay the inhospitable wall of the valley into which she had 
 wandered so stupidly. She determined that she would scale 
 that wall, at whatever cost, positive that from its crest she 
 could see the fort. 
 
 Still with the kerchief fluttering on the shrub, she fastened 
 her skirt well above her knees and again attacked the ugly 
 climb. It was knee and elbow, toe and finger work; thrust- 
 ing the tips of her riding boots into cracks that cut the stout 
 leather, catching with her long, strong fingers at outcrop- 
 pings that tore her nails, moving now on hands and knees, 
 now hanging, uneasily, to a stout sagebrush root that cracked 
 ominously under her weight, now running eagerly up a few 
 feet of gentle slope to cast herself at a new outcropping of 
 the red rock that formed the hill. 
 
 She was frightened now, but not panic-stricken. She still 
 could see the yellow handkerchief, fluttering far below, and 
 
JO BUFFALO 49 
 
 the sky line above her grew nearer and nearer. She paused, 
 when about ten feet from the top, to recover her breath for 
 the last onslaught. And she wondered, while she rested, 
 if there would be danger from Indians if she shouted for 
 help when she reached the summit. She did not believe that, 
 so near the fort, Indians would molest her and she thought 
 it probable that she could persuade one of them to guide her 
 home. She thought over, hurriedly, her scant stock of the 
 Flathead and Pawnee tongues, then began the last leg of her 
 climb. Many precious minutes of daylight were consumed, 
 before she crawled on her hands and knees over the last 
 outcropping that separated her from the summit. Then, 
 without rising, she gazed eagerly about her. Little hills 
 stretched in every direction, most of them taller than the 
 one on which she crouched. She could not see the plains. 
 
 She began to tremble. No longer could she deny to herself 
 that her predicament was serious. She had heard terrible 
 stories about people who wandered from the trail; stories 
 of thirst, starvation and of death by wolves. She, herself, 
 had seen human bones that wolves had worried and gnawed. 
 As for Indians, sitting in the vast solitude, with not even a 
 swooping eagle to keep her company, she thought that one of 
 the good-natured bucks who hung around Fort Hall would 
 be really welcome. And yet she dared not call. There were 
 other than Flatheads in the country ; and with sudden, awful 
 force, she recalled the solemn warnings of Captain Thing. 
 
 She knew that as soon as Marcus missed her, he would 
 give an alarm. She believed that if they did not find the 
 stock grazing in the river bottom, the men would naturally 
 turn to these hills. But when would Marcus miss her? 
 When, if at all, would they turn southward? 
 
 She could, of course, give no answer to these queries. But 
 she refused to lose her head. She fought back her almost 
 overwhelming desire to run screaming along the hill top. 
 Instead, she decided to return to the little valley. Searchers 
 
50 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 would follow the valley, not these hostile crests. She made 
 the descent rapidly, the faithful kerchief beckoning her like 
 a little flame in the dusk of the draw. She reached her 
 starting place without mishap, rearranged her skirt and 
 stood gazing about her, trying to decide on her next move. 
 
 The decision, however, was made for her; for as she 
 stood, a mottled brown and white pony, bearing an Indian, 
 pushed suddenly through the bushes and stopped before 
 ner 
 
 The two stared at each other. Narcissa did not speak, 
 though she recognized this Indian. He it was, who, at the 
 “Rendezvous,” had hung about the mission tent more promi- 
 nently than any of the other braves. And when Marcus, 
 after great difficulty, had driven him away, one of the trap- 
 pers had expostulated. 
 
 “Don’t never hurt an Indian’s vanity. "Specially Jo Buf- 
 falo’s. He ain’t quite right in his mind and he’s meaner than 
 even most of these damn redskins. One of ’em will harbor 
 a grudge over a trifle for years.” 
 
 And this was Jo Buffalo grinning at her! 
 
 “You mak’ no fear,” he said, “Jo Buffalo not kill you. 
 He mak’ marry you.” 
 
 Narcissa forced herself to speak coolly. “Show me the 
 way to the fort and I will give you a great deal of money.” 
 
 Jo Buffalo shook his head. “Jo Buffalo rich. Have his 
 lodge up there,” raising his hand to the east. “No want 
 money. Want mak’ marry with white woman. White 
 woman with yellow hair. All Indians, they talk about her. 
 Jo Buffalo, he got her!” with a delighted laugh. 
 
 “Tf you do not take me back to the fort,” declared Nar- 
 cissa, with as haughty an air as she could muster, “the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company will punish you.” 
 
 The Indian shook his head. “You, Boston! Hudson’s 
 Bay Company glad to have Bostons die. Hudson’s Bay 
 Company not want white woman there,” pointing west. 
 
JO BUFFALO Dil 
 
 “Injuns not want white woman there. Bostons not stay 
 long where no white woman.” 
 
 Sharp resentment added itself to Narcissa’s fears. Was 
 ever a woman made as unwelcome to any new land, as she 
 was being made to Oregon? 
 
 “Nevertheless,” she said disdainfully, “you must leave 
 me in peace or Governor Simpson will have you shot. He is 
 my friend.” 
 
 “The Kitchie Okema?” asked Jo Buffalo. “Huh! Kitchie 
 Okema give orders Injuns run off Bostons’ cows, Bostons’ 
 horses, Bostons’ mules. He not friend.” 
 
 “How do you know he gave those orders?” asked Nar- 
 cissa, sharply. 
 
 Jo Buffalo shrugged his shoulders and dismounted. “You, 
 Yellow Hair, get on Jo Buffalo’s horse.” 
 
 “Why?” asked Narcissa, wondering if the Indian could 
 see the throbbing of her throat. 
 
 “Jo Buffalo mak’ marry you, in his lodge, to-night.” 
 
 “Vl kill myself, first,” said Narcissa, slowly, looking the 
 Indian full in the eye. 
 
 Jo Buffalo grunted with surprise. He glanced over his 
 Stalwart frame. He was a magnificent specimen of human- 
 ity. He stood well over six feet in height, and was possessed 
 of regular, aquiline features that were not without a certain 
 malignant beauty. Even the grotesque red calico shirt and 
 the ugly “store pants” could not greatly mar his savage 
 grace. 
 
 “Will kill yourself?” he asked, wonderingly. “You not 
 like mak’ marry Injun? Your buck not great man, like Jo 
 Buffalo.” 
 
 He sat down on the rock heap as though prepared to 
 argue indefinitely on the subject. 
 
 About an hour before Jo Buffalo’s arrival on the scene, 
 the doctor, with Gray and Spalding, returned to the tent. 
 
oe WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Their hunt for the live stock had been fruitless. Mrs. 
 Spalding, dozing within the tent, roused herself to express 
 a grievance. 
 
 “Sister Whitman hasn’t been near me since this morning! 
 I suppose the men around here are beau-ing her, same as 
 they did at Fort Laramie and the ‘Rendezvous.’ But she 
 never did neglect me this way before.” 
 
 “Well! Well!” laughed Marcus. “I don’t blame you for 
 complaining! I'll find her and do some complaining, myself. 
 Last I saw of her, she’ was talking to Governor Simpson. 
 Poor girl! I suspect she’s saying her farewell to civiliza- 
 tion! We'll have to forgive her.” 
 
 He appeared not to hear the derisive grunt with which 
 the preacher met these remarks and made his way, a little 
 dejectedly, perhaps, to the fort. Governor Simpson, looking 
 up from the accounts John Leslie and Captain Thing were 
 checking with him, greeted the doctor cheerfully. 
 
 “Well, Dr. Whitman, have you found your truant herd?” 
 
 Marcus shook his head. “No, Governor, I have not. May 
 I ask you gentlemen if you know anything of Mrs. Whit- 
 man’s whereabouts ?” 
 
 Captain Thing looked up quickly. “TI saw her about noon, 
 walking south of the fort.” 
 
 “TI saw her last,” said the Governor, “when she finished 
 talking with me by the great stone yonder, about half after 
 eleven.” 
 
 “T, too, saw her then,” added young Leslie. 
 
 “Mrs. Spalding hasn’t seen her all the afternoon!” ex- 
 claimed Marcus. “She must have strayed away—’ He 
 stopped abruptly and looked bitterly at the three men. “I 
 have neither horses nor food, though I have money to pay 
 for both. By the eternals, if you gentlemen do not allow 
 me—” 
 
 Simpson, rising suddenly, interrupted. “Whitman, the re- 
 sources of the fort are yours! Go out and search the Indian 
 
JO BUFFALO oe 
 
 lodges and question all the whites you see, while we organ- 
 ize a search party.” 
 
 Marcus’ tense face blanched. “Do you actually fear—” 
 he began. 
 
 But again the Governor interrupted him, this time with a 
 roar. “I fear the worst! Be Gad, didn’t we warn you? 
 Didn’t we explain to you?” 
 
 But Marcus’ roar drowned the Governor’s. “After all 
 your protests against my poor wife’s coming into Oregon, I 
 suppose you, sir, would be delighted if she were lost!” 
 
 “Be silent, you fool!” Simpson was shouting no longer. 
 His voice dropped to a little more than a harsh whisper. 
 “T would not have an Indian so much as touch the hem of 
 Madam Whitman’s skirt. Don’t waste time making insult- 
 ing innuendos, man!” 
 
 Marcus, with a groan of awful premonition, ran out into 
 the stockade. Several persons had observed Narcissa start 
 off on her walk. The doctor gathered all the meager in- 
 formation available and returned to the stockade, to find 
 a small search party organized. Few whites were avail- 
 able, for Factors McLeod and McKay had left that day. 
 Governor Simpson and Captain Thing, with Malcolm and 
 Gray, leaving John Leslie to keep the fort, represented the 
 white contingent. Monique and several of the other half- 
 breed voyageurs were on hand, chattering excitedly among 
 themselves. Marcus hastily mounted the horse provided for 
 him and the cavalcade was starting when Henry Spalding 
 ran in through the gates. 
 
 “Give me a horse, some one!” he cried. 
 
 “Your place is with your wife, Henry!” exclaimed 
 Marcus. 
 
 The preacher seized the bridle of Marcus’ horse and his 
 sallow face worked as he looked up at the doctor. “I knew 
 Narcissa Prentiss long before you did, Whitman! Tell them 
 to give me a horse.” 
 
 1»? 
 
54 WE MUS:1 MARCH 
 
 Governor Simpson nodded to Malcolm, and Spalding was 
 hoisted into the saddle of one of the extra mounts. The 
 party moved quickly out of the gates and started southward, 
 John Leslie and a handful of Indians silently watching their 
 departure. 
 
 Simpson had given his orders. Hunting in pairs, the party 
 was to spread fanwise and comb the valley, up into the hills 
 that rose to the south. 
 
 Marcus was to work with the Governor. They guided 
 their horses, zig-zag, across every draw and hillock for 
 some time, without speaking. But just before they reached 
 the first of the hills, a sort of despair seized the doctor. He 
 groaned aloud. 
 
 “I was a fool!” 
 
 “You were,” agreed Simpson grimly, glancing at Marcus 
 from beneath the brim of his gray beaver. “By the living 
 God, sir, how could you have had so little appreciation of 
 conditions, if you were at Green River last year, as to bring 
 her here?” 
 
 Marcus, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, thrust 
 his face into the Scotchman’s, both visages gray and set in 
 the sinking sun. “You don’t know what you're talking 
 about! Would she have married me unless I’d had the 
 founding of the mission to tempt her with?” 
 
 “It was absolutely necessary that she marry you, then?” 
 cried Simpson. “You and no one else? God, what selfish- 
 ness we men are capable of!” 
 
 He dug his spurs into his horse and plunged into the sage- 
 brush thicket that choked the little valley. With a groan, 
 Marcus followed him. Working through the sagebrush was 
 a heart-breaking job. The horses detested it and showed 
 their dislike by bucking and shaking their heads and kicking 
 as the prickly shrub tore at their manes and flanks. Their 
 progress was slow until, beyond them, sounded a boy’s 
 angry voice. 
 
JO BUFFALO SS 
 
 “Oh, you would, would you, you dirty, stinking Snake, 
 you! Ill show you!’ 
 
 “Miles!”’ shouted Marcus. “Miles! We're coming! 
 Doctor Whitman and Governor Simpson.” And the two 
 horses, suddenly roweled to the bone, leaped toward the 
 sound of the boyish voice. 
 
 Against a tall rock stood Narcissa. As Marcus and 
 Simpson appeared, an Indian dropped his hands from Miles 
 Goodyear’s throat and flung himself on his pony, then 
 crashed away through the underbrush. 
 
 “Catch him!’ shrieked Miles. “Catch him! It’s Jo 
 Buffalo!” 
 
 “We'll get him at our leisure,” said Simpson grimly, 
 watching the doctor, who had thrown himself from his 
 horse, with a great cry: 
 
 “Narcissa! Are you hurt?” 
 
 “Not at all, except for a twisted wrist,” replied Narcissa, 
 her voice a little uneven. “He had just grasped me to force 
 me aboard his horse when Miles came. I must have held 
 him in parley for an hour. I even sang to him!” 
 
 “It was the singing I heard,” panted Miles. “I’d hear 
 you sing ‘The Poor Exile of Erin’ if you were in heaven and 
 I was in hell.” 
 
 “T think I’d like to sit down a moment,” said Narcissa, 
 looking about her vaguely. 
 
 Governor Simpson laid his blue cape against the rock. 
 “Lean on this, Madam Whitman!” 
 
 Narcissa, helped by the two men, slid to the ground and 
 lay back against the cloak-draped rock, her eyes closed, her 
 face deathly white in the afterglow. 
 
 “Has she fainted?” gasped Miles. 
 
 “No!” murmured Narcissa, with a little twisted smile. 
 “I’m just enjoying my fright, now!” 
 
 Simpson cleared his throat. “How did you come here, 
 Master Goodyear ?” 
 
56 WE MUST MARCH | 
 
 “Oh, I was scouting after the horses and cows and I 
 just got ’em located up the valley here, where an Injun 
 has them cached, when I heard Mrs. Whitman singing. I 
 knew something was wrong, for sure. I wanted to sneak 
 quietly away from the Indian that had the herd and doing 
 that I came up to Mrs. Whitman just as she was trying to 
 pull her arm away from Jo Buffalo. Say, I gave him the— 
 er gosh dingdest kick I ever gave any one, right in the—er— 
 stomach.” 
 
 “Well,” said the Governor, “you are a credit to the 
 Hudson’s Bay Company, young sir! Now, climb you up on 
 the hillside yonder and fire your gun three times. That’s 
 the signal ‘All’s well’ to the other searchers.” 
 
 Miles replied with an embarrassed air: “I—I haven’t got 
 any ammunition. That’s why I didn’t shoot Jo Buffalo and 
 that Injun that stole our herd.” 
 
 “How did you waste your powder and shot?” demanded 
 the Governor. 
 
 “Waste it!” retorted Miles. “Gosh, I ain’t had any for 
 amonth! I just carry this gun to scare folks with.” 
 
 “T see!” chuckled Simpson. “Take the powder-horn 
 from my saddle and load your gun, quickly.” 
 
 Marcus, chafing Narcissa’s hands, watched her with agon- 
 ized solicitude. 
 
 “Don’t try to move till you feel quite yourself again, my 
 dear wife,” he said, as, at the sound of Miles’ first shot, 
 she sat erect. | 
 
 “I shall do very well now,” replied Narcissa. “You 
 haven’t asked me, Marcus, what I was doing so far from 
 the forty 
 
 “T was too happy to have found you to bother about that. 
 But since you remind me, how could you be so foolhardy, 
 Narcissa?” asked the doctor, his great voice astoundingly 
 genrtle. 
 
 “T, too, was hunting for the lost herd,” said Narcissa, 
 
JO BUFFALO $7 
 
 looking, however, not at Marcus but at Governor Simp- 
 son. “Of course, now that Jo Buffalo will have warned his 
 colleague, the herd is lost forever.” 
 
 “Not so!” declared Simpson. “I shall put Malcolm in 
 charge to bring it in. Jo Buffalo will have gotten into the 
 mountains, but eventually we shall have him too.” 
 
 Narcissa stared at the Scotchman, enigmatically, then she 
 held out her hands to her husband. “If you will help me to 
 rise and mount your horse, Marcus, I'll be glad to start for 
 Ser tort. | 
 
 “Are you quite fit?” exclaimed Simpson. 
 
 “Quite!” replied Narcissa, as she rose and smoothed back 
 her shining hair. “Though I do feel as I suppose poor Henry 
 Spalding felt when that tornado struck him near Fort 
 Leavenworth. You remember, Marcus, that what afflicted 
 him most was that he seemed to be the butt of every mishap 
 that visited the convoy. “Why does everything happen to 
 me, he whimpered a dozen times. And that’s my kind of 
 a plaint. Why should all the hostility to the Americans, 
 entering Oregon, center on me?” 
 
 “But Jo Buffalo evidently had no hostility to your enter- 
 ing Oregon,” said Simpson grimly. 
 
 “No,” replied Narcissa, “but he feared no punishment 
 from the one source of justice here, your Company, because 
 he knew of your hostility to me.” 
 
 “And yet, Narcissa,’ interjected Marcus quickly, “the 
 moment he heard that you had disappeared, the Governor 
 placed all the resources of the Company at my disposal.” 
 
 Narcissa smiled. “He was a generous enemy in that, of 
 course!” 
 
 “Come! Come! Madam Whitman, you mustn’t make 
 me seem a brute when my heart was in my throat at the 
 thought of your possible fate!” cried Simpson heatedly. 
 
 “T am grateful to you!’ Narcissa exclaimed, “‘and doubly 
 so when I was so culpably careless in what I did.” 
 
58 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Then mount and start homeward,” said the Governor. 
 “Doctor, take my horse and I’ll wait for the others to find 
 us.” 
 
 “Not at all, sir!’ replied Marcus, on whom, in spite of 
 his opposition, the dignity of the Governor of Rupert’s Land 
 was making an impression. ‘With your permission, I'll 
 send my wife on with you and I'll remain with Malcolm to 
 bring in the herd.” 
 
 “Very well!” agreed the Governor, “if Madam Whit- 
 man consents.” 
 
 Narcissa smiled and the Governor gave his horse its head, 
 to make the shortest way out of the sagebrush. It was not 
 until they were clear of the little valley and moving toward 
 the beacon-light kindled at the fort, for their guidance— 
 darkness had fallen by the time they had CniCte Gaia 
 either of the riders spoke. 
 
 Then Narcissa said quietly, “Lest we are not alone again, 
 I will tell you now, Governor Simpson, that I must refuse, 
 with thanks, your offer concerning the founding of the 
 school.” 
 
 “I’m exceedingly sorry to hear that,” remarked the Gov- 
 ernor. “Will you, perhaps, give me reasons?” 
 
 “I have many reasons, sir,” replied Narcissa. “You 
 know them all; loyalty to the American Board, to my hus- 
 band’s ambitions, to my religious convictions and his; to 
 the religious convictions, most of all, so far as reasons go. 
 But the immediate cause of the decision is anger.” 
 
 “Anger ?” repeated her companion. 
 
 “Yes, sir, anger! Anger at you! You stooped very low, 
 Governor Simpson, when you stole our pitiful herd of 
 live stock from us. I will not associate myself with a per- 
 son or a concern that will so lower itself. More! I tell 
 you that, if our animals are fit to travel to-morrow, we 
 leave without supplies, for the Columbia.” 
 
JO BUFFALO 59 
 
 “T did not steal your live stock, madam,” declared Simp- 
 son, impatiently. 
 
 “You ordered it cached, for how long I do not know nor 
 care,” replied Narcissa. 
 
 “Do you realize what you are saying?’ demanded the 
 Governor. 
 
 “IT do, indeed,” answered Narcissa. “I realize that I’m 
 making a powerful enemy for our future mission.” She 
 laughed a little sadly as she spoke. “And yet, we might 
 have been great friends! One cannot lose that rarest of 
 all the gifts of life, a true friend, without grief.” 
 
 “You are quite correct,” agreed Simpson, with a bitter 
 note in his voice. “If you can endure it, madam, I’d be 
 glad to spur to a gallop for the remaining way to the fort.” 
 
 And nothing more was said during the ride. 
 
 Narcissa had made her peace with Eliza Spalding, who 
 wept tears of gratitude over her friend’s safe return, and 
 had eaten her supper of jerked beef, before the men of the 
 mission party returned. After the confusion of explanation 
 and comment concerning Narcissa’s escapade had died 
 down, young Gray said, looking up from feeding the camp 
 fire round which all but Mrs. Spalding were seated: 
 
 “Captain Thing warned me that the only way our women 
 folks could hope for safety would be for us to kill Jo 
 Buffalo.” | 
 
 “Our women folks are going to know safety from now 
 on,” declared Marcus. “I’m going to procure safe conduct 
 for them back to the States, while we men go on and estab- 
 lish our mission. I’ve had my lesson.” 
 
 William Gray heaved a vast sigh of relief. “That’s the 
 best news I’ve had for a long time! They can come by ship 
 round the Horn, when we’ve made a place for them.” 
 
 Henry Spalding looked from Marcus to William, from 
 William to Narcissa. “Just for a year, perhaps,” he said, 
 
60 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 carefully. “Though it will be very difficult for me to get 
 along without Eliza.” 
 
 “Oh!” exclaimed Narcissa, looking half sadly, half re- 
 proachfully at the men. “Oh! Why was IJ so stupid as 
 to wander off as I did? You must all of you try to believe 
 that ve had my lesson and that I don’t have to be sent 
 home like a naughty child. Nor ought you to punish Mrs. 
 Spalding for my carelessness.” 
 
 “Tt’s not a question of punishment, Narcissa,” said the 
 doctor, ‘I’m terrified! Only the grace of God saved you 
 to-day from worse than death.” 
 
 “The grace of God, working through Miles Goodyear.” 
 Narcissa was a little pale as she made the addition. “I 
 was very, very culpable in my heedlessness, Marcus. I 
 promise you that it will not happen again.” 
 
 “T’m sure you never will stray again,” replied Marcus, 
 “but that’s not the end of the matter. We are going to 
 live among these savages and it’s evident that the warnings 
 of Thing and the Governor were based on knowledge. The 
 red brutes are going to pursue you white women.” 
 
 “Marcus,” Narcissa’s voice was tense,—‘“I can’t go baek! 
 All the interest, all the hopes of my life are centered on 
 the founding of the mission. You need us. Henry has 
 admitted that.” 
 
 “But aren’t you afraid for yourself, Mrs. Whitman?’ 
 asked William Gray. 
 
 “Terribly afraid,” admitted Narcissa. “But more afraid 
 to go back to the States with my work undone. Danger 
 or no danger, none of you has a right to ask it of me.” 
 
 Her low voice broke and she paused. How could she 
 explain to these three that, in spite of the really horrible 
 experience of the afternoon, she had a greater dread of 
 Angelica than of the Columbia country; that she could not 
 possibly return to the emptiness and grief that dogged her 
 there; that the gleam of a great task beckoned her, greater 
 
JO BUFFALO 61 
 
 far than she had realized it to be, before she had met the 
 Governor of Rupert’s Land; that, since meeting him, the 
 sense that a deeply significant combat impended, had roused 
 her every fighting faculty, and that, with Simpson leading 
 the opposing forces, she knew, instinctively, he had selected 
 her as leader of her side. Well, he should not be disap- 
 pointed } 
 
 “After all,” she said aloud, “I am a responsible human 
 being with a right to make my own decisions, disposing of 
 my own life. I choose to go on.” 
 
 “But, Narcissa—” began the doctor, impatiently. 
 
 “Please, Marcus,” interrupted Narcissa. ‘Don’t let’s 
 argue about it. We settled our plans last March, in An- 
 gelica. Were they based on so trivial a foundation that we 
 can cast them aside at the first breath of danger ?”’ 
 
 “I’m with you, Narcissa!” exclaimed Henry Spalding, 
 with so unwonted a note of approval in his harsh voice 
 that every one looked at him in astonishment. “And 
 Eliza’ll do what I tell her to.” 
 
 “You've made greater progress in wife training in your 
 five months of marriage than I have in mine!” exclaimed 
 the doctor, laughing ruefully and looking at Narcissa, with 
 an expression half admiring and half reproachful. 
 
 “What condition is the live stock in?” she asked suddenly. 
 
 “A little the better for their day of seclusion, I think,’ 
 replied William Gray. 
 
 “Then let’s start for Fort Boise in the morning,” sug- 
 gested Narcissa. “We’re no worse off than we were for a 
 week before we got here. They say we can buy salmon 
 from the Digger Indians, farther along the Snake River, 
 and perhaps venison too. If the Company can prevent their 
 selling to us, then we can live on beef and find what graz- 
 ing we can for the stock. Only let’s go on.” 
 
 “T’ll agree to that on one condition.” The doctor leaned 
 toward Narcissa and his face was grimly determined in the 
 
62 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 firelight. “That you begin to-morrow to learn the use of 
 a gun and that you carry one with you constantly from this 
 day forth, till we reach safety.” 
 
 “T promise!” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 
 “What do we do about Jo Buffalo?” asked William Gray. 
 
 “Apply our accepted Indian policy to him,” replied Nar- 
 cissa. ‘Let us make every effort to entice him to our mis- 
 sion and convert him.” 
 
 “Well, I hope my Indian policy is applicable to me and 
 mine as well as to other folks,” said Marcus. “But that 
 Indian, never, if I can prevent it, will come within a hun- 
 dred miles of our mission. Outside of that, ?m willing to 
 leave him in the Lord’s hands.” 
 
 There was a moment’s silence around the little fire. As 
 Marcus spoke, Narcissa seemed to hear again Captain 
 Thing’s statement: “If you go among the Indians with your 
 ‘turn the other cheek’ policy, instead of ‘an eye for an eye,’ 
 you court the most terrible disaster.” And, though it had 
 been she who suggested the treatment of Jo Buffalo, a sud- 
 den awful qualm shook her at Marcus’ acquiescence. But 
 only for a moment. When she rose to say good-night, it 
 was with a feeling of keen exhilaration. On the morrow 
 the combat would begin. 
 
CHAPTER IV _ 
 THE PILLAR OF FIRE 
 
 HE mission party breakfasted, at dawn, on venison 
 
 steak and hot water. Immediately after, at Marcus’ 
 
 suggestion, Narcissa went to the fort, to present an official 
 farewell for all. 
 
 She found the Governor, with his secretary and Captain 
 Thing, early as it was, hard at work on accounts. He re- 
 ceived her with the greatest formality and politeness, and, 
 rather to her surprise, accepted without comment her an- 
 nouncement of the impending exodus. Narcissa left him, 
 feeling not a little puzzled by his complacent attitude. She 
 would have been enlightened could she have heard Simp- 
 son’s reply to Captain Thing’s protest. 
 
 “But, Governor, after your hurried journey, and all, to 
 give in to them so tamely!”’ 
 
 “Not tamely, Captain! Only temporarily! After all, one 
 could not treat a group containing Madam Whitman as one 
 would a handful of cheap American traders. I was, Ill 
 admit, absolutely certain that if I could reach her, in time 
 to offer them a bribe, I could handle the matter easily. And 
 I could have dealt with Whitman and Spalding, but not 
 with Madam. Her motives are as complex as her hus- 
 band’s are simple.” 
 
 “Do you mean, sir, that you’ve given up?” asked John 
 Leslie. “I can’t believe it, when I think of that mad 
 journey of ours!” 
 
 “Given up!” ejaculated Simpson. “My mannie, you 
 don’t know me! I’ve only begun!” The Governor paused 
 in his rapid stride up and down the crude room, and drew 
 
 63 
 
64. WE MUST MARCH 
 
 himself to his full height. “An imbecile king robbed us of 
 the Atlantic coast, but, mark ye, no careless, spineless Gov- 
 ernor shall rob us of the Pacific coast. It’s only a poltroon 
 who thinks when the enemy has passed his first outpost that 
 his kingdom is lost. Indeed, history shows us that some 
 of the most decisive victories in the world have been won 
 by enticing the enemy over the border, then surrounding 
 him and forcing him to cut his way out. By the living God, 
 these Whitmans, before I’m through with them, will be 
 glad to escape to the States and to warn all America against 
 the troubles that beset them!” 
 
 He paused, looking out the door into the burning sun- 
 light, the dazzling light of early morning. 
 
 “Look at her!’ he exclaimed, staring at Narcissa who 
 stood near the stockade gates talking to Miles Goodyear. 
 “Isn't that a figure of a woman for you! She’d grace a 
 duke’s hall, and because of, God, He knows, what destiny, 
 she had to be born of some obscure, little ha’penny Ameri- 
 can judge, marry a coltish pioneer and give her beauty to 
 keeping an adobe hut!” 
 
 No one answered him. The three men, each absorbed by 
 his own thoughts, watched Narcissa until, with her hand 
 on Miles’ arm, she moved away. Then the Governor said 
 with a sigh: 
 
 “Oh, well! We'll give her a send-off worthy of her met- 
 tle. John, have out the pipers when they leave,” and he 
 turned back to the lists of beaver packs. 
 
 Narcissa kept her hand on Miles’ arm while she looked 
 him over. “So your new duties have begun, Miles! And 
 already you are in livery, as it were.” 
 
 Miles, grinning broadly, looked down at his handsome 
 deerskin tunic and trousers, at the beaded moccasins, the 
 brace of pistols and the hunting knife. 
 
 “On the whole, since you won’t come with us to the 
 mission,” Narcissa went on, “I’m glad you are to be with 
 
THE PILLAR OF FIRE 65 
 
 the Hudson’s Bay Company. Enemies to us as they insist 
 on being, still one must admit that their methods produce 
 men of a high order. Miles,” abruptly, “I’ve said very 
 little to you of what you did for me yesterday. What I 
 want you to feel about it is this. I owe it to you that I 
 still possess all that makes life worth while to a woman. 
 I shall never, for one moment, day or night, forget that! 
 And day and night, I shall be giving you the sort of loyalty 
 and faith that your mother would give you if she were 
 living. You have it in you, Miles, to grow to a very noble 
 manhood. Don’t let me ever grow to feel, will you, that 
 I owe what I owe to a man who is any less than the finest 
 there is in you to be?” 
 
 Miles was nearly as tall as Narcissa. He flushed a little 
 as she began to express her sense of obligation, but before 
 she had finished his young awkwardness dropped from him. 
 He stood erect, gazing at her from a pair of very fine blue 
 eyes that suddenly gleamed with tears. 
 
 “T promise I'll keep straight for you, Mrs. Whitman!” 
 he exclaimed. “And I never break a promise.” 
 
 “TI know you don’t,” replied Narcissa. “Thank you, 
 Miles.” She bent forward and kissed him, gently. “Good- 
 by, my boy! God keep you!” 
 
 The boy’s lips quivered. “He will if you ask Him, I 
 know!” he answered, unsteadily. Then he turned and 
 bolted for the store in the stockade. : 
 
 A few moments later, William Gray and Henry Spalding, 
 on their emaciated saddle horses, rounded up the dozen 
 heavily laden pack ponies and the little herd of milch cows, 
 and started them northwestward, up the valley. Narcissa 
 and Eliza Spalding, on a pair of very footsore pintos, fol- 
 lowed, and a moment later Marcus shouted: 
 
 “Hi, Jennie! Up, Jewell!’ and the old wagon racketed 
 into line. 
 
 It seemed as if they might go without a gesture from 
 
66 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 the fort; but when the wagon was well launched, four 
 figures, in kilts, lined up in front of the stockade, and all 
 the occupants of the fort appeared behind them. Above the 
 shouts of Spalding and Gray at the head, above the creak- 
 creak-creak of the old lady Conestoga, rose the shrieking of 
 the bagpipes: 
 
 “Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, 
 Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 But when will he return?” 
 
 Until the gigantic growth of sagebrush hid the little caval- 
 cade from sight, the piercingly sweet notes of the old song | 
 floated down the echoing valley. ... 
 
 Five days later the missionaries pitched their camp near 
 the American Falls of Snake River. 
 
 It had been rough going. Indescribably rough! Narcissa, 
 sitting that night within sound of the falls, with her diary 
 letter on her knee, was at a loss how to express in words to 
 her father and mother the hazards and hardships that had 
 beset them since leaving Fort Hall. For she had exhausted 
 her vocabulary before making this plunge into the Snake 
 River canyon! And now, with a country infinitely more 
 difficult, infinitely wilder, than any they had seen before, she 
 was left without means of expression! . 
 
 They had made camp too late to fish for salmon that 
 night, and Narcissa and Mrs. Spalding were hungry. The 
 dried meat they had purchased from some Snake Indians 
 they had met just after leaving Fort Hall, was dirty. Mag- 
 gots were breeding in it and no amount of boiling could make 
 it possible for the two women to enjoy it. The Indians had 
 sold them pemmican, too, but although the men really en- 
 joyed this universal food of the Rocky Mountain trails, the 
 women folks’ stomachs rebelled at the superfluity of buffalo 
 
THE PILLAR OF FIRE 67 
 
 nairs it contained. It was extraordinarily nourishing, as 
 well it might be, for it was made of dried buffalo meat 
 pounded to a fibrous powder. After being mixed with tal- 
 low, practically all the meat of an entire animal was com- 
 pressed into a small sack made of hide. But, in spite of 
 its highly nourishing quality, Mrs. Spalding could not keep 
 it on her delicate stomach, and Narcissa held her nose while 
 she ate her share! 
 
 When, the next morning at dawn, several dirty Digger 
 Indians appeared with salmon, both fresh and dried, they 
 were received with enthusiasm. Marcus purchased several 
 days’ supply; all the Indians had for sale, in fact, and 
 breakfast was a much enjoyed feast. From this time on, 
 for ten days, they traveled near enough to the Snake to keep 
 themselves fairly well supplied with this most delectable 
 fish, and Eliza Spalding throve greatly on it. 
 
 For the most part, they kept to the left bank of that amaz- 
 ing river, which swoops through a canyon eight hundred 
 miles long, with walls sometimes a mile high, a tortuous, 
 menacing, unutterably beautiful stream, which added its in- 
 hospitality to the already heavy balance against the feeble 
 little band that crept along its banks. 
 
 Now and again they were obliged to cross the Snake. 
 They accomplished this with incredible labor and danger, 
 sometimes on the backs of swimming horses, sometimes on 
 a precarious raft, made of an elk-skin stretched over a pile 
 of brush. Nor were they molested by Indians. It is difficult 
 to account for this, for they were moving through country 
 claimed by tribes who hated “Bostons.” But although their 
 camp was frequently visited by scowling braves who made 
 much conversation among themselves, apparently about the 
 two women, no harm was offered them. Narcissa, perhaps, 
 gave the true reason for their immunity from attack. Writ- 
 ing in her diary, by the flickering camp light, she said: 
 
 “Was there ever a journey like this performed where the 
 
68 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 sustaining hand of God has been so manifest? Surely the 
 children of Israel could not have been more sensible of the 
 pillar of fire by night than we have been of that Hand that 
 has led us thus safely on.” 
 
 Marcus, except for such slight help as he would allow 
 Narcissa to give him, struggled alone with the wagon. Every 
 day saw him a little more ragged, a little more worn, and, 
 what worried him more than his own condition, saw Jennie 
 and Jewell become so lame and so emaciated that their very 
 kicks became only feeble suggestions of resentment. But 
 no one heard the doctor complain; and at last, in reluctant 
 admiration of his perseverance, even Henry Spalding ceased 
 to jibe at him. 
 
 They reached Fort Boise, on a little river tributary to the 
 Snake, about the middle of August. This was a fort by 
 courtesy only. It was really a tiny camp, more like a horse 
 corral than a place of defense, which had recently been estab- 
 lished by the British company. It was occupied by Thomas 
 McKay, the Hudson’s Bay Company’s factor, who had left 
 Fort Hall a day before the mission party. The spot was as 
 lonely as a raft in the wide ocean. 
 
 After their treatment at Fort Hall, no one had much hope 
 that supplies could be procured here. But McLeod, who 
 was stopping with McKay before proceeding to Fort Van- 
 couver, sent to Narcissa, the evening they arrived, a half 
 dozen fat ducks, a part of a great number his hunters had 
 brought in that day. 
 
 The gift touched the missionaries deeply. They had ex- 
 pected nothing, and this bit of human kindliness cheered 
 them. It gave Marcus courage to approach McKay on the 
 subject of Jennie and Jewell. After supper, he asked the 
 factor to come out and examine the mules. Two pitiful 
 heaps of bone and hide, they lay in the sagebrush, with 
 strength only to raise their heads for an occasional bite of 
 the wild hay Marcus had piled near them. 
 
THE PILLAR OF FIRE 69 
 
 “Would you swap me these for a couple of horses, Mr. 
 McKay ?” asked Marcus. 
 
 But the factor shook his head. “I haven’t an animal to. 
 spare, Doctor. Oh, come now!” as Marcus looked skeptical, 
 “you must believe me! Examine my corral for yourself. 
 Those little Indian ponies are too light for your purpose.” 
 
 Marcus drew a long breath, and stared at the mules. He 
 knew that only months of rest would make them fit again. 
 And the factor was right, Indian ponies were useless. 
 
 “Leave the wagon and mules with me,” suggested McKay. 
 “T’ll get them in shape for the use of them. When you can, 
 return for them. Or else,” as Marcus hesitated, “take the 
 cart to pieces, wrap it up in “parfleches’ and pack it the rest 
 of the way. My advice is, leave—” but he did not complete 
 his sentence. Marcus was staring at Jennie and Jewell with 
 an expression of grief that caused the factor to turn away 
 as 1f on sudden business. 
 
 It was nearly dark when Narcissa found Marcus sitting 
 on the ground with Jewell’s head on his knee. He was 
 talking to the mule in a low voice. Narcissa put her hand 
 on the doctor’s shoulder. 
 
 “T’ve been talking to Mr. McLeod,” she said. “He insists 
 that he cannot help us with fresh animals.” 
 
 “T know,” mumbled the doctor. “Well, I’ll leave the outfit 
 here. We're only two weeks from the Columbia, and it’s 
 to be clearly understood that I’ll return for them.” 
 
 Narcissa patted his drooping shoulder. “I know how you 
 feel! Tl help you to return for old lady Conestoga. But 
 don’t misunderstand me, Marcus, when I say that, bitterly 
 as I regret this frustration of your hope, I feel a certain 
 relief. You are almost as tired as poor Jewell. Why, you 
 don’t look like the same man who asked me in January to 
 marry him! You aren’t, by any chance, a changeling, are 
 you, Marcus?” with a whimsical smile. 
 
 Marcus sighed ruefully. “Perhaps I am. I know I’m a 
 
70 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 much more dejected man than the one who asked you to 
 marry him.” 
 
 “Oh, but, Marcus, you mustn’t begin to despond now! 
 Why, the fight hasn’t really begun!” 
 
 Marcus placed Jewell’s pitiful head gently on the ground 
 and rose. “The fight?” he repeated. “Oh, that doesn’t trou- 
 ble me!’ He stared at his wife in the fading light. Travel- 
 worn as she was, her beauty was undimmed. “Narcissa! 
 Narcissa!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “When I was so sure I 
 could make you love mie, I was living in a fool’s paradise.” 
 
 Narcissa’s fine hands came together with a gesture at once 
 regretful and appealing. “Oh, don’t say that! I was 
 honest with you, Marcus, that January afternoon. I told 
 you that I admired and respected you, and I told you that 
 was all.” 
 
 “Yes, you were honest, dear Narcissa,” said Marcus, 
 huskily. “I am not reproaching you. It’s only that every 
 day I live with you, I love you more. And—why, Narcissa, 
 I'd be in heaven if you gave me a tenth of what plain little 
 Eliza Spalding gives that cross-grained man of hers.” 
 
 Narcissa’s lips quivered. “I want to do and be all that 
 can make you happy, Marcus!” 
 
 “I know you do! Don’t misunderstand me. You are 
 wonderful on the trail. It must be distasteful to you, but 
 you don’t complain and you are the life cf the expedition, 
 with your singing and all. Mrs. Spalding, good and kind as 
 she is, can’t hold a candle to you. It’s just that—Oh, Nar- 
 cissa, I love you! I love you! I love you!” With a de- 
 spairing fling of his arm, he turned away. 
 
 For a long time, Narcissa stood motionless, then with a 
 sigh that was almost a sob, she went into the tent. 
 
 The transfer of the handful of luggage that had been car- 
 ried in the wagon was not accomplished without a good deal 
 of conversation. All the way from the Missouri, the men 
 had been leaving behind cherished boxes and packages, 
 
THE PILLAR OF FIRE rp} 
 
 learning, as they went, of the fearful cost to their pack ani- 
 mals of every pound. The wagon contained a few of Nar- 
 cissa’s personal belongings that she had clung to over all 
 the doctor’s protests, and their last tightening of the outfit 
 was costing her dear. She was fairly resigned, however, 
 until Marcus dumped the small trunk to the ground. 
 
 “T’ll take the clothing out of that,” she said, “and make it 
 into small parcels for the pack horses.” 
 
 “Leave my stuff,’ ordered the doctor. “I'll never want 
 broadcloth or nankeen again!” 
 
 Narcissa, who was turning over the contents of the trunk 
 which were wrinkled and mildewed from many wettings in 
 many streams, looked up at her husband with an expression 
 of irritation not often discernible in her sweet-tempered 
 eyes. 
 
 “We are going to take your good clothes, Marcus! Out 
 here, it will be absolutely necessary to fight for the amenities 
 of life. Otherwise we'll all revert as have these men we see 
 all about us. Most of them are no better than the Indians, 
 in their personal habits. Part of the chore of women in this 
 country will be to keep ideals of personal decency alive in 
 the men.” 
 
 “But broadcloth, Narcissa! It’s absurd!” 
 
 “Very well,” retorted Narcissa. “If you leave your good 
 clothes behind, I'll leave mine. If you revert permanently to 
 deerskin, so shall I!” 
 
 “You have me there!” laughed the doctor. “I couldn’t 
 bear not to see you in pretty clothes again, especially in the 
 gray silk. You wore that the afternoon I proposed to you. 
 I can see you now, standing beside the pianoforte, with the 
 dress all billowy about you, and the white lace falling over 
 your beautiful hands. You just fitted into that fine old 
 parlor full of mahogany and books.” 
 
 Marcus’ eyes were suddenly filled with pain, then lower- 
 ing his great voice, he said softly, “Keep your pretty things, 
 
72 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 my dear wife, and take my broadcloth along, if it will make 
 you any happier.” 
 
 Thus it was that the gray silk and the blue broadcloth, 
 with the nankeen trousers and flowered vest, made their way 
 over the mountains to the Columbia. 
 
 Unencumbered by the wagon, their rate of travel was 
 materially increased after leaving Fort Boise. They were 
 much heartened, too, by the fact that Factor McLeod, with 
 a considerable convoy, went with them. The missionaries 
 were puzzled at first to know just why this was done, but 
 they were not left long in doubt. The quiet Scotchman 
 constituted himself something that was a combination of 
 watchman and teacher. He expressed himself as scandalized 
 by the tariff paid by the missionaries to the Digger Indians. 
 
 “You ruin everything, you Americans!” he groaned. 
 “Either you must overpay the savages or you must debauch 
 them and earn their hatred. You were given our scale of 
 prices at Fort Hall. Why could you not have the good sense 
 to follow it?” 
 
 “Because it seemed atrociously small,” replied William 
 Gray, flatly. “Two fish hooks for a twenty-pound salmon. 
 That’s not decent.” 
 
 McLeod flushed. ‘“‘You’re to understand, sir, that the 
 scale of prices worked out by the Hudson’s Bay Company is 
 the result of over a hundred and fifty years’ experience in 
 trading with Indians, years in which the Indians have been 
 content. Our Company will not tolerate your coming in 
 here and upsetting our trade.” 
 
 “T don’t see what you can do about it!” blurted Gray. 
 
 “We can refuse, ourselves, to sell you supplies,” replied 
 the Scotchman gravely. 
 
 “Oh, well, we expect that anyhow!” the young man 
 shrugged his shoulders. The two were riding behind the 
 pack animals. When Gray made his half-insolent gesture, 
 McLeod silently rode ahead. 
 
 A a a 
 
THE PILLAR OF FIRE 73 
 
 But this did not deter him from giving instructions on 
 the Hudson’s Bay Company’s methods to Marcus, whenever 
 opportunity occurred. And Marcus, that born mixer with 
 men, listened, commented affably, and promptly forgot most 
 of what was said. He had not the slightest intention of liv- 
 ing according to the British company’s program. 
 
 They climbed fierce ranges and descended into the lovely, 
 mountain-encircled basin of the Grande Ronde. Here they 
 gave their stock a full day’s grazing, then toiled onward, into 
 the Blue Mountains, the last range that lay between them 
 and the valley of the Columbia. Of all the terrible ranges 
 they had crossed, this seemed, to the weary little band, the 
 most terrible. The very horses were afraid and trembled, 
 as they stood sweating on the edge of the unspeakable de- 
 scents. The poor brutes were unshod and their hoofs were 
 split to the quick by the miles of broken stone over which 
 they had been urged. And still, as the end of the journey 
 was all but in sight, the beasts were urged on more piti- 
 lessly. A sudden desire for hurrying consumed the whole 
 party. It was as if they were fearful lest, at the last, some- 
 thing should occur to mar the unbelievable good fortune that 
 had attended them thus far. They made their camps hastily, 
 omitting many of the details for comfort that hitherto had 
 seemed so important. They took less care for the meals, rose 
 before dawn and eliminated the noon rest, reaching their 
 hastily chosen night camp after ten hours in the saddle, yet 
 only subconsciously noting their great weariness. The Prom- 
 ised Land was just beyond the last seemingly impregnable 
 wall that towered against the heavens. 
 
 At sunset, on the tenth day after leaving Fort Boise, they 
 topped the last mountain. Far, far below and for a vast dis- 
 tance beyond, lay a great valley, cut from north to south by 
 a silver ribbon, the Columbia. From the plains below, deli- 
 cate lavender mists rose toward the heavens which were 
 orange blue at the zenith and a fiery crimson toward the west, 
 
74 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 where the sun had sunk behind the mountain range. From 
 this range towered three gigantic, snow-capped peaks. 
 
 For a moment the travelers paused, eyes tear-dimmed, to 
 take in this view of the Promised Land, then they plunged 
 down the mountain side and camped in the valley. 
 
 Factor McLeod had a suggestion to make, when they 
 reached the valley. All the pack animals, even his own, were 
 too weary to keep up the terrific pace, which he, for reasons 
 of his own, had been only too glad to keep, when it had 
 been set by the missionaries. 
 
 The mission group had finished supper when the factor 
 strolled up with his suggestion. 
 
 “T must be in Fort Vancouver,” he said, “in seven days 
 time. We still are forty miles from Fort Walla Walla. It 
 will take the pack animals three days to cover that. And 
 poor Mrs. Spalding is not fit to move at a faster pace than 
 the pack train. Why should not Dr. Whitman and Madam 
 Whitman come on with me, on our freshest horses, to-mor- 
 row, reaching the fort to-morrow night? That will permit 
 me to introduce at least a portion of your party to Mr. Pierre 
 Pambrun, the factor in charge, and take part in the confer- 
 ence.” 
 
 “What conference, Captain McLeod?” asked Marcus. 
 
 “As to where you are to establish your missions,” replied 
 McLeod, coolly. 
 
 “T don’t want that conference held without me being 
 there!’ exclaimed Henry Spalding. 
 
 “T see no necessity for such a conference,” said William 
 Gray, his face flushing with indignation. 
 
 Narcissa eyed the Scotchman, thoughtfully. Ever since 
 leaving Fort Boise, she had been puzzling over the problem 
 of McLeod’s attitude toward them. Undoubtedly, he was 
 acting under orders from Governor Simpson. Evidently, 
 one of those orders was that the missionaries were to be 
 constantly under the eye of a Hudson’s Bay employee and 
 
 3 
 
THE PILLAR OF FIRE 75 
 
 McLeod, now pressed for time, was finding that order diffi- 
 cult to interpret, literally. He returned her keen look with 
 one equally keen. 
 
 “What do you say, Madam Whitman?” he asked. 
 
 “Let me consult Mrs. Spalding, before I express myself,” 
 replied Narcissa, rising and going into the tent, where Eliza 
 already was in bed. Narcissa lad developed a real affection 
 for this delicate, patient woman, and had learned, also, that 
 her common-sense verdicts were usually unassailable. Seat- 
 ing herself on the ground beside Eliza, she stated McLeod’s 
 proposition to her. 
 
 It was twilight within the tent ; but, even in that dim light, 
 the two women managed to exchange a look of singular in- 
 telligence. 
 
 “Do you think that conference had better be, Sister Whit- 
 man?” asked Eliza. 
 
 “Tt will be very enlightening, I think, as to the purposes of 
 the Hudson’s Bay Company,” replied Narcissa. “And you 
 know, somehow, we must have supplies. We'll die before 
 we can procure things from the Sandwich Islands. Do you 
 recollect that our plows and garden implements were all left 
 at Fort Laramie with the understanding that we could buy 
 from Fort Vancouver ?” 
 
 “I know,” sighed Eliza. “Well, there’s just this much 
 about it! If all three of our men attend the conference, 
 there'll be a fight. J’ll keep Henry here. You take the 
 doctor and go ahead. Tell ’em1’m too sick to move. Which 
 IT really am! I suppose William Gray will do as he pleases.” 
 
 “No, he won’t!” laughed Narcissa. She rose and returned 
 to the camp fire, where she took her place beside Marcus. 
 “Mrs. Spalding,” she said, ‘feels that it will be impossible 
 for her to hurry ahead, but she thinks the conference is a 
 good idea. So, if it is essential that you shepherd at least 
 a portion of our band as far as Fort Walla Walla, Captain 
 McLeod, the doctor and I, if he is willing, can gallop on 
 
76 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 with you, to-morrow. Mr. Gray is, of course, secular agent 
 in charge of supplies, so his place is here, and as he is op- 
 posed to the er—overlordship of the Hudson’s Bay Com- 
 pany, you must not be offended if he insists on being con- 
 sistent and refusing to leave his appointed task.” 
 
 William Gray scratched his head, but said nothing. Mar- 
 cus, with a remote twinkle, nodded and threw more buffalo 
 chips on the fire. Henry Spalding muttered something to 
 himself and hurried into the tent. He was seen no more 
 that night. 
 
GHA BE Ra 
 FORT VANCOUVER 
 
 EFORE sun-up, the next morning, Narcissa, Marcus, 
 
 and Factor McLeod were galloping over the plains 
 
 toward Fort Walla Walla. They reached it early on the 
 following day. 
 
 This fort was a much more substantial affair than Fort 
 Hall. It stood near the spot where the Walla Walla joined 
 the Columbia, the great thickets of scrub willow and cotton- 
 wood having been cleared away to prevent any one approach- 
 ing the stockade under cover. The stockade was built of 
 driftwood logs and was oblong in shape, with bastions at 
 the southwest and northeast corners, in which were cannon. 
 Within the stockade was a corral for a hundred horses, 
 with several houses, a trading store and blacksmith shop. 
 The houses were single-room, thatched-roofed affairs, well 
 floored, with a comfortable adobe fireplace, and a glass 
 window. 
 
 To such a house Pierre Pambrun, who had met the party 
 at the gates, conducted Narcissa and the doctor. The French 
 factor was, to Narcissa’s surprise, not small and dark, but 
 a tall, fair-haired man. He had, too, the suave, courteous 
 manner that seemed to her to be a hallmark of the British 
 Company. Standing before the fireplace, in his living room, 
 was an Indian woman, with two half-breed girls beside 
 her. 
 
 “Madam Whitman, may I present my wife,” said Pam- 
 brun, “and two of my daughters, Maria and Julia.” 
 
 The Indian woman, a comely person, in European cloth- 
 ing, greeted Narcissa and the doctor with self-possession 
 
 77 
 
78 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 and in French. When Narcissa replied in the same tongue, 
 however, the self-possession gave place to a laugh of excite- 
 ment. 
 
 “You speak my husband’s tongue! Oh, that is such hap- 
 piness! We have been hearing about you for many days— 
 of your golden hair!” 
 
 “You must pardon my wife’s excitement!” exclaimed 
 Pambrun. “You are the first white woman she ever saw.” 
 He was pulling out a crude chair from the table, as he spoke. 
 “We waited breakfast.for you, you will see.” 
 
 “You are very kind,” said Marcus, wondering very much 
 whether Pambrun’s cordiality was the result of orders or of 
 his own hospitable impulse. 
 
 McLeod, coming to the meal a few minutes later, caused 
 him to be enlightened. 
 
 “T’ve been giving orders about the boats, Pierre,” he said. 
 “T must leave at dawn to-morrow. Letters for Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin. I want to take Dr. and Madam Whitman with 
 me.’ 
 
 Narcissa and Marcus did not permit themselves to show 
 their surprise. 
 
 “A runner brought me word from Dr. McLoughlin, yes- 
 terday,” said Pambrun, “telling me to show every hospitality 
 to this mission party, and to invite them to settle here and on 
 the Clearwater.” 
 
 Factor McLeod’s gray eyes filled with consternation. 
 “But, Pierre,” he cried, “that’s—” He stopped abruptly. 
 
 Narcissa looked up with a little laugh. “Quite right, 
 Captain! I don’t blame you for protesting. I’m confused 
 myself. One order is to starve us. The other is to enter- 
 tain us. Dr. McLoughlin and Governor Simpson really 
 ought to have a single policy. But since they haven’t—why 
 not permit the doctor and me to dispose of our own lives?” 
 
 Pambrun laughed. “You are not unreasonable, madam, 
 Tsee!?? 
 
FORT VANCOUVER a 
 
 “Among what Indians would Dr. McLoughlin’s invitation 
 place us, Mr. Pambrun?’” asked Marcus. 
 
 “The Cayuse and the Walla Wallapoos, in this neighbor- 
 hood,” sages the Frenchman, “and the ane Percés, on the 
 Clearwater.” 
 
 “Fine!” cried Marcus. “I agree at once and as far as 
 I’m concerned, the conference is ended!” 
 
 “But not as far as I’m concerned,” insisted McLeod. 
 “Governor Simpson was explicit in expressing his desire 
 that Dr. and Madam Whitman visit Fort Vancouver.” 
 
 “And I suppose,” said Pambrun, “that we must give prece- 
 dence to the desires of the Governor.” 
 
 “I’m not a citizen of Rupert’s Land,” declared Marcus, 
 baldly. “I’m an American, and by the eternals, Ill settle 
 where I please! It happens that Dr. McLoughlin and I 
 desire the same thing. Better let it alone, McLeod.” 
 
 “IT would not care to visit Fort Vancouver without the 
 Spaldings and William Gray,” said Narcissa. “I don’t quite 
 understand Governor Simpson’s idea in dividing our party.” 
 
 “It would cost more than twice as much to take the whole 
 party to Fort Vancouver,” said McLeod. 
 
 Narcissa laughed. “You make good use of your reputa- 
 tion for Scotch thrift, Captain!” 
 
 “T think it is in every way desirable that you accede to 
 the Governor’s wishes in this,” urged McLeod. 
 
 “We might accept the invitation later,” said Narcissa, 
 “but, certainly, we cannot do so until the rest of the mission- 
 aries arrive.” 
 
 “T’m going out and choose a site for a mission, to-mor- 
 row,” declared Marcus. “I want a roof over my wife’s head 
 before the winter rains begin.” 
 
 “Perhaps the Spaldings will wish to settle here,” sug- 
 gested Narcissa, “and will ask us to go to the Clearwater.” 
 
 “Even in that case,” returned the doctor, “there will be a 
 distinct saving in time, by my having gone over the ground.” 
 
80 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Factor McLeod moved uneasily, but at the moment made 
 no further protest. When dinner was over, the Whitmans 
 were allowed to withdraw to one of the bastions, where two 
 bunks had been placed for them beside the cannon. They 
 sat down on the cots, facing each other. 
 
 “Whew!” breathed Marcus. “What a relief to be alone 
 fora few moments! Narcissa, we are never alone, particu- 
 larly since the Hudson’s Bay Company discovered us.” 
 
 Narcissa nodded. “I know! Marcus, don’t you think 
 we'd better go on to Kort Vancouver ?”’ 
 
 “T don’t see why!” cried the doctor. ‘That man Simp- 
 son must think he’s an Emperor!’ 
 
 “He is, as far as Rupert’s Land is concerned,” replied 
 Narcissa. 
 
 “This isn’t Rupert’s Land,” retorted Marcus. 
 
 “T wonder what are the boundaries of Rupert’s Land,” 
 said Narcissa. “I shall ask one of the factors, this eve- 
 ning. My reason for thinking we ought to go to Fort Van- 
 couver is this, Marcus: From all we can discover, Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin is friendly to Americans. Why, I can’t imagine, 
 when his Company is so violently opposed to them. But evi- 
 dently, there is friction between Governor Simpson and his 
 Chief Factor on the Pacific Coast. If we are to work intelli- 
 gently here, it seems to me, we must try to get them to agree 
 on what they want us to do. If Dr. McLoughlin is the 
 stronger, the verdict will be as Mr. Pambrun gave it, this 
 afternoon. If Governor Simpson is stronger, we shall, at 
 least, know where we stand with the Company, because he 
 will be obliged to state his position.” 
 
 “In other words,” said Marcus, thoughtfully, “your idea 
 is that the much talked of conference be held at Fort Van- 
 couver, with all our party there, instead of here, with only 
 you and me.” 
 
 “Exactly!” replied Narcissa. “But also, with Governor 
 Simpson. For I have no doubt he plans to be there shortly.” 
 
FORT VANCOUVER 81 
 
 “He must be planning so,” mused Marcus. “That is the 
 important place on his inspection trip. But, Narcissa, why 
 do you suppose he wanted us to go to Fort Vancouver ?” 
 
 “T imagine he has some new form of bribe to offer us,” 
 replied his wife. Then she laughed. “It will be interesting 
 to learn what it is.” 
 
 “Interesting, yes!” exclaimed Marcus, impatiently. “But 
 Narcissa, all this isn’t converting Indians! This opposition 
 and delay is very irritating to me.” 
 
 “T don’t see how we are to do effective work with the 
 savages,” said Narcissa, “unless we know how we stand with 
 these British. I am surprised that the American Board did 
 not inform itself and us before sending us out here.” 
 
 Marcus gave an enigmatic grunt and took a restless turn 
 or two up and down the tiny room. “Well, so be it, Nar- 
 cissa! JI suppose we'll have an awful time making young 
 Gray fall into line, and Henry will fuss. But your ideas 
 are sound and we will overpersuade them. I’m thinking 
 they'll be in here rather early to-morrow. They’re not go- 
 ing to linger along the way, with you and me enjoying the 
 flesh pots of Egypt here.” 
 
 At supper time that evening Marcus gave the result of 
 the conversation in the bastion to the two factors, who re- 
 ceived it without comment. Narcissa broke the rather un- 
 pleasant silence which followed the doctor’s blunt statement 
 by adding: 
 
 “By the way, Mr. Pambrun, will you forgive my ignorance 
 and tell me what is the extent of Rupert’s Land?” 
 
 Pambrun laughed. “That’s more than mortal can do, 
 madam.” 
 
 “T can tell you what Charles IT granted to Prince Rupert,” 
 said McLeod, “in 1670. He granted ‘the sole trade and 
 commerce of all the Seas, Streights, Bays, Rivers, Lakes, 
 Creeks and Sounds in whatsoever latitude they shall be, that 
 lie within the entrance of the Streights commonly called 
 
 17? 
 
82 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Hudson’s Streights, together with all the Lands, Countries 
 and Territories upon the Coasts and Confines of the Seas, 
 Streights, Bays, Lakes, Rivers, Creeks and Sounds afore- 
 said, which are not now actually possessed by any of our 
 SUDSECISset any. 
 
 “Well,” exclaimed Marcus, with his great laugh, “he was 
 a liberal giver, your King Charles IT; but, liberal as his gift 
 was, your Company has been even more liberal in its inter- 
 pretation. None of the seas and straits of Oregon territory 
 empty into Hudson’s Bay.” 
 
 “We never claimed they did,” said the Scotchman placidly. 
 “But we certainly have prior rights of occupancy in Oregon.” 
 
 And Narcissa and Marcus, with their lack of better in- 
 formation, were obliged to allow this statement to stand. 
 
 Marcus’ prophecy was a true one regarding the movements 
 of the rest of the convoy and missionaries. It was only mid- 
 morning when the stockade gates were thrown open to re- 
 ceive them. Their arrival was the signal for protracted and 
 heated discussion, but it finally was agreed that all but neces- 
 sary personal luggage should be stored at Fort Walla Walla 
 and that the party should proceed by boat to Fort Vancouver. 
 But not as guests of the Hudson’s Bay Company! They 
 would pay as they went. And at dawn, the following day, 
 they started. 
 
 Mr. Pambrun, for reasons which he did not give, decided 
 to accompany the party. Narcissa and Marcus, who had 
 taken an immediate liking to the curly-haired Frenchman, 
 were glad to have him go. There would have been room in 
 the thirty-foot, six-oared boat for still other unexpected 
 guests, after Pambrun was seated beside Henry Spalding: 
 this, despite the fact that great packs of furs occupied the 
 center of each boat. 
 
 It was a trip of such ease that it seemed to the mission- 
 aries utterly disconnected with the previous part of their 
 journey. Sitting for five days in the superbly managed craft, 
 
FORT VANCOUVER 83 
 
 the missionaries watched the shores of the Columbia. In 
 the placid east, the land through which this river was flow- 
 ing would have been called mountainous. But, so stupendous 
 was the whole geographical scale of this Oregon territory, 
 that McLeod explained to them that they were passing 
 through the plains of the Columbia! A vast plain, indeed, 
 built of lava which had flowed westward from the Blue 
 Mountains and eastward from the Cascades, lava which 
 had bubbled and burst, which had cooled and gaped in a 
 thousand terrible shapes, lava which had been glaciated 
 and flooded, upheaved and weathered, for countless eons. 
 Plains, indeed! The river was sweeping through chaotic 
 ranges, above whose general level rose the enchanting, snow- 
 crested peaks of isolated mountains, whose serene grandeur 
 dwarfed all other details of the landscape. 
 
 The boats swung now through barren banks that gave 
 way in a thousand prismatic tints to wide views of plain and 
 peak. Now mighty canyon walls hemmed them in and the 
 quiet murmur of the river rose to a deafening roar. Here 
 the river widened to lake-like placidity, there it leaped nar- 
 rowly in whirlpool and cataract. Fantastic rock walls gave 
 place again and again to forests of enormous trees. Deer 
 and elk gazed at the rushing boats. Crane, wild duck and 
 geese flew thick among the reeds of the lagoons and salmon 
 leaped from the waters churning at the prows. It was a 
 country for the gods. 
 
 Near noon of the fifth day after leaving Fort Walla Walla, 
 they swung into the broad reaches of the waters before Fort 
 Vancouver. Two ships, flying the British flag, lay at anchor 
 in midstream. The fort was located on a beautiful, fertile 
 slope rising for about two miles from the river. Great trees 
 bounded it on the land side. Mount Hood stood, a snow- 
 capped sentinel, sixty miles to the east, the wonderful Wil- 
 lamette valley stretched southward, and all the hundred miles 
 westward to the Pacific was a harbor of unparalleled beauty. 
 
84 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 The fort, itself, covered about eight acres, surrounded by 
 a log stockade twenty feet high. Inside were over forty 
 buildings, with the Chief Factor’s house in the center. There 
 were two chapels, a schoolhouse, bachelors’ halls, stores and 
 workshops. On the river bank, outside, were cottages for 
 married employees, a hospital, granary, boathouses, thresh- 
 ing mills and dairies. And in every direction, the farm 
 lands; fifteen hundred acres in the finest state of produc- 
 tivity, three thousand head of cattle, two thousand sheep, 
 three hundred brood mares and a hundred milch cows. Dr. 
 McLoughlin did, indeed, as Governor Simpson had told 
 Narcissa, live in lordly splendor. 
 
 When the missionaries were admitted through the great 
 gate, with its brass locks, he was standing at the door of 
 his residence to welcome them: an enormously tall man of 
 about fifty-two, with long, prematurely white hair, fiowing 
 back over his shoulders. He wore blue broadcloth and lace- 
 trimmed ruffles. And as he stood with a cordial hand ex- 
 tended, Narcissa noted that, in the hall back of him, were 
 cannon that commanded the gate. 
 
 McLeod performed the introductions, and whatever may 
 have been the Chief Factor’s feelings on being faced with 
 the five unexpected visitors, he gave no sign of annoyance, 
 or even of surprise. His greeting was courtly, the welcome 
 of a feudal lord to honored guests. 
 
 A great bell in the yard rang as they stood at the door, 
 and instantly the fort was alive with men. 
 
 “°Tis exactly the dinner hour!” exclaimed Dr. McLough- 
 lin. “Come to the table! Mr. Gray, will you go with Mr 
 Pambrun and Mr. McLeod, please?” 
 
 Gray, with a look of surprise that was tinged with re- 
 sentment, followed the factor to the employees’ dining room, 
 while Dr. McLoughlin led the others to the great dining 
 hall, where a hundred guests could have been comfortably 
 seated. However, only four persons were gathered near a 
 
FORT VANCOUVER 85 
 
 round table set before the huge fireplace. Dr. McLoughlin 
 introduced them. Mr. Beaver was a clergyman who, with 
 his wife and her companion, had recently arrived by ship 
 from England. A tall, dark man, booted and spurred, with 
 a quick, rather aggressive manner, was James Douglas, Dr. 
 McLoughlin’s protegé and right hand, in the great task of 
 ruling Oregon territory. 
 
 When Dr. McLoughlin had seated the company to his own 
 satisfaction, he waved his hand and a group of men servants 
 began to serve the dinner. There was an elaborate menu of 
 soup, fish, game, roast, pastry, fruit and wines. 
 
 When the meal was well launched, Dr. McLoughlin turned 
 to Marcus. “You did not, then, receive my message at Fort 
 Walla Walla?” 
 
 “Yes, Doctor,” replied Marcus, “Pambrun delivered your 
 message and we were grateful for it. But, unfortunately, 
 Governor Simpson had directed McLeod to bring Mrs. Whit- 
 man and myself here. In the face of contrary invitations, 
 we decided to accept the Governor’s, in the hope that he 
 would arrive about this time and that a satisfactory agree- 
 ment could be reached.” 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin’s eyes were stormy, but his voice was 
 calm enough as he nodded. “I understand, sir! And what, 
 may I ask, are your plans?” 
 
 Marcus told of the desire of the American Board to found 
 two permanent missions among the Oregon Indians. 
 
 “What are your policies, Dr. Whitman?” asked the Chief 
 Factor. “Are they such as Jason Lee pursues on the Willa- 
 mette, in the Methodist mission he has established there?” 
 
 “J don’t know Lee or his policies,” replied Marcus. 
 
 “The Reverend Mr. Lee,” Dr. McLoughlin gave the title 
 sonorously, “has done me the honor to follow very closely 
 my suggestions. For example, we have on this coast, from 
 time to time, sailors who leave the Hudson’s Bay Company’s 
 ships and desire to take up land. These men, Jason Lee has 
 
86 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 persuaded to marry native women and settle at the mission, 
 where they now have a thriving farm.” 
 
 “T certainly would not help them to marry natives,” de- 
 clared Henry Spalding, suddenly. 
 
 “What would you do, sir?” thundered the Chief Factor. 
 “Would you countenance their living in adultery and breed- 
 ing nameless children?” 
 
 “No, I would not!” Spalding blushed furiously. 
 
 “?Tis either one or the other,’ declared McLoughlin. 
 “Human nature is human nature. This is no country for 
 white women and men must live like men, not monks. You 
 are the clergyman of this group, sir?” 
 
 “T am,” returned Spalding, lifting his sallow chin. “And 
 I wish to state, from the beginning, that I will not coun- 
 tenance the loose living I see indulged in by white men every- 
 where in Oregon.” 
 
 “And will you not, indeed?” exclaimed McLoughlin, every 
 white hair on his head seeming to lift as he glared at the 
 hapless Spalding. “You and Mr. Beaver should be in ac- 
 cord, though I’ve not yet had the privilege of hearing our 
 chaplain’s opinion of us, first hand.” 
 
 Mr. Beaver, a small man, with gray eyes and sandy hair, 
 clad in the impressive black garb of a clergyman of the 
 Church of England, had been listening to the conversation 
 with an unmistakable air of disdain. When meeting Spald- 
 ing, he had acknowledged the introduction by an almost 
 imperceptible nod of his head. His arrogance toward the 
 bigoted Henry had almost convulsed Narcissa and Marcus, 
 both of whom Beaver had ignored, except for a very slight 
 raising of his brows. 
 
 McLoughlin turned his glare from Spalding to his chap- 
 lain and went on: “My idea of the duties of a minister, be he 
 priest, missionary, or appointed chaplain like Beaver here, 
 is to visit the sick, hold service on Sundays, give doles to 
 the poor, and, otherwise, to mind his own business.” 
 
FORT VANCOUVER 87 
 
 “‘So missionaries are quite without the pale with you, Dr: 
 McLoughlin!” exclaimed Narcissa. “Then, indeed, your 
 courtesy and hospitality are doubly appreciated by all of us! 
 We have heard of the delights of Fort Vancouver, ever since 
 leaving Fort Laramie. We are fortunate to have a glimpse 
 of them.” i 
 
 Mr. Beaver suddenly laughed. “Delights! That’s good! 
 That’s excellent! You Americans have such curious ideas! 
 Delights !”’ 
 
 “And who are you, sir, to laugh at a guest of mine?” de- 
 manded the Chief Factor. 
 
 The clergyman returned Dr. McLoughlin’s stare without 
 blinking. “I? Sir, I am chaplain in charge of Fort Van- 
 couver, by virtue of powers vested in me by Sir John Pelly, 
 Governor of the Honorable Hudson’s Bay Company of Lon- 
 don.” 
 
 “Are you, indeed!” boomed McLoughlin. ‘Well! Well! 
 All that for one small mannie! Jamie!” turning to James 
 Douglas, who sat silently devouring his dinner, “Jamie, are 
 you not impressed ?” 
 
 “Divil a bit!” replied Douglas. “I may be a laird one day 
 mysel’.” 
 
 Something in the manner of the Chief Factor and the 
 Chief Trader threw Mr. Beaver off his balance. He rose in 
 his place and pointed a trembling forefinger at McLoughlin, 
 while his voice lifted shrilly. 
 
 “Then allow me to state my position more clearly. I find 
 myself chaplain to a man of alien faith, a Catholic, a man 
 who is uncivil, whose clerks are boors. None of you are 
 sufficiently enlightened to understand my sermons or to con- 
 form to the service. You are half savages, who don’t know 
 the difference between a prayer-book and an otter skin! 
 You, yourself, sir—you should not delay another day in re- 
 quiring me to marry you to the person who ealls herself 
 Madam—” 
 
88 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Before he could utter the last word, Dr. McLoughlin had 
 leaped from his place, had seized Mr. Beaver by the collar 
 and ignominiously booted him from the room. 
 
 A dead silence greeted the Chief Factor as he seated him- 
 self again. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a month,” he 
 said, pouring himself some port. 
 
 Mrs. Beaver burst into sobs and rushed from the table. 
 Dr. McLoughlin looked after her, with a comical raising of 
 his white brows. “And that will be an end of that, Jamie, I 
 hope!” he said. ‘‘Let Sir John Pelly try another bit of ab- 
 surdity of the same kind, and my patience won’t last a 
 month. Ladies, pray try some of this fruit.” 
 
 The stupefied missionaries recovered themselves and at- 
 tacked the wonderful plate of peaches and grapes. 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin ate a bunch of grapes meditatively, then 
 began in a gently reflective manner: 
 
 “The situation as to missionaries is this: We are very 
 much in need of instruction, both religious and lay, for the 
 children of the employees of the Hudson’s Bay Company. 
 Our women folks very much need instruction in the man- 
 ners and arts of white women. You can see that our 
 superiors in London have no understanding of our needs. 
 Mr. Beaver and his wife have managed to msult every soul 
 in the fort from myself down to the smallest half-breed boy, 
 running cloutless in the sun. My experience with the Rev- 
 erend Jason Lee has proved to me that I have little chance to 
 persuade you to settle here, which is what I would earnestly 
 recommend and desire. My alternative is that you settle, as 
 I suggested, near Fort Walla Walla. And that you devote 
 yourselves, not to teaching the impossible savage to become 
 an improbable farmer, but to Christianizing and educating 
 the selected groups of women and children we shall send 
 you from time to time. Oh, of course, preach gospel to the 
 Indian—but that you will find futile work. He is born and 
 -will die, as long as he is a pure blood, a pantheist.” 
 

 
 
 
 FORT VANCOUVER 89 
 
 “The idea being,” said Marcus slowly, “to keep us de- 
 pendent on the Hudson’s Bay Company !” 
 
 “On whom else can you be dependent?” asked the Chief 
 Factor, benevolently. 
 
 On whom else indeed! Dr. McLoughlin allowed the idea. 
 to sink in, for a few moments, before he said: “There is 
 plenty of time to debate all these matters. I want you to see 
 our farms and the dairies. Fresh horses will be at the door 
 in an hour. In the meantime, I wish you ladies to meet 
 Madam McLoughlin. lan,” to the butler, “take the ladies to 
 the Madam’s room.” 
 
 Narcissa and Eliza followed obediently after Ian, up the 
 stairs and along the hall, to an open door. Within was a 
 room hung with skins and furnished with the usual buffalo- 
 hide chairs. A middle-aged woman of swarthy skin, wear- 
 ing a flowing black silk dress, stood beside the window. She 
 looked at her two guests questioningly, wistfully, but made 
 no move to greet them. Narcissa thought suddenly of Mrs. 
 Beaver and the probable snubbing Madam McLoughlin had 
 received at her hands. She was, herself, conscious of being 
 offended by the whole situation, yet her heart went out to 
 the half pleading, half tragic expression in the woman’s eyes. 
 
 “She doesn’t know what white women’s standards are,” 
 said Narcissa under her breath to Eliza, ‘‘and you can readily 
 believe that the men will not have undeceived her. The 
 Beavers have frightened her.” 
 
 Tan put another log on the fire, bowed and went out. Nar- 
 cissa, followed by Eliza, slowly crossed the room, holding 
 out her hand. 
 
 “Madam McLoughlin,” she said, “I am Mrs. Whitman 
 and this is my friend, Mrs. Spalding. You are kind to have 
 us here. It does seem wonderful after the rough trip from 
 the States!’ 
 
 A sudden glow lifted the half-breed woman’s face to 
 beauty. “You lak’ it here? Iam so glad! Madam Beaver 
 
90 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 say it the home of savag’ and adul—adult—I cannot remem’ 
 that word. It mean me and all Indian wife, m’ bad.” 
 
 “Tt is just fine here,” said Eliza Spalding heartily. “Let’s 
 sit down and have a good talk. [Tm dying to know how you 
 manage about butter making here. Some one said you could 
 really make sweet butter in a hide!” 
 
 Madam McLoughlin pulled three chairs together eagerly. 
 “Yes! Yes! I know all about such matter! And keep the 
 bee, too. That you must do, also.” 
 
 “And the babies?” asked Narcissa. ‘“‘How do the Indians 
 feed them when there is no mothers’ milk ?” 
 
 “That I know, too!’ Madam McLoughlin sighed, ecstati- 
 cally. “I lak’ you both. You mak’ me feel I know much.” 
 
 The three women laughed together. 
 
 An hour later, Dr. McLoughlin appeared in the door, 
 where he stood for several moments absolutely unheeded, 
 even by his usually adoringly attentive mate. She was hold- 
 ing forth on the Indian care of babies and, except for an 
 occasional question, Eliza and Narcissa listened without 
 interruption. 
 
 An extraordinary look of gratification spread over the 
 doctor’s face. 
 
 “Well! Well! What’s this? A lecture?’ he demanded. 
 
 Madam McLoughlin ran toward him. “Doctor!” she ex- 
 claimed, ‘‘these white ladies are not lak’ that other one. 
 They lak’ it here. They lak’ me. I see it in their eyes.” 
 
 “Madam McLoughlin is a perfect mine of information 
 about all the things we most want to know,” said Narcissa. 
 “And she’s been so good about answering all our stupid 
 questions!” 
 
 “Your school’s been established the other way round, Doc- 
 tor,’ said Eliza, with a smile. 
 
 The Chief Factor returned the smile. “Can you tear your- 
 selves away to come for the ride?” 
 
FORT VANCOUVER 91 
 
 Narcissa turned quickly to the half-breed woman. “Then 
 you can show us that patch of flax yourself!’ 
 
 McLoughlin gave Narcissa a keen look, that had some- 
 thing very like gratitude behind it. Madam McLoughlin 
 clasped her hands and gazed pleadingly at her lord. 
 
 “Please, Doctor, if Madam Beaver is not there!’ 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin nodded. “Hurry then, Meg! We will 
 await you in the great hall.” 
 
 That was a memorable ride, covering fifteen miles, over 
 the great farm and its environs. It must have been a mem- 
 orable picture too, that of the little group of sightseers. 
 Dr. McLoughlin, ahead on a great black horse, his beaver 
 hat glistening in the sun; Madam McLoughlin riding astride, 
 her skirts lifted by the high saddle to display a plump leg 
 encased in Indian leggings; Narcissa, with her graceful seat 
 and sweeping broadcloth habit; Eliza, with her meager skirt, 
 her black sunbonnet, jogging uncomfortably but clinging un- 
 complainingly to the gallop at which Dr. McLoughlin led; 
 Marcus, in the broadcloth on which Narcissa had insisted, 
 a powerful, aggressive figure of a man; and Henry, in his 
 clerical black, hunched over his horse’s neck, his eyes sedu- 
 lously avoiding Madam McLoughlin’s comfortable calves. 
 
 They swept in at the gates at supper time, at the same 
 gallop at which they had left them. And they had only just 
 seated themselves at the evening meal, at which, incidentally, 
 the Beaver family did not appear, when a thunder of the 
 cannon at the gate brought them to their feet. 
 
 “Governor Simpson is arriving,” said Dr. McLoughlin 
 quietly. “You will pray excuse Mr. Douglas and myself 
 for a time.” 
 
 It was a long time. The missionaries finished their supper 
 and retired to their respective rooms and went to bed, tired 
 out by the day’s excitements. And during that time, save 
 for deep voices that sounded continuously from the Chief 
 
92 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Factor’s office, they heard nothing from their host or his 
 distinguished guest. 
 
 The two gentlemen were, as the missionaries supposed, 
 deep in a discussion of the possible and feasible disposal of 
 the Whitman party. They sat before a softly glowing fire, 
 a decanter of wine between them, long after the rest of the 
 fort, even Bachelors’ Hall, was in darkness. It was nearing 
 midnight when Simpson ran his hand wearily through his 
 hair and said: | 
 
 “We have arrived exactly where we started! You are the 
 most obstinate man on earth, McLoughlin. Now then, let 
 us coolly and clearly state our positions and see if we cannot 
 compromise. J do not wish, unless forced to it, to use my 
 authority.” 
 
 “Do you not, indeed!’ grunted the Chief Factor enig- 
 matically. “Well, as I’ve been saying, repeatedly, you do 
 not appreciate the extent of my hold on this country.” 
 
 “Ts it your hold or the Company’s hold?” asked the Gov- 
 ernor. 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin brought his fist down on the table. “I 
 am the Company in Oregon!” 
 
 The two men eyed each other, the doctor’s black eyes, red 
 with anger, the Governor’s gray eyes, cold and clear as 
 ice. 
 
 “Get on with your tale, man,” said the Governor, finally. 
 
 “Well, then, that being understood, I recapitulate. ’Tis 
 inevitable that this country be settled by farmers. The land 
 cries for cropping. You say you must have two years in 
 which to handle the Congress. I am trying to give you those 
 two years. I broke that clever American, Wyeth, and sent 
 him out of the country after he’d established Fort Hall. 
 I could not do the same with Jason Lee. He came round 
 the Horn with a shipload of supplies. A shipload, mind you! 
 Would you have me murder the man? He was no trader 
 like Wyeth. Money could not buy him, for I tried it. He 
 
 ’ 
 
FORT VANCOUVER oe 
 
 actually wanted to save souls! Very well, if he must save 
 souls let him do it as our unacknowledged agent! I sent 
 him as far south of the Columbia as he would go.” 
 
 “You should have kept him here in the fort,” said Simp- 
 son. 7 
 
 “He would not stay, as I have repeatedly told you. I set- 
 tled him on the Willamette and I encouraged him to gather 
 about his mission the handful of American and British whites 
 in the country, marry them to natives and keep his hands 
 on them. Therefore, I have in one spot, where at any time 
 I may surround them by near a thousand half-breeds who 
 would bear arms for the Hudson’s Bay Company, all the 
 farmers west of the Rockies and north of California. Jason 
 Lee is absolutely under my thumb.” 
 
 “He escaped long enough to entice Officer Slacum to his 
 mission,’ said Simpson coldly. 
 
 “Who said ’twas Lee?” demanded McLoughlin. 
 
 rifsay it was!” declared) the Governor. “Next to the 
 arrival of the Whitmans, Slacum’s our greatest mishap yet. 
 Where is he now?” 
 
 “Exploring, I believe. When a man arrives, well found 
 in his own ship, I cannot starve him.” 
 
 “I admit that. But did you need to invite him here, to 
 answer his questions, to loan him maps?” 
 
 “T needed to educate him as to the power and purpose of 
 the Hudson’s Bay Company. I needed to discourage him as 
 to ever making his jackass Congress see Oregon as it is. 
 I needed to delay him here, one year, two years, if possible, 
 with soft blandishments.” 
 
 “T respect your earnestness, McLoughlin,” Simpson leaned 
 forward and spoke gently. “But cannot I make you see that, 
 beyond a certain point, diplomacy will not work in this 
 situation? We are not fighting a rival commercial concern, 
 as we were the Nor’westers in Rupert’s Land. We are 
 struggling to hold back the inevitable. The empires of the 
 
94. WE MUST MARCH 
 
 world move westward by a force as irresistible as the march 
 of the sun. Our one hope, our one chance, is to keep the 
 American Government in ignorance until we have made this 
 empire of the Columbia, British. Then let the American 
 migration pour in here, and welcome. Diplomacy is not 
 enough, Doctor. And the Whitmans—” He paused. 
 
 “Ves, what of the Whitmans? I had them located where 
 Pierre Pambrun would manage them, could sicken them 
 of their notion and, finally, entice them here to found your 
 school or return them to the States. And you must rush 
 them here to upset all my plans. Now that they are here, 
 what am I todo? Kidnap them and send them to the Sand- 
 wich Islands?” sarcastically. 
 
 “Ts Pambrun big enough for the job?” asked the Gover- 
 nor, ignoring the sarcasm. “Can he keep them isolated, 
 counteract their influence on Indians and whites, alike, until 
 I can exert pressure in Boston?” 
 
 “He and I can do that for a year, at least,” replied Mc- 
 Loughlin. “Ill make a great effort to keep the women here 
 for the winter. Madam Whitman would be extraordinarily 
 useful. I would like her to act as governess to my daugh- 
 ter, Eloise. ‘They say she is a fine musician and we can 
 see that she is a gentlewoman. By the Lord Harry! how we 
 need such a person here! But you must allow me to tie 
 them to me with gratitude, Governor, by giving them sup- 
 plies and compliments.” 
 
 The Governor nodded. “How will Madam Beaver take 
 this invasion?” 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin suddenly burst out laughing and gave his 
 superior a rapid picture of the inadequacy of the Beaver 
 family. 
 
 The Governor nodded. “I told Sir John he was a fool for 
 his pains! Send them back to England by the ‘Nereus.’ 
 Poor souls! ’*Tis a ghastly trip round the Horn in that little 
 ship! What do you think of Madam Whitman ?” 
 
FORT VANCOUVER 95 
 
 “T like her!” McLoughlin nodded. “She’d better stay 
 here than in a mud hut. She gave little Mrs. Spalding the 
 cue and together they won Madam McLoughlin’s heart.” 
 
 Governor Simpson gazed long and thoughtfully into the 
 fire. “Doctor,” he said at last, “do you ever regret your 
 exile?” 
 
 The keen-eyed Chief Factor favored the Governor with 
 a quick look before he replied: “When I sat at table to-day 
 with Madam Whitman, I did. With Madam Beaver, no, 
 decidedly no.” 
 
 The Governor rose and stood before the fire. “Keep them 
 here, all winter, if you can, Doctor. When does the Spanish 
 brigade start for California?” 
 
 “To-morrow, at dawn. We havea pack train of two hun- 
 dred horses this time. William Rae is in charge. Here’s a 
 neat problem for you, sir! If it costs us fifty thousand 
 pounds to keep the Americans out of Oregon, won’t it cost a 
 million to keep them out of California?’ 
 
 “?*T would be worth it!” replied Simpson. “T’ll start with 
 Rae in the morning, Doctor. I want a look at the San Fran- 
 cisco situation. I’ll come back by boat and will then attend 
 to business here.” Then, with that charming smile which no 
 one could resist, he suddenly held out his hand to the Chief 
 Factor. “McLoughlin, I’ve been mistaken in my judgment 
 of you. You’ve been handling the situation better than I 
 could have. All my attempts on the Whitmans have bun- 
 gled.” 
 
 McLoughlin shook the extended hand heartily. “Thank 
 you, Governor! You are generous! But I'll be equally 
 frank and say that I can’t handle the California matter. 
 That you must do and can do.” 
 
 Simpson nodded. “I'll be on my way before you are well 
 awake. I shall leave letters that must be pushed eastward 
 ‘on the king’s business,’ you know—all speed! And, Mc- 
 Loughlin, nothing must interfere with your program for the 
 
96 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 missionaries. Madam Whitman is the pivot on which they 
 all turn.” 
 
 “She shall be here when you return, Governor,” said the 
 doctor, with a sudden broad grin. 
 
 Governor Simpson gave the Chief Factor a haughty look. 
 “T’ll be obliged to you, sir, if you'll have my secretary sent 
 to me,” he said. 
 
 But McLoughlin was still grinning as he rang the bell for 
 Jan. 
 
Gry De VOR evil 
 
 MALCOLM CAMPBELL 
 
 S° it was that the missionary party heard the bagpipes 
 the next morning, before they rose. But they did not 
 so much as catch a glimpse of the Governor. 
 
 That day, after an extended conversation, it was agreed 
 that the three men of the mission party would return at once 
 with Pierre Pambrun to locate and start building the mis- 
 sions, while the women remained at Fort Vancouver. Nar- 
 cissa felt uneasy about the decision, yet there was no sane 
 argument to be brought against it. She and Eliza would only 
 handicap the men by being with them during the exploration 
 and building period. She thought it rather extraordinary, 
 too, that Governor Simpson should have come and gone 
 without a word to her. After all, he had declared a friend- 
 ship for her in which, although he must be hostile to her in- 
 terests, she had complete faith. Pondering on this she felt, 
 suddenly, terribly alone in an alien land. 
 
 Pambrun was eager to return to his fort, where Thomas 
 McKay was keeping house for him; so on the morning after 
 the conference, the boats, loaded with freight and bearing 
 the three men of the mission beside the factor, and his voy- 
 ageurs, pushed out into the Columbia. It happened, not 
 long before the launching, that Narcissa was alone with 
 Henry Spalding, for the only time in many weeks. 
 
 Eliza was not able to go down to the shore to see the men 
 off, so Narcissa went down alone, arriving there before 
 Marcus had finished his purchases at the blacksmith shops. 
 Henry was standing beside his own supplies, bought the 
 night before. Narcissa leaned against a bulkhead and stared 
 
 at the huge stockade. 
 Q7 
 
98 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Henry,” she asked, “how do you think our little adobe 
 missions will compare, as fortifications, with this great af- 
 rat 
 
 “We need no fortifications like this,” declared Henry. 
 “The Lord is our fortress.” 
 
 “Oh, (but, Henry! exclaimed Narcissa’’ “Be? practical 
 After years of experience, the Hudson’s Bay Company has 
 found this sort of thing absolutely necessary.” 
 
 “You are afraid, I observe, Narcissa!” sneered Henry. 
 
 “Yes, I’m afraid,” returned Narcissa quietly. Then she 
 turned from the fort to a calm scrutiny of the preacher. 
 
 He returned her gaze with something warm, something 
 resentful in the depths of his brown eyes. Yet Narcissa 
 looked little enough like an object for resentment. Her tall 
 figure, clad in the now shabby broadcloth, was more vigor- 
 ously beautiful than ever. Her fine head, on which she wore 
 a small beaver hat, held on by a velvet strap that passed 
 under her chin, was lifted as proudly as though she were 
 chatelaine of the great fort and not of a nameless hut in 
 the wilderness. 
 
 After a moment’s contemplation of him, Narcissa said: 
 “Henry, don’t you think it’s time you forgave me for refus- 
 ing to marry your” 
 
 The resentment in the brown eyes deepened to anger. 
 “Forgive? I’m glad you didn’t marry me!” 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. “You are consistently hateful, 
 Henry. And it’s not as if I ever gave you hope. I refused 
 you nearly a year before Dr. Whitman came to Angelica.” 
 
 “T wouldn’t have cared,’ Spalding burst forth furiously, 
 “if you’d preferred that Harvard professor to me, the one 
 that courted you last summer. At least I’d have lost to an 
 equal. Buta fellow like Marcus Whitman—” 
 
 Narcissa’s cheeks turned a deep crimson. “Henry, you’re 
 not fit to black the doctor’s boots! His physician’s training 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 99 
 
 may not have made him as learned as you think you are— 
 for after all, all you have is Biblical lore—and he loves a 
 rough story and mixing with all manner of men, better than 
 you do. But, Henry, take heed of this fact! For breadth 
 of vision, for indefatigable energy and for usefulness to his 
 country, he’s as much your superior as you are superior to 
 an Indian.” 
 
 Spalding looked for a moment as if he could have struck 
 her; then, as he stared at the handsome woman, a look of 
 misery pierced his anger. “Oh, Narcissa, why did you 
 marry Marcus in your despair and force me to marry a 
 farmer’s daughter I’'d known only three weeks?” 
 
 “You persist in ignoring one thing, Henry,” said Narcissa 
 coldly. “And that is, there never was the remotest chance 
 of my marrying you. I never injured you, except inad- 
 vertently,’ her voice softening at the look of pain in the 
 man’s eyes,—‘so I can’t ask you to forgive me. But I do 
 ask you to believe that I grieve over your unhappiness and 
 ask you to forget it in the ministrations of the really splendid 
 woman who is your wife.” 
 
 The preacher stared at Narcissa, abstractedly, as she 
 spoke. When she had finished, he said with a depth of bit- 
 terness mere words cannot convey, “You have a lovely voice, 
 even in speaking, and Whitman has no more ear than a 
 crow. He can’t even sing a hymn.” 
 
 Narcissa made a gesture of impatience and turned with 
 a feeling of relief to William Gray, who came up earrying 
 two great carpet bags. 
 
 “Well, Mr. Gray,” she exclaimed, ‘‘you have been invisi- 
 ble ever since we arrived at the fort! Why this intense pre- 
 occupation ?” : 
 
 “Preoccupation!”’ Gray raised his eyebrows comically. 
 “That’s a new name for it. Don’t you know that I’m a mere 
 clark, as they pronounce it here, and not your social equal ?” 
 
100 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Narcissa laughed. “What do you mean? I thought you 
 preferred Bachelors’ Hall. The men seem to have great 
 fun there.” 
 
 “So they do,” agreed William. “All the same, they are 
 not considered good enough to eat at the Chief Factor’s 
 table. I call it an insult, the way Dr. McLoughlin detached 
 me from our party. Don’t tell me you haven’t observed the 
 careful enforcement of the caste system here!” 
 
 “To tell you the truth,” admitted Narcissa, ‘I’ve been so 
 absorbed by the various aspects of our problem that I’ve not 
 given it a thought.” 
 
 “Haven’t you wondered that neither Madam McLoughlin 
 nor Madam Douglas ate with you?” 
 
 Narcissa flushed a little. ‘They are half-breeds and—” 
 She hesitated, as she thought of the dignity and sweetness of 
 Madam McLoughlin. 
 
 Gray laughed as he finished for her. “Call them the mor- 
 ganatic wives of King McLoughlin and Prince Douglas! 
 If they are good enough to bear the children that Mc- 
 Loughlin and Douglas have sent to England to be edu- 
 cated, they ought to be good enough to break bread with 
 their majesties. However, that’s not my worry! You see, 
 as a servant, I’ve picked up a lot of below-stairs gossip. For 
 example, there are two classes in the Hudson’s Bay Com- 
 pany, master and servant. Any one that comes into Oregon 
 without written credentials is looked on by them as a vaga- 
 bond and is treated accordingly. By Jove, such an attitude 
 is intolerable to an American!” 
 
 “T wish I’d known this sooner!” exclaimed Narcissa. “I’d 
 have done my best to remedy it as far as you were concerned. 
 When you return to get us, you shall see!” 
 
 “Don’t bother about it,” said William in a mollified voice. 
 **As long as you didn’t wilfully neglect me, I don’t mind so 
 much.” 
 
 Narcissa laughed. “Poor dear William! When you come 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 10] 
 
 back, I shall refuse my meals unless you are seated opposite 
 me!” 
 
 “My sense of insult is gone!” chuckled Gray. ‘Where is 
 Dr. Whitman ?” 
 
 “There he comes!” Narcissa moved forward to meet the 
 doctor. He dropped his many parcels and, taking her hands, 
 drew her out of earshot of the others. 
 
 “Narcissa, I leave you with a heavy heart, that’s not all 
 due to the parting. Dear wife, say something to me that I 
 can cherish through the weeks, perhaps months, we shall be 
 separated.” 
 
 “Say to yourself,” said Narcissa slowly, “that, every mo- 
 ment, I am longing to be with you.” 
 
 “Truly, are you, Narcissa?” 
 
 Narcissa looked steadily into his pleading eyes. “You 
 are a wonderful companion, Marcus. I am never so happy 
 as when I am with you. Oh, my dear! My dear! Don’t 
 look at me so! All that I have, all that I am, belong to 
 you!” 
 
 “T know!” said Marcus huskily. He kissed her, linger- 
 ingly, and was gone. 
 
 In the days that followed, Narcissa and Eliza settled 
 quickly to a routine that packed every waking hour with 
 interest. Eliza devoted herself to teaching handicrafts to 
 the women and girls about the fort, giving her spare time 
 to learning all that she could of the primitive housekeeping 
 she would undertake on the Clearwater, where it had been 
 settled she and Henry would establish their mission. 
 
 Narcissa tutored Eloise McLoughlin, the extraordinarily 
 pretty daughter of the Chief Factor and Madam McLough- 
 lin. She gave innumerable singing lessons. She coached 
 the two “morganatic wives” in the social amenities. When 
 not engrossed by these not altogether agreeable chores, she 
 studied the ways of the Hudson’s Bay Company with the 
 Indians. The more she studied, the more she realized how 
 
102 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 true were the statements made by Captain Thing during that 
 memorable visit at Fort Hall. Before she had been at Fort 
 Vancouver two weeks, she had perceived that McLoughlin 
 was a brilliant executive, and that much of the awe in which 
 he was held in Oregon was deserved. She saw that his 
 subordinates were picked men, carefully trained and thor- 
 oughly well disciplined and that they must, of necessity, be 
 so, because the handling of Indians required a very special 
 knowledge and ability. And she recognized that, in spite 
 of all this special knowledge, these men, in their oasis, 
 lived in constant danger of disaster. For Indian loyalty 
 was a thing never fully to be won. 
 
 Thus, as the days flew by, Narcissa began to apprehend, 
 in a general way, the problems that she and her fellows had, 
 with what she told herself was fatuous assurance, under- 
 taken to solve. Without adequate equipment and without 
 knowledge, what real results could they hope to accomplish 
 among the savages? Between the hostility of the British 
 Company and the hostility of the red men, what could save 
 the missionaries from being crushed? 
 
 She laughed to herself, ruefully enough, when she re- 
 called the state of mind in which she and Marcus had left 
 home. Actually, they had believed that the Indians desired 
 them, would welcome them and their teachings! She 
 thought of Jo Buffalo, and her laughter ended in a shudder. 
 
 Six weeks, to a day, after Governor Simpson’s departure, 
 a small sailing vessel dropped anchor off the fort, and the 
 Governor was rowed ashore. Narcissa, at the time of his 
 arrival, was sitting alone in the grape arbor, at the foot of 
 the garden. When she heard the seven guns, she flushed, 
 but did not move, and she was conscious both of excitement 
 and of a sinking of the heart. And suddenly, very fiercely, 
 she told herself that she did not want to see Governor Simp- 
 son again. 
 
 She remained in the arbor until nearly dusk, reading a 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 103 
 
 volume of Scott’s “Life of Napoleon” which Dr. McLoughlin 
 had urged upon her. The doctor was fanatically devoted 
 to Napoleon and had admitted to Narcissa that he patterned 
 his Indian policy after many of the ideas of the Little Cor- 
 poral. Narcissa had heard several excited discussions about 
 Napoleon’s genius, in this remote outpost of British civiliza- 
 tion. Bruce, one of the members of Bachelors’ Hall, had 
 fought at Waterloo, and nothing interested the Chief Factor 
 more than to arrange a map on the table and with split bullets 
 for soldiers, fight the battle again with Bruce. It had given 
 Narcissa many curious thoughts, to sit beside the table, 
 listening, watching the doctor moving his men, roaring or- 
 ders, arguing with Bruce, and wondering as she sat, what 
 was in the mind of that other doctor, building his mud hut 
 in the remoteness of the mountain-locked plains. 
 
 Scott’s “Life of Napoleon,’ which McLoughlin’s son had 
 sent from England as a gift to his father, was almost as de- 
 lightful reading, Narcissa found, as one of the Waverly 
 novels, which had so recently absorbed her old world of 
 Angelica. Even after the guns had proclaimed the Gover- 
 nor’s arrival, she was able to lose herself in the pages. Even 
 the dusk did not cause her to close the book. This was 
 brought about by a quiet voice: 
 
 “You are absorbed, indeed, Madam Whitman!” 
 
 Narcissa looked up into Governor Simpson’s face. 
 
 She rose, arid the book clasped to her bosom, bowed to 
 him. “Did you wish to use the arbor, sir?” she asked. 
 
 “Yes, for a consultation,” replied Simpson, with his de- 
 lightful smile, “with you. There still is afterglow, and a 
 silly moon is rising. We shall not be unlighted and I see you 
 have your shawl for warmth.” 
 
 “You have looked to every contingency, sir. Will you 
 not be seated?” Narcissa, with a scarcely audible sigh, sank 
 back to the bench. 
 
 “Thank you!’ Simpson gravely pulled his cloak about 
 
104 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 him and seated himself where he could watch the afterglow 
 on Narcissa’s face. “What is the story that made you 
 oblivious to lifer” 
 
 “Oblivious to my life, yes, but thrillingly conscious of a 
 great one,” replied Narcissa. “It’s Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Life 
 of Napoleon.’ As, of course, you know, the doctor is quite 
 rabid about the Corsican, as he calls him. I’d not be at all 
 surprised, sometime, if the doctor should attempt a march on 
 Sitka, with his thousand half-breeds, imagining himself as 
 undertaking the march on Moscow.” 
 
 “T hope the result would not be as disastrous as the his- 
 torical event!” exclaimed Simpson. 
 
 “It probably would be,’ returned Narcissa cheerfully. 
 “The doctor is too unequal of humor to be a military man.” 
 
 The Governor chuckled. “You’ve not been idle, I per- 
 ceive.” 
 
 “One thing he has claimed to have absorbed from Napo- 
 Jeon, though, I think makes for stability here,’ Narcissa went 
 on. “ ‘Be master!’ he quotes constantly. And certainly, the 
 natives tremble at his frown! At the same time, they show 
 absolute confidence in his justice.” 
 
 “°Tis true,’ agreed Simpson, “he’s a remarkable man in 
 the right place.” 
 
 “And he is master of white men as well as of savages.” 
 Narcissa watched the stern face opposite her. “The caste 
 system here is as clean-cut and as iron-bound as though Fort 
 Vancouver were in the British Empire.” 
 
 “Tt is in the British Empire,” returned the Governor 
 coolly. “Every fort belonging to the Hudson’s Bay Com- 
 pany has that honor.” 
 
 “We have traveling with our mission party,” Narcissa 
 said, “a young man named William Gray. He is well edu- 
 cated and well bred, as we understand those qualities in 
 America. He is in charge of our party, at least in so far 
 as all that does not pertain to our religious offices is con- 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 105 
 
 cerned. Certainly he is in every aspect our social equal. 
 Yet, the moment he entered this fort and was introduced to 
 the Chief Factor as our agent, he was segregated. What a 
 pity it was, as long as your standards are so artificial, that 
 his avocation was mentioned! Merely as one of our party, 
 he could have enjoyed all the extensive privileges extended 
 by Dr. McLoughlin.” 
 
 “The standards are artificial, of course,” agreed the Gov- 
 ernor, “but,” with a contracting of his eyes, “they must 
 obtain. Unless McLoughlin carefully maintains his social, 
 as well as his business supremacy, here, his outpost will 
 become a gathering place for a feckless rabble such as you 
 Americans maintain at the ‘Rendezvous.’ I’ve visited that 
 place. Be Gad, there’s liberty and equality for you, madam! 
 No! McLoughlin did the right thing with your friend. If 
 he put himself in a place of business inferiority, he must 
 be willing to take the social consequences. The Chief Factor 
 dare not overstep the rule laid down or he’d breed resent- 
 ment in his subordinates.” 
 
 “It seems an intolerable sort of thing!” exclaimed Nar- 
 cissa. ‘‘How can real men tolerate it?” 
 
 “They know conditions before they join up with the Com- 
 pany. Also, ’tis the accepted mode of existence among the 
 British,” replied Governor Simpson. ‘More than that, ’tis 
 life in the large. Control, order, the subordinating of wills, 
 discipline imposed on the less by the greater. It may take 
 you Americans several centuries to learn that mob rule is 
 self-destruction. But you’ll learn it.” 
 
 “Mob rule, as you call it,” returned Narcissa quickly, “is 
 self-developing. It produces men who can think for them- 
 selves, act for themselves. Granted that it produces chaos 
 temporarily; out of the chaos will come, inevitably, men 
 of ability, propelled by their own mental powers who will, 
 at last, make a very effective government.” 
 
 “No!” exclaimed Simpson. “You have not read the phi- 
 
106 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 losophy of history, madam, with an impartial eye. As long 
 as Americans can run freely over their enormous and rich 
 land, drawing recklessly and uncontrolled, on its marvelous 
 natural resources, they will thrive and wax great, particu- 
 larly in their self-conceit! But wait, madam, until the re- 
 sources are devoured, until your population has increased 
 till it vies with that of England or of France and Germany. 
 Then you shall see what will be wrought by your dog-eat- 
 dog, the de’il take the hindmost, policy of government. Your 
 democracy, Madam Whitman, has never been put to the 
 test, nor will it be for another two hundred years. Then, 
 my prophecy is, that you will demand and get your strong 
 man, with the iron fist of vast authority, to crush your little 
 man, that the big may live.” 
 
 “More and more you persuade me, sir,’ said Narcissa, 
 her blue eyes twinkling, “that it is essential that Oregon 
 and California Alta belong to the United States.” 
 
 Governor Simpson laughed. “Take them if you can, my 
 dear Madam Whitman! But don’t forget that the victory 
 is to the strong, not to the virtuous, per se.”’ 
 
 “You are thinking of my husband!” said Narcissa quickly. 
 “Of his faith in the teachings of Christ as a philosophy to 
 live by.” 
 
 “As a philosophy to acquire empire by,’ corrected the 
 Governor. “Don’t delude yourself with phrases, madam. 
 You and your husband are as avid to push your flag west- 
 ward as lam mine. You are fonder of hypocritical phrases 
 than I am, though.” 
 
 Narcissa drew a long startled breath. “I wonder if you 
 are right!’ she murmured. “It will be a terrible thing for 
 Marcus and me to face, if you are right.” 
 
 “Indeed, you will discover after the armistice is over that 
 I am right.” Simpson nodded, his eyes half whimsical, half 
 defiant. 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 107 
 
 “So this is an armistice,” repeated Narcissa. ‘What hap- 
 pens next?” 
 
 “That depends on you,” replied the Governor promptly, 
 staring frankly at Narcissa. 
 
 Her beauty in the dying red of the perfect autumn day 
 Was a very moving thing to the Governor, for it was of the 
 kind that belonged to race, to the fineness developed by gen- 
 erations of gracious living. It belonged to the world, the 
 ideals, from which he had exiled himself. And for a mo- 
 ment, all the pomp and power of his governorship was dust 
 and ashes in his mouth. He leaned forward, his gray eyes 
 dark with pain. 
 
 “Madam Whitman,” he said abruptly, “what does it 
 mean? Why were you and I brought together in the wilder- 
 ness? An impossible meeting of kindred spirits! Nay, don’t 
 deny it! In another environment, you would be the great 
 lady and all your religious artifices would mellow to mere 
 graciousness toward your fellows. And here we are met, 
 both irretrievably bound to the circumstances in which we, 
 of our own free will, have set our lives. Or was it free will? 
 I do not know! All that I know is that, ever since I saw 
 you that weary night at Fort Hall, I have been with you 
 in spirit. I have seen you cheerful in the face of hunger 
 and impediment. I have seen you gay when, under the men- 
 ace of Jo Buffalo, most women would have been hysterical. 
 But most of all, I have felt you as a force of beauty and 
 strength that has entered my life for better or worse. I 
 have known many women and they have not haunted me 
 thus. Tell me,” leaning still farther forward as though his 
 eyes would pierce to her very soul, “for God’s sake, tell me, 
 meeting me frankly for this one moment in our lives, has 
 any thought of me haunted you?” 
 
 Narcissa’s pulse beat chokingly and all her heart seemed 
 to her to go out in a pledge of loyalty to Marcus. And yet, 
 
108 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 all that was truthful in her, and she was an exceptionally 
 honest human being, rose to meet the Governor’s plea. She 
 returned his look and her hands, clasped lightly in her lap, 
 began to tremble so that her very knees were shaken. 
 
 “““A force of beauty and strength that has entered my 
 life,’ she repeated in her lovely tones. ‘So I have felt 
 toward you, Governor Simpson, since our first meeting. I 
 do not know what it means. I have ceased to try to interpret 
 life. I spend my years fighting battles that are never won. 
 Perhaps there is, in friendship, a height and depth of soul 
 satisfaction, not to be found in any other relationship. Per- 
 haps that is what our meeting means. Perhaps it has no 
 significance other than a test of our characters. Surely you 
 perceive as I do, that friendship is impossible between us. 
 I cannot be loyal to my chosen lot and be a loyal friend to 
 you. You see that, do you not, sir?” 
 
 “Yes, I see!” replied Simpson huskily. “I must be satis- 
 fied with your fine frankness. Most women would have 
 simpered and withdrawn.” He was silent for a long mo- 
 ment, staring at the ground, then he rubbed his hand over his 
 forehead. “This, too!” he murmured. “This, too!” Then 
 he rose and stood before her, a splendidly impressive figure 
 of dignity and power. “You have been kind to me, madam,” 
 he said, and he lifted her hand to his lips, laid it gently back 
 upon her knee and was gone. 
 
 Narcissa did not stir for a long time. The gloaming deep- 
 ened. Some one in Bachelors’ Hall tuned a violin. A baby 
 cried faintly. Crickets chirped. Stars marched into vision. 
 Finally Narcissa clasped her hands before her heart and 
 raised her face to the sky. 
 
 “Dear God,” she whispered, “you know that I am faithful 
 to Marcus with the last fiber of my being. Teach me to 
 love Marcus as he deserves to be loved. Amen.” 
 
 Then she drew her shawl over her shoulders and returned 
 to the house. 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 109 
 
 Dinner was served that night with even greater formality 
 than before. The great hall blazed with candles and, in 
 place of the round table before the fire, the banquet table 
 was used, set forth with plate and linen Narcissa had not 
 seen before. 
 
 The Governor and Dr. McLoughlin, James Douglas, Nar- 
 cissa and Eliza comprised the company. Narcissa thanked 
 the fates for her gray silk and Eliza mourned that she had 
 nothing better than the ill-fitting merino. But she did not 
 mourn long, for the dinner was a gay affair, and Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin, who, like every one else, had taken a decided 
 liking to the plain little woman, saw to it that she told the 
 Governor, in her grave way, the story of Narcissa’s struggle 
 in the plains to teach Marcus to sing, and of the absurd 
 mischance that had caused the tornado to hurl Henry into 
 the bed of an English lord, who, hunting big game, had 
 traveled with their convoy for a few days before they 
 reached the “Rendezvous.” She had told the stories many 
 times and Dr. McLoughlin’s great roar, so like Marcus’, 
 never failed to follow. 
 
 Eliza was just finishing the second tale when Ian, with 
 an apologetic glance, stooped to whisper in the doctor’s ear. 
 McLoughlin turned at once to the Governor. 
 
 “They are having some difficulty with a group of Indian 
 hunters at the fur store, Governor, and the savages, know- 
 ing you are here, go above me and demand audience with 
 you.” 
 
 Governor Simpson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why 
 not call my annual council with the Indians, this evening, 
 and allow them to bring the matter up then? That is, if 
 you really wish me to handle it.” 
 
 McLoughlin nodded and turned to Ian, who again whis- 
 pered, and at some length, in the Chief Factor’s ear. 
 
 “What!” roared the doctor, rising. “And why was this 
 not brought to me before?” He turned to the Governor. 
 
110 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “There’s fifty of them before the gates breathing murder 
 and arson. If you will excuse me, Governor and ladies, 
 I’ll be about my business.” 
 
 “T would like to see this council,”” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 
 “It would be well for you both to do so, considering the 
 work you’ve set your hands to,” said Simpson. “But you’d 
 best see it from the little concealed gallery yonder,” nodding 
 toward a curtain, high in the room. “These councils are 
 not without their dangers. We see to it that several guards 
 are hidden where they may be most needed.” 
 
 “We'll get Madam “McLoughlin to take us there now,” 
 said Narcissa, rising. 
 
 The three women reached their vantage point just as 
 Tan threw open the dining-room door and a long line of 
 Indians filed into the room, followed by several white men. 
 The tables had been pushed away and Governor Simpson 
 stood before the fire. The braves, in feather headdresses 
 and bright colored blankets, seated themselves on the floor, 
 in a rough semicircle. The white men dropped into chairs, 
 scattered about the room. Dr. McLoughlin took his place 
 in a seat beside the Governor, who remained standing. Then 
 there was silence, the Indians glaring sullenly at the serene 
 face of the “Kitchie Okema.” 
 
 “They are ver’ angry,” whispered Madam McLoughlin to 
 the two white women. “They are read’ to draw tomahawks 
 and fight. He will have great trouble to mak’ them hear 
 him speak, that Kitchie Okema. I do not lak’ the look of 
 this at all.” 
 
 “They seem peaceful,” whispered Eliza. 
 
 “Peaceful! You do not know what you speak. They are 
 bad, those Injun. Cayuse, they are. Rich and bad. We 
 have much troub’ with them.” 
 
 “Why, those are the ones we are to have our mission 
 among!” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 
 The half-breed woman gave Narcissa a quick look, then 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 1 
 
 turned to her watch of the room below. The silence now had 
 lasted for perhaps ten minutes and the Governor turned to 
 the Chief Factor. 
 
 “Have in Malcolm Campbell!” he said quietly. 
 
 Shortly, the rear door opened and in stepped a tall, hand- 
 some man in kilts and bonnet, a bagpipe at his lips. As he 
 crossed the threshold he began to play Bonnie Doon and 
 he played it with a mastery that thrilled Narcissa. Strange 
 as his instrument seemed to her, she recognized in him the 
 skilled musician, and the wild sweet notes moved her almost 
 unbearably. 
 
 For nearly an hour Campbell marched up and down the 
 room, playing no warlike melodies, but lovely airs of inde- 
 scribable melancholy. During all this time, Governor Simp- 
 son stood immovably, watching the faces of the braves below 
 him. And the braves themselves! One after another, blan- 
 kets were loosened, war bonnets were laid aside, concealed 
 weapons were placed on the floor, rigid bodies relaxed and 
 swayed gently with the rhythm of the pibroch; and at last, 
 with tears coursing down his cheeks, a tall chief rose to 
 speak. Governor Simpson nodded at Malcolm Campbell 
 and the music ceased. The chief extended a dramatic brown 
 arm and spoke solemnly and at length. When he had fin- 
 ished, a half-breed in deerskin clothing rose, bowed deeply 
 and interpreted: 
 
 “We came to make war on the English. The spirit pipes 
 have forbidden that. Still our hearts are angry. Why have 
 the English sent Bostons to settle among us? They said 
 when we asked them why they came that Dr. McLoughlin 
 had sent them. Umtippe, our chief, then gave them land. 
 But I, I am the war chief. I and my strongest braves are 
 angry. When Bostons come they bring rum. They will take 
 the senses of our young men with it. When the Bostons 
 come they will not keep their word in trade. There is no 
 strong man among them, such as the Kitchie Okema or Dr. 
 
112 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 McLoughlin. Why did the Kitchie Okema allow Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin to send them?” 
 
 “The Indians sent four braves to the Bostons, in St. Louis, 
 asking that white teachers be sent to tell them of the White 
 Man’s God,” replied Governor Simpson. “The teachers 
 have come. Kitchie Okema could not defy the desires of the 
 Indians and refuse to allow the teachers in Oregon. Why 
 did you send for these Bostons, if you did not want them?” 
 
 “It was the Nez Percés who sent for them,” replied the 
 chief. “Let them settle among the Nez Percés.” 
 
 “Two of the four who went to St. Louis returned,” said 
 the Governor. “They were Nez Percés. The two who died 
 in St. Louis were Cayuse.” 
 
 “That is a lie!” exclaimed the war chief. 
 
 Governor Simpson seemed to grow six inches taller as 
 he shot a forefinger at the Indian. “How dare you tell me 
 Tvlie®’’ he roared.. “A Kitchie! Okema: never ‘lies fen 
 have died for less than that insult. Tell me immediately 
 that I speak truth or I'll turn you out with my own hands.” 
 
 The Cayuse stared, in wonder, while the Governor uttered 
 these angry words, and as the interpreter translated, he 
 showed every sign of consternation. 
 
 “The Kitchie Okema speaks truth,’ he mumbled hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 “These Bostons have come at the request of members of 
 your own tribe,” Simpson went on, his voice as cutting as 
 steel. “If you are not strong enough to control your peo- 
 ple, that is your lookout. What they do among you, that 
 is your and their concern. But mark you, my Cayuse war 
 chief, that if either of the women, with them, receives harm 
 at your hands, we will drag the cannon from Fort Walla 
 Walla to your village and kill as many Cayuse as there are 
 hairs on those women’s heads! White men protect all white 
 women. A Briton will fight to revenge even a Boston 
 woman. Do you understand?’ 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 113 
 
 “T understand,” muttered the Cayuse. 
 
 “And the next time you have complaints to make, don’t 
 come howling at our gates like a pack of wolves, or you'll 
 be treated as wolves. Come as men, brave men, as ye are, 
 and you'll be treated like men.” 
 
 There was utter silence, then Governor Simpson said, his 
 voice suddenly as courteous as though he were addressing 
 an honored guest, “Have you supped?” 
 
 “No! We made great speed and have fasted for two 
 days,” replied the Indian sullenly. 
 
 “Too bad! Too bad!” exclaimed the Governor. “Mc- 
 Loughlin, will you not order a feast for the Cayuse war 
 chief and his braves? Something, immediately, perhaps, to 
 stay their stomachs, then roast a steer for them! Make a 
 night of it, with plenty of sweet cakes and potatoes.” 
 
 As the interpreter repeated this, a broad smile wiped 
 every sullen line from the chief’s face, and there was a long 
 **A-a-a-h!” from his braves; the first sound that had broken 
 from them during the council. 
 
 With a magnificent gesture, flinging his blanket over his 
 shoulder, the chief strode from the room, followed in single 
 file by his smiling warriors. There remained only a hand- 
 ful of Indians in trappers’ clothing. James Douglas 
 stepped forward to state the case. 
 
 “These Indians, sir, have brought in a pack of pelts. 
 Half of them are unmarked, the other half have the marks 
 of American trappers on them. We have paid for the un- 
 marked pelts but are holding the others subject to orders.” 
 
 “This is Dr. McLoughlin’s affair,” objected the Governor. 
 
 “Tt is, sir,’ agreed Douglas, “but they insist on referring 
 it to you.” 
 
 “Insist! roared Simpson. “Insist? And who are these 
 scurvy thieves to insist with the Chief Factor and me? 
 McLoughlin, you give orders, man.” 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin leaned forward in his chair. “Let them 
 
114 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 bring a written order from the white trappers and we will 
 pay.” 
 
 A short, heavy Indian stepped forward. “We no can 
 bring um order. Injun that bring pelts say to me, ‘White 
 trapper die. You sell pelts for me. We give you half.’” 
 
 “That means a Boston trapper has been murdered,” said 
 McLoughlin, sternly. “Collect your pay from the mur- 
 deren, 
 
 With a howl the three trappers plunged from the room. 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin turned to the Governor. “I'll hold the 
 pelts here till ’tis sure there’s no owner. I dare not pay 
 these men for them, even though they kill the murderer, as 
 they undoubtedly will. And now, sir, there is a whole set 
 of judicial cases the Indians wish your ruling on. We can 
 best hold these hearings in the main office where the papers 
 areinied 
 
 The Governor nodded and followed the Chief Factor 
 from the room. Ian came in, drank off the dregs of wine, 
 left in the Governor’s and McLoughlin’s glasses, and 
 snuffed out the candles. 
 
 Eliza Spalding slipped her hand into Narcissa’s. “They 
 are terrible people, these British!” she whispered. 
 
 Madam McLoughlin led the way into the dimly lighted 
 hall. ‘Will you mak’ me visit?” she asked. 
 
 “No, thank you, madam!” replied Narcissa. “If yan will 
 excuse us we will both go to bed.” 
 
 They said good night and went to the room the: had 
 shared since their husbands left. Here, in the candlelight, 
 they stared at one another. 7 
 
 “Do you suppose the Nez Percés will repudiate us, as the 
 Cayuse have you?” asked Eliza. 
 
 “They say the Nez Percés always have been friendly to 
 the Whites and the Cayuse, unfriendly,” replied Narcissa. 
 “T suppose that’s why Marcus and I were put among them. 
 I scarcely believe you will be troubled.” 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 115 
 
 “But why should you be given the danger point?” in- 
 sisted Eliza. 
 
 Narcissa sat down on the edge of the bed, with a sigh. 
 She felt that she knew why the division had been made, but 
 she could not tell Eliza the reason without offending her. 
 She made no attempt to answer, but gave another trend to 
 the conversation. 
 
 “T am terribly troubled, Eliza,” she said. ‘Marcus and 
 Henry should know about what we heard this evening, at 
 once. There is no telling what that Cayuse will do.” 
 
 “The Governor is so friendly to you, why don’t you ask 
 him, in the morning, to send word to our husbands?” 
 
 “His friendliness to me is entirely personal, Eliza. He 
 intends to oust us all from Oregon by fair means or foul. 
 teabine use, me.c 
 
 Eliza slowly began to undress, but Narcissa sat motion- 
 less, staring at the candle. And suddenly she felt a violent 
 desire to leave Fort Vancouver, with all its comforts and 
 its growing personal complications. And with that desire 
 came an equally sudden conviction that the Governor would 
 do all he could to prevent them from going to the new 
 mission station. There would be excuses and delays, and 
 perhaps more drastic measures. 
 
 As if she sensed a part of Narcissa’s thought, Eliza said 
 suddenly, “I wish we were with our own men!” 
 
 “So do I!” exclaimed Narcissa heartily. ‘But I’m afraid 
 it will be long before we see them!” 
 
 “Let’s send word to them to come for us,” suggested 
 Eliza. 
 
 “T have no confidence in their getting it,’ said Narcissa. 
 “T am very much troubled, Eliza!”—rising and beginning 
 to sweep up and down the room, the gray silk flowing in 
 lovely lines about her. “Eliza, I have such a curious feel- 
 ing—that we may be kept from our husbands—until I don’t 
 know what!” 
 
116 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Eliza, brushing her hair, turned a startled face toward 
 her friend. “How can that be? You mean they’d use 
 TOLCEtH, 
 
 “T don’t know what I mean. I only know that I’m 
 airaidy: 
 
 Eliza looked at Narcissa with growing apprehension in 
 her eyes. “Then let’s get out without waiting to be sent 
 for. Let’s go to-night.” 
 
 “To-night? How can that be done?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “There was a boatload of freight started late this after- 
 noon for Fort Walla Walla,” replied Eliza. “I heard the 
 head voyageur tell Mr. Douglas that they’d make a start 
 and camp for the night at Lone Rock, five miles up the 
 river. Let’s go down to the camp and take passage. The 
 Indians’ feast will be beginning now and folks will be going 
 out of the fort to look on. So we can get by the guard at 
 the gate.” 
 
 “How I’d love to!” cried Narcissa. “But, Eliza, aiter 
 all their kindness to us, we can’t sneak off like that.” 
 
 “Kindness! Aren’t we earning our board and something 
 beside? If they are our enemies, they’re our enemies, and 
 I don’t intend to bow and scrape to them. That’s final.” 
 
 “T wish I were with Marcus, this minute!’ Narcissa burst 
 forth suddenly. “Who is it?” she added, as a knock 
 sounded on the door. 
 
 “Me! Madam McLoughlin.” 
 
 Narcissa unlatched the door and the little half-breed 
 woman came in. “I am alone, too, lak’ you,” she said. 
 “Gov’ Simpson, the doctor and Mr. Douglas, they go away 
 ver’ quickly.” 
 
 “What has happened!” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 
 “Big Spanish brigade march up the Willamette and Hud- 
 son’s Bay men must go mak’ it stop before it reach Co- 
 lumbia. No Spanish north of Columbia, that the rule.” 
 Madam McLoughlin waited for a moment, then went on a 
 
MALCOLM CAMPBELL 117 
 
 little breathlessly. “You two been ver’ good to me. You 
 dake ine: 
 
 “Yes,” replied the two white women sincerely. 
 
 “You tol’ doctor I must eat at table with him. You teach 
 me lak’ I been all white. Now! You heard Cayuse to- 
 night? I been talk with Cayuse chief, just now. He eat 
 here too, three days, then he will go back, kill three mission 
 men. If you ladies were there, he not dare do it because 
 of what Kitchie Okema said to-night. So he do, before you 
 get there, and he thinks that the Hudson’s Bay Company 
 not care.” 
 
 She paused, staring at the two women in a troubled way. 
 
 “Thank you, Madam McLoughlin,” said Narcissa. “You 
 have helped me to make a decision.” 
 
 “What shall you do?” asked Madam McLoughlin anx- 
 iously. 
 
 *‘Wouldn’t you rather not know so you can’t be blamed?” 
 asked Eliza. 
 
 “That would be best, if you do not need my help,” replied 
 the half-breed woman. 
 
 “Are you, by chance, going out to see the Indian feast- 
 ing?” asked Narcissa. “If you are we will go out of the 
 gates with you in about half an hour.” 
 
 Madam McLoughlin nodded and went softly out of the 
 room. 
 
 “Tl write a note to Dr. McLoughlin, Eliza,” said Nar- 
 cissa, in a low voice, “if you'll do us each up a little 
 package of clothing. The rest, if they will, they can send 
 us by freight.” 
 
 Eliza nodded, and for the next half hour the room 
 hummed with industry. At the end of that period they 
 passed through the great gates with Madam McLoughlin. 
 
GoW Bed Masonyayt 
 
 THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 
 
 N the first, faint gray of dawn, the head voyageur of the 
 
 freight express stood shivering over the fire, drinking a 
 scalding cup of tea and shouting directions at his men, who 
 were at work loading a boat, a few feet from the blaze. 
 At a startled gesture from one of the men, he looked up 
 to see Narcissa and Eliza stepping into the fire glow. 
 
 “Good-morning, Francois!” said Narcissa. “Have you 
 room for two more? We wish to reach Fort Walla Walla 
 as soon as possible.” 
 
 “But certainly, madam!” exclaimed the Canadian, as 
 coolly as though this were not the first time white women 
 had ever traveled in his boat. “Will you have breakfast?” 
 
 “That would be most grateful, wouldn’t it, Eliza!” Nar- 
 cissa put her arm around her friend’s drooping shoulders. 
 
 “I’m famished for a cup of that good tea,” said Eliza. 
 “Mrs. Whitman is a powerful walker for a poor stick like 
 me to follow,” smiling at Fran¢ois. 
 
 “You walked! All the way from the fort? I hope there 
 is no trouble!’ 
 
 “Not any!” declared Eliza. “Tl tell you! We just got 
 so homesick for our husbands, we decided to run away 
 to them! The Governor and the doctor and the Chief 
 Trader went off on some business last night that will keep 
 them two or three days and we couldn’t wait for them to 
 get back. So here we are, on your hands!” 
 
 “My pleasure!” Francois bowed, at the same time his 
 black eyes scrutinized the two with an unbelieving air. 
 However, the temptation to play host to these women, whose 
 
 118 
 
 (> 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 119 
 
 arrival was the talk of the whole territory, was greater than 
 his desire to play spy. He knew that Pierre Pambrun was 
 deep in the confidence of the powers at Fort Vancouver. 
 He would deliver the women into Pambrun’s capable hands 
 and wash his own of responsibility. He fed his guests 
 bountifully, arranged a comfortable place for them in the 
 great bateau, and before the sun had risen, Narcissa and 
 Eliza were swung out into the great river to the familiar 
 classic of the Columbia: 
 
 “Roult, roulant, ma boule, roulant, 
 En roulant, ma boule, roulant, 
 En roulant, ma boule.’ 
 
 The two women made the beautiful voyage in great com- 
 fort, watching always behind them, it is true, for the sweep 
 of Indian canoes, but upheld always by the firm conviction 
 that God was leading them in this new adventure. And 
 when, late in the afternoon—after a week en voute—they 
 swung rhythmically toward the grim walls of Fort Walla 
 Walla, the conviction became a certainty. For standing 
 with Pierre Pambrun beside the mooring post was Henry 
 Spalding! 
 
 They landed amidst startled exclamations, protests and 
 effusive greetings. 
 
 “T was going back for you with this boat,” cried Henry, 
 when Pambrun had ordered him to take the women to the 
 fort while he attended to the freight. “What happened? 
 Why have you no luggage?” 
 
 Together, Narcissa and Eliza managed to give him a clear 
 idea of the incidents that led to their flight. As the full 
 significance of what they told him sank in on Henry, he 
 grew pale to his very lips. 
 
 “But that can’t be! Why, after all, the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company has been very kind. They’ve allowed us sup- 
 
120 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 plies. T-amprun nas taken a great deaf of trouble for us. 
 It can’t be!” 
 
 “But it is! Don’t be a fool, Henry!” urged his wife. 
 “Now, mind you, not a word of this to any one but Dr. 
 Whitman and William Gray. As far as any one else knows, 
 we’re a couple of silly, gushing brides, homesick for their 
 husbands.” 
 
 “Where is the doctor?’ asked Narcissa. 
 
 “He comes in, to-night, to get the freight that came on 
 this boat. I came, yesterday. The boat is a day late.” 
 
 “Rain held us a day at The Dalles,” said Narcissa. “In 
 what condition is the house building?” 
 
 “Your house, at Waii-lat-pu, is finished,” replied Henry, 
 “and Gray has gone up to the Clearwater, to a Nez Percés 
 village called Lap-Wai, to begin work on ours. Do you 
 think I ought to go on up to Fort Vancouver? Will those 
 Cayuse massacre me if they meet me?” 
 
 “Certainly not, Henry,” answered Eliza. “You'll be in a 
 Hudson’s Bay boat. You go along and apologize for your 
 silly, sentimental wife.” 
 
 “Those men won’t believe that stuff!’ cried Henry. 
 
 “Of course not!” agreed Narcissa. “But what can they 
 do about it? Ah, there is Madam Pambrun come to 
 greet us!” 
 
 Once more the fatuous explanation of their flight, then a 
 hearty supper, and before this was finished a loud, fa- 
 miliar “Halloo!’ without the stockade. A moment later 
 Marcus, disheveled, unshaven, stood astounded in the door- 
 way. 
 
 Narcissa ran to greet him. “O Marcus! Marcus! We 
 had to come! We couldn’t stay away from you and Henry 
 any longer!” 
 
 Marcus, oblivious to the laughing gaze of the group 
 around the table, clasped Narcissa in his arms. “Dear, 
 dear Narcissa! You're like a gift from heaven!” 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 121 
 
 “But what a fascinating devil you are with the ladies, 
 doctor!” cried Pambrun. 
 
 Marcus shouted with laughter and felt of his rough 
 cheeks. “I brought my razor with me, for Madam Pam- 
 brun’s benefit! But,” holding Narcissa from him and look- 
 ing keenly into her eyes, “you are sure all is well, Nar- 
 cissa ?” 
 
 “Now that I am with you, all is well!” exclaimed Nar- 
 cissa, who could have wept for relief from a greater strain 
 than she had dared to acknowledge, even to herself. 
 
 It was not until they were alone, in the bastion bedroom, 
 that Narcissa attempted any explanation for the doctor’s 
 benefit. He listened to her, with horror and incredulity 
 growing in his eyes. 
 
 “But, Narcissa, the Cayuse have been most friendly! 
 They appeared delighted to have us settle at Wazui-lat-pu. 
 Old Chief Umtippe made us a present of a tract of land— 
 several hundred acres! He made:a long presentation speech. 
 An Indian named Charley Compo interpreted it for me, 
 and it was quite a flowery welcome, I assure you.” 
 
 “And you heard no protests?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “Of course, I have no Cayuse and they have no English,” 
 replied Marcus, “so what I heard made no impression. But 
 this war chief fellow hasn’t been near me, as far as I know. 
 Narcissa,”’ changing his tone abruptly, “this is no country 
 for a white woman!” 
 
 “But it is!’ Narcissa smiled. “No harm will come to us 
 and none to you, as long as you are with us.” 
 
 “Your faith in the power of the Hudson’s Bay Company 
 is greater than mine,” said Marcus. 
 
 “Yes,” Narcissa spoke thoughtfully, “I have great respect 
 for their power. But, Marcus, I have greater respect for 
 the Hand that is leading us on. As surely as I am lying 
 here beneath the shadow of this cannon, I believe that God 
 has predestined you and me for this work, and that He 
 
 49? 
 
[22 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 will, if we struggle hard enough, help us to real achieve- 
 ment. I realize, as well as you do, that our dangers are 
 many and terrible. But we dare not turn back! My re- 
 sponsibility is as great as yours. We will go out to Waii- 
 lat-pu, begin our work and leave the rest to the Almighty.” 
 
 “My fears are only for you, Narcissa,” sighed Marcus. 
 
 “Let them go! Let’s put our minds on converting sav- 
 ages.” 
 
 “I only wish it was as simple as that!’ groaned the 
 doctor. 
 
 “So do I!” agreed Narcissa, with a rueful laugh. 
 
 The following morning, Marcus had a long conclave with 
 Henry, in the corral. It is to the clergyman’s everlasting 
 credit that, frightened as he was, he offered to exchange 
 mission stations with the Whitmans. To this, of course, 
 Marcus would not listen, and Henry started for Vancouver, 
 in a chaotic state of mind, relief and fear dominating in 
 turn. 
 
 The boat was not out of sight, when Marcus announced 
 that he was ready to leave for Waii-lat-pu. Pambrun had 
 offered to loan Narcissa a horse, and she did not keep the 
 doctor waiting. Eliza Spalding, who was to wait at the 
 fort for Henry’s return, followed them to the gate, where 
 the horses were tied. Marcus did not linger over his fare- 
 well, but the two women, so unlike, so curiously brought 
 together, clung to each other in helpless tears, until Marcus, 
 his own eyes suffused, put out a huge, gentle hand and sepa- 
 rated them. Shortly, he and Narcissa were jogging, with 
 a little string of pack horses, along the east trail which led 
 for twenty-five miles beside the Walla Walla to their new 
 home. 
 
 It was clear and cold. The river, a brown rift in still 
 browner plains, made the only break in the wide, gently 
 undulating valley that was hemmed in by mountain ranges. 
 They rode with their faces toward the Blue Mountains, 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 123 
 
 where, Marcus explained, was to be found the only timber 
 suitable for making lumber. 
 
 “It’s twenty miles east of Waii-lat-pu,” he said. ‘We 
 used as few logs as we could, and those we dragged down, 
 one at a time, tied to a horse. We’ve built the cabin of 
 adobe brick,” 
 
 “Have the Indians helped?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “They'd have dragged logs down for us, but that is so 
 expensive, a little of it went a long way. They consider 
 any work they do for any one but the Hudson’s Bay people 
 makes squaws of them.” 
 
 “Is the place on good farm land?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “I’m sure it is,” replied the doctor. “Pambrun helped us 
 choose it. It’s a three hundred acre peninsula, formed by 
 the Walla Walla and a creek. It’s covered with wild rye as 
 high as your head. That’s what Waii-lat-pu means—the 
 Place of Rye Grass. The Indian village is just across the 
 Walla Walla. There must be about two hundred Cayuse 
 there now. Charley Compo says they’ll move south soon, 
 for the winter.” 
 
 “And you’ve had no trouble with them?” 
 
 “None at all. They’re as curious as monkeys. They’ve 
 watched the making and laying of every brick, but they’ve 
 not interfered.” 
 
 “We must lay careful plans about our attitude toward 
 them,” said Narcissa. “I think the Hudson’s Bay Company 
 is quite right in its method, a combination of tyranny and 
 kindness.” 
 
 Marcus looked at Narcissa with an expression of aston- 
 ishment. ‘I suppose that’s the result of nearly two months 
 of living among the so-called aristocracy! What would the 
 American Board think to hear you speak so, Narcissa? We 
 were sent here to live and teach by Christ’s example of 
 meekness and gentleness. I plan to treat them with entire 
 kindness.” 
 
124 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Narcissa’s heart sank. “Marcus! Marcus! You will ruin 
 us! They are irresponsible children, with no moral sense 
 whatever! On one side, they are tractable and peace 
 loving. On the other side, they are fiends. Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin says so. Kindness, yes. But we must require a 
 return from them for every favor we do them, else they 
 will think themselves kings and we, their vassals, owing 
 them homage. Their demands will become outrageous. 
 Oh, I employed my leisure time at Fort Vancouver to some 
 purpose, even if I didn’t learn to make butter in a hide as 
 Eliza Spalding did!” 
 
 Marcus brought his fist down on his saddle pommel. 
 “We must agree on our policy, Narcissa, and I must insist 
 that, as head of the mission, the policy be mine!” 
 
 It was Narcissa’s turn to give a long stare. “Must! 
 That’s a strange word for you to use to me, Marcus.” 
 
 The doctor flushed, but said between his set teeth, “I’ve 
 been doing a lot of thinking since I left you. You have 
 every advantage over me and if I’m not careful you'll domi- 
 nate me entirely.” 
 
 “T have no desire to dominate you, Marcus!” exclaimed 
 Narcissa. “And in what way have I an advantage?” 
 
 The doctor’s eyes moistened with emotion, but his jaw 
 still was set. “I am hopelessly in love with you. You have 
 only affection for me. ... 1 will not become your dog, 
 Narcissa, to fawn and tremble and beg for favor. I will 
 not!” 
 
 “Marcus!” cried Narcissa, aghast. “What have I done 
 to make you speak so? I must have been selfish and ag- 
 gressive, but I did not realize it. You must believe that!” 
 
 “You have been neither, Narcissa!’’ Suddenly placing a 
 brown hand on hers, “I am fighting for—for my soul’s free- 
 dom!” His voice broke miserably. 
 
 The familiar sense of loneliness swept over Narcissa and 
 that equally familiar sense of loyalty to the man beside her. 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 125 
 
 “You shall have your way, dear Marcus,” she said, her 
 lips quivering. “In every sense you are to be the head of 
 our mission and, as best I can, I will follow your counsel.” 
 
 “Thank you, Narcissa! And, although in your heart, I 
 know you think my policy is foolish—after all, I have the 
 greatest authority for it!” 
 
 “T know!” agreed Narcissa, humbly, and said no more. 
 But the sense of tragedy that had lifted, with the happy 
 meeting at Fort Walla Walla, settled down upon her once 
 more. 
 
 They rode in silence, until Marcus exclaimed, with a 
 smile, “There go some of our future parishioners!” 
 
 Coming into the trail, from the left, was a little train of 
 Indian ponies, each ridden by a squaw, in a red blanket, 
 and each dragging, on two parallel poles, a choice assort- 
 ment of pelts, pots and babies. At least twenty dogs, yelp- 
 ing and fighting, followed the half dozen horses. The 
 Whitmans overtook and passed them easily, for the little 
 caravan, on beholding Narcissa, stopped in its tracks to 
 stare. Narcissa laughed and waved her hand, but there was 
 no response. 
 
 Just before dusk, they topped a little hill and the doctor 
 pulled up his horse, exclaiming with a voice of great pride, 
 eelherevit isi’ 
 
 Below them flowed the Walla Walla, fringed with cot- 
 tonwoods and willows, as was the creek that joined it to 
 form the peninsula. Not far from the Walla Walla and 
 near the base of the peninsula stood a little adobe cabin. 
 With a cry of pleasure, Narcissa spurred her horse and had 
 dismounted at the doorstep when Marcus overtook her. He 
 lifted aside the blanket that served as door and Narcissa 
 entered her home. 
 
 A square room, with two windows. On one side, a fire- 
 place with kindlings laid. Before the hearth, cottonwood 
 logs in lieu of chairs. In one corner, a huge pile of buffalo 
 
126 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 skins and blankets,—their bed. Pegs driven into the adobe 
 walls held the meager supply of cooking utensils and the 
 split log mantel displayed a few pieces of crockery, some 
 books and Narcissa’s sewing bag. 
 
 Marcus kindled the fire and Narcissa sank on one of the 
 logs and held her long, fine hands to the blaze. Then she 
 looked up at Marcus, whose tanned face was eager and 
 questioning. 
 
 “You've done wonders, Marcus! You would have been 
 satisfied with a tent for yourself, so that all this toil was 
 for me. I’m a thousand times grateful.” 
 
 “Do you think you can keep from being too homesick, 
 here, my dear wife?’ Marcus was kneeling beside her 
 now, with his arm about her waist. 
 
 Narcissa put her arm across his shoulders. “You are 
 too good to me, Marcus!” she said. “You make me feel—” 
 
 She was interrupted by the entrance of an Indian, a tall, 
 old man, wearing the bright red coat of a British soldier 
 and leather pantaloons. Over his head was draped a red 
 and yellow handkerchief on which was placed an otter cap, 
 while, superimposed on the cap was a huge white horse’s 
 tail, which drooped over his shoulders. He was a bigger 
 man than Marcus, with a long face, thin to emaciation, and 
 covered with a thick cross-hatching of wrinkles. His eyes, 
 in the firelight, were deep-set and melancholy. He stood 
 silently in the doorway, staring at Narcissa. 
 
 The doctor rose and said, with a formal manner, “‘Nar- 
 cissa, this is Chief Umtippe, who gave us the land for the 
 mission. He can’t understand English, but I think you'd 
 better shake hands with him, anyhow.” 
 
 Narcissa swept across the room and took the chief’s hand 
 cordially. He permitted her to shake it, then the two stood 
 gazing at each other. It seemed to Narcissa that there was 
 more than curiosity in the Indian’s scrutiny. It was as if 
 he were appraising her, measuring her against Marcus and 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 127 
 
 himself. She knew that, to an Indian, a woman was less 
 than nothing. Still, as she returned his look, she felt her- 
 self bracing her will against his. 
 
 His scrutiny did not last long. His eyes shifted to her 
 hair. He rubbed his great brown hand over her braids and 
 touched her cheeks, which glowed with color. Then, with 
 a grunt, he walked slowly about the room, examined the 
 contents of Narcissa’s sewing bag, turned the books over 
 and, with another grunt, strode out of the house. 
 
 Narcissa looked at Marcus, with a comical raising of her 
 brows. “How soon can we hang a door there instead of a 
 blanket ?” 
 
 “Not until I can saw a log into boards, with a handsaw. 
 It’s a slow job. But we will make them understand that 
 we want privacy.” Marcus threw some sagebrush knots 
 on the fire and lifted a pot to the crane. “I made a venison 
 stew before I left, yesterday.” 
 
 “T’ll set the table,” said Narcissa, looking at the crude 
 arrangement of split logs in the middle of the room. 
 “Marcus, you are already a highly accomplished pioneer. 
 I have a long way to go to equal you. But I'll arrive! 
 You'll see!” 
 
 “This kind of thing doesn’t take skill!’ The doctor 
 waved his hand to compass the room. “But to learn the 
 Cayuse tongue does. That is your special task. You dis- 
 covered on the trail this summer how blind my ears are! 
 You'll have to learn the language and then teach it to me. 
 I’ve engaged Charley Compo, who’s been a Hudson’s Bay 
 Company Indian, to teach you. We pay him in tobacco; 
 an inch of rope tobacco for each four hours of teaching. 
 While you’re doing that Dll be clearing land for growing 
 crops.” 
 
 “T like my first task exceedingly much, sir!’ exclaimed 
 Narcissa. “When do we begin church work?” 
 
 “Well, it will be idle to try to do anything for the Indians 
 
128 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 till we get at least a smattering of their tongue,” replied 
 Marcus. “We'll have our own service to-morrow, as it’s 
 Sunday.” 
 
 “Very well, ‘Governor Narcissa’s eyes twinkled. 
 “But does it not occur to your Excellency that there’s the 
 least tendency on your part to delegate to me the role of 
 Christian obedience and humility, while you assume the 
 masterful manner you so abhor in the Hudson’s Bay Com- 
 pany folk?” 
 
 Marcus scratched his head and laughed ruefully. “I 
 know I'll fumble a lot, Narcissa. But be patient with me.” 
 
 “T’ll agree to be endlessly patient,” chuckled Narcissa, “if 
 you'll agree to let me keep my sense of humor.” 
 
 “Let you!” grunted Marcus. “That’s good too!” Then 
 with a sudden assumption of Ian’s most dignified manner, 
 he placed the smutty stewpot on the table. “Madam, sup- 
 per is served!” 
 
 Immediately after breakfast, the next morning, the doctor 
 opened the Bible and a small book of sermons, and with his 
 very beautiful and attentive congregation of one, began the 
 first church service at the new mission. When he had 
 finished reading a short sermon, Narcissa sang “Rock of 
 Ages.” She sat before the fire, her hands clasped in her 
 lap, her eyes on the leaping flames and her glorious voice 
 seemed to shake the little cabin. 
 
 Scarcely had the last note of the song left her lips, when 
 the door curtain was lifted and Umtippe strode in, followed 
 by half a dozen blanketed warriors. They seated them- 
 selves on the floor and Marcus, turning to the youngest of 
 the group, an Indian with a very intelligent face, pointed 
 to his Bible. 
 
 “Compo, tell them that I'll read them about the white 
 man’s God.” 
 
 Compo spoke tersely to old Umtippe. The chief shook 
 
 b 17? 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 129 
 
 his head until the white horse’s tail swept the interpreter’s 
 face, and replied, pointing to Narcissa. 
 
 “Chief says white squaw must sing,” reported Compo. 
 “He doesn’t care about your God.” 
 
 “Sing, then, Narcissa,” said Marcus. 
 
 There was a remote twinkle in Narcissa’s blue eyes, but 
 without comment she began “From Greenland’s Icy Moun- 
 tains.”’ 
 
 To a man, the Indians leaned forward and, with bated 
 breath, followed her every note. When she had finished, 
 Umtippe gave a great sigh, then touched her skirt and 
 pointed to his throat. 
 
 “He wants more,” said Charley Compo. 
 
 And again Narcissa sang. Her voice, a lyric soprano, 
 had a haunting cadence of sadness, that poignant, heart- 
 twisting quality, which had so moved Miles Goodyear. Ag 
 the beautiful notes of “Consolation” swept through the 
 cabin, old Umtippe groaned and beat his breast, and tears 
 began to run down the cheeks of Charley Compo. By the 
 time she had finished Mendelssohn’s incomparable melody, 
 all the Indians were weeping, yet Umtippe would not per- 
 mit her to stop. He kept her singing, until at the end of 
 an hour Narcissa made him understand that her throat was 
 weary. Then, without a word, he led his sobbing war- 
 riors out. 
 
 Marcus seized both of Narcissa’s hands. “Oh, my dar- 
 ling wife!” he cried. “All these weeks I’ve been reproach- 
 ing myself for bringing you among these savages, and 
 already you have them in the hollow of your hand!” 
 
 “Indeed, I haven’t!” exclaimed Narcissa. “Bad people 
 are quite as much moved by music as good, and the emo- 
 tions it rouses haven’t the slightest effect on morals. All 
 that I see in this morning’s experience is, that we have a 
 very emotional people to deal with! That’s why Governor 
 
130 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Simpson called in Malcolm Campbell, as I told you. But 
 it was victory only for a moment, as the Governor very 
 well knew.” 
 
 “Nevertheless,” said Marcus, somewhat crestfallen, “your 
 singing is going to be very useful to us.” 
 
 “Yes, for amusing and perhaps ir crises, I think it will 
 be,” agreed Narcissa. 
 
 And thus ended the first mission service. 
 
 On Monday morning, they began the program outlined 
 by Marcus. Narcissa found Charley Compo a willing and 
 vastly interested teacher. She perceived that it was going 
 to be easy to find Cayuse words for the ordinary objects 
 and events of life. But the Indians had no words express- 
 ing moral and spiritual ideas. How, unless the Cayuse 
 learned English, the missionaries were to convey any con- 
 ception of the Christian faith to them was a problem worthy 
 of Narcissa’s mental caliber, and she attacked it with 
 avidity. 
 
 While Narcissa worked in the cabin, Marcus began his 
 attack on the sagebrush that crowded to the very door. A 
 jocose and interested Cayuse audience soon gathered about 
 him, but not one of them could he beg or bribe into helping 
 him. This was distinctly and traditionally squaw’s work, 
 and no buck would lower himself by touching a grubbing 
 hoe. 2 
 Marcus did not waste much time trying to entice them 
 to work. He was overwhelmed by the knowledge of the 
 amount his single hands must accomplish if the mission 
 was to be made independent of the Hudson’s Bay Com- 
 pany. He longed to be in a position where he would not 
 have to ask them to sell him any supplies whatever. So 
 his grubbing hoe rooted and tore furiously, and by noon 
 great heaps of brush were burning all around the cabin. 
 Narcissa lent a hand after dinner, piling and burning roots 
 and faggots, while the doctor grubbed. Toward mid- 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS _ 131 
 
 afternoon, a drizzling rain began to fall, and Narcissa was 
 about to return to the house, when a great hubbub in the 
 Indian village, across the river, brought her to pause. Be- 
 fore she and Marcus could do more than look questioningly 
 at each other, a string of horses, each bearing a naked 
 rider, galloped across the stream and up to the cabin, 
 where they brought up before the two whites. 
 
 The leader, the upper part of whose body was painted 
 a brilliant red, addressed Narcissa violently. 
 
 “It’s the Cayuse war chief, back from Fort Vancouver !” 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 “You go in the house, at once, Narcissa!’’ ordered 
 Marcus. 
 
 “That’s probably what he’s saying too!” replied Narcissa. 
 “T shall do nothing of the sort! I heard the orders the 
 Governor gave him and I don’t believe he’ll dare harm you, 
 as long as I’m clinging to you, thus.” 
 
 She put both hands around the doctor’s great arm and 
 Jooked up at the war chief defiantly, her heart, meantime, 
 shaking her whole body. She was afraid; almost as afraid, 
 as on the day Jo Buffalo had attacked her. The war chief 
 continued to address her angrily, brandishing a tomahawk, 
 and making hideous contortions of his face, while the two 
 missionaries stared at him, as if half hypnotized. She was 
 afraid, and yet Narcissa was entirely conscious of the 
 serene and enchanting beauty of the distant mountain, which 
 rose in solitary grandeur as a background for the vermilion 
 figure of the madman on the horse. 
 
 The war chief actually had begun to foam at the mouth, 
 when Umtippe galloped up, bringing his horse to its 
 haunches before his brother. He uttered an angry com- 
 mand. A moment later Charley Compo came running 
 breathlessly to join the scene. 
 
 “What’s the trouble, Charley?” cried Marcus. 
 
 “To-wen-too, the war chief, wishes to drive doct’ away. 
 
132 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 But he says Kitchie Okema won’t let him touch the white 
 squaw. He is very mad because the white squaw got here 
 before he did.” 
 
 “Hooray for me!” gasped Narcissa. 
 
 Here Umtippe said something to Marcus, and Compo 
 interpreted. “He says he will give the white squaw to the 
 medicine man so that she can sing always for the Cayuse. 
 He says he will buy her from you for twenty white horses; 
 that then you must go away, because the war chief is 
 making too much trouble for him.” 
 
 “Compo, you have lived with white men and you know 
 just how impossible it is for a white man to sell his wife. 
 Explain that to Umtippe and then say, No!” 
 
 Compo looked puzzled. “White men have very many 
 different Indian wives. What do you mean?” 
 
 “Never mind!” shouted Marcus. “Say No! No! No!” 
 
 A lengthy colloquy ensued between Umtippe and Compo, 
 constantly interrupted by To-wen-too. Finally the inter- 
 preter turned to Marcus. 
 
 “Umtippe says, how much will you pay his brother, To- 
 wen-too, to leave you alone.” 
 
 “Not a cent! Not a twist of tobacco!” shouted the 
 doctor. 
 
 “Wait a moment, Marcus,” said Narcissa. “Is this your 
 idea of the soft answer? Why not ask them for time in 
 which to think this over?” 
 
 “That’s good!” exclaimed Compo, with a not unfriendly 
 eye on his tall pupil, and without waiting for word from 
 the doctor he spoke to the chiefs. 
 
 “Umtippe says, when the wolves begin to howl, to-night, 
 they will come back for your answer.” And Charley Compo 
 followed the cavalcade, which immediately started back to 
 the Indian village. 
 
 “Whew!” breathed Marcus. ‘“Narcissa, I can feel your 
 whole body trembling. Come into the cabin and let me 
 
 {»? 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 133 
 
 help you into dry things.” He did not allow her to talk 
 of the crisis that had arisen until they both were established 
 before the fire with a pot of tea brewing. 
 
 Then he said, “It’s our first clash with them. We must 
 try to meet it kindly and firmly.” 
 
 Narcissa nodded, watching him closely. 
 
 “They have given us the land and welcomed us here,” 
 he went on. “Now they ask me to pay for the privilege 
 of staying. How do you suppose Christ would have 
 handled this situation?” 
 
 “I think He would have given what was necessary for 
 the sake of saving souls,” replied Narcissa. 
 
 “Yes, I think He would have,” agreed Marcus. “Is that 
 what you would do, Narcissa?” 
 
 “Yes, but I’d accompany the payment with a threat.” 
 
 “What sort of a threat?” asked the doctor. 
 
 What sort, indeed? Narcissa looked at Marcus, then 
 round the cabin. “We are very helpless, Marcus! We 
 have nothing to threaten with.” 
 
 “Exactly!” said Marcus. “It goes against my gorge to 
 pay that savage anything, yet I have no other recourse. Do 
 you think I have?” 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. “How much shall you offer?” 
 
 “T’ll begin with a foot of rope tobacco. Three feet is all 
 we have, and we have left less than ten dollars in money. 
 I think’—abruptly—“that the American Board will be 
 seriously displeased with our use of this method.” 
 
 “The American Board, in its reprimand, had better sug- 
 gest a better!” retorted Narcissa. 
 
 Marcus sighed and Narcissa set about getting supper. 
 But the darkness came early, on this rainy afternoon, and 
 the wolves howled long before the meal was ready. A few 
 moments after the first, far, melancholy cry had sounded 
 over the plains, the curtain was jerked aside and the two 
 chiefs and the interpreter entered. Marcus met them with 
 
134. WE MUST MARCH 
 
 ereat dignity and gave them seats, before the fire. Then 
 he solemnly held up a coil of tobacco, about six inches long. 
 
 “Tell To-wen-too that I will give this piece if he will 
 promise to let us alone,’ he said to Compo. 
 
 Compo delivered the message and received the reply: 
 *‘To-wen-too says he must have two feet of tobacco and 
 the bag,” pointing to Narcissa’s sewing bag “also ten 
 pounds of pemmican and ten of sugar.” 
 
 Marcus had not spent six months in Indian country with- 
 out learning something of the Indian idea of trading. He 
 added one inch to the*odoriferous brown rope, and silently 
 held it up. The three Cayuse settled themselves com- 
 placently. This was language they understood and thor- 
 oughly enjoyed. All signs of belligerence faded from To- 
 wen-too’s saturnine face. He looked, thought Narcissa, 
 positively benevolent! 
 
 For a long hour the dickering went on, Narcissa taking 
 no part in it, but watching Marcus with eager interest: 
 measuring him against Simpson, against McLoughlin, 
 against Douglas. He was lacking in social grace. His 
 religion, to which he was passionately faithful, was, in its 
 tenets of humbleness and gentleness, a violent contrast to 
 the aggressiveness and the hasty temper which were natural 
 to him. It made him uncertain and often changeable, in 
 both opinion and act. Yet Narcissa knew that, actually, he 
 was steadfast and tenacious; a man to whom one’s heart 
 went out in utter trust, as it never could either to Simpson 
 or McLoughlin. And he was extraordinarily likable. Even 
 these savages, barred from an understanding of him by far 
 more than mere language, as the bargaining went on, Nar- 
 cissa could see, were responding to his simple friendliness, 
 to the boyish grin with which he met each shake of their 
 heads, each grunt of protest. 
 
 At the end of the hour, there lay on the floor between 
 Marcus and the Cayuse about fifteen inches of rope tobacco, 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 135 
 
 two fish hooks and a pound of pemmican. The doctor rose, 
 shrugged his shoulders and said to Charley Compo: 
 
 “That’s final, Compo! If I give them more 1 won’t be 
 able to keep Mrs. Whitman in food this winter.’ 
 
 There was no mistaking the finality in the doctor’s voice 
 and manner. After a long confab in Cayuse, the chiefs 
 rose, To-wen-too gathered the loot in the tail of his blanket, 
 Umtippe carefully arranged the strings which held his red 
 coat together, Charley Compo helped himself to a great 
 spoonful of the stew, simmering on the crane, and then 
 the three silently left the cabin. 
 
 Marcus looked at Narcissa. She clapped her hands 
 softly. “Bravo! The prologue is a success. Now let’s 
 have supper.” 
 
 “Well, the war chief is bound to leave us in peace,’’ said 
 Marcus. “But I hate the idea of bribery. I hope never to 
 use it again.” 
 
 “We'll see!’ Narcissa’s voice was suddenly a little 
 despondent. 
 
 For several days they were left in peace; that is, there 
 was no interference with their work, except such as came 
 from the constant exhibition of curiosity on the part of the 
 Indians. ‘This was soon exhausted, as far as the doctor 
 was concerned; but Narcissa, the first white woman in their 
 experience, was an unceasing source of wonder to them. 
 
 At first, their interest was amusing to Narcissa, but after 
 a day or so, it began to irritate her. They had absolutely 
 no respect for her rights to privacy. She could not teach 
 them not to walk into the cabin at any moment of the day 
 or night, examine what she was doing, handle any of the 
 objects in the dwelling, squat before the fire, help them- 
 selves to the food in the limited larder. 
 
 Marcus could not understand why Narcissa did not 
 harden herself to this apparently ineradicable characteristic 
 of the savage. It was not common sense, he insisted, to 
 
 b] 
 
136 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 allow what could not be helped to annoy one. But Nar- 
 cissa retorted that, as long as she lived among the Indians, 
 she would struggle for decent privacy. 
 
 One of the worst offenders was old Umtippe. He ex- 
 hibited not the slightest friendliness for Narcissa, but he 
 obviously considered that he owned the cabin and its con- 
 tents. tHe spent hours of every day, sitting on the floor 
 before the fire, spitting, dozing and making foul noises, 
 while Narcissa worked at her language lessons or tried to 
 ignore him, as she performed her simple household tasks. 
 
 One day, the cabin being for once clear of Indians, Nar- 
 cissa made preparations for a bath. She lighted a huge 
 fire and heated several pots full of water with which she 
 filled the wash tub. She fastened the door blanket by 
 ropes, which she twisted around pegs driven into the 
 adobe, and further clinched her privacy, as she thought, by 
 pushing the table against the door jambs. 
 
 She was standing naked in the tub, when the blanket 
 was ripped aside, the table heaved over, and old Umtippe 
 thrust himself angrily into the room. 
 
 “Why did you try to keep me out?’ he demanded in 
 Cayuse. 
 
 “Go!” cried Narcissa, in the same tongue, wrapping her 
 wet body in a blanket and pointing to the door, with a beau- 
 tiful bare arm. 
 
 “Tl not!” The chief was scowling in outraged dignity. 
 
 Narcissa had not yet acquired words with which to ex- 
 press what she felt. She stared at the old man, then delib- 
 erately she crossed the room and, clutching the blanket 
 about her with one hand, with the other dealt Umtippe a 
 sound box on the ear. “Go!” her eyes burning with anger. 
 She struck him on either cheek. 
 
 The old man’s eyes started from their sockets, so 
 astounded was he by the suddenness of the onslaught. He 
 raised his arm to return her blows but as he did so he 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS _ 137 
 
 caught the look in Narcissa’s great, blue eyes. Forty 
 furies danced within them. He backed away. Meek-eyed 
 squaws he understood, but not this golden-haired white 
 woman, whom many of the Cayuse suspected of being a 
 witch. Charley Compo, somewhat fearfully, indeed, already 
 had told Narcissa of this and, recalling it, as she saw fear 
 dawning in the chief’s eyes, she emitted a banshee wail by 
 running half a dozen scales, staccato and allegro. 
 
 Umtippe plunged backward through the door. 
 
 Narcissa jerked the curtain into place and flung herself 
 into her clothes. She was still white with fury when 
 Charley Compo arrived to give her her lesson. She bade 
 him go and fetch Umtippe. He returned shortly, the old 
 chief following him, somewhat reluctantly. Narcissa 
 walked up to the chief and shook her finger in his face 
 as she bade Compo interpret for her. 
 
 “You are never to come into my cabin again without 
 tapping first,” she said. 
 
 “The land is mine,” said Umtippe, sullenly. “TIL come 
 in here whenever I want to.” 
 
 “The land you gave for the mission,” replied Narcissa. 
 “The cabin is ours. You will respect our rights or I'll 
 have ‘King George men’ in red coats come here with guns 
 to show you what our rights are.” 
 
 “You are nothing but a squaw,” said Umtippe. “And 
 squaws who threaten the men are killed.” 
 
 “Kill me! Try it!’ cried Narcissa furiously. “And 
 every night my spirit shall come to your tepee and sing 
 vour spirit out of your body. Every night, until you die, 
 and long after, like this.” 
 
 She waited until the startled Compo had translated the 
 threat, then again she gave the banshee wail. Both Um- 
 tippe and Compo fled the cabin. 
 
 Narcissa stood, motionless, for a long moment, while 
 slowly the color returned to her face. Then, with quiver- 
 
138 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 ing lips, she dropped to her knees and bowed her beautiful 
 head upon a log seat. 
 
 “Oh, heavenly Father!’ she whispered. “Help me to 
 endure this terrible country, these filthy savages, this lone- 
 liness! Let not my mad decision to come here, last Janu- 
 ary, bring unhappiness to Marcus, for he is good! Help 
 me to be cheerful. For Jesus Christ’s sake, Amen!” 
 
 Then there was silence and she crouched against the seat 
 until the fire went out and the cold aroused her. 
 
 After supper, that night, she told Marcus of her en- 
 counter. He listened with horror and disapproval in every 
 line of his open face. 
 
 “T wish I’d been here to boot him out!” was his first 
 reaction. Then as the significance of what his wife had 
 done came home to him, he exclaimed, “You’ve made an 
 enemy of the chief!” 
 
 “He was my enemy from the first moment he saw me,” 
 said Narcissa. 
 
 “Nonsense! He was as simple and friendly as a child,” 
 declared the doctor. “You are too imaginative, Narcissa.” 
 
 “At any rate, I’ve discovered what sort of a threat I can 
 hold over these ‘simple, childish’ people,” retorted Narcissa. 
 “Something that will appeal to the diabolical side of them.” 
 
 “Narcissa! Narcissa!’’ cried Marcus. “Don’t you see 
 how opposed this is to the policy I thought we’d agreed 
 on? In five minutes, you roused in him what will take us 
 months to live down.” 
 
 “Do you suggest that I should have allowed Umtippe to 
 witness my bath?” asked Narcissa, flushing. 
 
 “Of course not! Don’t be silly! You should have come 
 out to me as soon as you had wrapped yourself up.” 
 
 “And what would you have done?” 
 
 “I'd have gotten Charley Compo and have explained to 
 the old man how we felt and have told him it must not 
 happen again.” 
 
THE PLACE OF THE RYE GRASS 139 
 
 Narcissa twisted her hands together. “But, Marcus! 
 They are children! Back of the order, must be the threat.” 
 
 “No! <A thousand times, No!’ thundered the doctor. 
 “We are sent here to show the world how to win these 
 savages by love. You must help me in this, Narcissa. In- 
 deed, you must!” 
 
 “Marcus,” replied Narcissa, “I wish to uphold your 
 hands as I wish nothing else in life. But when religion 
 interferes with common sense, I must let common sense 
 rule. Umtippe is a selfish, cruel old man who, as soon as 
 the novelty of our coming has passed, will join the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company’s forces in trying to get rid of us. 
 For aught we know, he may be in their pay now!” 
 
 “But you are accusing those Britishers of underhanded 
 methods, I don’t think they’d use against us, Narcissa. 
 They are mighty honorable men, I know.” 
 
 “So they are, in their own persons,” agreed Narcissa. 
 “But as representatives of their Company and of their 
 country, they’re without bowels of compassion. All ordi- 
 nary understanding of honor is subservient to their desire 
 to further their country’s interests.” 
 
 “T have a great desire to help my own country to get in 
 here,” exclaimed Marcus. “But it wouldn’t make me do 
 dirty tricks. And I don’t set myself up as a bit better than 
 those fellows.” 
 
 “Well, we'll see!” Narcissa sighed, then smiled. “Don’t 
 be cross with me, dear Marcus! I can’t help being a 
 woman. And that’s what I was this afternoon, just an 
 outraged female.” 
 
 Marcus melted instantly. “Bless your dear heart! If I 
 had my way, if duty didn’t interfere, I’d shelter you from 
 every wind that blows!” 
 
 He kissed her very gently, and so the disagreement, per- 
 haps the most fundamentally important one that Marcus 
 and Narcissa had had, was left. 
 
CHAPTER ViIIL 
 
 THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 
 
 OR several days, not only Umtippe, but all the other 
 Indians, excepting Charley Compo, shunned the cabin, 
 and the interpreter came only because his desire for tobacco 
 outweighed his obvious uneasiness. Then, to Marcus’ re- 
 lief, about a week after the encounter, the entire village 
 rode southward and Waii-lat-pu settled to winter solitude. 
 Two weeks from the day he left Fort Walla Walla 
 Henry Spalding jogged up to the cabin. He looked thinner 
 and more forlorn than ever, but was, on the whole, in a 
 very cheerful frame of mind. He brought with him sey- 
 eral pack-horse loads of supplies for Waii-lat-pu. His wife 
 had remained at Fort Walla Walla, for she was not feeling 
 well and they were to go to Lap-wai by canoe, up the Snake 
 River, sending their supplies by pack train. Beside the 
 freight, Spalding brought Narcissa a letter from Governor 
 Simpson. She read it while the two men stabled the horses 
 for the night. 
 
 “Fort Vancouver, Oregon Territory, 
 Deci st yi1826) 
 DEAR MapDAmM: 
 
 We were grieved that the onslaught of homesickness at- 
 tacked you and Madam Spalding during our absence, thus 
 depriving us of the opportunity to attempt to assuage your 
 yearning by offering you some of the entertainments that 
 hitherto had, we supposed, kept you content. We were 
 greatly relieved to learn through the Rev. Mr. Spalding that 
 you had reached Fort Walla Walla in good health and 
 spirits. 
 
 140 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 141 
 
 I have directed Factor Pambrun to keep a guardian eye 
 on your mission and to render you any assistance he may. 
 
 It had been my hope to call upon you on my journey back 
 to Montreal, but various matters having delayed me until 
 the mountain passes are too deep in snow even for my 
 wonderful Monique to attack them, I have determined to 
 winter here. We would be very happy to have you and 
 Dr. Whitman do us the honor of spending Christmas at 
 Fort Vancouver. Dr. McLoughlin will send you the host’s 
 invitation later. We can offer you, I think, a unique expe- 
 rience in showing you how the great holiday may be spent 
 in a British outpost. 
 
 I remain, dear Madam, with cordial expressions of regard 
 for your good husband and yourself, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 GEORGE SIMPSON. 
 To Madam Narcissa Whitman 
 Waii-lat-pu 
 
 From the Hon. Geo. Simpson, Governor of Rupert’s Land, 
 by Commission of Sir John Pelly, Governor of the 
 Company of Adventurers, Trading into Hudson’s Bay.” 
 
 Narcissa laid the letter on the table, while she completed 
 her preparations for the evening meal. When Marcus came 
 in, she silently handed it to him, and Marcus, after perus- 
 ing it, gave it to Henry. The clergyman snorted as he 
 finished it. 
 
 “Bigoted fool! Now, why should he write you, Narcissa, 
 instead of the doctor?” 
 
 “Because I ran away, not Marcus. And I left a note of 
 apology, not Marcus,” replied Narcissa. 
 
 “T suppose you'll go up there, Christmas. He didn’t ask 
 Eliza and me. We're not his kind.” 
 
 “Neither am I, as far as that goes!’ Marcus laughed 
 
142 WE MUST MAKCH 
 
 good naturedly. “I’d dearly like to see Christmas at the 
 fort. Yet we must not go.” He looked at Narcissa, who 
 nodded acquiescence. 
 
 “It’s absurd to think of it. .Our place is here... Jt is 
 obvious that you had no trouble with them, Henry,’’—she 
 looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 “They treated me like a king!’ declared Henry. “They’ve 
 bowed to the inevitable and I must admit, they’re doing it 
 very pleasantly.” 
 
 Narcissa looked doubtful but said nothing, and Marcus 
 asked eagerly: 
 
 “What was the outcome of their hurried trip to meet the 
 Spanish convoy, Henry?” 
 
 “T couldn’t find out much,” answered Henry, “except that 
 some man was trying to bring in five hundred head of cattle 
 to start a stock farm on the Columbia. Those two Brit- 
 ishers forced him to sell to them and they sent the Spaniard 
 back to San Francisco. Have you had any trouble with 
 the Cayuse?” 
 
 Marcus narrated their various experiences, omitting, how- 
 ever, to tell of Narcissa’s trouble with Umtippe. 
 
 “T think you did wrong to begin bribing them,” was 
 Spalding’s comment. “Though I haven’t any idea of what 
 else you could have done. How much land are you going 
 to put under the plow in the spring?” 
 
 “Twenty-five acres if all goes well,” replied Marcus. 
 
 “T saw Miles Goodyear up there. He sent you a letter 
 too, Narcissa. I forgot it. Let’s see! Where did I put 
 it?’ The clergyman began to go through his pockets and 
 finally brought out a crumpled bit of paper. “He’s swag- 
 gering round as if he owned all of Oregon. He was polite 
 to me, though. Comical to see how he’s taken on the man- 
 ners of these factors.” 
 
 “My correspondence is growing heavy!” laughed Nar- 
 cissa. “TI only wish they were letters from Angelica instead 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE, CAYUSE 143 
 
 of Fort Vancouver,” she added, wistfully, as she unfolded 
 the note and read it aloud. 
 
 “DEAR Mrs. WHITMAN: 
 
 What do you think has happened to me now? Governor 
 Simpson has hired me as his special handy man. I will 
 have to be with him all winter and maybe I’ll go to Mon- 
 treal with him in the spring. I am to be trained as a 
 courier. That’s a fellow they can trust to carry messages 
 for them. I expect I'll get to see you folks every once in 
 a while. Governor Simpson says that you and the doctor 
 put in a good word for me several times when other folks 
 were running me down, and that as long as you two trusted 
 yne, he was sure I was worth trusting. Thanks, many times. 
 
 My respects to the doctor. Tell him the wagon is earn- 
 ing its keep at Fort Boise. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 Mites GOoDYEAR.” 
 
 “He told me something about working for the Governor, 
 but I don’t believe it,” said Henry. “I wonder what he 
 sees in that young monkey.” 
 
 “It might be very useful to have a young American as 
 his courier, fiere in Oregon,” mused Marcus. ‘“He’s a 
 smart man, Simpson. Now then, Henry, let’s make a list 
 of the division of supplies for you to give to William 
 tay, 
 
 Narcissa offered her assistance at this work, but finding 
 she was not needed, she took up her sewing and receded 
 into her own thoughts. They were many, and some of them 
 were far afield. But all of them were colored by the fact 
 which had helped her and Marcus to make their instant 
 refusal of the Christmas invitation from the Governor. A 
 baby was coming to Waii-lat-pu in the spring. And Nar- 
 cissa was deeply glad, not only because she was happy in 
 
144 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 the thought of motherhood, but because it, somehow, en- 
 hanced her already tremendous sense of loyalty to Marcus. 
 She did not realize how pathetically this secret reiteration 
 of devotion revealed a hunger that her marriage had not 
 satisfied. 
 
 Spalding returned to Fort Walla Walla the following 
 morning, and the Whitmans settled to their task of pre- 
 paring the mission and themselves for saving souls. Be- 
 fore Compo had left for the winter, Narcissa had been 
 able to draw from him practically his entire vocabulary. 
 This she had written in a notebook, and now she worked 
 several hours every day preparing a Cayuse-English, Eng- 
 lish-Cayuse grammar, which she tested on Marcus daily. 
 The doctor was so persistent and Narcissa was so patient 
 that, in spite of his supposedly tone deaf ear, Marcus made 
 astonishing progress in learning to speak the primitive lan- 
 guage. 
 
 Christmas passed quietly, with a special service in the 
 cabin, attended only by the two missionaries. A heavy snow 
 fell all Christmas day and for several days following. In 
 fact, it was January before the sun shone brilliantly and a 
 warm wind began to melt the snow, like a blast from an 
 oven. Marcus, who had been chafing under his enforced 
 idleness, was cheerfully watching bare patches appear in 
 his new-cleared fields, one afternoon, when a lone horse- 
 man pushed up the heavy trail from the fort. He gave a 
 loud ‘“Halloo” as soon as he sighted Marcus. 
 
 It was William Gray. 
 
 The Whitmans had not seen a white man since Spalding’s 
 visit, and so young Gray was doubly welcome. They estab- 
 lished him before a glowing fire and plied him with ques- 
 tions. 
 
 He had just returned from a visit to Fort Vancouver, to 
 send mail by a possible Hudson’s Bay Company boat and 
 to purchase supplies. The Snake and the Columbia had 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 145 
 
 been full of ice, but he had made the journey without un- 
 toward event other than the usual hair-breadth escapes, 
 inevitable on such a journey. 
 
 “This time,’ he said with a chuckle, “I went to Fort 
 Vancouver, armed with my credentials from the American 
 Board and with my passport from the Secretary of War. 
 Well! Well! What a change! I was immediately elevated 
 from the servant class and actually allowed to break bread 
 with their majesties! Also they sold me what we needed, 
 only charging me one hundred per cent. for the service! 
 By the way, I just missed Jason Lee and Lieutenant 
 Slacum, who’d been calling at the fort. Also I missed a 
 wedding. ‘Black’ Douglas, as they call him, had just re- 
 ceived a magistrate’s commission from his government and 
 he united in the holy bonds of matrimony Mrs. Margaret 
 McKay, widow of a former factor, known as Madam Mc- 
 Loughlin, and Dr. John McLoughlin!” 
 
 SOh wl am so glad! Sol eladi "cried * Narcissay "(Dear 
 Madam McLoughlin, how proud she must be!” 
 
 “T doubt if it means much to her Indian soul,” said 
 Marcus. 
 
 “Tt wouldn’t, had not Mrs. Beaver talked so to her,” 
 replied Narcissa. “Do go on, William, and tell us more 
 news! We are starving for it. Let me give you more tea 
 and take another piece of toast. Now, begin again!” 
 
 William grinned happily. “This is a mighty cheerful 
 company after the Spalding gloom. Well, to proceed! 
 Last fall, Spalding was told that it was a Spaniard that 
 the Governor and factors had turned back with live stock. 
 It wasn’t a Spaniard. It was an American, named Ewing 
 Young. It seems that the Spanish Governor of California 
 sent word to Simpson that Young had stolen a herd of 
 horses,—brood mares,—and was bringing them into Oregon. 
 Simpson and his associates ordered him out of Oregon. 
 Young swore he bought the horses, but no one believes him. 
 
146 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Anyhow, he obeyed the Hudson’s Bay Company mandate 
 to the extent of not bringing the horses north of the Co- 
 lumbia. He took them down near the Methodist mission 
 on the Willamette. Then word goes abroad, ‘Beware of 
 Ewing Young, the bandit.’ Every one, including Jason Lee, 
 refused to sell him supplies, so Young decided he’d get 
 even with every one by starting a distillery, under the very 
 walls of the mission, where Lee has gathered together all 
 the ragtag and bobtail of this country.” 
 
 “Poor Lee!” ejaculated Marcus. “I fear rum more than 
 I do the worst Indian’in the world.’ 
 
 “It makes the worst Indians in the world,” said Gray. 
 “Well, Jason Lee got up a petition which the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company signed with the mission, asking Young to give up 
 the distillery and offering to pay for it. Young was sur- 
 prisingly decent. He refused the money, but promised not 
 to make rum.” 
 
 “A great victory!” cried Narcissa. 
 
 “Yes, and no!” again William chuckled. “Young ap- 
 peared to be taken with Jason Lee’s religion, or something. 
 Anyway, he and Lee and Slacum have formed a cattle 
 company and Young has gone on Slacum’s ship, to bring 
 another consignment of cattle to the Willamette.” 
 
 “Has Slacum left for good?’ asked Narcissa, eagerly. 
 “Do you know how he feels about Oregon?” 
 
 “I heard that he and Ewing Young became friends and 
 they say that Young is so bitter about the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company that he can’t hear the name uttered without curs- 
 ing. Several Hudson’s Bay employees took passage on 
 Slacum’s ship for San Francisco. Perhaps they’ll be able 
 to calm Young down.” 
 
 Narcissa looked thoughtfully at the fire. The Hudson’s 
 Bay Company evidently had concluded that it was not the 
 part of wisdom to detain an American naval officer against 
 his will. But, if they had given Slacum up, she knew that 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 147 
 
 they had prepared some sort of checkmate for the effect 
 of the officer’s report to Congress. 
 
 “Well! Well!’ exclaimed Marcus. “That is a news 
 budget! Did you come back in Indian canoes as you 
 went ?” 
 
 “No,” replied Gray. “I came back with Frank Erma- 
 tinger. He’s a traveling trader for the Company. He’s 
 going out, now, to collect the winter’s fur catch from the 
 Flatheads up in the Flathead River country, northeast of 
 here. He has his son with him and is going to try to send 
 him out to the States to go to school.” 
 
 “But is that possible, this time of year?’ asked Mar- 
 cus. | 
 
 “Ermatinger hopes so. He'll go up to Clark’s Fork of 
 the Columbia, follow that to the Bitter Root, over Caxton’s 
 Pass to the Jefferson Fork of the Missouri and so out. 
 He'll travel by night and in storms when he’s in Blackfoot 
 and Sioux country. They’re on the warpath.” 
 
 Narcissa suddenly leaned forward. “William, go with 
 him! Go to the American Board and tell them all that we 
 have learned here and tell them to send more missionaries. 
 What can our little group do with these thousands of sav- 
 ages? Tell them of the menace of the Hudson’s Bay Com- 
 pany.” 
 
 The two men stared at Narcissa, young Gray’s blue eyes 
 very bright, the doctor’s, very thoughtful. 
 
 “Then you’ve heard the gossip about priests!’ exclaimed 
 William. 
 
 “No!” replied Narcissa and the doctor together. 
 
 “Tt’s rumored, via a butler or some servant at Fort Van- 
 couver, that Governor Simpson is asking that as many 
 Catholic priests be sent in here, under the control of the 
 Company, as there are Protestant missionaries.” 
 
 “That settles it!” ejaculated Marcus. “You’d better take 
 Narcissa’s suggestion, William!” 
 
148 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Are you willing to undertake such a terrible journey ?” 
 asked Narcissa. 
 
 “Willing !’ Gray’s eyes were dancing. “Well, aside 
 from its being my obvious duty for the good of the mis- 
 sion work to go, I'd take a harder trip to be away from 
 our dear Brother Spalding. He and I don’t think alike on 
 anything! Neither of us can keep our fool mouths shut, 
 and poor Sister Spalding is worried miserable by the pair 
 of us. Also,” he grinned and blushed, “I want a wife! 
 I’m delighted with an excuse for going back and getting 
 Ones 
 
 “You know a nice girl who will come?” asked Narcissa, 
 smiling in turn. Gray was by no means a ladies’ man. 
 
 “No, I don’t,” replied the young man with engaging 
 candor, “but I’ll get my mother to find me one.” 
 
 “Good boy!” Marcus shouted with laughter. ‘What will 
 Spalding say about our making this decision without him?” 
 
 “What can he say? I'll send an honest letter of apology 
 and explanation by an Indian to-morrow. At heart, I 
 know he'll be glad. Now, then, let’s discuss exactly what 
 I’m to say to the American Board, what supplies I’m to ask 
 for, what errands I’m to do personally for you folks.” 
 Gray took an excited turn or two up and down the room. 
 
 There was little sleep in the cabin that night. Narcissa 
 brought her diary letter up to date and gave it in charge 
 to Gray, for her mother. Lists of supplies were made, and 
 questions of policy on which a ruling from the American 
 Board was desired. How much cropping of land was de- 
 sirable? Should excess crops be sold or given away? 
 These were questions that particularly agitated Marcus. 
 But Narcissa desired a ruling on a matter far less definite. 
 
 “Ask them,” she said, as she did up the package of let- 
 ters, “how much they wish us to make ourselves subservient 
 to the policies of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Think of 
 it!” she added, suddenly, “all that represents America, in 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 149 
 
 an organized way, in Oregon, is a handful of missionaries 
 backed up by a few devoted religionists who avowedly have 
 no political interest here. And England—think of the 
 power and brains that represent her in Oregon!” 
 
 “Tl ask them, all right,” agreed young Gray, “and I 
 know exactly what their reply will be. They’ll say we are 
 sent out here to convert Indians and that we can have no 
 interest in whether England or the States govern Oregor.” 
 
 “Write down their reply, the moment you get it,” said 
 Marcus. 
 
 “And tell my mother and father how well and happy I 
 am and go to see Eliza Spalding’s people, and Henry’s too, 
 of course,” said Narcissa. 
 
 Young Gray was fastening up his coat, preparatory to 
 leaving. He dared not stop for sleep, lest he miss Frank 
 Ermatinger. 
 
 “T’ll take my wife to see them all,” he declared. “And, 
 beside her, I’ll bring back at least two other missionary 
 couples: “See if I don’t.” 
 
 “God speed you in both undertakings, my boy!” said 
 Marcus, clasping the young man’s hand. 
 
 Gray shook hands heartily with Narcissa and hurried out 
 to mount his horse, which Marcus had brought to the door. 
 It was still long before dawn. Narcissa stood in the door- 
 way, holding a candle, and the little wavering gleam caught 
 the young man’s gay smile as he waved his hands and set 
 spurs to his horse. 
 
 Only a trip to the North Pole is comparable, to-day, to 
 the ardors and dangers of the journey he was so lightly 
 undertaking. 
 
 The weather on the Walla Walla continued to moderate, 
 and by the end of January Marcus started his plowing. 
 The Indians, too, began to drift back with the warmer days 
 and Marcus started to hold Sunday services for the Indians. 
 For the present, Narcissa took no part in these. As little 
 
150 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 by little, the deserted village returned to life, Narcissa 
 watched the smoke appear from the tops of the different 
 lodges, with a curious lack of excitement. It was as if 
 every interest in her life had receded, to permit her to con- 
 centrate her whole being on the coming of her baby. As 
 the time drew near for her confinement, all her deep con- 
 cern over the machinations of the Hudson’s Bay Company 
 dropped from the foreground of her thought. Her anxiety 
 over her duty to Marcus, her apprehensions over his Indian 
 policy, for the time being ceased to trouble her. She was 
 homesick. She longed unspeakably for her mother. But 
 even this pain, constant as it was, could not rouse her from 
 her dreamlike joy over the child. 
 
 The Pambruns came out to see her several times and 
 Madam Pambrun, with one of her young daughters, under- 
 took to stay with Narcissa as nurse and companion, for a 
 week before, and a week after the baby’s birth. Narcissa 
 liked the little Indian woman. She was extraordinarily 
 gentle and full of a poetic imagination that constantly sur- 
 prised and charmed the white woman. Pierre Pambrun 
 was consideration itself. He refused to allow any of the 
 pupils that Governor Simpson and Dr. McLoughlin had 
 assigned to Narcissa to come to Waii-lat-pu until Narcissa 
 should be strong again. In fact, the arrival of the first 
 white child born in the Oregon territory was awaited with 
 keen interest by all that isolated countryside. 
 
 Lone trappers traveled a hundred miles or so from their 
 posts to leave a choice fur for the layette. Madam Mc- 
 Loughlin sent some exquisite little moccasins she had 
 beaded. Dr. McLoughlin sent fresh apples to tempt Nar- 
 cissa, who, he heard, had sickened of a meat diet. And 
 Governor Simpson sent an exquisitely tanned beaver cloak 
 for Narcissa, herself. The Cayuse, who lived at Waii- 
 lat-pu, showed an unexpected interest in the event. Old 
 Umtippe forgot his sulks and announced that this child 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 151 
 
 would be known as the little White Cayuse and would be 
 adopted by the tribe. 
 
 The baby came on the fourteenth of March, causing as 
 little discomfort as one could hope to cause in arriving in 
 this world of discomforts. It was a little girl: an excep- 
 tionally fine specimen of babyhood. She looked like her 
 mother, in coloring and features, and had the unusual 
 stature and strength of both parents. They named her Alice 
 Clarissa, after her two grandmothers. 
 
 Madam Pambrun was distressed that Narcissa would not 
 allow the baby to be strapped to a baby board, Indian 
 fashion, as soon as it was born, and she and Marcus made 
 such difficult work of washing and dressing the child that, 
 after the second day, Narcissa sat up in bed and attended 
 to it, herself. And on the third day, Narcissa was so well 
 that the doctor allowed her to have visitors. 
 
 Old Umtippe, who had been kept out only by the new 
 barred door which Marcus had completed in January, was 
 the first caller. He wore all his usual regalia, with the 
 addition of a huge buffalo robe over his shoulders and a 
 headdress of buffalo horns superimposed on the white 
 horse’s tail. He lifted the baby from Madam Pambrun’s 
 arms and gave her a thorough examination. This done, he 
 grunted approbation, cleared his throat, and holding Alice 
 Clarissa in the crook of his arm he delivered an address of 
 welcome. 
 
 “The little White Cayuse is here! All the people ex- 
 pected her: Cayuse, Nez Percés, Walla Wallapoos. All 
 the tribe is pleased that a white child is born on its land. 
 All the chiefs will visit her and talk. But I, when she 
 grows up, will give her land and horses and make her 
 rich.” 
 
 He laid the baby on the bed and stalked out, as abruptly 
 as he had entered. 
 
 All the chiefs and, indeed, it seemed to the weary Nar- 
 
152 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 cissa, all the braves and all the squaws too, did visit the 
 baby during the next week. It was astonishing to observe 
 their interest. The adulation they offered the child was 
 something to ponder on. It convinced Narcissa, more than 
 ever, that Indian character was more complex than she or 
 the other missionaries had dreamed it could be. 
 
 Madam Pambrun was obliged to return to the fort, when 
 the baby was a week old, and Marcus persuaded Narcissa 
 to try to use the Cayuse midwife, old Tua, for a day or 
 so, as the baby’s nurse. During the few hours that Nar- 
 cissa permitted the experiment to last, the old lady had a 
 heavenly time. She, of course, handled and tested every 
 article in the house. Then, heedless of Narcissa’s protests, 
 fished from the keg in the larder a week’s supply of pickled 
 pork, settled herself upon the buffalo robe before the fire 
 and devoured it, raw and dripping with vinegar and salt. 
 Having finished the meal, she curled herself up like a 
 ‘wizened brown bear and went to sleep. Narcissa, lying on 
 the bed in the corner, with the baby beside her, watched 
 the performance with an irritation that yielded finally to 
 laughter, and while Tua snored and the fire brought the 
 sickening, unwashed odor from her clothing, she sang 
 softly to Alice Clarissa and waited for Marcus to return 
 from the field. He removed the old gourmand and gave 
 up any immediate hope of making the Cayuse useful. 
 
 The baby was two weeks old, when Umtippe made his 
 second visit. He went so far as to rap at the door, but then 
 walked in without waiting for Narcissa’s reply. She was 
 just lifting the baby from her bath. With a harsh exclama- 
 tion, he strode across the room and, snatching Alice Clarissa 
 from her mother, rolled her in the tail of his blanket and 
 clasped her to his breast. 
 
 “You will kill the child!” he cried, “and the spirits will 
 punish my tribe!’ 
 
 By a supreme effort of will Narcissa did not move. 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 153 
 
 “Give her back to me, at once!” she said. ‘There are no 
 spirits. God sent the baby to me.” 
 
 Umtippe looked down at the screaming child. “She is a 
 gift to the Cayuse tribe,” he grunted. 
 
 “Unless you let me care for my baby, the way God taught 
 me,” said Narcissa, “I shall not teach her how to sing.” 
 
 This, obviously, was a new idea to the chief. He stood 
 holding the little naked thing in his dirty blanket, quite 
 unmoved by the sobs that were rending Narcissa’s heart. 
 After long communion with himself, during which Narcissa 
 watched him, with the look of a mother wolf in her blue 
 eyes, he laid the baby back in her arms. 
 
 “Tf you kill her,” he warned, “the Cayuse will punish 
 you.” | 
 
 “Tf I’m not good to her,” returned Narcissa, “God will 
 punish me.” And she proceeded to wash the baby again. 
 
 Whether he thought his presence would be a protection 
 to the little White Cayuse during the process of bathing, 
 which she patently hated very much, or whether he enjoyed 
 watching it as an especially fine exhibit of the idiocy of the 
 white woman, or not, Narcissa did not know. But, for 
 whatever reason, until the middle of April, each morning 
 saw old Umtippe, with a friend or a visiting chief, solemnly 
 watching Narcissa bathe her daughter. Narcissa dared not 
 rouse his antagonism, and so his intrusion on this sweetest 
 rite of motherhood lasted until the camas harvest opened 
 in mid-spring. Then the whole tribe scattered over the 
 plains to gather the succulent lily bulb and, for a little 
 while, Narcissa was relieved of the old chietf’s presence. 
 
 The tribe was gone nearly a month and a great quiet 
 reigned at Waii-lat-pu. Marcus finished the planting of 
 some twenty acres of wheat and corn and made his garden 
 patch. Narcissa spent long hours out of doors, working 
 on her Cayuse grammar, the baby in its cradle beside her. 
 The plains were a rich green, spangled with flowers of 
 
154 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 every hue. The willows and cottonwoods by the river were 
 filled with singing birds. The twenty acres that Marcus 
 had planted began to show a fuzz of green, and the garden, 
 orderly emerald rows. 
 
 Narcissa was sitting thus, one lovely April afternoon, 
 when, without warning, Governor Simpson rode through 
 the gate. He dismounted as Narcissa rose to greet him. 
 
 “Where are the bagpipe players, Governor?” she ex- 
 claimed. “Has ‘Malbrouck gone a-fighting’ without their 
 knowledge?” 
 
 The Governor took both her hands and kissed them, bow- 
 ing as he did so. 
 
 “T feared they’d waken the baby!” he replied. “Ah, there 
 she is! Be Gad, that’s a fine child!” stooping over Alice 
 Clarissa, who raised to his, eyes the color of the Oregon 
 skies. “She looks like you, madam. I am glad of that!’— 
 straightening himself abruptly to gaze at Narcissa, who in 
 the simple print frock she had made herself seemed to him 
 as impressive as she had been in broadcloth and silk. 
 ‘Where is Dr. Whitman, this afternoon?” he continued. 
 
 “He went up to the foothills, yonder, for a log. I expect 
 him shortly.” 
 
 “T may stay not longer than an hour,” said the Governor, 
 “for Monique has orders to leave Fort Walla Walla at 
 daybreak for the Fraser River.” 
 
 “Marcus will want to see you, Governor. If you will 
 rest, here, I will make you a cup of tea.” Narcissa pointed 
 to the seat she had just vacated. 
 
 Simpson’s eyes rested on her slender hand. It already 
 was roughened by hard work. “You have no servant?” he 
 said. 
 
 “Even if I had one,” replied Narcissa, passing on into 
 the house, “I’d like to serve your tea myself.” 
 
 The Governor’s cold eyes lighted with warmth. He re 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 155 
 
 turned Narcissa’s smile and went off to put his horse in the 
 corral. When he came back, Narcissa had the tea and toast 
 waiting for him and had brought out a second seat. There 
 was a moment of silence, then the Governor said: 
 
 “T have asked McLoughlin to send a young girl here for 
 your care. She is, I believe, about sixteen, though she 
 looks about twelve. She is a half-breed. Her mother was 
 a chief’s daughter and although only an aborigine, a woman 
 of fire and poetry. This girl, who would be looked on as 
 an outcast by most white women, will in a few years have 
 great influence with certain of the tribes of Rupert’s Land. 
 If she learns how to meet white people of position, she will 
 become invaluable to the Hudson’s Bay Company. Please 
 send a bill for her board and tuition, each quarter, to the 
 chief clerk at Fort Vancouver.” 
 
 A look of astonishment and, at the same time, of amuse- 
 ment showed in Narcissa’s eyes and quivered on her lips. 
 She rose and made a deep curtsey. 
 
 “*Malbrouck’ has spoken!” she said, and sat down again. 
 
 Simpson stared at her haughtily, then threw back his 
 head and laughed. “I beg your pardon, my dear Madam 
 Whitman! You take a graceful method of reminding me 
 that you are not a Hudson’s Bay Company employee!” 
 
 “How canny, indeed, you are, my dear Governor!’ 
 torted Narcissa. 
 
 “Hum!” murmured Simpson. “Curious people, you 
 Americans! But you are quite right. Ill try again.... 
 As you so graciously agreed to do, while at Fort Van- 
 couver—” 
 
 “Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed Narcissa. “Of course, Ill be 
 glad to do what I can for the child; not only for friendship 
 for you, but because the money will be most welcome. 
 What language does she speak ?”’ 
 
 “French and several Indian dialects. Madam,’—leaning 
 
 LC 
 
156 ~ WE MUST MARCH 
 
 toward Narcissa with sudden bitterness in his voice,—‘‘she 
 has been grossly neglected and ill-treated. Life is not fair 
 to such as she!” 
 
 “Life,” said Narcissa, “as nearly as I can understand, 
 was not planned to be fair. It was designed as it is, to 
 discipline the soul for some great end of God’s. Christ 
 showed us how to endure that discipline.” 
 
 “Beside being an American, you are a Puritan!” ex- 
 claimed Simpson. “How can you, who are an artist, lit- 
 erally to your finger-tips, embrace the bleak tenets of such 
 a faith?” 
 
 “T need such tenets the more, because I am an artist,” 
 answered Narcissa. “After all, is my faith more bleak than 
 is your hard philosophy ?” 
 
 “Hard?” The Governor looked astonished. 
 
 “Yes, so they tell me. And I have learned for myself 
 that you are ruthless.” 
 
 “Ruthless! Madam, if I were ruthless, I’d be Lochinvar 
 at this moment.” His eyes, fixed on Narcissa’s, were deep 
 with pain. 
 
 She held his gaze for a moment, then she deliberately 
 lifted her baby from the cradle and held it in her arms, 
 crooning softly the silly and pathetic little lullaby. 
 
 “Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top—” 
 
 The Governor listened, his stern face softening inde- 
 scribably. When she stopped, with a single verse, he said: 
 
 “And I’ve never heard you sing before! Will you not, 
 dear Madam Whitman, sing to your child and me? Some- 
 thing that I may carry away with me! Perhaps that ‘Poor 
 Exile of Erin,’ of which Miles Goodyear talks so much.” 
 
 Narcissa, a strong hand gently patting the sleeping baby, 
 looked at the Scotchman with a smile that was so tender, 
 so patient, that he wondered a little wistfully if she were 
 thinking more of the child than of him; and then the 
 rounded, lovely notes floated out on the quiet air: 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 157 
 
 “There came to the shore, a poor exile of Erin, 
 The dew on his mantle was heavy and chill—” 
 
 Simpson leaned back in the crude chair, his riding crop 
 across his knees, his arms folded before him. Heaven 
 knows, it was an unforgettable picture: the exquisite out- 
 lines of the ranges, so evanescently blue one could not 
 always be sure which was Oregon sky and which was 
 mountain peak: the crude mud cabin, the cradle, with its 
 coverings of fur, and the woman in the blue print dress, 
 with the sleeping child on her knees, singing the simple 
 ballad as he knew many a prima donna would have been 
 glad to sing it. 
 
 He sat silent, so long after the last note had died down, 
 that Narcissa wondered if he were disappointed. She con- 
 tinued to pat the baby, however, and again smiled at 
 him. 
 
 “But why,” he asked at last, “why this,” waving his hand 
 at the cabin, “when you have such a voice and have received 
 such training?” 
 
 “T suppose,” replied Narcissa slowly, “it’s a part of that 
 discipline of the soul we spoke of. I need more than most 
 people; more than Marcus, for example.” 
 
 “Nonsense!” The Governor spoke bruskly. “Non- 
 sense! That’s mere cant! I refuse to permit our friend- 
 ship to descend to mere catch-penny, religious phrases. 
 ... some day,” leaning forward and touching the patient 
 hand that hushed the baby, “I shall persuade you to con- 
 fide in me the story of the storms that have ravished your 
 heart. I’m glad you have the child!” 
 
 “So am I!” Narcissa smiled. “And I’m glad I have 
 . Marcus, too.’ Then she said cheerfully, “So you have 
 added our young Miles Goodyear to your entourage! What 
 are you going to make of him?” 
 
 “A British subject!” declared Simpson. 
 
158 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Never!” exclaimed Narcissa, laughing. Then she said 
 suddenly, “We have twenty acres planted to wheat and a 
 five-acre vegetable garden. We both speak Cayuse fairly 
 well and have begun to hold services regularly. The In- 
 dians come in hordes.” 
 
 “To hear you'sing and see the baby}. ) Yes ve neardia 
 returned the Governor placidly. 
 
 “You are very sure of your control of the situation!” 
 said Narcissa softly. “I’d give much to know if Lieutenant 
 Slacum will reach Washington in safety!” 
 
 “So would I!” Simpson chuckled. “Well! Well! All 
 my little plans seem feckless, eh?” 
 
 “T don’t like your cheerfulness in the face of these small 
 disasters,” Narcissa was smiling. 
 
 “One learns,” said the Governor, ‘“‘after one sweats blood 
 over a situation and fails, that often within the situation 
 itself lie the materials for its own checkmating.” 
 
 “You have concluded that about us, have you?” mused 
 Narcissa, eyeing the Scotchman thoughtfully. Then she 
 rose to put Alice Clarissa in her cradle. 
 
 “T must be away at once,’ exclaimed the Governor, look- 
 ing at his watch. 
 
 “But yonder comes the doctor!” protested Narcissa. 
 “Can’t you wait for him? MHe’s not more than a mile 
 away.” 
 
 “Tl ride up and greet him. I cannot wait for him, at 
 the snail’s pace he’s traveling,’ said Simpson. He took 
 Narcissa’s hand between both his own. “Dear Madam 
 Whitman, I have been rebuked and sustained, fed in body 
 and soul, this afternoon. How can I thank you?” 
 
 “T suppose that is what friendship does for people,” re- 
 plied Narcissa simply. 
 
 “Tt’s what your friendship does for me. I don’t know 
 when we shall meet again, Narcissa. . . . I shall not forget 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE eye 
 
 you and your little child here, with only the ranges to 
 guard you. Good-by! God be wi’ ye, my dear!’ 
 
 “Good-by, ‘Malbrouck’!” smiling with eyes that flashed 
 tears. 
 
 He turned abruptly and strode to the corral. 
 
 Narcissa stood beside the cradle, watching him. gallop 
 across the plains. She watched him stop before Marcus, 
 watched them hold a little parley, watched the Governor lift 
 Ais beaver hat and turn his horse, watched him gallop out 
 of sight down the west trail, then watched Marcus, a tiny, 
 slow moving figure, leading a horse that she knew snaked 
 a great log behind it. It would be another hour, before 
 Marcus would be home. How lonely it was! How very 
 lonely ! 
 
 It was the day after the Governor’s visit, that Charley 
 ompo reported to the doctor that many of the Cayuse were 
 ill of a violent bowel trouble. Compo was eager for Marcus 
 to attend the sick people; but for several days Umtippe 
 would not permit this, and the te-wat (medicine man) 
 worked with rattle and incantations, day and night. Then 
 Umtippe’s favorite wife was laid low and the te-wat was 
 unable to relieve her. When she had been in agony for 
 twenty-four hours, the old chief came to the cabin. The 
 Whitmans were at dinner. 
 
 “Come and see my squaw!” he ordered. “If she dies, I 
 shall kill you and the te-wat too!’ 
 
 “That’s a tempting fee, indeed!” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 “Don’t you think of going, Marcus!” 
 
 Marcus rose. “This is my chance to compete with the 
 baby and with your voice, for a hold on the Indians,” he 
 declared with a smile, and he followed Umtippe. 
 
 The squaw lay on a heap of dried grass in Umtippe’s 
 lodge. When Marcus knelt beside her to make his exami- 
 nation, the te-wat stalked out, with an angry snort. The 
 
160 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 woman gave Marcus a look of abject terror, but Umtippe, 
 watching the doctor’s every motion, barked an order at her 
 and she uttered no protest. Outside the lodge, those who 
 were not ill gathered in hostile groups. 
 
 The squaw was suffering from an acute indigestion 
 caused, the doctor thought, by gorging on the camas root. 
 He prepared for a long fight, and made no attempt to leave 
 the lodge for nearly twenty-four hours. Narcissa, appre- 
 hensive and sleepless, kept Charley Compo traveling back 
 and forth between the lodge and the cabin, to inform her 
 of the progress of events and also to give Marcus his meals. 
 
 All the skill that the doctor possessed, all his courage, all 
 his faith, and he had much of all three, he devoted to fight- 
 ing the poison with which the pitiful little brown body on 
 the heap of grass was drenched. At the end of the twenty- 
 four hours he looked up at the watching Umtippe. 
 
 “She’s in a natural sleep,” he said. “The fever is gone. 
 She will live. Let her sleep as long as she will.” And 
 staggering with weariness, he left the lodge and returned 
 to the anxious Narcissa. Weary as he was, he was more 
 exhilarated than Narcissa had seen him for months. 
 
 “We can begin to save their souls now I’ve begun to save 
 their bodies,” he exclaimed, as he dropped on the bed to 
 make up his lost sleep. 
 
 Narcissa watched him, long after he had slipped into 
 heavy slumber. He was thin and careworn and looked 
 older than his thirty-six years. He never complained. 
 Narcissa wondered if he ever felt the consuming loneliness 
 that haunted her. She doubted it. He was doing the work 
 he loved best and he was with the human being he cared 
 for most. What could any one ask more of life? 
 
 The next morning, while Narcissa and Marcus were 
 dressing, Umtippe walked in upon them. His wife was 
 nearly well, he announced, but his brother, the war chief, 
 was now sick and the doctor must come at once. Marcus 
 
THE LITTLE WHITE CAYUSE 161 
 
 groaned, but hurried after the old despot. However, at the 
 door of the war chief’s lodge, Umtippe’s despotism ceased 
 to function. His brother would have none of the white 
 doctor. The te-wat stood looking down at the war chief, 
 who was doubled up with agony. 
 
 “The white medicine man wants you,” said the te-wat. 
 
 “Get him out of here!” howled the war chief. 
 
 Umtippe grunted. “Huh! If the white man goes and 
 my brother dies, you die too.” 
 
 “He will not die!’ declared the very tired looking te-wat, 
 beginning to shake his rattle again. 
 
 Marcus, not without relief, returned to his breakfast. 
 
 All day the rattle and the hoarse chant sounded from the 
 war chief’s lodge. But, at sunset, both sounds ceased 
 abruptly and a figure rushed from the lodge, crossed the 
 river and appeared breathless before the Whitmans, who 
 were seated in their doorway. It was the te-wat. 
 
 “Tell me how you cure them!” he panted. “Tell me or 
 Umtippe will follow the custom and kill me!” 
 
 “How is the war chief?” asked Marcus. 
 
 “Only your God can save him now,” groaned the te-wat. 
 “Speak to your God quickly.” 
 
 Marcus rose to fetch his medicine case. But he was 
 spared making this professional call, for a tall figure, with 
 a great buffalo skin over the shoulders, strode resolutely 
 through the sunset glow, across the field of tender growing 
 wheat, through the orderly rows of the garden and up the 
 dooryard. The te-wat, sensing the approach, in the Whit- 
 mans’ apprehensive eyes, turned to look. Umtippe was 
 upon him. And before he could raise a hand to protect 
 himself, the chief brought his tomahawk down on the 
 medicine man’s bare head. Without a sound, the te-wat 
 rolled at Narcissa’s feet, his brains oozing over the doorstep. 
 
 Narcissa screamed, holding her baby convulsively to her 
 breast. 
 
 b 
 
162 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “My brother, the war chief, is dead,” said Umtippe, 
 calmly. 
 
 The doctor’s Cayuse failed him entirely. “You red 
 fiend!” he roared in English. “What do you mean by 
 bringing your murders to our doorstep? Go in, Narcissa, 
 and close the door. Here, you Umtippe, help me to carry 
 this body away!” 
 
 But Umtippe was recrossing the garden patch to his 
 lodge. 
 
 When, some time later, the doctor came into the cabin, 
 he found both fire and candlelight, and Narcissa on her 
 knees in prayer. Not a little shaken himself, Marcus knelt 
 beside her and joined his voice with hers. When, however, 
 they had risen and were preparing for bed, Marcus said 
 solemnly : 
 
 “Tf the Lord deals as harshly as this with all our enemies, 
 our path will not be so difficult !”’ 
 
 Narcissa nodded. There was something curiously like 
 destiny being on the side of the missionaries in this death. 
 
CE AD Gros LX 
 TREACHERY 
 
 HE murder received only casual attention from the 
 Cayuse. Death was a common punishment for the 
 te-wat who had failed of his task. Even the doctor, after 
 the first shock, took the matter calmly. But the horror of 
 the murder; that terrible smear of blood and brains on the 
 doorstep, Umtippe’s devilish face, shook the very founda- 
 tions of Narcissa’s mind. 
 
 To what horrors had she committed herself, that January 
 afternoon, in Angelica, only a little over a year ago, when 
 she had agreed to marry Marcus Whitman? And to what 
 horror had she committed her child? Could God have 
 wished her to sacrifice herself and her baby, had He wished 
 Marcus to sacrifice himself, to the hope of saving a man 
 like Umtippe? 
 
 Yet, for what else had she come to the Columbia? Had 
 she not been wickedly dilatory? Had she not permitted her 
 mind to be swayed by many other interests, away from the 
 paramount duty of the life she had voluntarily embraced? 
 Had she not for months delayed beginning active work in 
 salvaging souls, because of distaste for the task? And had 
 not God found it necessary to overwhelm her with this 
 horror in order to return her to the path which she had 
 promised Him to follow? 
 
 After all, musician and artist though she was, Narcissa 
 possessed the religious convictions of her family and her 
 generation. Lying awake far into the night, she convinced 
 herself that God, for a very patent reason, had brought 
 Umtippe so repeatedly and so unpleasantly to her attention. 
 He wanted her to convert the old Cayuse chief. For if 
 
 163 
 
164 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Umtippe became a Christian the rest of the tribe would 
 follow. 
 
 It was dawn before Narcissa fell asleep. 
 
 So tremendous a thing as the murder, Narcissa took for 
 granted, would upset Umtippe’s daily routine. She thought, 
 with a sigh of relief, as she prepared breakfast the next 
 morning, that the funerals of the war chief and the te-wat 
 would occupy the chief for a day or so, giving her a 
 breathing spell in which to arrange her campaign for cap- 
 turing his soul for the Almighty. But she was to discover 
 that she knew very little about Umtippe. Alice Clarissa 
 was still in her bath that morning, when a shadow fell on 
 the threshold. Umtippe gave his perfunctory rap and came 
 in, seating himself on the floor in his usual place to the 
 right of the fire. 
 
 For a moment, such a wave of repugnance swept over 
 Narcissa that she could neither speak to the old man nor 
 go on washing the baby’s face. She set her teeth, fastened 
 her eyes on the baby’s lovely, squirming little body and, 
 somehow, found sufficient self control to go on with her 
 work. 
 
 Usually, when she began to dress Alice Clarissa, Umtippe 
 departed. But this morning, as if he resented Narcissa’s 
 silence, for it was her custom to sing over this task, he did 
 not budge. Narcissa fastened the little dress, praying that 
 he might go. It was nap time for the baby and meal time 
 as well. She made a long business of putting away the 
 bath things, the crying baby tucked under one arm. Um- 
 tippe eyed her impatiently. Finally, he grunted and pointed 
 to the rocking chair that Madam Pambrun had given Nar- 
 cissa. 
 
 “Feed ae child!” he ordered, “and sing the song you 
 always sing.’ 
 
 For a moment, Nore een hesitated, then slowly she seated 
 herself, turning her back deliberately on the old chief and 
 
TREACHERY 165 
 
 gave Alice Clarissa her second breakfast, singing as she 
 did so in her moving, tender voice: 
 
 “Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top! 
 When the wind blows the cradle will rock. 
 If the bough breaks, the cradle will fall 
 And down will come baby, cradle and all!” 
 
 Umtippe, with tear-blinded eyes, watched Narcissa lay 
 the baby in the cradle, then he rose slowly. 
 
 “We go on the buffalo hunt, to-morrow,” he said, “those 
 of my people who are well. See to it that your buck attends 
 to the sick we leave behind. There is no te-wat.”’ 
 
 “And if any one died in his care, you would kill him 
 when you came home, would you?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “Why shouldn’t he pay a life for a life?’ demanded the 
 Cayuse. 
 
 “Because, although he may lose some lives, he saves 
 many more,” answered Narcissa, “and because God says, 
 it is wrong to kill deliberately.” 
 
 “Your God is foolish,” said Umtippe, coolly. “Perhaps 
 I will not kill the doctor. Perhaps I'll only take back my 
 land.” 
 
 “You will do neither,” declared Narcissa, “because if you 
 do I will take my baby and return to my own people.” 
 
 “The little White Cayuse is a member of my tribe. You 
 will never live to cross the Blue Mountains with her.” 
 
 “What do you suppose,” asked Narcissa suddenly, “that 
 the Hudson’s Bay Company would do to you if you killed 
 us?” 
 
 “They'd say, good! They want no one here who plows 
 the land. Neither do we Indians want such.” 
 
 A sudden emotion rose in Narcissa that seemed to shake 
 her very heartstrings. She walked up to the chief with 
 that something dramatic in her stride that was inherent in 
 
166 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Narcissa’s every gesture. The words rushed from her with 
 the impressive fury of the day he had surprised her at her 
 bath. 
 
 “Let me warn you of this, Umtippe! We shall not be 
 killed, the doctor and I, until every foot of Waii-lat-pu is 
 under the plow and until we have shown the great white 
 peoples to the east that they can come with their families 
 and sow and reap all the valleys between Fort Hall and 
 Fort Vancouver! We shall not die, Umtippe, before you 
 have cast yourself on your knees, asking our God to for- 
 give you for a murdering villain and until we have brought 
 to God’s house every mother and baby of your tribe.” 
 
 “And how will you show this to the peoples of the east?” 
 sneered the chief. “The Hudson’s Bay Company and the 
 Indians, we hold this land. Either the Company or the 
 Indians will slay you in the end.” 
 
 “Perhaps they will,’ returned Narcissa, chin up, lips 
 white, eyes seeing before her years of unrequited, unremit- 
 ting toil and suffering, “perhaps they will, but before that 
 time we shall have opened the door.” 
 
 “Huh!” grunted Umtippe. “You are a fool! Watch the 
 little White Cayuse while I am on the buffalo hunt and the 
 salmon fishing.” He gave her a look of indescribable in- 
 solence and left the cabin. 
 
 Narcissa, with trembling fingers and eyes still burning, 
 began the work she had planned overnight: a Cayuse 
 primer which she would use in the school she wished to 
 open when the Indians returned to the encampment, after 
 the summer hunt. 
 
 Marcus, returning at noon from his work—he was erect- 
 ing a small grist mill on the creek—found her still with 
 brilliant cheeks. 
 
 “You are a very beautiful woman, Narcissa!” he said. 
 “And you belong to me!” with a sudden softening of his 
 voice. He paused, started to say grace, then reached across 
 
TREACHERY 167 
 
 the crude table to touch her hand. “Narcissa, are you 
 happy? Tell me that you are and that you are beginning 
 to love me! I need your love. You'll never dream how 
 I starve for it.” 
 
 “Marcus—” Narcissa faltered, and her eyes filled with 
 tears. She would have given her right hand to have made 
 the reply he craved. She sought vainly for some phrase 
 that would please him, yet that would be honest. 
 
 Her hesitation, in the face of his depth of love, cut Mar- 
 cus to the quick. He thrust his plate from him, rose, and 
 without a word, returned to his work at the mill. Narcissa 
 sat motionless for a time, then cleared away the table and 
 took up the primer again. When Marcus returned for his 
 supper, it was with a calm face. He had found solace in 
 work and in prayer and their evening meal passed as usual. 
 
 Two weeks after Governor Simpson’s call, Pierre Pam- 
 brun appeared, one spring evening, accompanied by a young 
 girl in a tattered deerskin dress. 
 
 “This,” he said to Narcissa, with a flourish, “is a bonne 
 for your baby, sent at the request of Governor Simpson.” 
 
 The child, for she did not look to be over twelve, in spite 
 of the sixteen years the Governor had claimed for her, 
 looked up at Narcissa belligerently. She had a tiny oval 
 face, entirely dominated by a pair of magnificent gray eyes. 
 Her complexion, what one could discover of it through dirt, 
 was a clear olive. Her hair, a light, waving brown, was 
 braided with strips of red cloth. She showed the effects of 
 undernourishment and her expression was the hostile ex- 
 pression of a child that has been abused and neglected. 
 
 “What is your name, my dear?’ asked Narcissa, in 
 French, 
 
 The girl did not reply and Pambrun said, “The Governor 
 wants you to give her an English name.” 
 
 Narcissa nodded. ‘We'll call her Sarah Hall, then, after 
 our friend.” 
 
168 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Marcus, who had been watching the newcomer with a 
 professional eye, now spoke for the first time. “If you 
 plan to keep her in the house, right along, Narcissa, I had 
 better give her a thorough examination, first. I wouldn’t 
 have her come within a mile of Alice Clarissa as she is.” 
 
 “My wife wanted to clean her up,” said Pambrun, apolo- 
 getically, “but the Governor’s orders were that she was to 
 come direct from the boat to you. So she had to be satis- 
 fied with sending out a bundle of Julia’s clothes. I sup- 
 pose that he wanted to appeal to your pity.” 
 
 “He has succeeded!” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 
 She took the child into the corner of the cabin which she 
 had curtained off for a dressing room and attempted, as 
 she made explanations in French, to undress her. But 
 Sarah Hall had not the slightest intention of being either 
 undressed or examined. She refused to allow the filthy 
 deerskin tunic to be removed, and set up a howl that 
 brought both men into the dressing room. 
 
 “Madam, bribe her with food!” suggested Pambrun. 
 
 “T’d forgotten she was half Indian!” said Narcissa, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 She produced a great slice of bread, smeared with sugar, 
 and offered it to Sarah, in exchange for her dress. The 
 trade was effected at once, and at the price of about half a 
 loaf of bread, doled out in sugar-covered slices, the work 
 of salvage went on smoothly. In about an hour, Sarah 
 Hall, with a close-clipped head and wearing little Julia 
 Pambrun’s clothing, sat rocking Alice Clarissa’s cradle. 
 Her solemn little face gave every evidence of a great 
 content. 
 
 “That’s a good deed from every point of view,” said 
 Pambrun, smoking peacefully before the fire, while the 
 doctor helped Narcissa to prepare supper. “The same boat 
 that brought Sarah,” he went on, “brought word that 
 Ermatinger and Gray passed safely through the Sioux 
 
TREACHERY 169 
 
 and Blackfoot country. He’s a wonderful plainsman, 
 Ermatinger.”’ 
 
 “One of the trappers at the “‘Rendezvous,’” said Nar- 
 cissa, ‘‘called him the ‘Watch-dog of the Frontier,’ for your 
 Company. He hasn’t visited us yet. When he does, I 
 suspect it will be to encourage us to give up our work.” 
 
 “‘He’s an excellent man,” Pambrun chuckled. “He will 
 keep your fiery young Gray in order, by being still more 
 fiery himself. By the way, Sarah Hall is Catholic.” This, 
 with a curious glance,at Marcus. 
 
 “Are you sure? What made her Catholic?’ demanded 
 the doctor. 
 
 “T gave the order,” replied the factor. “A priest hap- 
 pened to be at the fort to-day and he baptized her. He 
 will be at the fort permanently.” 
 
 “The baptism shall not stand,’ said Marcus sharply. 
 “We were asked to take full charge of this girl. She shall 
 be brought up a Protestant.” 
 
 “Where did the priest come from, Mr. Pambrun?” Nar- 
 cissa asked, hoping to avert an argument. “Does his com- 
 ing mean that the Hudson’s Bay Company is openly espous- 
 ing Catholicism on the Columbia?” 
 
 meveseand (no! "replied the tactor."~ Phe) Conipanyas 
 such, isn’t Catholic. But observe! In spite of all our 
 efforts, it is impossible to keep missionaries out. Suppose 
 that only Protestant missionaries come! Their first idea 
 is to civilize the savages, to teach them to till the soil. Is 
 that not directly opposed to the policy of the Company? 
 Suppose that Catholic missionaries come. They wish to 
 baptize the Indians, but they encourage them in their natural 
 arts; hunting and fishing. How can you expect the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company not to import Catholic priests, all 
 things considered ?” 
 
 “But you are not giving us all the considerations, Pam- 
 brun!” said Marcus, quickly. “There is another essential 
 
170 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 point. The Jesuits you bring in are finished politicians. 
 They will undermine us in a thousand ways that we can 
 neither meet nor understand! Good heavens! Was not 
 the work difficult enough before, that we must fight these 
 snakes ?” 
 
 The factor flushed and rose. “You forget that I am a 
 Catholic, Dr. Whitman !” 
 
 “And our very dear friend!” exclaimed Narcissa. “Our 
 very dear friend, placed in a most difficult position.” 
 
 “Yes, madam! Yes!” Pambrun sank back again. 
 
 “No one knows that better than I do,’ said Marcus in 
 an apologetic voice. “But I’m a plain man and when I 
 think of adding fighting of intrigue to the difficulties of 
 converting Indians, I feel like blowing up.” 
 
 The supper was on the table now. Sarah Hall was asleep 
 on the floor beside the cradle. Narcissa tucked a blanket 
 over the child, then took her place behind the teapot. 
 
 “Mr. Pambrun,” she said, after they all had been served 
 with antelope steak and potatoes, “I want to ask you one 
 or two questions, not with the idea of embarrassing you, 
 but just to help Marcus and me to know where we stand. 
 First, will not the main business of the priests be to get 
 rid of us?” 
 
 “Madam, indeed, I cannot answer that question!” The 
 factor half choked over his food. 
 
 “You have answered me, Mr. Pambrun,” observed Nar- 
 cissa, gravely. “My second question is, will not this priest 
 try to turn you against us?” 
 
 “That he cannot do,” replied the factor, “as long as you 
 do not work against the priest. His name, by the way, is 
 Pere Demers. Pére Blanchet will be at Fort Vancouver.” 
 
 “How can we help working against the priests?” asked 
 Marcus, “when our business in Oregon is to bring our own 
 religion to the Indians?” 
 
 “Then you must concentrate on the Indians and not on 
 
 3 
 
TREACHERY 171 
 
 the priests,” said Pambrun, drily. “Incidentally, instead of 
 looking for enemies in my house, I suggest that you search 
 your own!” 
 
 “What do you mean by that?’ demanded the doctor. 
 
 “Yesterday,” said the factor, “an Indian courier came in 
 from Lap-wai. He carried letters from Spalding for the 
 eastward Express. He had been under water when his 
 canoe misbehaved and the mail was, wet; so wet that some 
 of the addresses were obliterated. Those I opened to find 
 the address and send them on. One, I found, was to your 
 American Board at Boston, sent, I suppose, to counteract 
 anything your William Gray might report. Your dear 
 friend, Spalding, was writing to ask that Dr. and Madam 
 Whitman be withdrawn, Gray given this mission and Spald- 
 ing made head of both. He said that the doctor was treat- 
 ing the mission as his private property, was giving more 
 time to doctoring than to saving souls. He said that Madam 
 Whitman was a cold woman, who considered herself en- 
 tirely above mission work. He clinched these statements 
 by saying that you had no converts, against his own 
 twenty-five.” 
 
 Marcus jumped to his feet. “Where is that letter?’ he 
 roared, his face purple. “I'll take it to Lap-wai and make 
 Henry Spalding eat it!” 
 
 “But I could not detain mail!” cried Pambrun. “It’s 
 against the rules of the Company. I had to re-address it 
 and it’s on its way now to Montreal.” 
 
 Marcus’ face was livid. “Do you call that the act of a 
 friend?” he shouted. 
 
 “It was mail intrusted to my Company!” cried Pambrun, 
 angrily. “It had to go on with all speed.” 
 
 Marcus sprang toward the wall where his saddle-bags 
 hung. “I don’t so much care what he says about me, but 
 I’ll thrash him for his slurs on my wife!” 
 
 Narcissa watched Marcus, surprised by the degree of 
 
 3) 
 
Iam WE MUST MARCH 
 
 anger he showed. She was accustomed to his frequent 
 little blow-offs of temper, but this headlong fury was un- 
 usual. She knew that unless she set off a countermine, he 
 was perfectly capable of starting to Lap-wai, that moment, 
 and making an irretrievable break with Henry Spalding. 
 So, pale but calm, she sprang her counterblast. 
 
 “Marcus! Marcus! There was a certain amount of truth 
 in what Henry said about me. I am not, by nature, fitted 
 to be a missionary.” 
 
 Marcus dropped the saddle-bags to the floor and stared 
 at Narcissa, his eyes astounded and reproachful. Pam- 
 brun, his blond head turning, in consternation, from hus- 
 band to wife, exclaimed regretfully: 
 
 “T wish I’d told nothing!’ 
 
 “But why?” cried Narcissa. “I hope I’ve got sufficient 
 courage to bear knowing what my friends think of me!’ 
 
 “Friends!” roared Marcus. “Friends! Narcissa, I don’t 
 understand you! What are you trying to say? That you 
 regret being a missionary ?”’ 
 
 Narcissa looked up at Marcus. The candlelight caught 
 the long line of her chin and neck and made a ruby of the 
 little white cameo pin which fastened her blue calico dress 
 at the neck. One long hand pressed tensely against the 
 table. 
 
 “T’ve had moments of deep regret,” she said. 
 
 “Don’t say that, Narcissa!” begged Marcus. “Don’t!” 
 
 Narcissa smiled. “Don’t take it so hard, Marcus! You 
 wouldn’t think it very serious if you or Henry or William 
 Gray expressed regret over choosing this work.” 
 
 “The comparison isn’t fair,” declared Marcus, excitedly. 
 “Your feeling that way is the result of all sorts of things 
 in your previous life that couldn’t have happened to simple 
 folks like those other men or me. When you admit regret, 
 it’s serious, and you know it.” 
 
 “My admission means nothing,” insisted Narcissa, “ex- 
 
TREACHERY 173 
 
 cept that I’m having a much more difficult time to train 
 myself to do missionary work successfully than the rest of 
 you. I’m merely saying that Henry has some grounds for 
 his criticisms of me—though I’m not cold—! As to what 
 he says about you and as for his asking for our withdrawal, 
 I’m just as angry about it as you are.” 
 
 “Yes, you look it!’ growled Marcus, gazing half resent- 
 fully and half admiringly into his wife’s steady eyes. 
 
 “And Vil add something more!’ Narcissa was half 
 laughing now. “If you didn’t feel that there was some 
 basis for Henry’s remarks about me, you wouldn’t be half 
 so angry as you are!” 
 
 “You have no right—’” began Marcus explosively. 
 
 Narcissa rose, put her arm about his great waist and 
 rubbed her cheek against his. “I love your loyalty, Marcus! 
 But let’s leave Henry’s letter to William Gray.” 
 
 “But how can we know that Gray will stick up for us?” 
 asked Marcus, putting his arm around Narcissa, his great 
 voice softening. 
 
 “We can’t know it,” replied Narcissa, “but I believe he 
 is our friend. Why not write to the Board yourself, telling 
 what Mr. Pambrun has told us and offering refutation?” 
 
 “Very well,’ growled Marcus, “I'll do that. But as for 
 sitting here calmly, while Spalding goes on writing slan- 
 derous letters, I’ll not submit to it, Narcissa!” 
 
 “Well, at least, don’t start off to-night! I’ve always 
 heard it was bad luck to start on a journey on Friday. 
 And, Marcus, how about our famous ‘turn the other cheek’ 
 policy °” 
 
 Marcus suddenly gave one of his great roars of laughter. 
 “Narcissa, I am clay in your hands!” He turned to the 
 factor. “Pambrun, aren’t we well mated—her ice and my 
 fire?” 
 
 “Tce!” sniffed Pambrun. “Doctor, sometimes you are a 
 fool” 
 
174 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Don’t be too sure of that, my friend,” grunted Marcus. 
 Then he turned back to his wife. “To-morrow I'll start 
 for the Clearwater.” 
 
 Narcissa shook her head, but said no more. The men 
 smoked in silence while she made up a bed of buffalo skins 
 on the floor and beguiled the sleep-sodden young Sarah to 
 undress and crawl into it. She then cleared the supper 
 away before joining Marcus and their guest in front of the 
 fire. 
 
 “Have you received letters from home yet, Madam Whit- 
 man?” asked the factor. 
 
 Narcissa shook her head slowly. “I’ve not heard from 
 Angelica since I left there, a year and two months ago. I 
 may not hear for another year, until the ship comes to 
 Fort Vancouver from the Sandwich Islands. We didn’t 
 learn till we reached here, that letters could be sent to 
 Montreal and brought through by one of your fur brigades 
 in a few months’ time. Our letters from home were to 
 come by boat around Cape Horn to the American Board 
 mission at the Sandwich Islands. That takes two years, of 
 course. ... I would give a year of my life to hear from 
 mother. ... To think that she knows nothing of Alice 
 Clarissa !” 
 
 “It’s hard,” murmured the factor. “Letters are every- 
 thing here. I mean, of course, Wadi from home. This 
 place never can mean home to you.” 
 
 “It’s home to me!” declared Marcus stoutly, looking 
 round him with an affectionate eye for every adobe brick, 
 every piece of furniture, all wrought by his own patient 
 hands. “But poor Narcissa’s sick for her mother, I know. 
 As soon as we get things settled here, say three or four 
 years from now, she shall take Alice Clarissa back to visit 
 her grandparents.” 
 
 Narcissa shook her head doubtfully and silence fell, the 
 vast, inescapable silence of the wilderness. 
 
TREACHERY 175 
 
 The factor returned to Walla Walla immediately after 
 breakfast the following morning. Narcissa saw him go 
 with a little sinking of the heart, for she knew that Marcus 
 was only awaiting the factor’s departure to make prepara- 
 tions for his own journey to Lap-wai. But fate was.on 
 Narcissa’s side. Pambrun was not yet out of sight and 
 Marcus had just started for the corral when Umtippe, fol- 
 lowed by several braves, intercepted him. The doctor 
 paused on the doorstep. 
 
 “What can I do for you, Umtippe?” he asked. ‘Nar- 
 cissa, come here and help me understand him.” 
 
 “Two days ago, at Fort Walla Walla,” said the chief, 
 “a King George man in a long black robe made strong 
 spirit medicine over my nephew and gave his spirit to his 
 God. The King George man said your spirit medicine was 
 all bad and if the Cayuse used it, they would burn forever. 
 You must not have the spirit meeting to-morrow or ever 
 again on this land.” 
 
 “The King George man is wrong,” said Marcus. “My 
 God is the only living God. He will make your bad hearts 
 good.” 
 
 “Our hearts are not bad!” snarled Umtippe. “Don’t say 
 that again! You hear me! You must not have your spirit 
 meeting, to-morrow. I am going to have my braves sprin- 
 kled by the King George man. You'd better leave your 
 papoose here and go away.” 
 
 He turned on his moccasined heel and led his silent 
 courtiers back to the Indian village. Marcus and Narcissa 
 stared at each other. 
 
 “That, at least, settles my going away, for the time 
 being,” said the doctor. “Spalding’s turn must come when 
 it can. We'll hold that meeting to-morrow, come what 
 may !” 
 
 Narcissa nodded and turned to the day’s work. Umtippe 
 did not make his usual visit to Alice Clarissa that morning, 
 
176 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 observing which, several squaws, carrying papooses, edged 
 into the cabin and watched the baby’s bath, while old Tua 
 explained to them volubly, as one having superior knowl- 
 edge, that it would not kill the child, but kept it from grow- 
 ing dark like an Indian baby. Narcissa laughingly cor- 
 rected the old lady and, having finished with Alice Clarissa, 
 put her to sleep. Then she invited one of the mothers to 
 allow her to borrow her baby, wash it and dress it in some 
 of Alice Clarissa’s clothes. Three babies were at once 
 offered for the sacrifice, and Narcissa spent the remainder 
 of the morning in a lesson to the squaws on the care and 
 feeding of their children. 
 
 It was a lesson pitifully needed. It was the Indian cus- 
 tom to nurse their babies until they were two or three years 
 of age, or until their little stomachs were stout enough to 
 handle the camas and jerked meat that was the staple diet 
 for adults. A surprising number of the women, Narcissa 
 found, could not nurse their babies, and for these, death 
 was inevitable, for their mothers had nothing to offer them 
 save roots and meat. Miulch cows had been unknown to 
 the Cayuse until the coming of the whites. When Nar- 
 cissa produced a nursing bottle which had been procured 
 before Alice Clarissa arrived lest Narcissa be unable to 
 nurse her, and having filled it with diluted cow’s milk, at- 
 tempted to feed one of the half-starved papooses, the squaw 
 pushed the bottle away in horror and disgust. 
 
 Very patiently, Narcissa explained how she came to have 
 the bottle, and how common its use was among white 
 babies. Finally, she put a little sugar on the rubber nipple 
 and put it in Alice Clarissa’s mouth. That obliging infant, 
 still asleep, took a lusty drink, the squaws hanging over 
 her, breathless with interest, and at last, very fearfully, the 
 squaw with the hungry baby allowed the bottle to be tried 
 on her own child. After the first puzzled moment the little 
 fellow drank greedily. 
 
TREACHERY [77 
 
 A great clamor broke forth from the squaws. Regard- 
 less of the demands of hygiene, Narcissa filled and refilled 
 the bottle until every papoose had had a drink. Not until 
 then would the squaws consent to leave. With old Tua’s 
 help, Narcissa finally shoved the last excited woman out. 
 The old midwife paused in the door to say: 
 
 “The wife of the war chief had a baby yesterday. She 
 has no milk for it, but Umtippe would rather it dies than 
 drink from a cow.” 
 
 Narcissa stared at the old woman thoughtfully. “Wait 
 a moment, Tua,” she said. 
 
 She filled a new bottle with very weak, sweetened milk 
 and water, tucked her sleeping baby under her arm and said 
 to Tua, “Show me the way to the lodge of the war chief’s 
 wife.” | 
 
 “T will point the lodge out to you,” Tua nodded, “but I 
 am afraid of Umtippe’s anger if I lead you there.” 
 
 Narcissa found the new mother in the delivery lodge, a 
 small temporary shelter put up by the prospective mother 
 for her use during labor. It was so low that Narcissa was 
 obliged to enter on her knees. She found the woman lying 
 on an old buffalo skin, an eighteen months’ old baby 
 strapped to its board beside her, and a little new-born child 
 in her arms. She was weeping silently. Her braids had 
 come undone and she was unspeakably dirty and woe- 
 begone. 
 
 “What is the trouble, Ti-wi?”’ asked Narcissa. 
 
 The woman did not reply, except to sob more heavily and 
 to shove the older child toward the visitor. Narcissa gave 
 one look at the little brown face on the board. It was 
 emaciated almost beyond relief. 
 
 “Dead!” exclaimed Narcissa, her eyes filling with tears. 
 “Did it starve, Ti-wi?” 
 
 With a despairing gesture, Ti-wi threw open her deerskin 
 tunic and pointed to her sunken breasts. “I had no milk 
 
178 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 for my first-born for months. I have none now and this 
 second son will die!” Tears ran down her cheeks. 
 
 “Will you let me give him cow’s milk, Ti-wi? Thus?” 
 Narcissa produced the bottle and again demonstrated its 
 usefulness on her own baby. 
 
 The squaw watched, aversion mingling with eagerness in 
 her black eyes. Then she shook her head. “Umtippe would 
 kill both me and my son.” 
 
 “T’ll be back again,” said Narcissa. She scrambled out 
 of the tent and made her way to Umtippe’s lodge. He was 
 crouched on the floor, smoking, and looked up at her with 
 a frown. Narcissa gave her errand without preliminaries. 
 
 “Umtippe, your brother’s new son will die for lack of 
 milk, as the older child has, unless you let me give him 
 cow’s milk.” 
 
 “No!” The old Cayuse spat on the ground to express his 
 loathing. 
 
 “You don’t understand. Look!’ Once more, Alice 
 Clarissa with a crow of delight took a drink from the 
 proffered bottle. “When she is a little older,’ Narcissa 
 said, “she will drink cow’s milk every day. All white chil- 
 dren do so. Thus all the King George men were fed. Dr. 
 McLoughlin, the Kitchie Okema, owe their strength to the 
 cow’s milk they had all during childhood. So I can save 
 your nephew for you.” 
 
 “No!” grunted the chief; his eyes, nevertheless, as he 
 gazed on the lusty white child, were uneasy. 
 
 “When you die,” urged Narcissa, “God will ask you why 
 you let your blood in the tribe die out. All your own sons 
 are dead. He will say, “You had a chance to save your 
 brother’s baby and were afraid to!’ And God will hold that 
 death against you.” 
 
 “I am not afraid,” retorted the chief. “It is against 
 Indian custom. It’s bad medicine. The squaw shall he 
 killed for not having milk!’ 
 
TREACHERY | 179 
 
 “That’s fool’s talk!’ Narcissa’s voice was scornful. 
 “Kill the mother and the baby will surely die. My hus- 
 band saved your wife and he could have saved your brother. 
 He says, thus a baby whose mother has no milk should be 
 fed. God will hold that little boy’s death against you and 
 I could save him.” 
 
 Umtippe stared up at her. She stood, tall and strong 
 against the sky, in her indigo print dress, the lovely baby 
 on one arm, her dignity as marked and as inscrutable as 
 Umtippe’s own. 
 
 “T shall give your nephew the bottle 
 and turned back to the delivery lodge. 
 
 The old man scrambled to his feet and hurried after her. 
 To her surprise, he did not try to detain her. She crawled 
 into the lodge, brought out the dead baby and, without a 
 word, laid it at the chief’s feet. He stared down at the 
 ‘terrible little face in troubled silence, while Narcissa re- 
 turned to the astounded mother. 
 
 “Let me show Umtippe your new son,” she said. 
 
 The woman made no protest and Narcissa brought out 
 the little thing, squirming and crying on its board, and 
 thrust it into the chief’s arms. 
 
 “The last of your blood,” she said quietly. “He is a fine, 
 strong child. He shall be brought by his mother every 
 day to my cabin and play with the little White Cayuse. 
 Look !” 
 
 She suddenly thrust the bottle into the Indian baby’s 
 mouth. For just a breath, he refused it, then as a drop 
 of the sweetened liquid touched his tongue, he began to 
 swallow hungrily. Umtippe groaned and lifted his hand, 
 but Narcissa thrust it aside. 
 
 “This is a woman’s job!” she exclaimed. “What can a 
 man know of it! Go away! Go back to the men, or God 
 will hold this baby’s death against you.” 
 
 ‘Don’t say that again!” he commanded sharpiv. 
 
 399 
 
 she said, suddenly, 
 
180 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Narcissa laid Alice Clarissa on the ground, took the In- 
 dian child and said: 
 
 ‘When he has finished this, I shall show his mother how 
 to care for him. Every day she shall come to the cabin for 
 his day’s supply of milk. Tell her so, Umtippe.” 
 
 For a long moment the old Cayuse watched his tiny 
 nephew pull at the bottle, then he called to Ti-wi. “Do as 
 the white squaw says.” 
 
 He turned on his heel. But Narcissa put out a detaining 
 hand. “If you try to stop our meetings, on Sunday and 
 Tuesday, I shall refuse to give your nephew his milk.” 
 
 Umtippe glared at her as if he would strike her. Nar- 
 cissa returned his glare, with interest. The chief grunted 
 and continued on his way. Narcissa, her heart beating 
 high, carried the Indian boy in to his mother. The woman 
 looked up at her, her eyes like a grateful dog’s. 
 
 “Your God is good to babies,” she said. “From now on 
 V’ll pray to Him.” 
 
 Narcissa felt suddenly very weak. Here was the first 
 convert for Waii-lat-pu! . 
 
 =—  —_ 
 
ETA TH. 
 COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR 
 
 ARCUS?’ dinner was very late that day, but, listening 
 to Narcissa’s story, he quite forgot to eat, even when 
 at last the meal was on the table. 
 
 “T have found my way to help, Marcus!” she ended. 
 “You can’t know what that means to me!” 
 
 “Why can’t I?” exclaimed Marcus. “It’s of extraordi- 
 nary importance to all concerned. Thank God for it, I 
 say! Thank God!’ And he bowed his head to utter a 
 grace that was almost a chant of thanksgiving. 
 
 Narcissa had, indeed, found a place for herself. From 
 that day, her cabin became a mother’s and baby’s clinic and 
 her every waking hour was filled with care. She had found, 
 too, what was, at that moment, of supreme importance, a 
 threat to hold over Umtippe’s dangerous old head; but a 
 threat that would be potent, she knew, only so long as his 
 nephew was dependent on the bottle! 
 
 The usual church service was held on Sunday and on the 
 Tuesday following, with scant attendance by any but squaws, 
 to be sure, but it was not disturbed by any demonstration 
 from Umtippe. And during the month following, most of 
 the tribe dispersed for the summer buffalo hunting and 
 salmon fishing, leaving only the old, the crippled and a few 
 mothers, Ti-wi among them. 
 
 Marcus resolved, during this peaceful interlude, to make 
 his deferred trip to Lap-wai. Narcissa made no effort to 
 detain him. He was quite calm now and she did not greatly 
 fear a serious rupture. She dreaded being left alone, with 
 only her baby and Sarah Hall; but it was safe enough, 
 
 181 
 
182 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 with the braves away on the hunt. So she saw Marcus 
 depart with comparative equanimity. 
 
 Sarah Hall had adapted herself with surprising ease to 
 life at the mission. She was picking up English and though 
 she was a good deal of a spitfire, she was an affectionate 
 little thing. As she ceased to suspect these new friends of 
 evil intent toward her, she became extremely teachable and 
 her devotion to Alice Clarissa was a very moving thing to 
 watch. With Marcus, for many months, she remained a 
 little uneasy, as if it would be long before she dared trust 
 the male of the species, but within a week of her arrival 
 her faith in Narcissa was complete. 
 
 Marcus had been gone nearly three weeks and Narcissa 
 was looking for his return at any moment, when, riding 
 like a whirlwind through the summer dust, a horseman gal- 
 loped across the dooryard and dismounted before the steps. 
 It was Miles Goodyear. 
 
 He pulled off his cap to Narcissa, with the Governor’s 
 best manner. “Good evening, Madam Whitman! A courier 
 with letters from His Excellency !”—this with a broad grin 
 that was unquenchably Miles’ own. 
 
 Narcisssa held out both her hands. “Miles! Miles! How 
 glad I am to see you! I thought you’d gone to Mon- 
 treal.” 
 
 “T did get as far as the Fraser River,” replied Miles, “but 
 I had to come back with letters. How’s the doctor? I 
 want to see that baby.” 
 
 Narcissa led the way into the cabin and introduced him 
 to Sarah Hall and to Alice Clarissa, in Sarah’s arms. Mules 
 gave Sarah a scant nod, but examined the baby gravely. 
 
 “She’s like you, I’m glad to say,’”’ was his verdict. “For, 
 while the doctor’s a fine old boy, his good looks will never 
 burden him.” 
 
 “Nonsense, Miles!” exclaimed Narcissa. “The doctor’s 
 a fine looking man, only you’re too young to appreciate his 
 
COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR 183 
 
 kind. But, my dear boy, how much you’ve grown! You're 
 taller ‘thanyli 
 
 Miles, who was standing on the hearth, his hands clasped 
 behind him, teetered back and forth on his high-heeled 
 riding boots, gave a self-conscious glance at the red coat 
 he wore and grinned again. 
 
 Narcissa smiled in return. “Enjoying life, aren’t you, my 
 dear! Wouldn’t you enjoy it more if we had supper now, 
 instead of waiting for an hour, when it’s due?” 
 
 “Be Gad, I would!” cried Miles. “Say, Mrs. Whitman, 
 if I’d only had sense enough to get more education, I could 
 a’ worked up to be the Governor’s secretary. Of course, 
 I had to be such a doggone smart alec that I knew more’n 
 anybody!” He sighed deeply over his own shortcomings, 
 then grinned again. “But, on the other hand, if I’d a’ 
 stayed in school, I’d not met up with you missionaries and 
 got in touch with Captain Thing. And I can keep on 
 learning! Say, Mrs. Whitman, these Hudson’s Bay fac- 
 tors are great readers! You'd be surprised at the number 
 of books they have sent from England. Up in Rupert’s 
 Land, the Governor has started a kind of traveling library. 
 And in the dead of winter up there, when the snow’s so 
 deep seems like even God’s forgot ’em, he has these loads 
 of books taken across country on dog carioles. They say 
 you can’t imagine the difference it makes in the wilderness.” 
 
 “T can easily imagine it,” said Narcissa quietly. She was 
 frying antelope steaks over the fire, and now she said to 
 the gaping Sarah, “Put baby in her cradle, Sarah, and set 
 the table, please.” 
 
 “Here, give me the baby!” cried Miles. “I had a baby 
 sister. I can take as good care of her as you.” 
 
 He took Alice Clarissa deftly and, without a touch of 
 self-consciousness, began to walk up and down with her, 
 laughing into the little rosy face, and now and again kiss- 
 ing her. 
 
184 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “She smells sweet, like a white child. Indian babies stink 
 so! Say, Mrs. Whitman, what would you think if I went 
 over to England for an education?” 
 
 Narcissa put the smoking supper on the table and took 
 the baby from him, before she replied: 
 
 “I'd ask you why you preferred an English education 
 to an American.” 
 
 Miles scowled thoughtfully and ate a slice of bread before 
 he attempted a reply. “You see, I’m so blamed ignorant, 
 I can hardly find words to answer you. It looks like this 
 to me. The British know more about governing than we 
 do. Look at the way they handle these Indians and half- 
 breeds in Oregon and the thousands of ’em, up in Rupert’s 
 Land. When the Governor will let me talk to him, I ask 
 him questions and I asked him about that and he said it 
 was a matter of education. So I thought, if I could get 
 their kind of education, I could show us Americans how to 
 govern our Indians, before we get through with settling 
 out here. Why can’t we learn to use them, the way my 
 Company does, instead of fighting ’em?” 
 
 “Then you aren’t thinking of turning British?’ asked 
 Narcissa. | 
 
 Miles looked at her indignantly. “Say, Mrs. Whitman, I 
 was born an American! I’d rather be an ignorant Ameri- 
 can like me, than the best educated Britisher like—” he 
 paused. 
 
 “Like Governor Simpson?” queried Narcissa. 
 
 “Well, I wouldn’t mind being him,” said Miles, grudg- 
 ingly. “He’s something like I imagine a decent, plain kind 
 of a king would be. He likes to put on lots of style, you 
 know, and he’s very dignified, and yet I’ve noticed that any- 
 body, at all, can talk to him if they’ve got a trouble. The 
 dirtiest, lousiest old Indian has just as good a chance to 
 ask justice of him as a clerk or a chief trader. And he’s 
 always thinking about the good of the folks that work for 
 
COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR 185 
 
 the Company. Wants ’em to be so happy that they’ll work 
 like hell—excuse me, Mrs. Whitman,—for the Company. 
 And who says that isn’t wisdom?” 
 
 “Is he well liked?’ Narcissa refilled Sarah Hall’s cup 
 with milk and motioned for her to stp staring at their 
 visitor and go on eating. 
 
 “They say Dr. McLoughlin don’t like him. But I guess 
 that’s just one big man’s envy of another. Big chiefs are 
 bound to fight. All the men that’re in the Governor’s canoe 
 brigade would die for him gladly. John Leslie says ‘he’s 
 really a great man, you know,’ and he puts him next to the 
 Queen.. [’'d do anything for him, myself. Like? It’s 
 more’n liking. Say, Mrs. Whitman, what do you think he 
 did after you left Fort Hall?” 
 
 “Made plots to get rid of us missionaries, 
 cissa promptly, “none of which worked.” 
 
 Miles chuckled. “Give the old boy time! You see, he 
 doesn’t know missionaries the way Dr. McLoughlin does, 
 so his first attempts were bound to fail. Jokes aside, lI 
 think he’s resigned to you folks now.” 
 
 It was Narcissa’s turn to chuckle, but enigmatically. 
 “What did the Kitchie Okema do at Fort Hall, Miles?” 
 
 “Well, the day after you left, he got an Indian to take 
 him and me up to Jo Buffalo’s camp. It was twelve hours’ 
 hard riding among those hills to the south. The camp was 
 quite a big one; there must have been fifty braves sitting 
 round a council fire with Jo haranguing them, when we got 
 there. The Governor made us stay way back in the trees 
 and ordered us not to interfere, ther’ he walked, by him- 
 self and unarmed, right up to the council fire. He told Jo 
 Buffalo in a loud voice what white men did to men who 
 attacked their women and that he’d got a bad idea in his 
 head when he told you that he’d be glad to have you 
 harmed. Then he called the Indian that was our guide and 
 made him interpret what he’d said to the other Indians. 
 
 99 
 
 replied Nar- 
 
186 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Then he took the gun our Indian was carrying, shot Jo 
 Buffalo through the heart, dropped the gun to the ground 
 and walked slowly back to his horse I was holding. He 
 wouldn’t let us hurry getting away, either. We just went 
 at a jog-trot. Be Gad, I thought every twig snapping was 
 an arrow in my back!” 
 
 Miles paused, well pleased with the expression of sur- 
 prise and horror on Narcissa’s face. 
 
 “T didn’t dare ask him any questions,” Miles went on, 
 “but he said to me, “The idea must not get abroad among 
 the Indians that anything but death can be meted to a man 
 who tried what Jo Buffalo tried. He told Madam Whit- 
 man that the Kitchie Okema wouldn’t care. Only Kitchie 
 Okema could remove that impression! Say, Mrs. Whit- 
 man, Jo Buffalo’s death ought to be talked about to these 
 Cayuse. Is the doctor still talking gentle to ’em?” 
 
 Narcissa did not reply. She laid the sleeping baby in the 
 cradle. When she was seated again at the table, Miles 
 burst forth: 
 
 “You can tell the doctor, when you tell him about Jo 
 Buffalo, that I and a lot of other men consider that the 
 Governor did the doctor’s job for him.” 
 
 “What job was that, Miles?” boomed a great voice from 
 the doorway. 
 
 “Oh, Marcus!” cried Narcissa, running to throw her 
 arms about him and kiss his cheek, rough with a week’s 
 beard. “Safe at home again! Thank God!” 
 
 Marcus gave her a bear hug, tweaked the smiling Sarah’s 
 hair, and kissed the sleeping baby, then held out his hand 
 to Miles. 
 
 “Well, young man, what sort of a uniform is that you’re 
 wearing ?” 
 
 Miles looked a bit sheepish, but answered proudly enough, 
 “T’m Governor Simpson’s courier.” 
 
 The two, young man and older, looked each other over. 
 
COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR _ 187 
 
 They were curiously alike in their hawklike New England 
 cast of countenance, curiously unlike in general appearance. 
 Marcus was slovenly in dress, and had a certain careless- 
 ness of attitude that contrasted strongly with Miles’ new 
 dandihood and alert posture. 
 
 “And what was that job, Miles?” asked the doctor, 
 sitting down before the fresh plate Narcissa placed for 
 him. 
 
 Miles flushed, but stoutly repeated the story he had just 
 told Narcissa, even to the last sentence that Marcus had 
 overheard. Marcus devoured his supper during the recital, 
 looking up only when the young courier had finished. 
 
 “Could I have hoped to teach these Cayuse the doctrines 
 of Jesus Christ if I had come here with the blood of an 
 Indian on my hands?” he asked, angrily. 
 
 “You can’t teach ’em anything if they think you’re a 
 coward,” declared Miles bluntly. 
 
 “Do people think I’m a coward?” cried the doctor. 
 
 “Some whites do, and they say all the Indians do,” an- 
 swered Miles. “Of course, I myself know you aren't. 
 And I tell ’em so. All they answer is to grin and say ‘Jo 
 Buffalo.’ ” 
 
 “T don’t like that at all!” Marcus pushed his plate from 
 him and looked at Narcissa. “Do you think I should have 
 shot that Indian?” he asked her. 
 
 “Tt was I who told you to apply our accepted Indian 
 policy to him,” answered Narcissa. 
 
 “That doesn’t answer my question,” insisted Marcus. 
 “Let me put it another way. Have you regretted since, 
 that I didn’t kill him?” 
 
 “T never went that far,” replied Narcissa, “though before 
 baby came, in my weakness and fear the thought of Jo 
 Buffalo’s turning up here was my most constant horror. 
 But that passed when I received my strength.” 
 
 “That’s what I can’t understand,” Miles burst forth, 
 
188 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “and none of the other men can. How can you bring a 
 white woman into this country and ever leave her alone! 
 Yet, not knowing that Jo Buffalo was dead, you can go 
 off and leave Mrs. Whitman for three weeks! I don’t see 
 how! And yet, you are a man, every inch of you.” 
 
 “Tf you were a Christian, Miles, you’d understand,” said 
 Narcissa. ‘“‘The doctor believes that we are in God’s hands, 
 and that His willis going to prevail, regardless of our own 
 puny acts. Personally, I consider my husband’s loyalty to 
 his faith and his teachings the very noblest type of bravery. 
 To do the thing he believes right, in the face of the sneers 
 of all his contemporaries, is a sublime sort of courage. I 
 wish I possessed it.” 
 
 Marcus’ eyes softened. “Thank you, my dear wife,” he 
 said. ‘Let the rest of the tongues wag! I don’t care!” 
 He turned, after a moment, to Miles. ‘Well, what’s the 
 news from the great world, Miles?” 
 
 Miles, who had been regretting his own temerity, was 
 glad to change the subject. “You’ve got a rival in your 
 profession, doctor. Some fellow named Dr. Elijah White 
 turned up at the Methodist mission, this spring, and they 
 say Jason Lee is kind of embarrassed, what to do with him. 
 His morals are about like those of the rapscallions Jason’s 
 trying to save, and with old Doc White running round 
 loose, things are more confused than ever. Also, they say 
 he wrote back by Slacum for the Methodist conference to 
 choose him and his buddy, Shepherd, each a strong, likely 
 wife and send ’em by ship.” 
 
 “Well! Well! What will the Hudson’s Bay Company 
 do about those white women?” cried Marcus. 
 
 “They aren’t worrying much about the Methodist mis- 
 sion. In the first place, it’s south of the Columbia and in 
 the second, Jason Lee does just about what Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin tells him to.” Miles spoke with as much authority 
 as 1f all the policies of the Company were at his finger 
 
COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR _ 189 
 
 tips. “Say, Mrs. Whitman, you never did answer my ques- 
 tion about going to school in England.” 
 
 “T think you lack everything that would make such a 
 venture profitable to you, Miles,” said Narcissa. 
 
 “Ouch!” grunted Miles. “Well, that settles that!” 
 
 Narcissa patted his arm. “I know you didn’t really want 
 to go, Miles.” Then she looked at him, wistfully. “You 
 spoke of letters when you came. Were you joking? Is 
 there any chance that you have letters from home for me?” 
 
 “Not from home, Mrs. Whitman, I’m sorry to say,” 
 admitted Miles. “It’s a letter from Governor Simpson.” 
 
 He drew the missive, in its oilskin folder, from his 
 pocket and handed it to Narcissa. She stared at it and 
 looked up at the men, to say, with quivering lips, “It’s kind 
 of him to write me, but what would I not give if that were 
 my mother’s hand!” 
 
 “You might tell him so,” suggested Marcus, drily. 
 
 Narcissa gave him a quick look. “I wouldn’t mind tell- 
 ing him in the least,” she said. Then, turning to Miles, “If 
 you really want an education, Miles, why not plan to go 
 to Harvard College? If you will come to Waii-lat-pu, ag 
 the doctor’s assistant, I will teach you all I know. That, 
 followed by a year with a special teacher in Boston, would 
 prepare you. And you can earn all of it yourself.” 
 
 “No, thank you, Mrs. Whitman,” replied Miles. “That 
 wouldn’t give me what I want. I’d better stay where I 
 am, than waste time that way. Going to Harvard wouldn’t 
 teach me how to handle Rupert’s Land, or California Alta. 
 Maybe I can pick it up from the Governor.” 
 
 “No, you can’t, Miles!’ Narcissa spoke thoughtfully. “It 
 took generations to produce the Governors of the Hudson’s 
 Bay Company. And while they were growing up, they had 
 all their country’s centuries of experience to draw on. We 
 Americans refuse to profit by any one’s experience. We 
 must hack out a new way in our own way.” 
 
190 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Don’t discourage the boy!” protested Marcus. “What 
 does Simpson advise you to do, Miles?” 
 
 “He doesn’t advise me. He orders me to do things and 
 I do ’em, you bet, on the run.” 
 
 “Why do you suppose he took you away from Captain 
 Thing, Miles?” asked Marcus. “Why did he want to be 
 bothered with a young cub like you?” 
 
 “Well,” returned Miles, not at all offended, “I think he 
 decided he didn’t know much about Americans and he 
 would learn something about ’em from me. Besides, he 
 had a better chance to keep in touch with what Americans 
 are doing with me as a messenger than using a half-breed 
 or a Britisher.” 
 
 “It puts you sort of in the position of a spy, doesn’t it, 
 Miles?” said Marcus. 
 
 “It might,” agreed Miles, “if I wasn’t just as fixed on 
 making Oregon American as he is on making it British. 
 He doesn’t realize that.” 
 
 “Don’t be sure that he doesn’t realize all that you are or 
 can be made,” said Narcissa, slowly breaking the seal on 
 the letter and beginning, at once, to read it aloud. 
 
 “In Camp on Fraser River, 
 May 6, 1837. 
 To Madam Marcus Whitman, 
 Waii-lat-pu Mission, 
 Oregon Territory. 
 
 My Dear Mapam: 
 
 Young Goodyear is returning to Fort Vancouver with 
 dispatches, and I am, therefore, embracing the opportunity 
 to send you and the good doctor my greetings and thanks 
 for your kindness to the wee Sarah Hall. I am sending 
 to you, by the next fur brigade, a copy of Scott’s poems. 
 It is not great verse, but Sir Walter has the gift of song. 
 
 a a 
 
COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR 191 
 
 Surely no poetry ever invited itself more urgently to be 
 read aloud. Young Goodyear is a lad of parts. I am seri- 
 ously considering taking him to England with me for a 
 few years’ training. It would be well for our two nations 
 to have better understanding of each other. My experience 
 of the past year convinces me that had we known each 
 other better, had we been less insular, both, there never 
 need have been that greatest calamity to the world, the 
 American revolution. For look you, madam, when for- 
 eigners like Napoleon can run mad through Europe and 
 but for England’s fighting will and power, destroy the 
 peace of the world, it behooves all people of British descent 
 to think of their heritage and responsibility. Unless Britain 
 remains strong, the continent will not cease to welter with 
 the crimes of ambitious kings. The time will come when 
 Britain’s hands will have to be upheld by all the sons and 
 daughters she has sent out to colonize the world, or chaos 
 will reduce Europe to savagery. McLoughlin’s Napoleon 
 taught us this. 
 
 Think on it, my good missionaries, while preoccupied 
 by teaching the hopeless Indian what he is unfitted to ac- 
 cept. Lift your eyes from the Columbia to sweep the 
 world. 
 
 My candle has warned me that it is about to expire. A 
 Joon, that bird of terrible loneliness, has just called from 
 the forest, to remind me that, after all, I am only a humble 
 subject of a great sovereign, seeking to thrust the outpost 
 of civilization a little further west. 
 
 I am, dear Madam Whitman, with kind remembrances to 
 your husband, 
 
 Your ob’d’t serv’t, 
 GEORGE SIMPSON. 
 
 From Hon. George Simpson, Governor of Rupert’s Land, 
 etc., etc.” 
 
192 WE MUST MARCH. 
 
 Narcissa laid the letter back in its wrapper and for a 
 moment no one spoke. It was Marcus who broke the 
 silence. 
 
 “What Simpson asks for,” he said, “only he’d never 
 admit it, is a world that lives up to the tenets of Chris- 
 tianity.” 
 
 Narcissa made no reply. She began to wash the supper 
 dishes for Sarah to dry, her mind filled with a restlessness, 
 an acute uneasiness, that she made no effort to put into 
 words. 
 
 Miles whistled “Malbrouck has gone a-fighting,” under 
 his breath, then said abruptly: 
 
 “How are the Spaldings, Doctor ?” 
 
 “When I reached there both of them were at death’s 
 door with dysentery,” replied Marcus grimly. “I have 
 spent three weeks wrestling with Brother Grim for their 
 lives. I left them both in a fair way to recovery. Of 
 course,” answering the question in Narcissa’s eyes, “I 
 couldn’t, under the circumstances, mention my errand. The 
 Lord had made it clear enough that He’d attend to that 
 in His own good time.” 
 
 “T’d just as soon nurse an old tomcat through a spell of 
 sickness as Spalding,” said Miles. “Say, Doctor, are you 
 ever going back for that wagon?” 
 
 “TI certainly am!” answered Marcus. 
 
 “T’ll give you a lift, if I’m not in England,” said Miles 
 in a condescending voice that caused both Marcus and 
 Narcissa to burst into laughter, much to Miles’ bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 Following this, Sarah Hall spoke for the only time that 
 evening. 
 
 “T think white boys are ver’ silly,” she said, and she put 
 up the last tin cup and went to bed. 
 
 The others were not long in following her. 
 
 Miles continued his journey to Fort Vancouver, the next 
 
COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR — 193 
 
 day, and Waii-lat-pu settled to several uneventful weeks. 
 Marcus made a number of short excursions to the buffalo 
 camps of the Cayuse and endeavored to hold short services 
 in their lodges. The Indians made no protests, but they 
 treated his efforts to convert them with an amused con- 
 tempt that was harder to combat than anger. Narcissa 
 would have been glad to go with him on these journeys, but 
 the doctor, for the sake of their nursing baby, would not 
 permit it during the hot months. So Narcissa gave her 
 summer to perfecting the Cayuse grammar and to tutoring 
 Sarah Hall, who, before the summer was over, acquired an 
 excellent command of English and had learned to read and 
 write simple words. 
 
 Narcissa’s uneasiness increased as the quiet days went 
 on. She could not understand what the attitude of the 
 Hudson’s Bay Company meant. Waii-lat-pu, except for 
 purely social visits from the Pambruns, was being left 
 severely alone. Narcissa, after the very active opposition 
 to the arrival of the missionaries in Oregon, could not see 
 why they were being permitted to make all this elaborate 
 preparation for a permanent establishment on the Walla 
 Walla. Marcus was very sure that the Company had given 
 up opposing them. Narcissa knew that Simpson merely had 
 given up the puerile methods he had used at the beginning. 
 
 It was only after a month of thought and of discussion 
 with Marcus that Narcissa made a reply to Simpson’s letter. 
 
 “Wati-lat-pu Mission, 
 Oregon Territory, 
 June 30, 1837. 
 Hon. Geo. Simpson, 
 Governor of Rupert’s Land. 
 
 My DEAR GOVERNOR: 
 Your letter reached me by hand of Miles Goodyear. It 
 found us well and our work progressing. Not, I will 
 
194 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 admit, that the Cayuse have shown desire to embrace 
 Christianity, but they permit the doctor to attend them 
 when they are ill and I am teaching the mothers, with some 
 hope of success, how to care for their infants. 
 
 Your statements with regard to European peace and the 
 responsibility of the English-speaking race for maintaining 
 it, I agree with quite fully. But, Governor, permit me to 
 ask you if you wished to imply that a monopoly by the 
 Hudson’s Bay Company of Oregon territory would help 
 England to suppress any new Napoleons who may arise? 
 Will permitting the Oregon Indians to remain in the outer 
 darkness of heathendom cause Christianity to wax stronger 
 in the hearts of ambitious European rulers? 
 
 Sarah Hall is an exceptionally intelligent young girl. 
 She is impulsive, has a good sense of humor, deep affec- 
 tions and a very lively jealousy. I love her much and she 
 seems to return my feeling, although her first love is our 
 baby, Alice Clarissa. 
 
 Miles Goodyear is well worth a fine training, but I doubt 
 if you will find his Yankee spirit adaptable to British uses. 
 Although, indeed, your influence over him shows only the 
 most delightful results. 
 
 These things are difficult for me to express in words. I 
 could wish that you were here with us, this lovely June 
 afternoon, with the enchanting shadow of Mount Hood on 
 the sky and the smell of young wheat in the air. 1 might 
 find it easier, then, to make you understand how immovably 
 I am convinced that my place is here. The conviction 
 seems to be undisturbed by my growing knowledge that, 
 except for isolated cases, we are doomed to failure with 
 these Indians; that I, myself, am not an adequate mis- 
 sionary, that my days are, perhaps, set to a tragic key, and 
 that my husband has no opportunity here to grow to the 
 great stature for which he was designed. Here we are, 
 God help us! Here we shall stay till our work (and I do 
 
COURIER TO THE GOVERNOR 195 
 
 not as yet see clearly what that work will be) is finished. 
 Thank you for your many thoughts of us. 
 I am, dear Governor, very gratefully your friend, 
 NarcissA PRENTISS WHITMAN.” 
 
 Marcus read the letter through, folded it and sealed it 
 for Narcissa before he said, slowly: 
 
 “It breaks my heart to have you look this way at our 
 work.” 
 
 “Would you prefer that I leave that out of my letter?” 
 asked Narcissa quickly. “I will do so if you wish me to. 
 But, Marcus, I want him to understand that we are to be 
 neither bought nor beguiled. And only the truth can con- 
 vince him.” 
 
 Marcus stared out the open door for a long time before 
 he replied, “I’m too simple, I guess, to understand all 
 you're driving at. Go ahead and manage your own way.” 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 THE WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 
 
 HEN, in late summer, the Indians returned to their 
 
 village and Narcissa opened her school, she daily 
 expected a visit from Pere Demers, protesting against its 
 opening, for they knew that he was very active among the 
 Indians who hung around Fort Walla Walla. He had told 
 the Walla Wallapoos, flatly, to keep away from Waii-lat-pu 
 and had succeeded in baptizing two young children of a 
 Walla Wallapoos chief. But the priest did not come near 
 them. 
 
 They heard, late in the fall, that a ship had come, bring- 
 ing wives for the Methodist missionaries. Narcissa sent 
 off a letter of welcome to them and longed unspeakably to 
 know them. She was sick for the sight of a woman of her 
 own color. But the Willamette was far away and the ways 
 of the Methodists entirely opposed to all the ways of the 
 missions at Waii-lat-pu and Lap-wai. It was to be long 
 before Narcissa was to know any of the newcomers. 
 
 In November, the Spaldings sent for Marcus. Eliza 
 Spalding’s accouchement was at hand. Narcissa sent Sarah 
 Hall to stay with the Pambruns and, with Charley Compo 
 on guard at Waii-lat-pu, accompanied Marcus on his visit. 
 She had long since exacted a promise from the doctor that 
 he would not bring up the matter of the clergyman’s letter 
 to the American Board until they had heard from William 
 Gray. So she found herself actually looking forward to 
 the visit. 
 
 The weather was very bad, with snows and rains, swollen 
 streams, and sometimes fireless camps. But Alice Clarissa, 
 
 196 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 197 
 
 riding in her father’s arms, crowed and laughed, and Nar- 
 cissa returned to trail life with zest. Mrs. Spalding came 
 safely out of the valley of death, with a little daughter, 
 and her husband, strangely meek and kindly of speech 
 under the influence of Eliza’s suffering, baptized both his 
 own child and Alice Clarissa in a ceremony of fervid 
 beauty. 
 
 Spalding had made less headway with his mission farm 
 than had the doctor with his. He preached, however, to 
 larger congregations, had baptized many children and 
 claimed to have several adult converts. Eliza Spalding had 
 a large class of girls to whom she was teaching weaving. 
 Narcissa, trying to compare the two missions with an 1m- 
 partial eye, could not feel that Henry’s conviction of supe- 
 riority was based on fact. 
 
 The visit did her good. She returned to Waii-lat-pu, 
 refreshed in body and mind, and took up her schoolwork 
 with renewed interest. 
 
 During the winter months Narcissa made real progress 
 in teaching the women and children. But the braves, with 
 almost no exception, refused to be taught anything by the 
 white squaw. Marcus, on the other hand, to his great de- 
 light, succeeded in persuading a number of the men to 
 plant wheat and potatoes. Or rather, the men plowed 
 nearly fifty acres and left the planting to their squaws. 
 They were so greedy for bread, which they had tasted for 
 the first time, when it came from the Whitmans’ oven, that 
 they were willing to permit their squaws to work for its 
 production ! 
 
 It was fortunate for Narcissa that her work was, during 
 the day at least, engrossing, for during the winter not a 
 white visitor came to them, nor did they receive messages 
 from any. Miles, Pierre Pambrun, Governor Simpson, Dr. 
 McLoughlin, seemingly had forgotten their existence. 
 
 Narcissa finished the seventy-five page Cayuse-Nez Perce 
 
198 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 grammar which was sent to the Sandwich Islands, where 
 the American Board Mission was in possession of a print- 
 ing press. The greater part of her evenings, she gave to 
 teaching Sarah Hall, but she was much hampered by her 
 lack of textbooks. This was particularly trying when she 
 undertook to teach Sarah the rudiments of geography. 
 Nothing daunted, however, she asked Marcus to borrow 
 for her from Pambrun, a Hudson’s Bay Company’s map 
 of Oregon territory. 
 
 “T’ll keep it, tell him; only long enough to copy it,” she 
 added, as Marcus spoke of the great value of the article she 
 wished to borrow. 
 
 The map turned out to be an exceptionally interesting 
 one, for it showed not only the Company’s forts in Oregon, 
 but also the whole course of the Columbia River, and the 
 Pacific Coast, from San Francisco to Sitka in Russian- 
 owned Alaska, as well as all the Spanish-Mexican terri- 
 tory. 
 
 Narcissa sacrificed a fine linen nightgown, the only one 
 she had not used in preparing Alice Clarissa’s layette, to 
 the cause of teaching. She cut a strip a yard square from 
 its ample breadths and mounted it on a beautifully tanned 
 deerskin. Upon this, she painstakingly copied the map she 
 had borrowed. When it was finished, she fastened it to 
 the adobe wall near the fireplace and Sarah Hall had her 
 first lesson in geography. 
 
 One cold afternoon in early spring, not long after the 
 map was completed, a little cavalcade of horses drew up 
 in the dooryard of the mission. The leader dismounted 
 and entered the cabin where the Whitmans were at their 
 early supper. He pulled off a beaver cap, disclosing a 
 thin, tanned face, with a long nose, close-set blue eyes, and 
 an aggressive chin: a small man, obliged to look up to meet 
 the doctor’s clear gaze as the latter shook hands with him. 
 
 “T’m Ermatinger, of the H.B.C. Some say that means 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA — 199 
 
 Hudson’s Bay Company; others, ‘Here Before Christ.’ 
 Anyhow, I guess you've heard of me, and I’ve heard of 
 you a many a time.” He turned from Marcus to Narcissa. 
 “Madam Whitman, your golden braids have been the 
 brightest spot in Oregon ever since you crossed the Blue 
 Mountains.” 
 
 Narcissa replied laughingly, ‘““We’ve long been hearing 
 that Chief Trader Ermatinger was the courtier of the Co- 
 lumbia. Now, I know that they weren’t flattering you! 
 Lay off your cloak, Mr. Ermatinger, and have supper with 
 us. Is there any one with you whom you’d wish to 
 ask in?” 
 
 The trader shook his head. “Just Indians. They’ll set 
 up my lodge by the corral and feed themselves.’”’ He tossed 
 his gray riding cloak to a chair, disclosing a well-knit figure 
 in blue broadcloth, the coat trimmed with brass buttons. 
 He did not wear ruffles, however, as did the chief factors. 
 His was a plain red flannel shirt with a red kerchief knotted 
 stock fashion around his throat. High leather riding boots 
 completed his costume. 
 
 “T’ve been wanting to get here, a long time,” he went on. 
 “Almost came up with Bill Gray when he came over here, 
 but I couldn’t spare the time.” 
 
 “Where did you leave Gray?” asked Marcus. 
 
 “About two days’ ride this side of Council Bluffs. He 
 and my boy went on from there.” 
 
 “Did you have much trouble getting through?’ Marcus 
 filled the guest’s tin plate, while Narcissa made him a fresh 
 cup of tea. 
 
 “No, everything went well,” replied the trader, his mouth 
 full of buffalo stew. “We traveled with the Flathead tribe 
 after we left Coeur d’Aléne Lake. The Flatheads had a 
 mixup with some Blackfeet soon after we got started. We 
 killed and scalped twenty of the scurvy Blackfeet. Most 
 treacherous Indians I know, outside the Cayuse. I guess 
 
200 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 that’s about all that happened. Oh, yes, at Ash Hollow, 
 three hundred Sioux attacked us! They had a French 
 trader with them and after we’d fought for a while, the 
 Frenchman arranged for a parley with us. Gray and I, 
 with two or three Flatheads, went out to pow-wow with 
 them. And do you know, that scurvy Frenchman had the 
 Sioux who were with him shoot our Flathead guard and 
 then he told us we were his prisoners. We mixed up with 
 him a little, after that, but that’s all.” 
 
 “But what happened?” cried Narcissa, as Ermatinger 
 became engrossed in his food. 
 
 “Why, let’s see, as I recall, Gray and I both fired and 
 Gray had his horse shot from under him and a couple of 
 slight scalp wounds. I got wounded in the arm. Fifteen 
 Sioux and the Frenchman were killed. After that, we 
 smoked the peace pipe and all was well. That boy, Bill 
 Gray, has the makings of a frontiersman in him. The only 
 thing that kept him from taking that Frenchman’s scalp 
 back to the United States with him was the fact that he 
 was afraid the American Board might not understand.” 
 
 The trader roared with laughter and after a moment’s 
 hesitation, Marcus joined him, and Narcissa could not 
 suppress a smile. 
 
 “Well,” said Ermatinger, after he’d wiped his eyes on 
 the tail of his neckerchief, and had looked around the 
 cabin, “you’re cozy enough here. But how can you make 
 room for the four new pupils the Governor says you’re to 
 take ?” 
 
 “What’s that?” asked Marcus sharply. 
 
 “The Governor says four half-breed children must be 
 put into your hands for education,’ replied the trader 
 coolly. “They are the children of certain Scotch factors. 
 These are to be followed by the daughters of Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin and Pierre Pambrun, who are to be taught music 
 and deportment.”’ 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 201 
 
 “There’s some mistake, Ermatinger,’ said Marcus 
 bruskly. “We are not employees of the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company.” 
 
 “More than that,’ added Narcissa. “It’s absurd to ask 
 us to take more pupils in our crowded quarters.” 
 
 “You live too plain,” remarked Ermatinger. “You can’t 
 impress Indians any way except by putting on style. Live 
 high! Show ’em that civilization pays. I don’t see what 
 you got here that would make them want to turn Chris- 
 tian.” 
 
 “Wait a moment!’ exclaimed Marcus. “Don’t try to 
 change the subject, Ermatinger. We are not a public 
 school. And my wife isn’t out here to teach anybody but 
 Indians.” 
 
 “Is that the answer I’m to send the Governor?” de- 
 manded Ermatinger. 
 
 “No!” exclaimed Narcissa. “Please, Marcus, let’s not 
 be brusk. Will you not tell Governor Simpson, Mr. Er- 
 matinger, that we are making adobe bricks, now, for a 
 new house. When the house is finished, we shall be glad 
 to do what we can to accommodate him.” 
 
 The chief trader looked from Marcus, in his slovenly, 
 buckskin clothing, to Narcissa in her trim blue calico. 
 Then he said, with a chuckle: 
 
 “Doc, you’d better let the missis do the talking while 
 you do the physicking. Madam Whitman, Dll make a bar- 
 gain with you. If you'll sing to me, like I’ve heard so much 
 about, I’ll promise to hold the Governor off till you get 
 your house built.” 
 
 Marcus laughed ruefully, but said nothing more. Nar- 
 cissa began to clear the table. “That’s a bargain, Mr. 
 Ermatinger! But you must let me clear off the supper 
 first.” 
 
 The trader nodded and strolled over to look at the map 
 on which fell the rays of the setting sun. 
 
202 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “What do you use this for?’ he asked, his voice sud- 
 denly harsh with suspicion. 
 
 “T teach Sarah Hall geography from it,” replied Nar- 
 cissa. “It’s one I copied from a map we borrowed from 
 Mr. Pambrun.”’ 
 
 “T don’t see what missionaries need of maps,” grunted 
 the trader. 
 
 ““A cat may look at a king,’’ 
 little smile. 
 
 Something in her casual manner infuriated Ermatinger. 
 “But I mean it!” he shouted. “You have no right to have 
 a map of English possessions posted here. Every time 
 you look at it, it goads you to action.” 
 
 Marcus, standing before the fire, stared at the trader as 
 though he could not believe his ears. Then he laughed. 
 “Oh, I forgot! A good watch-dog barks at everything he 
 sees or hears, just to be sure he'll not miss anything!” 
 
 Ermatinger recovered himself. “I guess you’re right, 
 Doc! All the same, I advise you to take that map down 
 before Dr. McLoughlin comes through, next week.” 
 
 “Dr. McLoughlin!” exclaimed Narcissa and Marcus to- 
 gether. 
 
 The chief trader nodded. “Yes, he’s going to England 
 on business and we'll be in the Black Douglas’ hands for 
 a year.” 
 
 “T feel like a child whose mother is going on a visit— 
 as if anything might go wrong!” cried Narcissa. 
 
 “So we'll all feel, till he gets back,” agreed Ermatinger. 
 
 “What’s he going for?” asked the doctor. 
 
 Ermatinger shrugged his shoulders, then he looked 
 thoughtfully at the fire. Would it not be wise to impress 
 these Americans with a hint of the purposes of the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company? ‘The chief trader was by no means 
 in the confidence of Dr. McLoughlin. But he was an acute 
 observer and filled with fighting loyalty to the White 
 
 3g 
 
 said Narcissa, with a 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 203 
 
 Headed Eagle, as Dr. McLoughlin was known to the 
 Cayuse. 
 
 “A while ago, a Hudson’s Bay trader was going along 
 the coast, below Sitka, looking for seal, and the Russians 
 and the Russian American Company, which really is the 
 Czar, fired a cannon shot or two at him and drove him 
 back to Fort Vancouver. We can’t have that kind of treat- 
 ment. The Russians have got to learn that a man with 
 H.B.C. on his canoe pennant can’t be handled like an 
 Indian. The Russians can practise their hellish cruelty on 
 the natives, but not on a Britisher. So Dr. McLoughlin 
 goes to London, to have the Russians driven back to their 
 kennels in St. Petersburg.” 
 
 Narcissa looked at the map. “In other words, England 
 is going to try to secure the Pacific coast, even up to Arctic 
 regions,” she said softly. 
 
 Frank Ermatinger bit slowly into a plug of tobacco. 
 “The Hudson’s Bay Company,” he said, somewhat indis- 
 tinctly, “is going to maintain discipline in its territory, if 
 it has to talk with British guns.” 
 
 “Russia claims all that strip of coast,” said Marcus, run- 
 ning his finger along the map, “from Sitka down to Fort 
 Vancouver. I hope she can’t keep it, for she’s a cruel 
 nation. At the same time, I don’t see what right England 
 has to it. Why isn’t it America’s?” 
 
 “Why isn’t it America’s?” shouted the chief trader. 
 “Why should it be? What has the United States done to 
 earn it? What company have you to compare with the 
 H.B.C.? For nearly two hundred years, we’ve poured out 
 our blood and our money to penetrate this wilderness and 
 make peaceful use of its natural products. By what right 
 do you or Russia think you can come in and build on the 
 foundations we’ve laid? What part of your religion teaches 
 you that? Hey? By God, all that England has, she’s paid 
 for with blood!” 
 
204 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “A good deal of it’s other nations’ blood, isn’t it?” sug- 
 gested Narcissa mildly. 
 
 “Only when they interfere with our peaceful trading, like 
 this dirty Russian firing on Peter Skeen Ogden,” retorted 
 Ermatinger. “Come, Madam Whitman, sing us a song. I 
 hate to feel riled, as you Yankees say, when I’d been look- 
 ing for a pleasant time.” 
 
 So Narcissa, much amused by the little man’s peremptory 
 manner and not a little interested in his news of Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin, sang for him, until he left, reluctantly, for his 
 lodge. 
 
 She saw him only for a moment the next morning, when 
 he came to say good-by to her. He was fresh-shaven and 
 carefully brushed, a gallant figure as he bowed over her 
 hand. 
 
 “T can tell Dr. McLoughlin he will be welcome, then?” 
 he asked. 
 
 “Very, very welcome!’ exclaimed Narcissa. “And so 
 will you be, Mr. Ermatinger, whenever you care to come.” 
 
 “T heard the other day,” said the chief trader, “of a Flat- 
 head squaw who came a hundred and fifty miles, with her 
 papoose, to hear you sing your baby to sleep. I know 
 exactly how that squaw felt, Madam Whitman.” 
 
 Sudden tears flushed to Narcissa’s eyes. “They did not 
 tell me that,” she said. “T’m glad to know it.” 
 
 “You are wasting a very great gift, Madam Whitman,” 
 exclaimed Ermatinger, turning abruptly to mount his horse. 
 
 With a sigh, Narcissa took up the day’s ugly routine of 
 louse-ridden babies and dirt-encrusted squaws. 
 
 Both Narcissa and Marcus were delighted by the pros- 
 pect of a visit from the Chief Factor. Marcus decided to 
 put all else aside and finish an adobe lean-to he had begun 
 weeks before. Into this Narcissa and the two children could 
 be moved for sleeping, leaving the bunks in the main cabin 
 to Marcus and the visitor. Narcissa cleaned and delved, 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 205 
 
 taught and sang, and almost wore herself and Sarah Hall 
 out. But by the night Dr. McLoughlin was expected, the 
 lean-to was finished and furbished, the larder was stocked 
 with the best products of Narcissa’s skill, and Marcus and 
 Narcissa, tired to the bone, were prepared to forget their 
 weariness in the joy of this opportunity to make some slight 
 return for the Chief Factor’s great hospitality to them. 
 
 It was dusk when an Indian appeared at the door with 
 -a hurried line from Pierre Pambrun. Dr. McLoughlin 
 was delayed, would not be able to visit Waii-lat-pu and 
 would expect the Whitmans to meet him at Fort Walla 
 Walla the following evening. They were grievously dis- 
 appointed, but began at once to make preparations for the 
 trip. 
 
 Long before dawn, Marcus was out attending to his 
 chores and Narcissa was packing the saddle-bags and 
 parfleches. There was a cold rain falling, but Narcissa 
 wrapped the hardy baby in a tarpaulin and the start was 
 made. Alice Clarissa rode in her father’s arms; Narcissa 
 and Sarah Hall, each on an unwilling Indian pony, fol- 
 lowed. But the storm did not abate with the rising sun. 
 Instead, the wind rose to a fearful gale, the rain turned to 
 a ferociously driven sleet that blistered the cheeks and 
 bruised the eyes. The cold became intense. For several 
 miles Narcissa urged her horse after Marcus, realizing more 
 clearly, moment by moment, that it was wrong to risk the 
 baby’s health in the twenty miles of blizzard ahead of them. 
 At last, she rode forward and stopped Marcus, holding out 
 her arms for Alice Clarissa. 
 
 “Go on, Marcus! Give him the letters for the mail!” 
 she shouted above the howl of the wind. 
 
 “I wish you could take my place!” cried the doctor. 
 “Having a talk with him means more to you than it does 
 to me.” 
 
 In her disappointment, Narcissa could have wept. But 
 
206 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 she managed a smile, from under her frozen hood and, 
 holding the crying baby in her strong clasp, she turned back 
 to the mission. It was well she did so, for, as it afterward 
 developed, Marcus got through, only at the risk of his life. 
 His horse gave out and he made the last five miles of the 
 trip staggering on foot. And even Marcus had only a few 
 words with Dr. McLoughlin, who, delayed by the storm, 
 stopped scarcely an hour at the fort. 
 
 Narcissa had a bad day in the cabin. All the homesick- 
 ness, all the bitterness of disillusion which she had fought 
 for the many months, ¢aught her in the moment of acute 
 disappointment over her thwarted plans and had their way 
 with her. She left the baby with Sarah Hall, shut herself 
 into the lean-to and for more hours than she cared to count, 
 she paced the floor, fighting a nostalgia that was like a 
 physical illness, for it burned her cheeks with fever, parched 
 her lips and forced her to clutch her breast with the pain 
 of her thudding heart. She could not pray. But, as the 
 brief day settled into tempest-racked night, the sound of 
 Alice Clarissa’s wailing penetrated her misery. She bathed 
 her face, brushed her hair and returned to her neglected 
 duties. 
 
 Marcus returned in three days’ time, rather the worse 
 for frost bite, but otherwise cheerful and full of the sur- 
 mises of various persons at Fort Walla Walla as to the 
 probable purpose of Dr. McLoughlin’s visit to England. 
 Nor was he apologetic about his curiosity. In the isolation 
 of Oregon, even the most ordinary man’s doings were com- 
 mented upon and mulled over until they were threadbare. 
 How much more interesting, then, and subject to inspection, 
 were the actions of this unacclaimed Lord of the Columbia! 
 Marcus was unabashed in the telling of his bits of gossip, 
 and so was Narcissa in the listening. 
 
 There was stored at Fort Vancouver, he had heard, about 
 four years’ surplus of wheat. This, the Chief Factor had 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 207 
 
 each year been planning to use in trade with the Russians 
 at Sitka, who brought all their bread round the world by 
 sledge and ship. But the unfortunate treatment accorded 
 Peter Skeen Ogden had put a stop to all trade opportunities, 
 while England and Russia discussed the episode. Perhaps 
 the doctor was going to England to try to force a settle- 
 ment of the matter. On the other hand, it was said that 
 Dr. McLoughlin had roused very serious anger on the part 
 of the Hudson’s Bay Directors in London, because of his 
 kindness to American missionaries. It was rumored that 
 Governor Simpson had asked that he be called to England 
 to receive a severer reprimand than he himself cared to 
 administer. 
 
 Marcus had, too, many details to report of the pomp 
 with which the Chief Factor traveled and of the reported 
 plans for his entertainment along the way. The White 
 Headed Eagle was a great man, in his own country of 
 Oregon. 
 
 For many days, the Whitmans discussed Marcus’ items 
 of gossip and for many days Narcissa lived in daily expec- 
 tation of something happening. It seemed impossible that 
 the something portentous she felt brooding over the mo- 
 notony of her days should not develop into an event that 
 would rock the mission. 
 
 Of this sense, Narcissa attempted several times to speak 
 to Marcus, but he only stared at her, in troubled wonder, 
 and she soon desisted. There were no subtleties in Marcus’ 
 forthright nature. With one exception, all that he was and 
 desired to be or have could be learned in a half hour’s 
 intercourse with him. This exception was his growing 
 conviction that Narcissa’s devoted affection would never 
 grow to love for him. And after he discovered that men- 
 tion of this conviction was extraordinarily painful to Nar- 
 cissa, he placed an embargo on his tongue. This was his 
 only inhibition. 
 
208 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Yet their isolation was so great, their dependence on 
 each other so unescapable, that this failure of the glory 
 of marriage for them was never out of the consciousness 
 of either. In every glance of Marcus’ keen eyes, Narcissa 
 read reproach. And in every exhibition of self-control on 
 Narcissa’s part, Marcus saw a coldness of nature. Yet 
 neither spoke. 
 
 In the middle of April came an interlude to the monotony. 
 On a Saturday evening, some one knocked at the door of 
 the cabin. Narcissa and Marcus stood in astonishment as 
 a man six feet, four inches tall appeared when the doctor 
 swung the door wide. He was smooth shaven, clad in 
 black, with eyes of blue so large, so benign, that inad- 
 vertently Narcissa thought of the eyes of Christ, as the 
 old masters had loved to portray them. 
 
 “T am Jason Lee, from the Methodist mission on the 
 Willamette,” he said, holding out his hand. 
 
 “Well! Well! This is a treat!” cried Marcus, clasping 
 the proffered hand and leading Lee up to Narcissa. “Nar- 
 cissa, this is the way a missionary ought to look!” 
 
 Narcissa joined the men in laughter and the three settled 
 at once to a conversation that had the aspect of old friend- 
 ship. Lee explained that he was on his way to the States 
 for help for his mission and after a glance at the map on 
 the wall: 
 
 “For other reasons, also,” he added. 
 
 “What sort of a report had Slacum?” asked Narcissa 
 quickly. “Do you think he got through with it?’ 
 
 “Certainly, he did,” replied Lee, “and with it a petition 
 from me that Congress provide some sort of civil control 
 here, for Americans. It’s intolerable that we should be 
 dependent on the Hudson’s Bay Company as we are.” 
 
 “We thought you belonged to Dr. McLoughlin, hair, hide 
 and boots,” blurted Marcus. 
 
 The clergyman flushed. “Many people think that, ’m 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 209 
 
 afraid. McLoughlin is the wisest man I know. More than 
 that, he is the only figure standing for law and order in this 
 country. I have cooperated with him in every possible way, 
 excepting one. I want this country of the Columbia to be 
 American and not British.” 
 
 “Are you going to do anything active about that?” asked 
 Narcissa eagerly. 
 
 “TI shall tell every audience that comes to hear of the 
 needs and work of the Methodist mission about the won- 
 ders of Oregon,” replied Lee, “and I shall go to Washing- 
 ton and talk to such Congressmen as will listen to me. But 
 their indifference is astonishing.” 
 
 “What can we do? How can we help?” Narcissa leaned 
 forward, her face vivid with interest. 
 
 “Bring Americans to the Columbia. In the end it may 
 be preponderance of population belonging to one country 
 or another that will settle this matter.” 
 
 “Oh, it’s not as simple as that, is it?’ asked Narcissa. 
 “There are politics within politics, not only in Washington 
 but in London. Some people are willing to give up any 
 claims to this section, I’ve heard, for a greater share of 
 Mexico, if England will blink at it. And as soon as you 
 talk about annexing more southern territory, that terrible 
 slave extension question looms.” 
 
 “I know!” Lee nodded, “but if the general American 
 public learns of the fertility of this country, all the politics 
 in the world can’t keep them from fighting for possession 
 here.” 
 
 “T have written much about it home,” said Narcissa. 
 “But that is a mere pin-prick. We need to send a broad- 
 side. You are doing a splendid thing, Brother Lee. God 
 speed you!” 
 
 “God speed you, indeed!” Marcus laid his hand on Lee’s 
 shoulder. “Did you leave all well at your mission? How 
 is your wife?” 
 
210 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 99 
 
 “That is my greatest anxiety,’ said the preacher. “We 
 look for a baby in July. But she would have me go. And 
 unless I start now, another year must go by. In the mean- 
 time, Dr. McLoughlin is in London, making medicine, as 
 the Indians say!’ 
 
 “But she has other white women with her!” exclaimed 
 Narcissa. 
 
 “Which is what you did not have, poor soul!” said he, 
 his voice and eyes infinitely tender, as he looked at Nar- 
 cissa, in whose lap little Alice Ciarissa was being prepared 
 for bed. 
 
 “T had Marcus!” Narcissa smiled at the doctor. 
 
 “So you did! If they get word to you in time, Dr. Whit- 
 man, it would take a load from my mind if you’d go to 
 her.” Lee looked wistfully at Marcus. 
 
 “You can count on it!” declared Marcus. “If only they’ll 
 notify me.” 
 
 “T’ll see to that!’ Lee gave a sigh of relief and began 
 asking questions about the Cayuse and about Spalding’s 
 work among the Nez Percés. 
 
 He was a good listener and Marcus was eager to ask his 
 opinion on many problems of Indian character. The two 
 men differed, essentially, in all matters of creed and spir- 
 itual conduct, yet they took to each other mightily. When 
 Marcus asked the clergyman to hold service for him, the 
 following day, Lee laughed and said: 
 
 “T suppose I’m not to preach a doctrinal sermon!” 
 
 “The Indians won’t mind, but I might be moved to rise 
 in meeting and contradict you, which would upset my few 
 poor converts, terribly. The priest at Fort Walla Walla 
 has done enough of that.” 
 
 Lee flushed. “Do you know that Pére Blanchet had the 
 impertinence to insist on repeating the Catholic marriage 
 service over the marriages I’ve performed at my mission?” 
 he cried. 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 211 
 
 “Td have felt like—like—” began Marcus indignantly. 
 
 Narcissa suddenly laughed. ‘Like proving one doesn’t 
 have Christian feelings toward a Catholic, I suppose!” 
 
 The two men laughed with her and a moment later Lee 
 agreed to preach a non-doctrinal sermon. 
 
 Sunday passed uneventfully and Monday at dawn they 
 sped Lee on his long journey. 
 
 Late in June, the Whitmans began to expect word from 
 the Methodist mission regarding Mrs. Lee, and Marcus 
 returned from a preaching trip to the Cayuse buffalo camp, 
 in order to be within immediate reach. When the fourth 
 of July passed without news, he resolved to start for the 
 Willamette, and began his preparations at once for leaving 
 on the sixth. But, on the afternoon of the fifth, a courier 
 galloped up to the door, a courier in a scarlet coat, on a 
 foaming horse. 
 
 “Well, Miles!” cried the doctor, “what good wind brings 
 you?” 
 
 “Not a very good wind, Doctor!” replied Miles, his young 
 face curiously serious. “Mrs. Lee died on June twenty- 
 sixth. Her baby died on June seventh.” 
 
 Marcus groaned. “Why didn’t they send for me? Why 
 didn’t they? Narcissa!’’ as his wife appeared at the door. 
 “Poor Mrs. Lee is gone and her baby, too.” 
 
 “Tt was a boy,” said Miles, huskily. 
 
 Narcissa did not speak. She looked from the two men 
 to Mount Hood, quivering in unearthly beauty against the 
 summer blue. As she gazed, she was swept by such bitter- 
 ness of spirit that her heart actually seemed to burn within 
 her. Was there no limit to the sacrifice God asked of 
 women? For what reason had He led Ann Pitman by that 
 terrible ship-journey round the Horn, to the mission on 
 the Willamette, to marriage with Jason Lee,—if only death 
 was to be her portion? 
 
 Marcus and Miles watched Narcissa, with something of 
 
ate WE MUST MARCH 
 
 awe in their eyes: as if they felt hers was an understanding 
 of the tragedy that a man could not compass. 
 
 After a moment Marcus said, gently, “Come into the 
 house, Miles, and rest.” 
 
 “T must stop only long enough to eat,” said Miles. “I’m 
 sent by James Douglas to bear the news to Jason Lee. 
 They think I can overtake him before he reaches the States. 
 Lord, but I hate the errand. Look!” He drew from its 
 wrapping a letter, black-bordered, and bearing a huge 
 black seal of the Hudson’s Bay Company. 
 
 Narcissa shuddered. “Put it away, Miles, and come in 
 to supper.” 
 
 Within the cabin was Sarah Hall, hurriedly putting Alice 
 Clarissa into company clothes. Mules stared at the tall, 
 slender girl, who gave him an appraising glance as she 
 calmly slipped a clean frock over the baby’s curly head. 
 
 “Are you that same Sarah I saw here, over a year ago?” 
 demanded Miles. 
 
 “You didn’t act as if you saw me, as I remember,” re- 
 torted Sarah, with a sniff. 
 
 “But you were just a shave-headed little girl,” protested 
 Miles, with a grin. “I bet you’ve grown a foot. And look 
 at that baby! Say, isn’t she a beauty!” 
 
 He got down on his knees before Alice Clarissa, who 
 looked at him with the dignity that belongs to babyhood. 
 
 “Come here to your Uncle Miles and see what he has in 
 this big old pocket,’ he whispered, peering intently into 
 the yawning slash in his red coat. 
 
 Alice Clarissa moved slowly toward him. “Baby see,” 
 she said, gravely, and a moment later her curly head was 
 resting against Miles’ cheek. 
 
 Sarah, in her best red calico dress, watched the two, with 
 an expression in which jealousy struggled with friendliness. 
 Marcus and Narcissa smiled at each other. 
 
 “She loves me next best to her mother,” said Sarah. 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 213 
 
 “That won't last, after she really gets to know her Uncle 
 Miles!’ Miles’ eyes danced. “Women always have a weak- 
 ness for me!” 
 
 Sarah elevated her small nose. “Silly!” she sniffed. 
 
 Miles rose and tossed the delighted baby in the air. “Oh, 
 you beauty!” he cried. “Are you going to have your 
 mother’s voice, too?” 
 
 “She can sing a little nursery rime with me, now,” said 
 Narcissa. “It’s really remarkable! She could hum with me 
 before she could talk.” 
 
 *“There’s some one at the door, Dr. Whitman,” said Sarah. 
 
 The group, absorbed in watching the baby, turned to find 
 standing on the doorstep, a tall man in a priest’s soutane. 
 
 “T am Pere Demers,” he said. “May I, perhaps, intrude 
 while I speak to Courier Goodyear ?” 
 
 “Certainly! Come in, sir!” exclaimed Marcus, his bitter- 
 ness against the priest submerged, for the moment, by his 
 hospitable instincts. 
 
 Narcissa bowed gravely and Miles said, coolly, “How are 
 you, Pére?” 
 
 “To put it frankly,” said the priest, looking at Miles from 
 brown eyes that were blazing with anger, “I am greatly 
 agitated. I have news of the utmost importance that should 
 go to Governor Simpson with all speed. I demand of you, 
 at Fort Walla Walla, that you carry that news to Peace 
 River, at once. You defy me. You defy Factor Pambrun. 
 I now come to tell you that, unless you obey me in this, I 
 shall have you arrested.” 
 
 Miles, with the baby in his arms, his fine blond head erect, 
 his blue eyes cold as ice, smiled slightly as he replied: 
 
 “As I told you, I carry a death notice from James Douglas 
 to Jason Lee. What right have you or Pierre Pambrun, 
 either, to countermand his orders?” 
 
 “Did we not both assure you, we would be responsible ?” 
 demanded Pére Demers. “Do you think I shall permit you 
 
214 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 to defy the Church in order to carry word of one heretic’s 
 death to another? Death to all heretics, I say.’’ His voice 
 rose excitedly. 
 
 “Shucks!” Miles exclaimed. ‘“What’s religion got to do 
 with it? James Douglas said it was a matter of noblesse 
 oblige and he explained that, by saying that, as the con- 
 trolling power in this country, he was obliged to perform 
 all the human kindnesses he could. Common sense, I say, 
 to do things that'll help overcome some of the prejudices 
 against the Hudson’s Bay Company.” 
 
 The priest advanced, his jaw set, and spoke through beau- 
 tiful white teeth. “You return with me to Fort Walla 
 Walla, thence to Fort Vancouver, to be disposed of by 
 Chief Trader Douglas, in the absence of Dr. McLough- 
 lin.” 
 
 “In the meantime, what becomes of that important mes- 
 sage to Governor Simpson?” sneered Miles. “Say, you take 
 me for a green fool, don’t you? Don’t you realize that I 
 know exactly what is troubling you? You don’t want Jason 
 Lee to get into the States and start a lot of Americans to 
 emigrating here. And you’ve fixed up a plot that, I'll give 
 Pambrun credit, he don’t know about. But the Sioux In- 
 dians know about it. And so do I. And I’m leaving in 
 an hour, to overtake Jason Lee before he reaches the Forks 
 of the Platte. You’d better not take me to James Douglas 
 —even if you could. He’d make a Scotch broth of you for 
 trying to harm Jason Lee. He and Lee are sworn friends.” 
 
 Pere Demers, during Miles’ tirade, which was uttered in 
 a tone remarkable for its young coolness, glared at him 
 with eyes that did not change expression. When the young 
 man paused, the priest said calmly: 
 
 “IT am not your match in physique. But I warn you that 
 I shall follow you to Fort Hall.” 
 
 “No, you won’t, my friend!” cried Marcus. “You're 
 not my match in physique either.” 
 
WATCH-DOG OF THE COLUMBIA 215 
 
 Without a word Pere Demers walked out of the door. 
 Marcus followed him. 
 
 Miles kissed Alice Clarissa and placed her gently on the 
 floor. Then he sat down at the table where Narcissa had 
 placed bread, milk and cold venison. 
 
 “T’ll eat and awa’, as the Governor says,” he chuckled. 
 
 “Do you really know of such a plot, Miles?” asked Nar- 
 cissa, in a low voice. 
 
 “Certainly I do! I’ve got some good Indian friends. 
 Especially among the ladies!” This with a twinkle at 
 Sarah, who was pouring him a cup of milk. 
 
 “But, Miles, you are making a terrible accusation!” ex- 
 claimed Narcissa. 
 
 Miles gave her a clear look. “This is a terrible country,” 
 he said quietly. “The Catholic Church and the Hudson’s 
 Bay Company aren’t a lot of women, you know, Mrs. Whit- 
 man. Though the Company, as I said, has nothing to do 
 with Demers’ deviltry. When I leave Lee, I’m going to 
 report to His Excellency, you can bet!” 
 
 Narcissa looked out the door. “I hope the doctor will 
 keep his temper,” she said. 
 
 “That’s more than the Frenchman will do,” grunted 
 Miles. 
 
 “Miles, don’t you want help? Are you sure you'll reach 
 Mr. Lee in time?” asked Narcissa. “Oh, it doesn’t sound 
 real !” 
 
 “Who could ride swifter than me?’ demanded Miles, 
 blandly. “More’n that, I started an Indian friend of mine 
 off last night. She’ll travel like a cloud.” 
 
 “You like to boast about women, don’t you?” inquired 
 Sarah. “It’s the only childish thing you do.” 
 
 For the first time, Miles blushed. He bolted the re- 
 mainder of his food and rose from the table. 
 
 ptlero Waco We hetisaida. i Brino) out. theubarpipes, 
 Monique!” He kissed Narcissa on the forehead, Alice 
 
ZO WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Clarissa on the back of her dimpled neck, planted a vig- 
 orous kiss on Sarah Hall’s astonished lips and leaped out 
 the door. | 
 
 Marcus was standing beside the priest’s mare and Charley 
 Compo was leading up the doctor’s young horse, Cayuse. 
 
 “T have given Pere Demers his choice of staying here for 
 twenty-four hours, Miles,” called Marcus, “or riding with 
 me into Fort Walla Walla. He has chosen Fort Walla 
 Walla. Is there anything more I can do for you, my boy?” 
 
 “That’s plenty, thank you!” exclaimed Miles. He vaulted 
 into the saddle, roweléd his horse till the indignant animal 
 bucked, then, with a sweep of his gray beaver through the 
 air, was off. 
 
 Marcus and Pére Demers mounted at once and started 
 at a rapid trot for the fort. 
 
 Narcissa awaited the doctor’s return, the next day, with 
 keenest anxiety. He returned in the afternoon, jaded but 
 complacent. 
 
 “Pambrun pooh-poohs at the idea of a plot,’ he said, 
 “but I believe Miles. At any rate, he’s persuaded the priest 
 to go up to Fort Vancouver, and I’m betting on our young 
 courier.” 
 
 “T suppose there is nothing we can do but await the turn 
 of events,’ said Narcissa. “My heart aches for Jason 
 eee! 
 
 “If some one were bringing me word of my wife’s 
 death,” said Marcus, “I’d hope the Sioux would take my 
 scalp.” 
 
 He kissed Narcissa, with more emotion than he’d per- 
 mitted himself to show for many weeks, and turned to his 
 supper. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 
 
 NLESS a stray trapper brought them news, they could 
 
 not hope to hear from Miles for months, and so 
 Marcus and Narcissa returned quietly to the routine of 
 the mission. The fate of Jason Lee became one of their 
 accepted anxieties, just as the probable attitude of Umtippe 
 had become. For when the old Cayuse returned in the fall, 
 he would find his nephew weaned and Narcissa’s slender 
 curb upon his acts removed. Narcissa gave many anxious 
 hours to trying to evolve some appeal to any sense of de- 
 cency the chief might have concealed under his surliness; 
 but her anxiety was unproductive. 
 
 The long summer days marched on, beautiful and serene, 
 as only Oregon days can be. The two years’ limit which 
 had been set before Narcissa could look for word from 
 home had long since passed and she began to watch daily 
 for mail. Messengers from Fort Walla Walla usually ar- 
 rived, late in the afternoon, and Narcissa formed the habit 
 of walking, at that time, to the top of the little hill near 
 the cabin. Here, with Alice Clarissa and Sarah Hall, she 
 would watch for a long hour for what she told the children 
 would be a messenger from Angelica. It was the one rest 
 period she permitted herself to take, during the day. 
 
 But, although little cavalcades of Indian braves, gay in 
 blankets and feathers, passed along the trail; although 
 squaws, with their ponies dragging the whole of their 
 household miscellanies, toiled frequently past the hill; 
 although, often enough, a trapper, with a string of pack 
 horses, jogged up to ask for a night’s lodging and a look 
 
 217 
 
218 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 at the white woman with the fine hands and the glorious 
 voice, the messenger from Angelica did not appear. 
 
 This mute watching depressed the doctor. It made him 
 suspicious that Narcissa’s unfailing cheerfulness was not 
 real. And, on a certain afternoon in late summer, he fol- 
 lowed her up the hill to beg her to desist. But, at the hill 
 crest, before he could utter his pretest he was met by a 
 shrill cry from Sarah. 
 
 “Look! They’re white women, too!” 
 
 A train of pack horses was coming from the east. 
 
 “Tt looks like William Gray at the head!” exclaimed 
 Narcissa. 
 
 “Tt is Gray!” cried Marcus. 
 
 They rushed down the hill. It was young Gray, indeed! 
 Young Gray, with a brand new wife, with a young school- 
 master, and with three other missionary couples. With 
 tears and broken phrases of thanksgiving, the newcomers 
 dismounted and were welcomed by the Whitmans. 
 
 The resources of the mission were strained to the utmost 
 to care for such an unprecedented number of guests. But, 
 after the first moment of dismay, Marcus and Narcissa 
 found ways and means. The new missionaries had come 
 well equipped with bedding and cooking utensils. Before 
 bedtime, Indian lodges were erected close to the cabin; a 
 lodge for each couple and one for Cornelius Rogers, the 
 teacher. The common table was set in the cabin and, over 
 the first meal, a discussion was held as to the future loca- 
 tions of the members of the new group. 
 
 William Gray had informed the newcomers, clearly, of 
 the conditions to be found in the Columbia country, and also 
 had prejudiced them, violently, against the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company. When Marcus proposed that the men folk start 
 with him on the morrow, to consult with James Douglas 
 about locating the new missions, a violent chorus of oppo- 
 sition greeted him. The country didn’t belong to Great 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 219 
 
 Britain! Americans had every right to settle where they 
 chose. The American Board had told William Gray that 
 the missions must keep clear of politics. That meant, keep 
 clear of the Hudson’s Bay Company. 
 
 “But why not maintain friendly relations with our source 
 of supply?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “Source of supply, nothing!’ retorted Gray rudely. ‘“We 
 were informed by Captain Thing that stringent orders had 
 been received from Governor Simpson that absolutely no 
 supplies of any kind are to be sold to Americans, from now 
 on. We are forbidden to trade with the Indians!—I, for 
 one, won’t hurt my self-respect by running to Fort Van- 
 couver to ask for orders, delivered under the thin guise of 
 advice.” 
 
 With a grunt of impatience, Marcus opened his lips, but 
 before he could speak, Narcissa interposed. 
 
 “We've everything to gain by keeping friendly relations 
 with the Hudson’s Bay Company. The one earthly protec- 
 tion we have from Indian massacre is the Indians’ fear of 
 the British and their confidence in British justice. You 
 have a wife with you now, dear William Gray! You can- 
 not, for her sake, be as independent and defiant as you 
 have been. After all, we are here to convert Indians. We 
 shall convert many more, if we work in cooperation with 
 Dr. McLoughlin than we shall if we try to go alone.” 
 
 “That sounds like common sense to me,” said Cushing 
 Eells, one of the missionaries. “What I want to avoid more 
 than anything is wasting the mission substance in political 
 maneuvering, which is what I’ve heard is the weakness of 
 the Methodist mission.” 
 
 “You veer with the wind, Brother Eells!” exclaimed 
 William Gray, bitterly. “And you, Mrs. Whitman, have 
 developed British sympathies in the year and a half since 
 I saw you.” 
 
 “Nonsense!”? exclaimed Narcissa. “I’m more ardently 
 
220 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 American than I ever was! But I’ve learned that we can- 
 not use a broadax against a rapier. I propose to learn the 
 use of the rapier.” 
 
 Elkanah Walker, a bashful young man, with eyes of great 
 intelligence, watched Narcissa with keen interest. “You 
 are giving us a new angle, Mrs. Whitman. Our friend 
 Gray is a man of intense prejudices.” 
 
 “Tm glad I am!” cried William. “I’m no namby-pamby! 
 There’s no room for such in this country.” 
 
 “Doctor,” said Walker, “supposing you give us a state- 
 ment of your attitude toward the Hudson’s Bay Company, 
 with the reasons for it.” 
 
 Marcus plunged, at once, into explanations and a recital 
 of incidents. Narcissa watched the faces around the table. 
 In her desire to be helpful to these new arrivals, her first 
 impulse had been to tell of her growing disillusions as to 
 the value of their work with the Indians, to explain her 
 apprehensions, her fears, her hopes for the future. 
 
 But as she listened to their comments and questions, she 
 realized that anything she could say would be futile. They 
 were filled with the same fires of enthusiasm that had 
 burned in her own heart, two or more years ago. Only 
 actual living with the Indians could convince them that 
 among the Indians was no fuel to keep the flames alight. 
 She would content herself with counteracting young Gray’s 
 tendency to butt his head against the stone wall of the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company’s prestige. 
 
 It was midnight before she and Marcus had persuaded 
 the missionaries to make the trip to Fort Vancouver. But 
 at last, aided by the influence of the women folks, who rose 
 to Narcissa’s carefully thrown bait—the beauties and com- 
 forts of the Chief Factor’s ménage—young Gray was voted 
 down and it was decided that the party would leave on the 
 following day for the trip down the Columbia. 
 
 Gray yielded with good grace but announced that, as the 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 221 
 
 American Board had designated himself and his wife, with 
 Cornelius Rogers for Lap-wai, they would leave on the 
 morrow for the Clearwater. He then yawned loudly and 
 started for bed. | 
 
 Both Marcus and Narcissa had been trying, for hours, 
 to get a word alone with Gray. Now, at a despairing 
 glance from Narcissa, the doctor followed him out the door. 
 
 “Gray,” he said, in a low voice, “did the Board say any- 
 thing to you of having received drastic criticisms from 
 Spalding about us?” 
 
 “No!” replied William wonderingly. “Of course, they 
 asked all kinds of questions, but they got no complaints 
 from me, you bet! I even remember that they complained 
 that they’d had no letters from either mission, last yean 
 What’s worrying you?” 
 
 Marcus, after swearing William to secrecy, told hits 
 Pambrun’s tale. William listened, then cried angrily, 
 “That fellow will wreck the missions yet! But the Board 
 had not received that letter when I was there. I’m glad 
 you told me. ITIl watch him like a hawk from now on. 
 Don’t worry any more, doctor, now I’m back!” He went 
 into his lodge and Marcus, somewhat reassured, returned 
 to the cabin. 
 
 He left for Fort Vancouver, the next day, with the re- 
 mainder of the party. 
 
 It was three weeks before he returned and, to Narcissa’s 
 surprise, he returned alone. James Douglas, it seemed, 
 acting in Dr. McLoughlin’s absence, had won the mission- 
 aries’ hearts by his hospitality, his interest and his sym- 
 pathy. He had, indeed, refused to sell them anything, but, 
 out of his personal supplies, he had made them gifts of the 
 necessities which they had not been able to bring over the 
 mountains and had offered them the use of the horse bri- 
 gades of the Company in moving to their locations. The 
 locations which he had suggested, were two: one among the 
 
222 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Spokan Indians, the other, with a remote branch of the Neg 
 Percés. So the Walkers and the Eells were already build- 
 ing their cabins near the Spokan and the Smiths, a hundred 
 miles northeast of Waii-lat-pu, among the Nez Percés. 
 
 “So,” said Narcissa, when Marcus had ended his recital, 
 “we all are grouped for the convenience of the watchful 
 eye of Governor Simpson. The Methodist missions are 
 where Pére Blanchet can watch them from Fort Vancouver, 
 the American Board missions, where Pére Demers can over- 
 see them. By the way, how did the Catholic fathers treat 
 your” 
 
 Marcus grinned. “Pere Blanchet had business up Puget 
 Sound way, the day after we arrived. And Pere Demers, 
 as I learned when I passed Fort Walla Walla, on my way 
 back, is making a parochial call on Fort Colville, which lies 
 only seventy miles west of the Spokan mission! Umtippe 
 rode out from the fort with me. He says Pére Demers 
 told him he was to say his prayers, count his beads and kill 
 Protestants. Then he’d reach heaven. I don’t believe 
 Demers was so raw, do you?” 
 
 “No, I don’t, indeed,” said Narcissa. “So Umtippe is 
 back! I wonder what his first plan for making trouble 
 will be?” 
 
 Marcus shook his head, adding cheerfully, ‘““We’ll convert 
 the old villain yet!’ 
 
 “What had James Douglas to say regarding Miles’ atti- 
 tude toward Pere Demers?” 
 
 “He said he gave the priest a good wigging for his 
 officiousness. When I told him what Miles had said about 
 the Sioux plot, he looked skeptical, but I could see that it 
 bothered him. I hoped to get some word of Miles, but the 
 boy evidently kept off the well-traveled trails. Well, now 
 that chore is done, I’m going to begin actual building of the 
 new house. The last of the adobes must have dried well 
 while I was away.” 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 223 
 
 Narcissa nodded and long after Marcus was deep in 
 slumber, she lay thinking of the helplessness of the new 
 missions in case of trouble and of the terrible skill with 
 which the priests were able to influence the Indians. If 
 only she and Marcus had a fraction of that skill! 
 
 The next morning, as soon as her school work was done, 
 Narcissa gave herself an unwonted interval of rest. She 
 went out to watch the doctor lay the first adobes, above the 
 foundations that had been dug nearly a year before. Alice 
 Clarissa accompanied her. The size.and strength of the 
 child were wonderful. At a year and a half of age, she 
 was as large and as mentally advanced as the average child 
 a year older. She walked well, and could talk like a child of 
 three. As soon as Narcissa had established herself on a 
 pile of brick, Alice Clarissa left her to follow her father. 
 
 A moment later Umtippe appeared. He stalked up to 
 Narcissa, the white horse’s tail flaunting over his great 
 shoulder, his eyes smoldering. 
 
 “My nephew is weaned!” he said. 
 
 “Yes,” answered Narcissa, “and isn’t he a wonderful, 
 strong boy! His mother must give him three cups of milk 
 every day now, until he is six years old.” 
 
 “He has teeth for meat and camas. He gets no more 
 milk!’ Umtippe grinned maliciously. 
 
 Narcissa shrugged her shoulders and turned to watch 
 Alice Clarissa at play. “Don’t you think the little White 
 Cayuse has grown well, this summer?” she asked. 
 
 Umtippe grunted and spoke dejectedly. “I used to be 
 happy. I made war. I prayed to the spirits. I had many 
 wives. You have troubled me. You tell me my heart is 
 bad and that unless I pray as you do, your God will burn 
 me forever. I wish to keep my heart as it is. I wish my 
 people to keep theirs. So I am going to give you an order. 
 Either you must stop telling us we are bad, or you must 
 go away. This land is mine.” 
 
224 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Marcus moved impatiently to the other side of the foun- 
 dation. He would not trust himself to hear more. Nar- 
 cissa looked from the chief, in his red coat, to the wide 
 fields with their harvests, brown against the blue of the 
 sky. 
 
 “You gave us the land, freely,” she said. “You prove 
 that you are a sinner when you try to take it back from 
 God and us.” 
 
 Umtippe winced at the word sinner as though he had 
 received a lash across the face. “I am not a sinner!” he 
 shouted. “The priest at Fort Walla Walla says I am not. 
 He says I’m not to be blamed for what I did before I was 
 baptized. You are a crazy fool and so is the doctor! 
 You'd better stop building the new lodge, or I shall tell 
 my young men to trample it down.” 
 
 “It’s the permanent look of the new house that troubles 
 him,” thought Narcissa. But she would not give in one 
 inch. 
 
 “God will hold you accountable for any bad deed,” she 
 said aloud, eyeing the old Cayuse firmly. 
 
 He buttoned his red coat to his chin and shuddered. He 
 feared this Christian religion almost as much as he hated 
 it. All his Indian pride and sense of mysticism revolted 
 from its tenets. 
 
 “What is the new lodge for?” His voice was surly. 
 
 “For us to live and work in. There will be a room in it 
 for the Indians, so that you need not come into our part 
 of the house. It will be a large, pleasant room, with a fire- 
 place in it. I shall have the school there.” 
 
 “Why do you wish to shut the Indians out of other 
 rooms?” demanded Umtippe. “We shall go where we wish, 
 that is, if we let you build this at all.” 
 
 Narcissa sighed. Again she looked from the Indian to 
 the sweep of undulating plains that lay, a vast bronze and 
 blue carpet between Waii-lat-pu and the tranquil heights of 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 225 
 
 the Blue Mountains. Umtippe watched her threateningly 
 and had opened his lips to speak further, when a gurgle of 
 childish laughter sounded from the foundations of the new 
 house. Marcus, laughing too, swung his little daughter up 
 from the sand, in the cellar where she had been playing. 
 She ran toward her mother. 
 
 “Mother!” she cried. “Dolly’s lodge. Come, see!” Then 
 she caught sight of the old Indian. She ran to him and 
 threw herself against his knees. “Oh, dee’ Umtippe! 
 Umtippe !” 
 
 The chief’s face was transformed by a smile. “Is the 
 lodge big enough for the Cayuse chief?’ he asked, in his 
 own tongue. 
 
 The child answered him in the same language. “Come, 
 see, Umtippe. Come!” 
 
 She tugged impatiently at the chief’s hand. He allowed 
 her to lead him to the foundations, where, ignoring the 
 doctor, he stood for a long time engrossed in the child’s 
 prattle. Narcissa watched the two, filled with a nameless 
 apprehension. 
 
 After perhaps a quarter of an hour, Alice Clarissa led 
 the old chief back to her mother. 
 
 “Mother! Baby have doggie!’ she cried. ‘“Umtippe’s 
 doggie.” 
 
 “I am going to give the little White Cayuse a dog,” said 
 the Cayuse. “Listen, white squaw, I am going to allow you 
 to build the new lodge if you will agree that the Indians 
 shall use all of it.” 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. “There will be one room in 
 the new house for the Indians.” 
 
 Umtippe snatched up the child. “I shall keep her till you 
 agree!’ he roared. 
 
 Marcus started hastily toward the group on the adobes, 
 but at his wife’s warning gesture, he paused. Alice Clarissa 
 was crowing with delight. 
 
226 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Swing baby high!” she cried. “Rock-a-by high!’ Then 
 in a flute-like voice she piped: 
 
 “Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top! 
 When the wind blows the cradle will rock... .” 
 
 Umtippe, holding her high, listened as if hypnotized. 
 This was a new accomplishment of Alice Clarissa’s, for 
 him. 
 
 Narcissa, white-faced, but with manner unruffled, said 
 quietly, “Who will teach her other songs if you take her 
 from me?” 
 
 Alice Clarissa struggled to be set down. The chief placed 
 her carefully on the ground, then said gruffly, his eyes full 
 of tears, “You said you’d teach her to sing, and you have!” 
 
 He strode off to the Indian encampment. 
 
 Narcissa, with a shuddering sigh, took Alice Clarissa on 
 her lap. She and Marcus gave each other a long look, but 
 they made no comment on the episode. 
 
 When Marcus came into the cabin for supper, he brought 
 with him a small gray puppy, about three months old. He 
 set it on the floor, where it cowered, shivering and whim- 
 pering. 
 
 “Umtippe’s gift, I suppose,” said Narcissa. 
 
 Marcus nodded. “I washed him in the creek, so it’s safe 
 for Alice Clarissa to play with him.” 
 
 Narcissa had been restraining the baby. She now let go 
 of the little skirt and Alice Clarissa pounced on the pup. 
 
 “T wish I could believe it is a gesture of real friendship 
 from Umtippe,” she said. “Somehow, the gift of a dog 
 does seem the most friendly kind of a thing to do! But I 
 fear the ‘Greeks bearing gifts.’ ” 
 
 “T know,” agreed Marcus. “That goes as far as you and 
 I are concerned, but I don’t think we can doubt his affec- 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 227 
 
 tion for our baby. All I hope is, that he won’t demand the 
 dog back, about the time we have him well trained. An 
 Indian’s gift is an uncertain quantity! I’ve thought of a 
 name for him. How would Trapper do?” 
 
 “Splendid!” exclaimed Narcissa. “He’s a pretty little 
 fellow. He looks like the sheep dogs at Fort Vancouver. 
 I hope Umtippe didn’t steal him.” 
 
 Marcus grunted comically and told Sarah Hall to give 
 young Trapper a drink of milk. 
 
 “The Kitchie Okema has a dog like that,” said Sarah 
 Hall. ‘He had it sent from home in Scotland. It made 
 me homesick.” 
 
 ‘‘Homesick, Sarah dear?” asked Narcissa. “For what?” 
 
 Sarah’s wistful gray eyes grew puzzled. “I don’t know 
 why I said that. What I wish, always, is that I never have 
 to leave you and the baby.” 
 
 “Not even to marry, Sarah?” laughed Marcus. 
 
 Sarah’s young lips curled. “Marry! NotI! I’m going 
 to be a teacher and earn my own way.” 
 
 “Whoa! my prancing steed!” shouted a familiar voice 
 without. The door swung wide and Miles appeared. 
 “Seven rounds from the cannon, if you please, doctor! 
 Te nere ue 
 
 “And Jason Lee!” cried Marcus, seizing Miles’ proffered 
 hand. 
 
 “Is safely preaching in the States,” replied Miles. “I 
 caught him on the plains beyond the Platte and made him 
 turn back to Fort Laramie to await the fur brigade.” 
 
 “He bore up, bravely, under the bad news you brought 
 him, I know,” said Narcissa, a hand on Miles’ shoulder. 
 
 “Well, he felt pretty awful, but he’s a man, every foot 
 and inch of him,” replied Miles. ‘Golly, Sarah Hall, you 
 get sweeter looking by the minute!” 
 
 Sarah, standing pink-cheeked by the fireplace, Alice 
 
228 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Clarissa clinging to her skirts, giggled and tossed her head. 
 
 “That’s more’n I can say for you. You look as if you’d 
 been through a massacre.” 
 
 “Don’t I!” agreed Miles, coolly, glancing at his torn red 
 coat and his tattered boots. “Guess you'll have to sew me 
 up, before I report to the Governor, Sarah!’ He picked 
 up the baby and kissed her several times. 
 
 “The Governor?” asked Marcus quickly. 
 
 Miles nodded. “I’m to meet him at Peace River in the 
 spring. He’s in England, now. I’m going up to Fort Van- 
 couver from here and outfit for a winter trip, with mail and 
 books. I came back by a short cut, through the Blue Moun- 
 tains. It was rough going. That’s why I’m all torn to 
 pieces. I believe you could bring the wagon through that 
 way, doctor, though, if you’d do a lot of slashing. It’s only 
 timber that made me my trouble.” 
 
 “Make me a map,” said Marcus, promptly, “while supper 
 is getting ready.” 
 
 The two men were engrossed in the map and Narcissa 
 was placing the baby in her crib, when a rap sounded at 
 the door and Charley Compo entered. 
 
 “The chief of the Walla Wallapoos is at the camp to- 
 night,” he said. “He says the King George’s missionary at 
 Fort Walla Walla sent him up here to get Umtippe to drive 
 you away.” 
 
 He paused, looking at Narcissa with somber friendliness. 
 He seemed, Narcissa thought, to have developed and re- 
 tained a certain amount of liking for his former pupil. She 
 never, however, had felt sure enough of this to hope that 
 he would do them any kindness. She scarcely dared be- 
 lieve now that there was not something sinister in his visit. 
 
 “Umtippe,” the Cayuse went on, “is angry in his heart 
 because you are building the new house. He is listening 
 gladly to the Walla Wallapoos’ whisperings. You must 
 come to the council lodge to-night and have the little White 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 229 
 
 Cayuse sing. That will soften all the hearts that hear her.” 
 
 “Oh, Charley! My baby! She must not!” cried Nar- 
 cissa. 
 
 “She’s only got those few lines, Charley,’ protested 
 Marcus. “And her little voice won’t carry through that 
 huge lodge.” 
 
 The Cayuse stood stolidly by the door. Sarah, eyeing 
 him, spoke to him in the Iroquois tongue. He replied and 
 the young girl blanched. “He says”—she turned to Marcus 
 —‘“that massacre will be done to-night unless the Walla 
 Wallapoos’ chief and many of the Cayuse braves hear and 
 see our baby. We must do it.” 
 
 Narcissa wrung her hands and swept across the room to 
 gaze down at the sleeping child. But she did not speak. 
 Marcus and Miles looked at each other in helpless anger. 
 Sarah Hall spoke rapidly to Charley in Iroquois. He 
 nodded and, with the others, awaited Narcissa’s decision. 
 She looked up from the baby, one long hand on the cradle 
 bar, her face dead white and her eyes blue fire in the 
 candlelight. 
 
 “Tf I permit this, it must be agreed that she sings but 
 once and that she does not leave my arms for any Indian,” 
 she said in a low voice. 
 
 “Yes, I promise!’ said Compo. “Come!” 
 
 “Wait a moment!” cried Miles. “Let us do this with 
 some of the Governor’s pomp. Mrs. Whitman, put on your 
 gray silk dress, and Sarah, your best. Doctor, you and I 
 must polish up. Compo, go to the Camp and say that a 
 delegation from the mission will arrive in half an hour to 
 show them the progress made by the little White Cayuse.” 
 
 “Good! Good!” exclaimed Compo, turning quickly out 
 the door. 
 
 “How do we know this is not some dirty trick to burn 
 our cabin down!” cried Narcissa. 
 
 “It’s not a trick!’ Sarah took Alice Clarissa’s little Sun- 
 
230 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 day dress of white from the closet. “Compo is our friend.” 
 
 “Have you any so-called converts among the Cayuse?” 
 asked Miles, pulling off his coat and looking ruefully at its 
 gaping rents. “Any you could hope would stand by you 
 in an emergency ?” 
 
 “Only a few of the women, Narcissa’s friends,” said 
 Marcus, bitterly. 
 
 “Have you ever sung anything but hymns for the In- 
 dians, Mrs. Whitman?” asked Miles. 
 
 “No,” replied Narcissa, beginning to dress the still sleep- 
 ing baby. “Sarah, take needle and thread, will you, and 
 pull together the worst rents in Miles’ coat.” 
 
 Miles yielded up the coat with a broad grin, then turned 
 back to Narcissa. “Fine! Then the moment the baby 
 finishes her song, you must pipe up the ‘Poor Exile of Erin’ 
 and follow that with all the gay, pretty and sad songs you 
 know. But not a hymn among the lot. Sing as you used 
 to, to us, evenings on the trail. Be Gad, you drew our 
 hearts from our chests!” 
 
 Narcissa looked at Miles, with a dawning expression of 
 understanding and hope. 
 
 “Yes, Miles, [ll do it! My baby and I! Perhaps we'll 
 be useful to the mission yet! Come, Sarah, let us go into 
 the lean-to and change.” 
 
 The half hour was only just over when, supperless, but 
 clad in their best, they left the cabin. 
 
 The November night was as mild as young April. There 
 was a clear, high-sailing moon that glistened on the river, 
 on the black and silver plains and on the far, magic crest 
 of the mountains. When the silent little company reached 
 the lodge, they found Charley Compo standing sentinel at 
 the door. He did not speak, but lifted the flap of buffalo 
 hide; and Marcus entered, followed by Narcissa, the baby 
 in her arms. Miles led Sarah by the hand, his eyes dancing 
 with excitement. 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 231 
 
 The lodge was by no means an unimposing edifice. It 
 was formed by the joining of many single lodges, whose 
 buffalo-hide coverings, carefully sewed together by the 
 squaws, were covered with line drawings in many colors. 
 There was a gay scene within. A fire burned brilliantly in 
 the center of the room, round which were seated fifty or 
 sixty braves in gaudy headdresses and varicolored blan- 
 kets. Not a squaw was to be seen. There was a sudden 
 hush of voices as the mission party came in. Narcissa 
 tossed back her beaver cape, and little Alice Clarissa blinked 
 in the lurid light. Before Narcissa could begin cajoling 
 the baby to sing, however, Miles sprang forward, holding 
 up his hand impressively, and began a speech in very fair 
 Cayuse. 
 
 “The Kitchie Okema,” he said, “is a friend to the doctor 
 and to the doctor’s wife and to the little White Cayuse. 
 I—yes, I—with my red coat, am the Kitchie Okema’s mes- 
 senger. He has sent me to you to ask you to listen to the 
 first song of this fledgling song-bird, born among the 
 Cayuse. I have not yet heard it. I thought it not fitting 
 I should hear it until the braves of the Cayuse had heard. 
 But now, let us give ear together to the magic that has 
 been given to the Cayuse as a favor from the Great Spirit.” 
 
 Narcissa smiled into her baby’s face and tossed her 
 lightly in her arms. “Alice Clarissa sing with mother!’ 
 and she hummed the little rime as she held the child aloft. 
 
 Alice Clarissa laughed, as though entirely unconscious of 
 the breathless audience before her. Indian convocations 
 were an old story to her. All summer she had attended 
 them im her mother’s arms!” She’ laughed, ‘then, ‘at “her 
 mother’s soft repetition of the song, her extraordinary 
 little voice rippled forth as naturally as a bird’s notes, and 
 she sang the nursery lullaby so clearly, so sweetly and so 
 correctly that even Marcus, tone deaf as he was, was 
 thrilled to the heart. 
 
202 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Narcissa kissed the baby and laughed with her, tossed 
 her again, and once more, the tiny treble notes floated across 
 the lodge. Then, as the last word died away, and before 
 the Indians could more than begin their swelling Aa-a-h of 
 applause, Narcissa began the song which Miles had bade 
 her sing. Instantly her audience became silent and mo- 
 tionless. 
 
 For nearly an hour, Narcissa, tall and alien, her golden 
 hair flashing in the ruddy firelight, stood singing to the 
 Indians. She sang Scotch and Irish ballads for the most 
 part, and the Cayuse rocked and sobbed, begging for more 
 and more. Narcissa scarcely paused, until as the final 
 notes of “Kathleen Mavourneen” left her lips, Charley 
 Compo suddenly jumped from his place near the fire, cast 
 off his blanket and shouted: 
 
 “I’m saved! I’m saved! My wicked heart has melted. 
 Pray for me, doctor! Pray!” 
 
 The astonished Marcus hesitated, but only long enough 
 to be convinced by the interpreter’s face that he was sin- 
 cere. Then he rushed to Compo and knelt with him 
 in prayer. Narcissa, after a moment, began “Robin 
 Adair.” 
 
 The older Indians watched Charley Compo with doubt 
 and disgust struggling in their. faces. But when he lifted 
 his eyes, streaming with tears and called brokenly, “Savior, 
 Iam Yours!” half a dozen of the younger braves rose and 
 began to plead with the white man’s God to receive the 
 burden of their sins. 
 
 Marcus worked like one inspired. His face was the face 
 of an apostle. Miles Goodyear, after a short time, told 
 Narcissa he would take Alice Clarissa home, and with the 
 baby in his arms, he and Sarah Hall left the lodge. 
 
 Two hours passed before this startling harvest of souls 
 was ended. At the end of that period, a dozen of the 
 friends of Charley Compo had been received as Christian 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 233 
 
 brothers by Marcus. During this time, Umtippe and a 
 ferocious looking chief, whom Narcissa took to be the 
 visiting Walla Wallapoo, sat before the fire demanding 
 more songs from Narcissa. It was evident that the pur- 
 pose of the Walla Wallapoo’s visit had been forgotten. 
 And when Narcissa’s voice refused to quaver another note, 
 Umtippe allowed Marcus to lead her out of the lodge with- 
 out further protest. The Whitmans moved out into the 
 moonlight, silent in the excess of their relief and joy. 
 
 The cabin was lighted when they reached it. Alice 
 Clarissa was asleep in her crib, but there was no sign of 
 Miles or Sarah. Marcus looked at his watch. 
 
 “Ten o’clock! What does this mean?’ he exclaimed. 
 
 “I saw two figures on the hilltop as we passed,” said 
 Narcissa, “but I supposed they belonged to Indians. It 
 must be Sarah and Miles. I'll go out and call them in.” 
 
 “This is no time of night for you to be searching the 
 sagebrush,” declared Marcus. “T’ll go myself and tell 
 Miles what I think of him.” 
 
 “Let me go, Marcus!” pleaded Narcissa. “I’m sure they 
 are on the hill. We might have expected this. They’re no 
 longer children. Don’t let’s do or say anything that will 
 drive them to deceive us.” 
 
 PUlb lock) Sarah up!’ roared Marcus...» Ten: o'clock! 
 That child!” 
 
 “*That child’ is nearly eighteen years old,” said Narcissa, 
 quietly. “Let me go to the hilltop, Marcus! If they’re not 
 there, T’1l come back at once and you shall go.” 
 
 “Very well!” Marcus gave in reluctantly. 
 
 Narcissa slipped on her cape again and went out into the 
 moonlight. Marcus had, months before, placed a crude log 
 bench for Narcissa at the hilltop. Here, Miles and Sarah 
 were sitting. They turned at the sound of her approach. 
 
 “Tt’s late, children,” she said, quietly, “and much too cool 
 for Sarah to be sitting here.” 
 
234 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “T guess you mean you don’t want me up here with 
 Miles!” exclaimed Sarah with a little catch in her voice. 
 “T won’t hurt Miles, even if I am half Indian.” 
 
 “How many converts came over?” asked Miles, genially. 
 
 Before Narcissa could reply, Sarah began to weep. “You 
 are watching me!” she sobbed. “You are like Miles. You 
 thought I was like these squaws that the men can do as 
 they like with. You—” 
 
 “Wait a moment, Sarah,” said Narcissa, gently. “You 
 are excited Don’t say. things now that you'll regret to- 
 morrow.” 
 
 “Well, I’ve taught him different, anyhow,” wept Sarah. 
 
 “You certainly have!’ exclaimed Miles. “She boxed my 
 ears, Mrs. Whitman, just before you came up.” 
 
 “Splendid!” Narcissa pulled Sarah’s cold hand within 
 her arm. “And have you learned your lesson, Miles?” 
 
 “What lesson?” asked Miles, half defiantly and half 
 sheepishly. 
 
 “TI hate all you dirty white men except the doctor!” cried 
 Sarah. 
 
 “It looks to me, Miles,” said Narcissa, “as if you’d made 
 a rather pitiful mistake. I’m disappointed in you.” 
 
 There was a moment’s silence, then Miles said, “I guess 
 I’d better beg your pardon, Sarah, and you can slap me 
 again if it'll make you feel any better.” 
 
 With a sob Sarah buried her face against Narcissa’s 
 shoulder. 
 
 “Well, are you going to pardon me?” demanded Miles, 
 half belligerently. “A man isn’t expected to get down on 
 his knees, I hope!” 
 
 “A man wouldn’t make this kind of mistake, Miles; at 
 least the kind of a man I hoped you’d grown to be!” Nar- 
 cissa’s voice was scornful. “Come, Sarah, I must tuck you 
 into bed.” 
 
 She led the way back to the cabin and left Miles to 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 235 
 
 Marcus’ baleful eyes, while she tucked Sarah into her cot 
 in the lean-to. 
 
 “Don’t cry so, dear,” she said, as she smoothed the 
 blanket over the girl’s slender shoulders. “He’s just the 
 puppy age. You mustn’t take him seriously.” 
 
 “T knew it!” wept Sarah, “but I thought he was such a 
 nice puppy! And he wanted me to be his squaw!” 
 
 Narcissa’s lips were compressed, but before she could 
 speak, the young girl went on. “I should think he’d know 
 that after I’d lived with you, I couldn’t be like those old 
 half-breed things around here.” 
 
 “You couldn’t be like them, anyhow!” exclaimed Nar- 
 cissa. “You have fine blood in you and we all expect you 
 to live up to it. Don’t think too much about Miles, dear. 
 He’s not worth it.” 
 
 “T haven’t thought about anything else since the very first 
 time I saw him,” quavered Sarah Hall. Then she pulled 
 the covers over her head. 
 
 “Poor dear!’ whispered Narcissa. “But at least you 
 have the comfort of knowing you did what was right.” 
 
 “Tt’s not a bit of comfort!’ came back Sarah’s muffled 
 voice. “Oh, I’m terribly unhappy! You’ve never, never 
 been as unhappy as I am!” 
 
 “I know, dear! I know!” 
 
 “No, you can’t know!” Sarah jerked the blanket from 
 her head and glared at the quiet face above hers. Some- 
 thing that she read there caused her to throw her arm about 
 Narcissa’s neck and press her hot young cheek to Narcissa’s 
 cool one. “Forgive me, dear Madam Whitman! I love 
 you, always!’ 
 
 “And I love you, dear little bonne!” Narcissa kissed her. 
 “Now try to sleep.” She blew out the candle and joined 
 the men in the other room. They were sitting in silence 
 before the fire, Miles with an unwonted look of sulkiness 
 on his frank face. He looked up at Narcissa. 
 
236 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Well, Mrs. Whitman, I suppose, after this, you'll not 
 want me here any more.” 
 
 “Of course I’ll want you here, more than ever!” ex- 
 claimed Narcissa. “How are we to have influence over you 
 unless you are with us as frequently as possible?” 
 
 “Then you don’t despise me?’ asked Miles, some of the 
 sulkiness vanishing. 
 
 “T despise what you did, and Dll despise you if you don’t 
 mend your ways. Have you forgotten your own contempt 
 for ‘squaw men’ when you first came to Oregon?” Nar- 
 cissa warmed her hands at the fire and watched Miles’ eyes. 
 “Think what you planned to do, Miles! You know of 
 Governor Simpson’s interest in Sarah. You must have 
 recognized that she is quite as interesting and lovely as any 
 white girl, You know how much we love her. Yet you 
 would reduce her to the level of these miserable squaws we 
 see all around us!” 
 
 “Madam McLoughlin and Madam Douglas weren’t low- 
 ered by McLoughlin or Douglas!” said Miles defiantly. 
 
 “Oh, then you planned to marry Sarah! She did not so 
 understand your proposition,” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 
 “Tl never marry any but a white woman,” declared 
 Miles. “That’s the one thing I’ve got against the fellows 
 in the Hudson’s Bay Company, the way they marry In- 
 dians. It’s not treating your blood right and, be Gad, I 
 won't do it!” 
 
 “No one’s asking you to, sir!” roared Marcus. “Only 
 keep your indecent plans clear of our little foster daughter !” 
 
 “ve already promised to do so,” returned Miles, with 
 injured dignity. “It’s nearly midnight; but I think Tl 
 move on toward Fort Walla Walla.” 
 
 “Perhaps that’s as well,” agreed Marcus, stiffly. 
 
 “Nothing of the sort!” exclaimed Narcissa. “We are 
 not going to part in this frame of mind. I have grown to 
 love Miles like a son or a young brother. I can’t bear to 
 
THE RETURN OF THE COURIER 237 
 
 have him go until he’s made me feel that he’s sorry and 
 ashamed and won’t repeat this offense, not only as far as 
 Sarah’s concerned, but any girl.” 
 
 “T promise about Sarah,” replied Miles, his face burning, 
 “but—but—” He turned with a helpless gesture to Marcus. 
 “Make her see that a woman can’t understand these things, 
 doctor.” 
 
 “T’ll not even try!” retorted Marcus. “Do you think a 
 person of my wife’s intelligence can live in this country 
 two years without understanding that rotten morals are the 
 rule? And do you think I could persuade her into believing 
 things have to be so?” 
 
 “T’m straighter than the average fellow my age with the 
 Hudson’s Bay Company,” declared Miles, truculently. 
 
 Neither Marcus nor Narcissa replied to this. They both 
 sat looking at the young man as though waiting for some- 
 thing. It was a long time coming. The wolves howled far 
 across the plains and the dogs in the village barked a shrill 
 chorus in reply. The fire died down and was replenished 
 by Marcus. Suddenly Miles flung himself on his knees 
 and buried his blond head in Narcissa’s lap. 
 
 “Oh, forgive me! Forgive me!” he sobbed. “I’ve been 
 a dirty dog, thinking I was being a man.” 
 
 Marcus got up, quietly, and, murmuring something about 
 seeing to the corral gate, he went out. Narcissa smoothed 
 Miles’ thick hair, with a gentle hand. 
 
 “T know how hard it’s been, dear Miles! And it will be 
 harder yet. But there’s only one way. And that’s God’s 
 way. He'll help you.” 
 
 Miles shook his head. “Only one thing will help me and 
 that’s the thought that when I come back here I must be fit 
 to kiss you and Alice Clarissa and Sarah. And I will be! 
 I will be! You can count on me.” 
 
 Narcissa stooped and kissed the back of his head. 
 “Thank you, Miles!” she whispered. 
 
238 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 The boy rose and wiped his eyes, saying after a moment, 
 in his natural voice: 
 
 “T suppose a fellow couldn’t have a bite to eat!” 
 
 “Gracious me!” cried Narcissa. “I’d forgotten that none 
 of us had any supper!” 
 
 When Marcus returned, Miles was setting the table, while 
 Narcissa fried venison and the three had a pleasant meal, 
 during which no mention was made of the late unpleasant- 
 ness. 
 
SinWsWedlia ace D GHA! 
 
 MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 
 
 Vitae departed, the next morning, before Sarah ap- 
 peared, and Narcissa prayed that the little hurricane 
 was over and would leave no wreckage. But she was reck- 
 oning without knowledge of the depth of Sarah Hall’s emo- 
 tions. As the winter set in and the isolation of the mission 
 grew more complete, Sarah grew silent and her childish 
 ways dropped from her. She undertook to help Narcissa 
 with her teaching, work she had scorned before, and she 
 spent many hours alone in the lean-to, gazing out the win- 
 dow, which gave on the west. 
 
 The Indians were very restless during the winter. Um- 
 tippe, instead of disappearing for the cold months, came 
 back to the camp several times, for the express purpose of 
 watching the progress made by Marcus in building the new 
 house and heckling him at his work. On each of his visits, 
 he made the cabin his daytime headquarters, sitting in the 
 kitchen during all the processes of housework, teaching, 
 meal-getting and eating, and family worship, until it seemed 
 to Narcissa that the mere sight of the wrmkled, bronze-face 
 and the nodding white horse’s tail would make her hys- 
 terical. He played like a little child with Alice Clarissa, 
 and the puppy, Trapper. He found a keen delight in the 
 adobe blocks Sarah Hall had fashioned for Alice Clarissa 
 and he and the baby would build forts and lodges for hours. 
 
 But to all of Narcissa’s advances, he turned a deaf ear. 
 He would not learn English, nor to read. Nor would he 
 allow Narcissa to teach his latest wife anything about 
 cooking, although all of the younger squaws had taken to 
 
 239 
 
240 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 baking bread as Narcissa had taught them. In the crude 
 mill, set up by Marcus on the creek, he had ground suffi- 
 cient wheat to supply for the winter both his own house- 
 hold and such of the Indians as had raised wheat. But 
 none of this for Umtippe! He did all that he could to 
 prevent the younger braves from setting plow to the soil. 
 But the craving for bread was stronger even than their 
 fear of the old chief. The long, straight furrows began to 
 radiate in all directions from the Indian encampment. 
 
 Only once did Narcissa attempt to argue with Umtippe 
 on the matter. 
 
 “You say, yourself, that the buffalo is getting less each 
 year, Umtippe. Unless you Indians learn to raise food, 
 you will starve.” 
 
 “Better to starve than to eat the white man’s bread,” 
 snarled Umtippe. “If you try to teach my wife, Ill burn 
 your wheat field next summer.” 
 
 Narcissa felt that bread-making was a minor point and 
 let it rest. 
 
 The activities of Pere Demers began to be felt in many 
 ways less obvious than in the refusal of the older Indians 
 to be baptized. Strange tales about the cruelties of Prot- 
 estants to Indian tribes that once dwelt far toward the 
 rising sun, drifted to the cabin. It became known that Dr. 
 McLoughlin had turned Catholic before leaving for Eng- 
 land. Pierre Pambrun had learned to be a catechist and 
 held classes in the fort for Indian children. And old Um- 
 tippe appeared at the cabin fireside, one day, with a rosary 
 over which he began to mumble, one eye on Narcissa. 
 
 Narcissa, at the moment he began his bead telling, was 
 alone in the house at work on her Cayuse primer. She laid 
 down her pen, opened the door, and said to Umtippe: 
 
 “Take those things out of this house!” 
 
 The Cayuse grinned maliciously and continued to jerk 
 the rosary through his fingers. The sight angered Narcissa 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 241 
 
 more than she dared let herself realize. It was a narrow 
 age. To Narcissa, that pitiful figure of Christ, dangling 
 from the savage’s dirty fingers was not the Christ to whom 
 she prayed. It was an idol, belonging to an ignorant and 
 cruel sect, a sect whose priests were dooming countless 
 heathen converts to eternal fire, whose priests were doing 
 their utmost to wreck the mission. 
 
 Narcissa bent over the crouching chief. ‘Go!’ she said. 
 
 He looked up into her eyes and saw there again the anger 
 that he feared, yet hoped to rouse. He rose obediently, but 
 said: 
 
 “T shall come every day with this. It is strong medicine. 
 The King George priest said so.” 
 
 “If you bring it in again, you shall play no more with 
 the little White Cayuse.” 
 
 “T shall bring it. See how beautiful it is? That white 
 man on the crossed sticks paid for what the Protestants 
 did to Indians.” 
 
 The flames of long repressed and deep-seated resentment 
 suddenly flared, and Narcissa snatched the rosary and flung 
 it into the fire. 
 
 Umtippe looked at her in speechless anger, then with a 
 swing of his long arm, he swept the manuscript of her 
 Cayuse primer into the flames and fled. 
 
 The fire was a huge one. Narcissa attempted to rescue 
 the precious sheets, but could not. She wrung her hands 
 and stood with tear-blinded eyes watching the flames devour 
 over a year’s work. And as she stood, fighting for self- 
 control, she observed that the little carved figure on the 
 cross, apparently unharmed by the flames that devoured her 
 manuscript, had assumed a red tone, as if it glowed with 
 life. And it seemed to her that the figure writhed on the 
 cross in a new agony. 
 
 With a groan, Narcissa thrust her hand among the flames 
 and jerked the crucifix out upon the hearth. Then, heed- 
 
242 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 less of her scorched fingers, she stared at the tiny symbol, 
 while a strange thought swept into her heart. It was Jesus, 
 then, Jesus of Bethlehem and Nazareth, and she had cast 
 him into the flames! That priest at Fort Walla Walla 
 loved Him as she did. What blasphemies were both she 
 and Pére Demers committing? How were they better than 
 the zealots of old who committed atrocities in His name? 
 For had not this unseemly contention over the conversion 
 of Indians gone to such length that there was murder in 
 their hearts? Had she not thought that death, in the waters 
 of the Columbia, would be a just end for the priest? How 
 was she better than Pere Demers who prayed for the death 
 of Protestant missionaries? 
 
 Again Narcissa groaned and, stooping, raised the now 
 blackened Christ and placed Him on the mantel. 
 
 She was still standing before It, in deepest perturbation, 
 when Marcus came in, bringing Pierre Pambrun, on one 
 of his rare visits. Both men exclaimed over the crucifix. 
 Narcissa told of the incident just finished. 
 
 Marcus flushed, angrily. “Oh, that’s a terrible pity, Nar- 
 cissa! You had the book almost ready to send to O-ahu 
 for printing. Umtippe is getting to be too much.” 
 
 Pambrun stared at the crucifix and moved his shoulders 
 uneasily. 
 
 “It was a still more terrible thing Madam Whitman did. 
 I—I am very sorry she did that. I don’t know how to 
 explain it to you because you are not Catholic. But I’m 
 afraid— I wish she hadn’t done it!” 
 
 Narcissa looked from the doctor to the factor, but all she 
 said was, “I am a very faulty person.—Marcus, will you 
 call Sarah in, to help me with supper ?” 
 
 “First dispose of that heretic thing, Narcissa!” exclaimed 
 Marcus. 
 
 “Please, no!” Narcissa held a protesting hand before the 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 243 
 
 little figure. “Not until I have made myself see things 
 clearly.” 
 
 “T can’t stay in the room with that,” said Marcus slowly. 
 
 Narcissa took the crucifix from the mantel, wrapped it 
 tenderly in a handkerchief and carried it into the lean- 
 to. 
 
 When she came back, she set about getting supper and 
 the matter of the crucifix was not mentioned again. 
 
 “Well! I brought mail,” exclaimed Pambrun, as they sat 
 at the table, “and almost forgot it. No, I’m sorry, Madam 
 Whitman, not for you, but for your bonne.” 
 
 He handed a letter to Sarah, who looked up, astonished, 
 from her plate of stew. She opened it and stared at the 
 signature, then blushed furiously. 
 
 “From Miles Goodyear!’ she exclaimed. “Oh, Madam 
 Whitman, I don’t have to read it aloud, do I?” 
 
 “No,” said Narcissa, with a smile, “but I hope you'll tell 
 us any news it may contain that would interest us.” 
 
 Pambrun laughed. “So that’s the way the wind blows!” 
 he said, as Sarah ran with her letter into the lean-to. “TI 
 wonder what Governor Simpson would say?” 
 
 “One letter doesn’t make a love affair!” suggested Nar- 
 cissa. 
 
 “Out in this country, where pretty girls are so very rare, 
 it well may.” Pambrun nodded wisely. “Miles Goodyear 
 is a promising young man. The Governor has plans for 
 him.” 
 
 “What kind of plans?” asked Marcus, bluntly. 
 
 Pambrun chuckled. “How can one say? One thing is 
 probable: Miles will become a British subject. He talks 
 like one now!” 
 
 Narcissa eyed the Frenchman, speculatively, but left the 
 conversation to Marcus. She was very fond of Pambrun 
 and of his wife. Had he not been an employee of the 
 
244 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Hudson’s Bay Company, she would have had entire con- 
 fidence in his friendship. But she did not believe that 
 Pambrun ever relinquished his hope of making them fellow 
 employees or, failing that, that he would not use every 
 indirect method to drive them from the country. She was 
 certain that he was directing Pére Demers. Yet she was 
 certain, too, that the factor had an affectionate admiration 
 for both Marcus and herself. Only once had she voiced 
 her suspicions of Pambrun to the doctor. She had received, 
 in return, a sharp reprimand. Marcus was wholly devoted 
 to the charming Frenchman. 
 
 The two men did not linger long over Miles. By the 
 time supper was finished, they were deep in a discussion of 
 horse raising. Marcus had acquired a herd of nearly fifty 
 Indian ponies in exchange with the Cayuse for grain and 
 potatoes. The mission was assuming a position of solid 
 substance in the country that Narcissa thought must make 
 the Hudson’s Bay Company uneasy. From many angles, 
 she believed it would have been wiser for Waii-lat-pu to 
 hold a minimum of property. But Marcus disagreed with 
 her, and Narcissa was living up to her early promise that 
 he alone should dictate the mission policies. After all, she 
 frequently told herself, it was very human and therefore 
 forgivable that Marcus, the born pioneer, should deceive 
 himself into thinking that his hunger for land and animals 
 was for the sake of God alone! When her evening tasks 
 were finished, Narcissa went in search of Sarah. 
 
 Sarah had lighted a fire in the lean-to and was kneeling 
 before the flames, Miles’ letter in her hand. She looked up 
 at Narcissa, with such a depth of sweetness in her fine 
 gray eyes, such smoldering warmth, that the older woman’s 
 heart went out to her in pity and tenderness. What if it 
 were Alice Clarissa gazing up at her, so! 
 
 She stooped and kissed the young girl. ‘Dear Sarah, 
 it’s good to see happiness in your eyes again!” 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 245 
 
 Sarah impulsively held out her letter. “You read it, 
 Madam Whitman. You’ll understand.” 
 Narcissa took the single sheet: 
 
 “Norway House, Rupert’s Land, 
 February 10, 18309. 
 Dear LITTLE SARAH: 
 
 I reached here, by dog cariole, after a very hard trip. 
 I frosted my cheeks so many times that I lost count. I 
 froze both feet. But I got here. I’m waiting for the 
 Governor to reach here in early spring. I just read “The 
 Lady of the Lake’ and it made me think of you. You are 
 just as sweet and good as she was. I wish you were here 
 now and we could read it through together. When I come 
 to Waii-lat-pu again, [ll bring it to you. “ 
 
 I planned to write you a long letter but Gaston is going 
 to leave now as he fears another snowstorm. Please give 
 my kind remembrances to the doctor and Mrs. Whitman 
 and kiss the baby for me. 
 
 I am, dearest Sarah, very respectfully, 
 
 Your o’b’d’t servant, 
 Mites GOODYEAR. 
 Courier extraordinary to the Governor of Rupert’s Land.” 
 
 Narcissa returned the missive. “It’s a dear letter, Sarah. 
 How Miles does improve! That might have been written 
 by an educated person.” 
 
 “Miles is educated!” returned Sarah, proudly. “The 
 Governor makes him read and write all he has time for. 
 The Governor’s secretary is his teacher.” 
 
 “Miles didn’t tell me that,” said Narcissa, turning to the 
 little table, whither she had moved such notes on her primer 
 as had escaped Umtippe. 
 
 She lighted a candle and stood gazing down at the note- 
 book, sadly. It seemed to her that she never could do again 
 
246 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 the work to which she had given so many hours of enthu- 
 siastic labor. And yet, had the Indian’s devastating hand 
 rendered her efforts more futile, than they would have been, 
 had she been permitted to print the book and put it into her 
 Indian schoolroom? She dared not allow herself to con- 
 tinue that line of speculation! Instead she set her lips 
 firmly, opened the note-book she had filled, before Alice 
 Clarissa’s birth, and took up her quill pen. 
 
 Shortly after sunrise, the following morning, Pambrun 
 finished his breakfast and, followed by the entire family, 
 including the waddling Trapper, went out to the corral for 
 his horse. 
 
 Marcus eyed the sorrel bronco with disapproval. “I don’t 
 see why you always choose a half crazy brute like that, 
 Pambrun! It took me twenty minutes to saddle him.” 
 
 The factor laughed. “You don’t seem to recall, doctor, 
 that my only claim to fame rests on my ability to ride any- 
 thing! Look! A man bet me yesterday, that I could not 
 ride this beast. He does a certain double buck: up, then 
 forward and back. Me! I take the bet, saddle the horse, 
 ride him twenty-five miles to Waii-lat-pu. Now, I shall 
 ride him back to the fort and win my bet.” 
 
 He leaped like a flash into the saddle. The horse ran 
 perhaps fifty yards, then suddenly bucked, the terrible 
 double buck, which is the dread of any save a daredevil 
 horseman like Pambrun. He clung to his seat with knee 
 and spur and waved his cap at the group in the dooryard. 
 The gesture maddened the horse. He bucked and reared. 
 Pambrun, at the instant, essayed a bow to Narcissa and 
 the backward plunge threw the pummel violently into his 
 stomach. He collapsed on the bronco’s neck and, with dia- 
 bolical cunning, the beast rolled with him. 
 
 Marcus, with half a dozen Indians, ran to the factor’s 
 help. It was several moments before they could bring the 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 247 
 
 frenzied horse to its feet, leaving the factor doubled up in 
 the sand. Marcus bent over him and it seemed a long, 
 long time to Narcissa before he straightened himself and 
 said, with stiffened lips: 
 
 Uiieis zone! 
 
 No one spoke. Narcissa gazed, in horror, on the crum- 
 pled body. Alice Clarissa clung to her mother’s skirts and 
 Sarah Hall sobbed. 
 
 “He’s gone!’ repeated the doctor, “and we’ve lost our 
 best friend on the Columbia! Perhaps our only friend!” 
 White to the lips, he picked up the factor’s gun and mo- 
 tioned the Indians to lead the plunging horse behind the 
 ~ye stack, in the corral. A moment later a shot rang out. 
 wlarcus came back and laid the gun on the ground beside 
 the body. 
 
 Narcissa stared with sick eyes from her husband to the 
 grim faces of the Cayuse gathered about. Then with a 
 shuddering sigh, she said, “I will write a letter to Madam 
 Pambrun, if you will find an Indian to deliver it.” 
 
 Shortly, a Cayuse, with the death message in his tobacco 
 pouch, galloped westward on the trail. 
 
 About two hours later Marcus was ready to start to the 
 fort with the body. He had rolled it in blankets and lashed 
 it to two stout poles. With the help of the Indians, he 
 then had lashed the poles to the saddles of two ponies, so 
 that the body was carried, tandem fashion, between them. 
 The forward horse was ridden by Umtippe and the rear 
 horse by Marcus. Narcissa, with Alice Clarissa in her lap, 
 rode her own horse, Columbia, while Sarah Hall bestrode 
 a little white mare that the doctor had given her, the year 
 before. Thus the sad procession started. 
 
 It was midnight before they reached the fort. Torches 
 were burning at the open gates, about which were gathered 
 several silent groups of Walla Wallapoos, who, as the slow 
 
248 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 moving little funeral procession came within the uncertain 
 light, began the death chant. Pambrun had been liked and 
 trusted by the Indians. 
 
 The handful of white and half-breed employees of the 
 fort took the body in charge. As they carried it into the 
 Pambrun house, Madam Pambrun, with a long scream, 
 threw herself into Narcissa’s arms. ‘The poor little soul 
 was beside herself with grief. Narcissa bade Marcus take 
 Alice Clarissa and Sarah off to bed, while she gave her 
 whole attention to the new-made widow. 
 
 It was a long and difficult night during which neither 
 woman slept, but by breakfast time Madam Pambrun was 
 sufficiently calm to see Pere Demers and to listen to the 
 plans for the funeral. 
 
 The services were held that afternoon. The grave was 
 dug within the fort enclosure, for wolves and Indians made 
 an unprotected grave a horror. A group of white-gowned 
 Indian boys, perfectly trained, assisted Pere Demers in the 
 burial service, which Narcissa’s artist soul pronounced ex- 
 quisite. She and Marcus stood, alien, on the outskirts of 
 the little crowd, watching the strange ceremonies with a 
 curiosity that their very sincere grief could not smother. 
 
 And although every prejudice that early training and 
 environment could produce urged Narcissa to disdain and 
 dislike the solemn chants, the swing of the censers, the 
 deep voice of the priest, uttering the sacred promises, it 
 was impossible for her not to be profoundly moved. For 
 there accompanied every word and note that fell upon her 
 ear, the vivid memory of the wretched episode of two days 
 before; that living, writhing figure of the Christ, that 
 sudden sense of remorse, that new understanding of the 
 unity of all Christian faiths. Every prejudice that Narcissa 
 possessed melted before this memory; and her tears were 
 not alone for Pambrun, too soon withdrawn from life, but 
 for that wanton waste of Christ’s heritage which she and 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 249 
 
 Marcus, with Pere Demers, were increasing with every 
 hour of strife. 
 
 When at last the grave had been filled, Madame Pambrun 
 clung to Narcissa and begged to go back with her, to Waii- 
 lat-pu. Pére Demers, dignified and coldly polite to the 
 Whitmans, gentle and tender as a woman to Madam Pam- 
 brun, would not listen to her plea. She must follow the 
 Hudson’s Bay Company custom, he said. She must go, at 
 once, to Fort Vancouver, where she would be pensioned 
 and her children cared for. It was a sane decision and, at 
 last, the weeping little widow agreed to it. 
 
 So Narcissa spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting 
 with Madam Pambrun, Pierre’s favorite haunts. His gar- 
 den, his log seat in the clump of willows near the boat land- 
 ing, and his bench atop one of the bastions from which one 
 could see the glory of Mount Hood, the Columbia rushing 
 westward, the vast lift and roll of the plains, and the 
 mighty wall of the Blue Mountains pressing down upon 
 them from the east. 
 
 Death, thought Narcissa, as she gazed from the bastion 
 top, was almost unendurably solemn, almost unbelievably 
 natural, in the midst of the immense loneliness in which 
 their lives were set. 
 
 They started, at dawn, for Waii-lat-pu and reached the 
 cabin at sunset. Here they were greeted by Trapper’s yap- 
 ping and by two forlorn figures, a man and a woman, 
 crouched on the doorstep. They rose and stood like cul- 
 prits, as Narcissa, leaving Marcus in the corral with the 
 horses, advanced to investigate. They were white people, 
 emaciated and ragged. The man, with hollow cheeks and 
 burning, protruding brown eyes, above a sparse brown 
 beard, wore the remains of a frock coat above torn leather 
 trousers. The woman, once, might have been pretty, but 
 she was so thin, so worn, her hair so faded by the sun, her 
 skin so parched and burned, that she was almost ugly. 
 
250 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 ’ 
 
 “Our name is Munger,” said the man, “Asahel and Mary 
 Munger. We come from Ohio. We are independent mis- 
 sionaries on our way to the Sandwich Islands. It’s been 
 pretty hard on the trail. Harder than we expected. Our 
 horses died up there, on the Blue Mountains, and our 
 money’s given out. We thought you might let us rest here 
 for a spell. JI see you are putting up a house. I’m a car- 
 penter, like our Lord Jesus, praise Him and hallelujah! 
 Also, my wife is a good cook.” 
 
 “Come in!” exclaimed Narcissa. “We have plenty of 
 work here for willing hands and you are more than wel- 
 come.” 
 
 The woman followed Narcissa into the cabin. The table 
 was set and a stew of some sort bubbled on the fire. “T 
 ain’t eaten anything yet,’ said Mrs. Munger. “One of the 
 Indian women said you'd be back to-night and I got things 
 ready. I hope I wasn’t presuming.” 
 
 “I’m only too much pleased! You and your husband can 
 move into one of the lodges we put up for our last visitors. 
 Sarah, please give Alice Clarissa her supper and put her 
 to bed!” 
 
 The woman’s worn face twitched. “Praise God!” she 
 whispered. “I feel like the children of Israel when they 
 finally got out of the wilderness.” 
 
 Narcissa smiled’ and called Marcus and Munger in to 
 supper. She was very tired after the three days of mental as 
 well as physical strain and desired nothing quite so much 
 as to go to bed. But, shortly after the Mungers had gone 
 to their tent, Umtippe appeared. Narcissa gathered herself 
 together for the usual battle of wills, but, to her surprise, 
 Marcus motioned her to silence while he rose to shake a 
 sturdy finger in the chief’s face. 
 
 “Tf you ever bring one of those rosaries in here, again,” 
 he said sternly, “I’ll burn it, as my wife did. And I shall 
 sell the Kitchie Okema, when he comes of your burning 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 251 
 
 my wife’s paper talk. We’ll see what he has to say to you! 
 Narcissa, get that crucifix and give it to Umtippe.” 
 
 Narcissa hesitated. Then she brought the blackened 
 Christus from her room and gave it to Marcus. He took 
 it gingerly and held it out to Umtippe. The Cayuse struck 
 at it with horror in his eyes and backed toward the 
 door. 
 
 “No!” he shouted. “The King George man said if we 
 harmed it, our hands would rot. Don’t touch me with 
 1S 
 
 “Take it!” roared Marcus. “Take your symbol of heresy 
 out of my house!’ He tossed the crucifix at Umtippe’s 
 protesting hands. 
 
 The crucifix struck one of them and fell to the floor. 
 Umtippe howled with fear and rushed from the house. 
 Narcissa lifted the crucifix and put it back in her closet. 
 Marcus followed her into the lean-to. He watched her 
 lay the little figure away, resentfully. “Why do you keep 
 it, Narcissa ?”’ he asked. 
 
 “T’m going to give it to Pere Demers some day,’ 
 plied. 
 
 “You think ’'m a clumsy handed fool, don’t you!” ex- 
 claimed Marcus. 
 
 “No, I don’t think anything of the sort,” returned Nar- 
 cissa. “I was dreading the scene I knew was impending 
 between Umtippe and me. And you’ve taken the brunt of 
 it. I’m grateful, Marcus.” 
 
 “That’s not what I mean,” insisted Marcus. “It’s all 
 the time. You draw more and more into yourself. You 
 wouldn’t tell me why you wanted to keep that graven 
 image. You felt I’d be too thick-headed to understand, 
 You wouldn’t let me handle Miles and Sarah, that night. 
 Oh, I could give a hundred instances! and the bitterest part 
 of it is, I guess you’re right!” 
 
 Marcus was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off 
 
 5) 
 
 she re- 
 
252 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 his high boots. In the flickering candlelight he was an 
 uncouth, unkempt figure in worn trapper’s clothing. 
 
 “T’d give all my chance of success with the Indians,” he 
 went on huskily, “to feel that I deserved your respect. I 
 bamboozled you, that first day we came out here, into letting 
 me be boss. You’re such a thoroughbred, you’ve lived up 
 to the agreement. But I can tell you my authority is dust 
 and ashes in my mouth.” 
 
 Narcissa, her hair in long braids, came over to him and 
 knelt at his knee. 
 
 “Dear Marcus,” she said, “if I had half your simple 
 fineness, I’d be more worthy of you. You have all my trust 
 and you have my deep affection. Will that not satisfy 
 you?” 
 
 Marcus put his great hand on her head. “Some day I 
 hope to do so big a thing, that you'll give me your heart. 
 That’s the day I live for... . God keep you for me, my 
 dear, dear wife!” 
 
 For a long moment there was no sound in the cabin, but 
 a lone wolf howled almost beneath the window. 
 
 The Mungers settled down at the mission with great con- 
 tent. Munger was a skilled workman, and the new house 
 progressed so rapidly that, by June, the Whitmans were 
 settled in it. The building was commodious, put up in the 
 form of a T. At the south end of the cross to the T was 
 the family bedroom, at its north end, the Indian room, 
 both twenty feet square. Between the two lay the parlor 
 and dining-room. The first room in the stem of. the T, 
 connecting with the dining-room, was the kitchen, and strung 
 beyond this a servants’ room, a dormitory room for pupils, 
 a storeroom and a henhouse. 
 
 On the first Sunday in June they held service in the 
 Indian room, and Alice Clarissa electrified the Indians by 
 singing “Rock of Ages.” But when she had finished, 
 the congregation could scarcely wait for Marcus to read 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 253 
 
 his sermon, so eager were its members to examine the new 
 furnishings of the house, completed only the day before. 
 They made for the dining-room, before he had finished the 
 closing prayer. Narcissa had locked her own room and she 
 prayed that Umtippe would not break the latch. 
 
 Marcus glanced at her flushed cheeks. “Let them look 
 their fill and be through with it,” he suggested. 
 
 Narcissa bit her lips. “It’s not as if they hadn’t watched 
 every adobe put in place. They do it just to annoy us. 
 But we must say nothing, particularly to Umtippe.” Then 
 she added with a sudden laugh, “I must try not to offend 
 the head of the Cayuse Catholic party!” 
 
 Marcus snorted. “He’s about as much of a Catholic as 
 iam, |) 
 
 Narcissa’s lips stiffened. “I shall save him to Protes- 
 tantism if I do nothing else at Waii-lat-pu.” 
 
 by cll ebelieve fyoucan,s sdeclared) the, doctors, as Uhat 
 is, if you go at it right. If you—” 
 
 He was interrupted by a tearful call from Mrs. Munger. 
 “If you folks think I can cook a meal of victuals with 
 twenty stinking Indians sitting on the floor by the stove, 
 you're wrong! That’s all!” 
 
 Marcus laughed, groaned, and went to Mrs. Munger’s 
 rescue. By cajolery and joking, he managed to clear the 
 kitchen, and not long after, the family sat down to dinner. 
 Even then, several bronze faces pressed against each window 
 and the Mungers, still unhardened to this espionage, de- 
 clared that they could not eat until the curtains were drawn. 
 Munger was a particularly high-strung man and he in- 
 sisted that these were the eyes of Satan and his cohorts. To 
 the great amusement of Sarah Hall, he prayed loudly, at 
 intervals, throughout the meal. He was, in fact, in the 
 midst of his loudest effort, when a knocking at the door 
 announced white callers. Marcus threw the door wide. 
 Henry and Eliza Spalding were standing on the steps! 
 
254 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “IT know we should not be traveling on the Sabbath 
 were Mrs. Spalding’s first words. “But Henry would have 
 it that another night’s camping would be my death.” 
 
 “Are you ill?” cried Narcissa. “Oh, you poor soul! 
 The doctor must help you!” She led her to a seat, then 
 turned to Henry Spalding and silently offered him her 
 hand. He was a little more gaunt and shriveled than ever. 
 
 “I trust you are well, Sister Whitman,” he said. “My 
 dear wife has an affliction of the bowels and we want to 
 see your new house.” . 
 
 Even when he was most irritating, Henry amused Nar- 
 cissa. She felt her lips twitching now. 
 
 “We plan to use the old cabin for our guest house,” she 
 said, hastily, “and IT’ll take Eliza over there to rest, after 
 the doctor has examined her. Where is your baby?” 
 
 “T left her with Brother and Sister Gray.” Mrs. Spald- 
 ing lay back in her chair, with a sigh of relief. 
 
 Narcissa introduced the Mungers and very firmly pushed 
 out of the door several squaws who had followed the 
 Spaldings in. 
 
 “They don’t bother me!” protested Mrs. Spalding. 
 
 “They do me!” exclaimed Mrs. Munger. “They drive 
 me crazy, under foot every minute.” 
 
 “We don’t try to shut them out at Lap-wai,” said Mrs. 
 Spalding. “After all, we have nothing to hide from the 
 Lord or the Indians either.” 
 
 “From the Lord, no!” returned Narcissa. ‘But from 
 the Indians, many, many times! I shall struggle for pri- 
 vacy from the Indians as long as J live among them.” 
 
 Henry Spalding opened his mouth to speak, but his 
 wife forestalled him. ‘We were distressed to hear of Mr. 
 Pambrun’s death,” she said. 
 
 “The Lord was making way for a Protestant at Walla 
 Walla, perhaps,” said Spalding, his mouth now full of beef. 
 “You have a wonderful house here, doctor. I don’t see how 
 
 1? 
 
 3? 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 255 
 
 you can afford it. We still live in our original cabin. All 
 that we have accumulated we have used for the benefit of 
 the Indians.” 
 
 Marcus, who was sitting with Alice Clarissa on one knee 
 and young Trapper on the other, spoke firmly. ‘Well, we 
 felt it would be for the general good if we had decent ac- 
 commodations. Our location is different from yours. You 
 are isolated, while we are on what will soon be an immigrant 
 trail to the Columbia.” 
 
 “Still harping on that old string?” cried Spalding. “Let 
 me warn you that, in another ten years, the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company will have so tightened its hold on this section that 
 an American can’t get in. I’m as well pleased. We'll have 
 that much less to distract us from the Indians.” 
 
 Marcus gave his guest a curious glance, but went on, with 
 a certain set look on his long jaw. “Our conversions so far 
 have not been as many as yours, but we have made progress 
 in many directions. The young men have fifty acres under 
 cultivation. I grind a great deal of corn and wheat for them 
 and we support several fatherless families. Narcissa aver- 
 ages sixty squaws in her mothers’ classes and, as a con- 
 sequence, our infant mortality is less by half than what it 
 was when we came. We have a hundred pupils in the 
 school and it’s astounding, the progress Narcissa has made 
 teaching them English and Bible stories. We are, more- 
 over, a tavern to all the trappers, missionaries and what- 
 not that pass this way.” 
 
 “Also, a free hospital!” said Mrs. Munger, who had 
 been eyeing Henry Spalding, with obvious dislike, ever 
 since his arrival. 
 
 Marcus ignored the interruption and continued. “As far 
 as the house is concerned, every square foot of it will add 
 to the efficiency of our help to the Indians. I’ve written to 
 the American Board asking them to send us a couple of 
 young men, sort of apprentice missionaries, who can do the 
 
256 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 work away from Waii-lat-pu that I’ve been trying to do. 
 This following of the Indians over the country, camas dig- 
 ging, salmon fishing, buffalo hunting, trying to convert them 
 on the wing, is killing work. I could manage, had I no 
 call on my time other than mission work, like you. But, 
 after all, you mustn’t forget that I’m a physician and that 
 my patients are located anywhere within a radius of two 
 hundred miles.” 
 
 “Have you heard from the Board since your request?” 
 demanded Spalding. | 
 
 Marcus shook his head. “I think I shall, though. I’m 
 doing all I can to make the Board see the danger of this 
 country going Catholic.” 
 
 “It won’t go Catholic,” said Munger. “Tl offer myself 
 as a living sacrifice to prevent that.” 
 
 “You look like a sick man to me, Mr. Munger!” exclaimed 
 Mrs. Spalding, her eyes on the carpenter’s pale face. 
 
 “He is sick!’ declared Mrs. Munger, who, in order to miss 
 nothing, was washing the dishes on the dining-room table. 
 “We are on the way to the Sandwich Islands for his health.” 
 
 Marcus gave his sudden hearty laugh, but sobered, 
 quickly, as Munger cried vehemently, “We are going to the 
 Sandwich Islands to serve Christ and the heathen. I’m not 
 ata eeic ka 
 
 “You'd be lying in your grave, by the Walla Walla, if Dr. 
 Whitman hadn’t took you in and dosed you,” contradicted 
 his wife. “Mrs. Whitman, there’s some one at your door.” 
 
 “T thought we’d had peace as long as we could hope for 
 it,” said Narcissa. “Let’s all go into the Indian room while 
 the doctor prescribes for Mrs. Spalding.” 
 
 The school benches were filled with Indians, laughing, 
 telling stories, smoking and scratching fleas. Narcissa 
 stepped to the door and called to Umtippe, who was sul- 
 lenly applying his moccasined toe, to the door of the parlor. 
 He stalked into the Indian room. 
 
 f 
 
 {?? 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 257 
 
 “Where is the doctor?’ he demanded. 
 
 “With Mrs. Spalding, who is sick,” replied Narcissa. 
 “What do you want, Umtippe?” 
 
 Umtippe grunted and started for the door into the dining- 
 room. Narcissa barred the way. 
 
 “The doctor will be out in a moment, Umtippe. You 
 mustn’t disturb him now.” 
 
 “My wife won’t want any trouble on her account,” said 
 Spalding, hastily. 
 
 “There will be none!’ Narcissa smiled at the old chief. 
 “Do sit down and wait, Umtippe.” 
 
 The old chief stared at the white woman for a moment, 
 then sat slowly down on a school bench. Alice Clarissa, 
 who had been playing a game of tag around the benches 
 with several of the young Cayuse, now established herself 
 between Umtippe’s knees, daring any one to molest her. 
 Umtippe looked down at her with the smile that gave his 
 face a curious charm. 
 
 Marcus was not long in making his appearance. Spald- 
 ing gave him an anxious look. “Your wife is not seri- 
 ously ill,” the doctor assured him. “She’s been working too 
 hard and her digestion is very bad. She needs nursing and 
 rest. Better leave her here for a few weeks and let Nar- 
 cissa take care of her.” 
 
 Before Spalding could reply, Umtippe put Alice Clarissa 
 aside and advanced to face the doctor. Marcus, leaning 
 against the teacher’s desk, his great shoulders drooping 
 wearily, smiled at the old chief. 
 
 “Now what, Umtippe?” 
 
 “Why are you poisoning my people?’ demanded the 
 chief. 
 
 There was a stidden silence in the schoolroom. Alice 
 Clarissa clung to her mother’s skirts, sensing one of the 
 dreaded scenes she had witnessed so often between her 
 parents and the old Indian she loved so dearly. 
 
258 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “T’m not poisoning your people, Umtippe! Who says I 
 am?’ Marcus’ voice was sharp. 
 
 “I say you are. The King George priest at Fort Walla 
 Walla says white doctors poison many people.” 
 
 “T don’t believe he said any such thing,” declared Mar- 
 cus. “He’s no fool. Why should I want to poison your 
 people?” 
 
 “If you can get rid of us old ones, you can bend to your 
 own wishes those young fools who talk of going over to 
 your God. You will try to take all our land, then. But 
 not as long as I live shall you have Waii-lat-pu for your 
 own.” Umtippe’s bronze face was literally black with rage. 
 The corners of his mouth drew back into his wrinkled 
 cheeks, showing long, brown teeth like an old dog’s. 
 
 “Umtippe, the only poison I know about is some I put 
 in a rotten buffalo carcass, last winter, to kill wolves. The 
 sickness that’s affecting your people again is the same as 
 you had two years ago. You old folks gorge too heavily 
 on camas.”’ 
 
 “You lie!” snarled the Indian. He lifted a lean fist from 
 beneath his robe and struck the doctor on the chest. 
 
 The other Indians in the room were motionless. Alice 
 Clarissa screamed. Munger and Spalding half rose from 
 their places, but Marcus waved them back. 
 
 “Let’s see if I can’t manage this,” he said. 
 
 He stood, cheeks flushed, but staring coolly at the frenzied 
 chief. Umtippe struck him on the left cheek. With a curi- 
 ous set smile, Marcus turned the other. This, also, Umtippe 
 struck, then paused a moment while the doctor turned the 
 left cheek to him. 
 
 “Poisoner!” grunted the Cayuse, and struck again. 
 
 “Marcus! I can’t bear this!” cried Narcissa. 
 
 Mr. Spalding groaned softly, but there was an expres- 
 sion not unlike gloating in his brown eyes. Mr. Munger 
 repeated over and over the same prayer: 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 259 
 
 “Oh, Jesus Christ! Help Thy servant who turns the 
 other cheek! Oh, Jesus Christ! Let his punishment be 
 for all of us! Smite no further, Lord!” 
 
 Marcus turned his right cheek. Umtippe called him a 
 foul name and struck the purpled cheek bone. Tears of 
 physical pain were in the doctor’s deepset blue eyes, but 
 he did not flinch nor turn his steady gaze from the chief. 
 His non-resistance maddened Umtippe. He jumped up and 
 down. “Get off my land! Get off my land! Agree to get 
 off my land or I shall call my war chief and kill you all!” 
 
 “Father! Father!’ screamed Alice Clarissa. “Stop, 
 Umtippe! Stop!” 
 
 Young Trapper, at the sound of his little mistress’ agony, 
 ran out from beneath the bench, caught Umtippe’s moccasin 
 flap in his teeth and worried it. Narcissa gathered the little 
 girl in her arms and whispered: 
 
 “Sing with mother, baby! Sing! We'll make Umtippe 
 listen. 
 
 ““Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top, 
 When the wind blows, the cradle will rock! 
 If the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, 
 Down will come rock-a-by, baby, and all.’” 
 
 The child’s piercingly sweet treble rose above Narcissa’s 
 soft humming. Umtippe’s long brown hand, raised to strike, 
 as the first note sounded, remained motionless in the air for 
 a moment, then dropped to his side. He turned slowly to 
 look at Alice Clarissa. She was clinging to her mother, 
 her little chin trembling while the brave and beautiful notes 
 rippled from her baby lips. The lullaby had been finished 
 for the third time when Umtippe held out his arms to 
 the child. 
 
 “Come to me, little White Cayuse!” 
 
 Narcissa held Alice Clarissa firmly on her knee and said, 
 as quietly as though nothing had happened: 
 
260 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Ts any of your family sick, Umtippe?” 
 
 “My wife,” replied Umtippe, sulkily. 
 
 “The doctor will cure her,” said Narcissa. “Let him go 
 to your lodge with you.” 
 
 “Let him bring the little White Cayuse,” commanded the 
 chief, “then if he makes my wife die, I'll keep the child.” 
 
 “T shall not go one step under those conditions, Umtippe!” 
 cried Marcus. “You know that you can’t scare me or bully 
 me. And I know that you are taking presents from the 
 priests and have promised to get rid of us. Umtippe, I'll 
 make conditions now. You want us to leave Waii-lat-pu. 
 We will do so if you wish us to, but we will leave the land 
 as we found it. You gave us the land, voluntarily. If you, 
 a great chief, want to stoop so low as to take it back, we will 
 return it to you. But it will return the desert we found it. 
 We shall burn the crops, the fences, the mill, the blacksmith 
 shop, the tools, the cabin, this house, and all that they con- 
 tain. We shall leave you, as you desire, taking back with us 
 the little White Cayuse.” 
 
 “And God will hold you accountable for what you have 
 done,” added Narcissa clearly. 
 
 Umtippe glowered at her. “Don’t say that to me again, 
 woman !” 
 
 “Tt’s true!” insisted Narcissa. “God does not forget.” 
 
 Umtippe jerked his robe to his chin with a gesture that 
 would have done credit to one of Narcissa’s dramatic mo- 
 ments and strode toward the door. But Marcus was before 
 him. 
 
 “Stop, Umtippe! Tell us! Do we go or stay?” 
 
 “What will you give me if I say stay?’ demanded the 
 old Indian. 
 
 “If you say it over the pipe with me, I’ll cure your wife,” 
 replied the doctor. 
 
 Umtippe grunted, “Stay!” and slowly pulled a pipe from 
 his belt. It was a red clay, elaborately feathered. Marcus 
 
MARCUS TURNS THE OTHER CHEEK 261 
 
 filled it, took a deep pull and, amidst deep silence, handed 
 it to the chief. Umtippe drew a long, slow whiff, then 
 emptied the pipe on the floor and left the house abruptly. 
 Marcus, with a little nod at the others, followed him. 
 
 “Well,” said Henry Spalding in a flat voice, as he fol- 
 lowed Narcissa into the dining-room, “I guess that point 
 is settled.” 
 
 “You have greater confidence in Umtippe’s word than 
 I have!” Narcissa gave Alice Clarissa her rag doll and 
 looked from the preacher to his wife, who, she knew, had 
 witnessed the scene through the open door. 
 
 “You look as if you’d been in a war, Sister Whitman!” 
 exclaimed Mrs. Spalding. “You are no more fit for this 
 life than I am to sing an operatic song.” 
 
 “That’s true!” cried Spalding. 
 
 “I’m well aware of the opinions and desires you hold in 
 regard to us and Waii-lat-pu!” Narcissa’s voice was low 
 and unruffled, but something in its quality caused Eliza to 
 look at her curiously, while Henry Spalding reddened. 
 “Eliza,” Narcissa went on, “if you feel well enough, we’ll 
 go over to the cabin now and I’ll try to make you comfort- 
 able.” 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 
 
 ING See returned from caring for the invalid to 
 find Marcus alone in the dining-room, Sarah Hall 
 having removed Alice Clarissa and Trapper to the door- 
 yard. The doctor was leaning back, wearily, in a buffalo- 
 hide covered chair. 
 
 “Umtippe’s squaw will be all right in a day or so,” he 
 said. 
 
 Narcissa sat down opposite him and the two gave each 
 other a long look, then Narcissa said, “Let me bathe your 
 poor cheeks with cold water.” 
 
 Marcus shook his head. “They’ll do as they are, thank 
 you! ‘Too sore to touch, so I have an excuse for not shav- 
 ing !” 
 
 Narcissa laughed, with her eyes full of tears. Then she 
 said suddenly, “Eliza says she had mail from home last 
 week. They sent a Nez Percé runner up to meet the spring 
 boat brigade at Kootenay. I wish we’d thought to do that.” 
 
 “I wish we had,’ agreed Marcus. “But, according to 
 that, the boats should reach Fort Walla Walla any time now. 
 Tl send in, to-morrow.” 
 
 But Marcus was not obliged to send a messenger. That 
 night, after they had gone to bed, a horse trotted across the 
 dooryard and a hand fumbled at the latch. Marcus lighted 
 a candle and opened the door. An Indian handed him an 
 oilskin-wrapped packet. 
 
 “Mail,” he said in Cayuse. “The factor at Fort Walla 
 Walla said you’d give me double pay for bringing it quick.” 
 
 Marcus handed the packet to Narcissa and measured off 
 
 262 
 
GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 263 
 
 a double portion of rope tobacco, which the Indian received 
 with a grunt of satisfaction. The doctor latched the door 
 and turned to Narcissa. She was sitting up in bed, hold- 
 ing an unopened letter in her shaking hand, her face white 
 to the lips. 
 
 “It’s in my sister’s handwriting,” she whispered. “I’m 
 afraid to open it lest it tell me Father and Mother are gone!” 
 
 “Let me read it for you, dear,” said Marcus. He broke 
 the seal and disclosed three letters. “One is signed, ‘Father,’ 
 one, ‘Mother,’ and one, ‘Jane’! Will that satisfy you, little 
 pig?” 
 
 He handed the letters to his wife. She clasped them to 
 her lips and burst into tears. Marcus, his own face work- 
 ing, patted her with one hand while with the other he ran 
 through the remaining letters. 
 
 “Three from the American Board,” he said quietly. 
 
 His words stopped Narcissa’s sobs. She wiped her eyes 
 and smiled. “Let’s read those from the Board first and 
 learn the worst that Henry Spalding has done for us. Now 
 that I know that Father and Mother are still living and 
 loving me, I can bear anything.” 
 
 Marcus read the letters aloud. The first was concerned 
 entirely with the temporal work of the mission, giving 
 directions that had been carried out long before. The sec- 
 ond, after discussion of business details, spoke of having 
 received letters nearly two years old both from Waii-lat-pu 
 and Lap-wai and warned the missionaries at Waii-lat-pu 
 not to allow either secular or personal interests to influence 
 the work of the mission. The third was a terse note ask- 
 ing Marcus to explain the continued lack of converts and 
 warning him that, unless a better spirit was shown by him 
 and his wife, the mission would be closed. 
 
 Marcus laid the letters beside the candle and looked at 
 Narcissa. “I’m going to go over to the cabin, with that 
 last letter, right now,” he said, his voice thick with anger. 
 
264. WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “We will show them the letters, yes,’ agreed Narcissa. 
 “But I want you to have full control of yourself, first. You 
 are hasty when you are angry. Wait until morning, 
 Marcus.” 
 
 The doctor paced the floor with a blanket wrapped round 
 him, for the nights were cool, and Narcissa followed him, 
 anxiously, with her eyes. Finally, as he caught the troubled 
 look in her blue gaze, he sat down on the bed, saying 
 quietly : 
 
 “Read me your letters, dear. DIl wait until morning.” 
 
 The letters were packed with all the home news for 
 which Narcissa had been hungering. It was evident that 
 earlier packets of letters had been sent but had been lost. 
 But, with these riches at hand, Narcissa wasted no thought 
 on lost mails. She devoured those at hand as if half 
 famished. They were long letters and the roosters were 
 crowing before the two desisted from re-reading and dis- 
 cussing them and composed themselves for a short sleep. 
 
 The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Marcus 
 requested the Spaldings to join him and Narcissa in the 
 parlor. There, he latched the doors and read aloud the 
 letters from the Board. Spalding scarcely waited for Mar- 
 cus to finish before he cried, angrily: 
 
 “What do they mean by such insinuations?” 
 
 “That’s the question I propose to ask you,” feplied 
 Marcus, sternly. 
 
 “Why of me? I don’t know what you mean.” 
 
 “Don’t you?’ asked Marcus. “Let me tell you then, 
 Spalding, that they mean that you are a first-class preacher, 
 but a treacherous friend.” 
 
 “Careful, Marcus!” murmured Narcissa. 
 
 Marcus, his clean-shaven face showing the bruises from 
 Umtippe’s fists, folded his arms across his chest in Umtippe’s 
 own attitude. “Tell them about Pambrun, Narcissa,”’ he 
 said. “I am afraid of my own indignation.” 
 
GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 265 
 
 Narcissa obeyed. During her recital, Eliza’s face began 
 to burn and her eyes turned angrily toward her husband. 
 And when the story was finished, she gave Spalding no 
 chance to explain: 
 
 “Henry,” she exclaimed, “jealousy is your besetting sin! 
 It’s led you out of the path of righteousness many times 
 and here is another sample of it!” 
 
 “Where’s your wifely faith in me?’ demanded the 
 preacher. 
 
 “I have a great deal left, even after this,” replied Mrs. 
 Spalding. “Even though you’ve been making a quiet fool 
 of yourself and got caught.” 
 
 Spalding’s voice rose, half hysterically. ‘This is a gross 
 misreading of my purpose. I resent—” 
 
 “Henry, I have something to say to you.” It was Narcissa 
 who interrupted him. She was sitting beside the crude 
 table, her work-roughened hands clasped over a hymn book, 
 her Madonna face flushed and her tender lips set. “I want 
 to speak before your wife and my husband, although Marcus 
 already knows. Long ago you did me the honor to ask me 
 to marry you. I had the friendliest feeling for you, but I 
 did not love you, and I told you so. You appeared to ac- 
 quiesce in my decision, without bitterness. But you will 
 recall that, on the night in Angelica that Marcus told you 
 of our engagement, you showed unwarranted resentment. 
 And ever since, you have treated me with hostility. Henry 
 Spalding, is this your idea of Christianity ?” 
 
 Eliza Spalding, holding an aching forehead as she lis- 
 tened, made an inarticulate murmur as of sudden under- 
 standing. 
 
 “So that’s it!” she cried. “More jealousy!” Her plain, 
 rather heavy face was lighted by a look of great intelli- 
 gence she cast at Narcissa. “I’m certainly obliged to you 
 for this explanation. Can’t say I blame Henry for want- 
 ing to marry you, but since he couldn’t—” She turned 
 
266 WE MUST. MARCH 
 
 abruptly to her husband. “Since she didn’t want you, 
 you’re acting like pretty small potatoes, I must say! And I 
 must say,” she added, her comfortable voice carrying an un- 
 wonted note of pain, “I’m not particularly set up to learn 
 that I was taken on the rebound.” 
 
 “You've had love and honor from me ever since I mar- 
 ried you!” shouted Spalding. 
 
 “T’d never have told you this, Eliza,” said Narcissa, “if 
 Henry’s treachery hadn’t driven me to it. That made me 
 feel that you must understand matters so that you could 
 control him.” 
 
 “T’ll control him, all right.” Eliza Spalding’s eyes were 
 not without a certain vindictive light. “Henry, either you 
 or I sit down at this table now and write to the Board, tell- 
 ing them of our failure to convert a single Cayuse and ex- 
 plaining that through this, we’ve discovered that your criti- 
 cisms of the Whitmans were unjust. Come now, who does 
 it, you or IP” 
 
 “Tl not do it,” declared Spalding. “I’m just as much 
 convinced as I ever was that the Whitmans are not fitted for 
 this work. You’ve said as much, yourself.” 
 
 “Fiddle-de-dee!’’ sniffed Mrs. Spalding. “My breakfast 
 is hurting me so, it’s hard for me to laugh at you, Henry. 
 But that’s what I ought to do. I’ve said that the doctor was 
 no preacher and that Mrs. Whitman spoiled a good singer to 
 make a poor missionary. But I love and admire them both 
 for other things, and you know it. Who writes that letter, 
 you or I, Henry?” 
 
 “Well, Pll write. Not because I think I ought to, but to 
 prevent your doing so.” 
 
 “Then Dll go lie down, if you'll help me, Sister Whitman.” 
 
 When Narcissa returned from supporting Mrs. Spalding 
 to bed, she found the two men glaring at each other, angrily. 
 
 “There are writing materials in the cabin, Henry,” she 
 suggested mildly. 
 
 b 
 
GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 267 
 
 Spalding snatched up his fur cap and bolted for the door. 
 At the doorsill, he paused, to shout back at the two: 
 
 “I’m a fighting Christian and Eliza’s for peace at any 
 price! Ill write this letter because I have to, but that 
 doesn’t mean I shan’t go on exposing your inefficiency!” 
 
 He rushed away. ‘The doctor and Narcissa stared at 
 each other. 
 
 “That settles it!” declared Marcus. “That fellow leaves 
 here to-day and never comes back.” 
 
 “Hush, Marcus! That’s not the spirit that made you 
 turn the other cheek to Umtippe.” 
 
 “No, it’s not,” cried Marcus. “And I’m glad it’s not! 
 I’m your husband before I’m anything else on earth. And 
 some day I’m going to trounce the everlasting daylights out 
 of Henry Spalding. See if I don’t!” 
 
 The Spaldings did not appear for dinner. In the after- 
 noon, Narcissa conducted her school, as usual, while Marcus 
 worked in the fields. An hour before supper, Narcissa 
 settled herself in the dooryard with a book, where Marcus 
 joined her. Alice Clarissa, with her doll and the puppy, 
 played on the doorstep, while Sarah Hall helped Mrs. 
 Munger in the dining-room. 
 
 Just before the meal was ready, Alice Clarissa placed her 
 doll on the lower step, in a posture which indicated that that 
 long-suffering individual was saying her prayers, and an- 
 nounced : 
 
 “Alice Clarissa help set the table now.” 
 
 Narcissa nodded, absorbed in her book. A little later 
 Sarah Hall came out. 
 
 “T’m going to the garden for radishes,” she said, as Nar- 
 cissa looked up and asked: 
 
 ‘“Where is Alice Clarissa, Sarah?” 
 
 “She was here a little bit ago. I think she went to the 
 garden to get herself some pieplant.” 
 
 “Tocate her, Sarah, before you do anything more,” 
 
268 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 ordered Narcissa, always uneasy when the child was out of 
 her sight. 
 
 Five minutes later, Sarah appeared with a bunch of rad- 
 ishes in her hand. “I can’t find her anywhere!” she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 At this moment Munger sauntered up. “Been washing 
 my feet in the river,” he said, “and noticed two cups float- 
 ing down stream. I want to get the doctor’s fishing pole and 
 fish them out.” 
 
 Narcissa had risen. “I’m going to look for the baby! 
 she exclaimed. | 
 
 Marcus smiled. “If we had a couple more children, Nar- 
 cissa, you'd go crazy with worry.” 
 
 But Narcissa did not make her usual laughing rejoinder 
 to this staple comment of her husband’s. Instead, she 
 started running toward the bank of the Walla Walla. Some- 
 thing in her face caused Marcus to drop his book and follow 
 her. He even joined her call: 
 
 “Alice Clarissa! Baby! Where are you?” 
 
 No answer. 
 
 When the doctor overtook Narcissa, she was pointing to 
 two teacups caught on a little sand bar. “Her milk and 
 water cup! They were on the table not ten minutes ago!” 
 
 For one awful moment, they stared into each other’s 
 eyes, then Marcus turned toward the house with a great 
 shout. 
 
 “Munger! Come and help search the river 
 
 Munger, his wife, Sarah Hall, a group of Indians; these 
 rushed to the river bank. Marcus stripped to his under- 
 drawers and plunged into the water. Old Umtippe cast off 
 his robe and, wrinkled and gaunt in his loin-cloth, dived 
 into the current fifty yards farther up stream. Narcissa, 
 running in silent agony along the bank, saw Umtippe swim- 
 ming under water, saw him rise for breath and sink again, 
 saw him suddenly burrow beneath a log, then come to the 
 
 39 
 
 1? 
 
GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 269 
 
 surface holding something in his arms. She made toward 
 him, her hands outstretched, her lips dumb in her extremity. 
 But Marcus, who had emerged from the water at the same 
 moment as did Umtippe, was before her and he clasped Alice 
 Clarissa to his naked heart. 
 
 He laid her on the warm sand, under the cottonwoods. 
 Munger would have helped,—so would a dozen other pairs 
 of hands, Indian and white,—but Narcissa would not allow 
 any one but Marcus and herself to touch that inert little 
 body. For an hour they sought to resuscitate her. At the 
 end of that time, Marcus, his lips quivering, laid the little 
 arms reverently back on the baby bosom and, looking up 
 blindly, said: 
 
 “Lord, Thy will, not mine, be done!” 
 
 Narcissa, her face like stone, stood gazing down on the 
 beauty that was flesh of her flesh. Sarah Hall gave one 
 shrill scream and ran to the house. Old Umtippe, during 
 the long hour, had stood, naked, his arms folded on his 
 chest. He now thrust a thin, shaking forefinger into Nar- 
 cissa’s face. 
 
 “You have let her die!” he groaned. ‘“The gods of the 
 Cayuse shall punish you.” 
 
 “Get out of here, Umtippe!” roared Marcus. 
 
 The Cayuse did not stir. Before her husband could make 
 a move, Narcissa placed a finely modeled hand against the 
 old chief’s bony chest. 
 
 “You brought her to me, dead,” she said. “Be satisfied!’ 
 
 Her wide blue eyes, with unfathomable agony in their 
 depths, held Umtippe’s stern gaze until, with a shudder as if 
 he feared the pain he saw, the chief jerked a buffalo robe 
 over his shoulders and moved away. 
 
 Mrs. Spalding put her arm around Narcissa’s waist. 
 “Bring your baby to the house, Sister Whitman,” she whis- 
 pered, “and get her dressed.” 
 
 Narcissa looked at the woman as if she spoke an un- 
 
B70 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 known tongue, but did not move. Marcus lifted Alice 
 Clarissa and started toward the house. Henry Spalding 
 touched Narcissa on the arm. 
 
 “She is safe in the Everlasting Rock of Ages,” he said. 
 His usually harsh voice was indescribably tender. He began 
 to lead her gently after Marcus. “She is safe from all fear 
 of massacre. She is safe from violation by the Indians. 
 She is safe from the world. She was like you, of too deli- 
 cate material to be subject to the ills of this mission life. 
 She is wrapped in the Eternal Arms of Safety.” 
 
 Narcissa heard him as in a dream. She allowed him to 
 lead her to the doorstep, where she paused to pick up the 
 rag doll, still in its posture of prayer. Then she followed 
 Marcus into the bedroom. 
 
 Narcissa moved through the next four days without a 
 tear, almost without a word. Her eyes were like glass, while 
 a brilliant spot of red burned in either cheek. She was 
 utterly weary, but could not rest. Every sense was violently 
 stimulated. This was especially true of her hearing. When 
 the Indians, on the night of the tragedy, began the death 
 chant, in their camp across the river, it was as deafening to 
 Narcissa as though it were in the next room. Sitting beside 
 the rigid little form in her bedroom, the howl of wolves in 
 a buffalo kill, a mile away, beat on her eardrums till they 
 pained her. And Marcus’ low groan, as he knelt, with his 
 head buried in her lap, filled her very soul with shattering 
 sound. 
 
 She could not weep. It was as if her too greatly dis- 
 ciplined mind dared not relax its guard over her soul, lest 
 the release of the many agonies there shatter her reason. 
 She planned the funeral, asking that the Sunday-school 
 pupils sing “Rock of Ages,” the last song she had taught the 
 baby. She chose the spot for the grave, near the river be- 
 neath a cottonwood in plain view of her bedroom window. 
 When Mrs. Munger asked her for something with which 
 
GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 271 
 
 to line the coffin that Munger, with clever hands and con- 
 stant prayer had evolved from a packing case, Narcissa 
 calmly ripped several breadths from the gray silk dress skirt 
 and gave them to her. When Sarah Hall did not appear for 
 breakfast on Monday morning, it was Narcissa who found 
 her, weeping in the grist mill where she had spent the night. 
 The girl’s face was ghastly. Narcissa put her arms about 
 her. 
 
 “No one is blaming you, Sarah Hall,” said Narcissa 
 gently. “Pray for us all and don’t cry.” 
 
 “T can’t pray!” sobbed Sarah. “I’m not a Christian.” 
 
 Narcissa groaned and led Sarah back to the house. 
 
 She asked Henry Spalding to conduct the funeral services. 
 Curiously enough, his alone, of all the kindly voices about 
 her, pierced through the ice that bound her. The man was 
 all preacher now. He wrought with the doctor until at 
 last Marcus could stumble back into the daily routine. Dur- 
 ing these days, Marcus existed for Narcissa only as one 
 of the many figures that moved about the horizon of her 
 agony. Spalding loomed always at her shoulder, unob- 
 trusive, yet subtly sustaining. 
 
 The funeral was held on the afternoon of the fourth 
 day. Before the services, Narcissa knelt for hours beside 
 the little casket. Marcus was unable to draw her away so 
 that the services might begin. At last he sent Spalding to 
 her. 
 
 The preacher stood for a long moment looking down on 
 the bowed golden head, then, with lips that trembled, he 
 said, in his tender, preacher’s voice: 
 
 “You must let her go, Narcissa. But you will never lose 
 her. She is your babe for all time, unmarred and holy. 
 Do not keep her here until her fleshly vestments become a 
 horror to you... . Oh, my dear, my dear! Many waters 
 cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it! His 
 rod and His staff, they shall comfort thee.” 
 
Zio WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Something in the man’s voice gave Narcissa strength te 
 rise and close the coffin lid. 
 
 There was a large gathering of Indians at the funeral, 
 with no whites save those belonging to the missions and 
 Archibald McKinlay, the factor from Fort Walla Walla. 
 It was a beautiful day. The little coffin lay on the plat- 
 form, covered by the silk flag which Marcus had unfurled 
 at South Pass three years before. It had occurred to Nar- 
 cissa that it would make the mission seem less isolated if 
 the Stars and Stripes enwrapped the body of her baby. As 
 for the service, she heard no sound of it, save the singing 
 of “Rock of Ages.” She did not hear the weeping of the 
 Cayuse, or the death chant intoned defiantly by Umtippe 
 during the sermon. Her whole sensate being had with- 
 drawn into a sanctuary of the spirit, where her soul bade 
 farewell to the soul of Alice Clarissa. 
 
 The Spaldings lingered after the funeral only for a day. 
 With the mission falling back into the old routine, the rift 
 between the two families gaped again and it was with a 
 feeling of mutual relief that the decision for an early de- 
 parture was made. There was a day or so of grief-stricken 
 quiet, then a messenger appeared from the north. It was 
 a Spokan Indian bringing a letter from Elkanah Walker. 
 Mrs. Walker’s accouchement was at hand and Marcus was 
 begged to ride with all haste the hundred miles to their 
 mission. 
 
 “IT suppose I must go!” groaned Marcus. 
 
 Narcissa looked at him with burning eyes. If only she 
 could weep! But her very soul seemed arid. 
 
 “I suppose you'll have to go,” she repeated mechanically. 
 
 They were in their bedroom, where Narcissa had been 
 resting after her morning of teaching. Marcus gazed at 
 her with a physician’s eye. 
 
 “T think you’d better go with me,” he said. 
 
 “I’d rather stay here,” replied Narcissa. “1 want to be 
 alone.” 
 
GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 273 
 
 “You mean, that you wish me to go?” exclaimed Marcus. 
 
 “Tl go mad unless I can be by myself a little while,” 
 Narcissa half whispered. “The Indians, the Mungers, the 
 Spaldings, Sarah Hall. ...I haven’t a spot in which I 
 may grieve alone.” 
 
 “T understand!” exclaimed the doctor. “Even that hound 
 of a Spalding can be nearer you in your trouble than I 
 can! It’s well I’ve something to take me out of your 
 way !” 
 
 He jerked his saddle-bags from their hooks, then stood 
 waiting for some comment from Narcissa. But she was 
 staring out the window at the new-made grave beneath the 
 cottonwoods, and Marcus, white to the lips, without another 
 word, left for his long, long journey. 
 
 The Mungers had moved into the cabin as soon as the 
 Spaldings kad left. They offered to move back to the mis- 
 sion house while the doctor should be away, but Narcissa 
 refused their offer. Even Sarah Hall’s presence was more 
 than she desired. | 
 
 So, Sarah and Narcissa took their supper together that 
 night. It was a silent meal until near the end when Sarah 
 said wistfully: 
 
 “You do know that our baby is in heaven, don’t you, dear 
 Madam Whitman?” 
 
 “Yes, Sarah, I do,” replied Narcissa. “Why do you 
 ask ?” 
 
 “T’d rather not say why.” Sarah turned to Narcissa eyes 
 as gentle as those of Trapper, who whimpered bereft in a 
 corner of the dining-room. 
 
 A vague remembrance of comments made by Mrs. 
 Munger which only partially had penetrated her grief, re- 
 turned to Narcissa. 
 
 “Has Mrs. Munger been saying something to bother 
 you? Come, dear, I insist on knowing.” 
 
 “The Mungers say,” replied the young girl, with a little 
 sob, “that she was old enough to be a professed Christian. 
 
274 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 And she wasn’t one. So they say she can’t have gone to 
 heaven. I want to go wherever she has gone! I don’t care 
 whether I’m with Christ or not. I’ve got to be with her. 
 I was thinking, before she—she went away, that maybe I’d 
 please you and have a change of heart. But I can’t now, 
 because Mrs. Munger says she hasn’t gone to heaven.” 
 
 Narcissa rose, her face ghastly. “The Mungers are 
 fools!” she exclaimed in a voice Sarah never before had 
 heard. “How dare they speak so of my little, innocent, 
 holy child! How dare-they!’ And to Sarah’s utter con- 
 sternation, Narcissa put her long, roughened hands before 
 her eyes and burst into tears. 
 
 For a moment, while the room was filled with deep-drawn 
 sobs of agony, the young girl sat as if paralyzed. This was 
 not the ready wail of an Indian woman over her dead, to 
 which she was hardened. It was not like the doctor’s 
 groans, which had moved her so, nor like Mrs. Spalding’s 
 gentle tears of sympathy. There was that in this un- 
 precedented breakdown of the calm mistress of Waii-lat-pu 
 that, while it frightened Sarah, gave her a vague under- 
 standing of the measure of a grief so great that it could 
 find no outlet. She endured the sound of Narcissa’s tears, 
 in silence, as long as she could. Then she threw the half- 
 eaten slice of bread she was holding in her hand on the 
 floor, where Trapper devoured it between whines, rushed 
 to Narcissa’s side and threw her young arms about Nar- 
 cissa’s neck. 
 
 “Don’t! Don’t! Don’t!” she wailed. “T’ll kill both the 
 Mungers if they speak of it again. Only don’t cry this 
 way. It'll kill you!” 
 
 But the dam was down. Narcissa disengaged the cling- 
 ing arms, and went to her bedroom. 
 
 Without thought, without desire, she wept for hours. 
 From time to time, during the earlier part of the evening, 
 Sarah or Mrs. Munger rapped on her door. But she 
 
GRAVE UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 275 
 
 could not answer them, and finally they left her to her 
 sorrow. 
 
 It was long after midnight when she fell asleep and long 
 after sunrise, her usual rising time, when she woke. She 
 lay listening dully to the sound of Indians without, and the 
 Mungers and Sarah within the house. And she was con- 
 scious of but one desire: to see her mother; to be in 
 Angelica again and rest her weary head against the heart 
 that, like her lost child, was flesh of her flesh and bone of 
 her bone. 
 
 And with this overwhelming desire was born a sudden 
 purpose. On the next ship that left Fort Vancouver for 
 England, she would take passage and make a visit to her 
 mother ! 
 
 She would not, she could not, go on with the futile toil 
 of the mission until she had had time and opportunity to 
 recover from this irreparable and inscrutable loss. A year 
 for the journey. A year at home. Two whole years of 
 civilization and a year of her mother’s love and under- 
 standing! For the first time since the tragedy, a sense of 
 comfort stole into Narcissa’s ravished heart. She lay and 
 dreamed of herself unlatching the gate of home and rush- 
 ing up the flower-bordered path to the wide-swung door 
 and her mother’s extended arms. Home! Home! 
 
 Waii-lat-pu was home to Marcus. Never, never could it 
 be to her. As for Marcus and this visit— Poor Marcus! 
 But, after all, his work was absorbing. Two years would 
 soon pass. Her old conviction that she never would return 
 to Angelica was but an idle superstition. As soon as 
 Marcus returned, she would break the news to him. And 
 then, an end for two years to the heavy, detestable grind! 
 
 She suddenly found strength to rise and dress. With the 
 dream of Angelica before her, life was endurable. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 “MI ALBROUCK” 
 
 HAT afternoon, Narcissa held her mothers’ class as 
 
 usual. There was the customary attendance of 
 dragegle-tailed squaws with their babies. Among the older 
 children present was a newcomer, a three-year-old boy. Old 
 Tua, the midwife, lifted the child to the desk and invited 
 Narcissa to observe him. And habituated though she was 
 to every form of Indian child misery, Narcissa winced with 
 horror, as she did so. 
 
 The boy wore a loin cloth and piece of rabbit skin, about 
 a foot square, tied over one shoulder. He was covered 
 with filth: with scabs, bloody scales, bruises and lice. His 
 ankles and wrists were raw and blistered. His face was so 
 swollen from weeping that his features were all but indis- 
 tinguishable. 
 
 “It’s a grandchild of old Moon Eye who lives in adultery 
 with white trappers,” replied old Tua. “Her daughter had 
 this boy, by a Spaniard, at Fort Walla Walla. She hates 
 him and won’t take care of him. Yesterday, some of the 
 Cayuse boys got hold of him and tortured him.” 
 
 “Why did they do that?” demanded Narcissa, though she 
 knew the answer. No friendless thing, be it animal or 
 child, had a chance to go unscathed if the adolescent Cayuse 
 boys laid hands upon it. 
 
 The woman shrugged her shoulders and went on. “The 
 grandmother says you can have him if you want him. We 
 can’t find any one else who'll take care of him.” 
 
 At this moment old Moon Eye rushed into the room, 
 seized the boy by the ankles and threw him over her 
 shoulders. He roared with misery 
 
 276 
 
“MALBROUCK’”’ 2 
 
 “The priest at Fort Walla Walla will pay me for him!” 
 she cried. 
 
 “Pay her something!’ pleaded several of the pupil 
 squaws. 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. “Ii I begin that, we’ll have 
 all the half-breed babies on the Columbia dumped at our 
 door.” 
 
 The grandmother shuffled out of the room with her 
 screaming burden. Old Tua, after a moment of thought, 
 hurried after her. It was an hour before she returned, 
 triumphantly bearing the child. She had swapped her dress 
 for him. With only a bit of blanket to cover her naked- 
 ness she again deposited him on Narcissa’s desk. 
 
 “Well,” sighed Narcissa, “I can’t do less than you, Tua!” 
 
 She dismissed the school and told Sarah Hall to fill the 
 washtub with warm water. Then she rolled up her sleeves 
 and began the unsavory job of salvaging. When the child 
 had been deloused, his wounds and burns bandaged, and 
 a clean dress put on him, Narcissa discovered that he was 
 singularly beautiful. 
 
 “Isn’t he sweet, Sarah?” she asked, as she placed him in 
 Sarah’s unresponsive arms. “I’m going to call him Mar- 
 shall, after another friend,” she added. “Don’t you think 
 that’s a fine name for such a pretty little fellow?” 
 
 Sarah grunted, giving the child a cool glance. He did 
 not like his new nurse and at once slid down, grasped a fold 
 of Narcissa’s skirt in his tiny bandaged fist and followed 
 her as she crossed the room. Young Trapper, watching 
 the whole proceeding with a jealous eye, suddenly left the 
 corner, where he had been moping and tried to interpose 
 his shaggy gray head between the child and his mistress. 
 Finding this impractical, he attached himself to the proces- 
 sion, worrying the child’s bandaged ankles. 
 
 Narcissa glanced down at the little by-play and suddenly 
 smiled, while her eyes filled with tears. 
 
278 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Sarah,” she said, “you’ll have to finish my work for 
 me !” 
 
 She sat down and took Marshall in her lap, laying a 
 tender hand on Trapper’s head as he squatted against her 
 knee. 
 
 “Are you going to let that half-breed sleep in Alice 
 Clarissa’s bed?’ demanded Sarah Hall. 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. ‘No, he shall have a little cot 
 beside me.” 
 
 “He’s just about her size. That’s why old Tua brought 
 him to you. She thinks she’s clever, that old Cayuse!” 
 Sarah’s gray eyes were snapping. 
 
 “I know she does,” agreed Narcissa. “But the child was 
 suffering, Sarah.” 
 
 Sarah gave a little sob. “He isn’t Alice Clarissa and he 
 can’t have her place!” 
 
 “No, he could not do that, of course, Sarah!” said Nar- 
 cissa, gently, as she looked down at the pathetic little per- 
 son in her lap. 
 
 He raised a pair of glorious brown eyes to her, and for 
 the first time ventured a slow, sweet smile. 
 
 “Oh, the brutes!” whispered Narcissa. “How I loathe 
 the brutes!” She gathered the half-breed child to her 
 breast. 
 
 “But,” protested Sarah, her cheeks flushing, “you’ll be in 
 trouble, taking a child like that, Madam Whitman, unless 
 both the father and the mother have given him up. It gives 
 endless chances for all of them to keep asking you for 
 favors and gifts.” 
 
 “I don’t see how I can turn him back to be treated as 
 he has been. Do you want me to, Sarah?” 
 
 “No, of course I don’t. Why don’t you send him to 
 Pere Demers ?” 
 
 “And let him be a Catholic?” Narcissa looked at the 
 child musingly. 
 
“MALBROUCK” 20 
 
 The Mungers came in at this point and Narcissa told 
 them the child’s story. Mrs. Munger listened with interest, 
 but Asahel sat unheeding during the recital, biting his nails 
 and scowling at an Indian who stared in at the window. 
 When Narcissa asked his advice, he gave a great start and 
 said: 
 
 “I must be going on to the Sandwich Islands. I can’t 
 tarry here a day after Dr. Whitman gets back. The Lord 
 calls me day and night. He scourges me with scorpions 
 because I tarry here while the heathen in the Pacific per- 
 isha: 
 
 His wife shook her head emphatically. “I’d rather the 
 heathen would perish than you! I want to stay right here 
 till the doctor cures you! You can save Indians as much 
 to the glory of God as you can Sandwiches.” 
 
 Asahel opened his parched lips, but before he could speak 
 the Indian whose face had been at the window appeared in 
 the doorway. He was a tall handsome young brave, wear- 
 ing a red calico shirt over buckskin trousers. Round his 
 neck was a fetish: four human fingers strung on a piece 
 of gut. 
 
 He strode up to Narcissa. “I’ve come for my sister’s 
 child,” he said in Cayuse. “This is the only boy of my 
 family, except myself. You cannot have him.” 
 
 “He shall stay with me until he is well!’ Narcissa looked 
 at the Indian with cool, blue eyes. 
 
 “Better give him up before there’s trouble,” suggested 
 Munger. 
 
 “We won't do ary such thing!’ snapped Sarah Hall. 
 “What right has an old cross-patch like you, who’d believe 
 a baby could go to hell, to say another baby shall go back 
 to torture?’ She turned to the scowling brave, before the 
 outraged carpenter from Ohio could reply. “Now, you, 
 Tom Salmon, go back to old Moon Eye and tell her your 
 scheme has failed.” 
 
280 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 The Cayuse ignored Sarah. “Give me six inches of 
 tobacco and I’ll give you the child.” 
 
 Narcissa shock her head. “Tl give you nothing. Leave, 
 at once. You are a wicked man to want to take its chance 
 away from this child.” 
 
 The Indian’s face darkened. “T’ll make you sorry for 
 calling me bad,” he said, and left the house. 
 
 Narcissa, entirely hardened to Cayuse threats, put the 
 little boy, now asleep in her arms, to bed on a cot in her 
 room. The Mungers went fussily off to the cabin and by 
 nine o’clock the mission house was dark. 
 
 Narcissa was awakened by the squeaking of her door. 
 
 “Is it you, Sarah?” she asked quickly, some premonition 
 causing her, at the same moment, to jerk aside the window 
 curtain. 
 
 Moonlight flooded the room. Tom Salmon was standing, 
 naked, beside her bed. He thrust an evil-smelling hand 
 over Narcissa’s lips. 
 
 “T’ll ravish you, then take the boy,” he said coolly. 
 
 Narcissa, with an upheaving of her whole body, totally 
 unexpected by the Indian, brought her knees violently 
 against his stomach. He coughed like a strangling horse 
 and doubled up on the bed. Narcissa screamed for help 
 and leaped to the floor, but he seized her by the wrist and 
 clung to her, helplessly, while he recovered his breath. The 
 half-breed baby woke, crying. 
 
 Narcissa struggled to free herself, screaming as she 
 fought. She dragged the half-fainting Cayuse from the 
 bed, but could not break his grasp. She was a superbly 
 strong woman. The Indian was young, but in bad condi- 
 tion. She was his physical equal and put up an epic fight. 
 
 It seemed to her that she and the evil-smelling brave 
 dragged each other back and forth for an eternity. Asa 
 matter of fact, it was less than five minutes before Sarah 
 Hall, a candle in one hand and the living-room poker in 
 
“MALBROUCK”’ 281 
 
 the other, rushed across the room. She brought the heavy 
 iron bar down on the Indian’s head and he dropped to the 
 floor. Before Sarah could repeat the blow, he scrambled 
 on all fours out of the door. 
 
 Narcissa collapsed on the bed. “Are you hurt? Dear 
 Madam Whitman, are you hurt?” 
 
 “No! gasped Narcissa. “Heat—hot—water. Put little 
 Marshall—here in bed—with me—so he’ll stop crying.” 
 
 Sarah flew to obey. Little Marshall snuggled against 
 Narcissa’s shoulder. She was too much exhausted to try 
 to soothe him, but when he felt her warm and quiet beside 
 him, he ceased to sob and by the time Sarah returned with 
 a steaming kettle, he was asleep. 
 
 With Sarah’s help, Narcissa managed to take a hot bath. 
 When this was done Sarah wished to go for the Mungers, 
 but Narcissa felt that the carpenter and his wife would be 
 only a nuisance. She told Sarah to bring the doctor’s 
 musket from the living-room, load it, and lay it on the floor 
 beside her bed. Then she had her bolt the doors and lie 
 down on little Marshall’s cot. 
 
 Sarah was trembling with fear and horror, but shortly. 
 soothed by Narcissa’s calm voice, she went to sleep. 
 
 With the candlelight flickering on the rafters above her, 
 Narcissa lay staring at nothing, until dawn. Had she been 
 struggling with a boa constrictor, she would have been 
 filled with no more loathing. She told herself, wildly, that 
 she could not stay in Waii-lat-pu another day. Here, at 
 last, was the evil that Governor Simpson had warned them 
 of at Fort Hall. She would leave for Fort Walla Walla 
 in the morning. Yet, even as she told herself this, her 
 conscience whispered that she would remain at Waii-lat-pu 
 until Marcus’ return! She tried to pray and could not. 
 Nor would sleep come until the slumbering child threw 
 a little, bandaged hand across her breast. 
 
 Then, “Oh, my baby!” she whispered. “My little daugh- 
 
282 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 ter in heaven, help me!” and, grateful for the warm, small 
 hand against her heart, she fell asleep. 
 
 Sarah gave Narcissa her breakfast, in bed, in the morn- 
 ing. Except that she was sore and bruised, Narcissa was 
 none the worse for her harrowing experience, and after 
 eating, she dressed and prepared to carry on the day’s 
 work. 
 
 But this was not to be. It was as if, during this 
 absence of the doctor, the Indians were determined to 
 bring to a head all the grievances they had nourished for 
 the years since the Whitmans’ arrival. Narcissa scarcely 
 had finished dressing, when Asahel Munger rushed uncere- 
 moniously into her room. 
 
 “We just put out a fire in the roof of the grist mill! 
 I’ve sent for Mr. McKinlay from Fort Walla Walla. Roof’s 
 gone, but machinery’s safe.” 
 
 “But why did you send for the factor?” gasped Narcissa. 
 
 “Because, while my wife and me put out the fire, Um- 
 tippe and the other Indians laughed and said there’d be 
 worse than that before they left for the buffalo hunt.” 
 
 “Where are Charley Compo and the other converts?” 
 Narcissa picked up the musket and laid it on the bed as 
 she spoke. 
 
 “They left yesterday for the hunt. I sent old Tua to the 
 fort. All that’s left is Umtippe and his gang of old com- 
 plainers. They mean mischief. What you got that gun 
 here for?” 
 
 Narcissa told him. Munger’s strange brown eyes blazed. 
 “Give it to me! I never shot at anything, but I’d just as 
 soon try to kill Tom Salmon as not.” 
 
 Narcissa smiled, in spite of her anxiety, and shook her 
 head. 
 
 e -Asahel looked relieved. “I’d rather be with the Sand- 
 wiches, myself. Tl get my wife and we'll stay indoors 
 to-day. For the blood of the Lamb, and His marching 
 
“MALBROUCK” 283 
 
 hosts. Amen!’ Muttering incoherently, he rushed away. 
 
 They spent the day within doors. None of the squaws 
 or children appeared in the schoolroom. Umtippe rode at 
 intervals around the dooryard, but made no attempt to 
 enter the house. It was an extraordinarily trying day, but 
 when night came, Narcissa dared not try to sleep. She sat 
 in her room, fully dressed, working on the Cayuse primer. 
 
 About ten o’clock she heard a crash. Then Mrs. Munger 
 screamed. She picked up the candle and ran into the 
 dining-room. It was ablaze with light from many candles 
 and filled with Indians. As Narcissa entered, a buck sent 
 his tomahawk into the corner cupboard where Narcissa kept 
 a few pieces of china she had brought over the long trail 
 from Angelica. Another kicked over the table and three 
 or four bucks hacked at it with their axes. In a corner 
 Munger prayed with a voice so shrill that it rose above the 
 bedlam made by the Indians. Old Umtippe, wrapped in his 
 buffalo robe, leaned against the door frame, directing the 
 onslaught, while young Trapper snapped at his moccasins. 
 
 Narcissa stood, for a moment, utterly at a loss. En- 
 treaty or command she knew would be idle. She watched 
 the axes crash through the table that Marcus had wrought 
 with such labor from hand-sawed lumber, dragged, log by 
 log, the twenty miles from the foothills. She saw the 
 buffalo-hide chairs rent into a hundred brown fragments. 
 Then she saw Alice Clarissa’s drinking cup hurled against 
 the chimney piece and as the fragments flew in all direc- 
 tions, she knew what she must do. 
 
 She lifted her voice in the song she had thought never to 
 sing again: 
 
 “Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top! 
 When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,—” 
 
 For a moment the rich notes were lost in the anarchy of 
 sound that filled the room. ‘Then, as they gained power, 
 
284 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 there was a hush of surprise cut by discordant laughter. 
 The old chief, arms folded on his chest, looked at her with 
 a scowl of contempt. But Narcissa sang on— 
 
 “If the bough breaks, the cradle will fall 
 And down will come rock-a-by, baby and all.” 
 
 She repeated the song thrice. One by one the axes ceased 
 to crash. Uneasy glances were cast by the braves, first at 
 Narcissa, then at Umtippe. The Cayuse chief was still 
 scowling. But, singing with a power that could have made 
 a prima donna of her, Narcissa saw the familiar heave of 
 the old man’s chest, the quivering of his lips. 
 
 It was on the third repetition of the song that he pointed 
 a trembling brown hand at her and shouted: 
 
 “Stop that song!” 
 
 Narcissa slowly crossed the cluttered room toward the 
 old man. 
 
 “Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top, 
 When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,—” 
 
 Umtippe drew away from her, beating his breast. “The 
 little White Cayuse! Ai! the little White Cayuse!” 
 
 The room was filled now with groans. Umtippe, backing 
 slowly out of the door, was followed, one by one, by his 
 braves, who stared at Narcissa as if she were a visitant 
 from another world. She sang until the last moccasined 
 foot had dragged over the doorstep, until the last sound of 
 galloping hoofs had died from the dooryard. Then she 
 turned to the Mungers. They were crouched in a corner, 
 their eyes hidden, praying without pause. 
 
 “Where is Sarah Hall?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “Here I am!” Sarah put her head from beneath the 
 wreckage of the couch. “And I’ve got the doctor’s gun 
 with me. And if you hadn’t got in the way, I was just 
 
“MALBROUCK” 285 
 
 going to shoot old Umtippe.” She crawled from under the 
 buffalo hides, the old musket clasped against her chest, her 
 nightdress half torn from her slender body. “I kicked as 
 many as I could. I thought you’d never come!” 
 
 Narcissa kissed the trembling girl. “Get yourself dressed, 
 Sarah, and make coffee for all of us. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Munger, we can’t sleep after all the excitement. Let’ 
 begin to clean up this mess.” 
 
 Mrs. Munger groaned, “I’m going to start walking back 
 to the United States, to-morrow.” 
 
 “You ain't! You’re going to the Sandwich Islands with 
 your lawful husband.” The carpenter from Ohio ceased 
 praying, to glare at his wife. “Take hold of this furniture 
 now and let’s see if we can mend what the varmints broke.” 
 
 Coffee and work, with Narcissa’s calm talk regarding the 
 help that undoubtedly would come from Fort Walla Walla, 
 gradually restored the morale of the household. After 
 three or four hours, Narcissa persuaded the Mungers and 
 Sarah to go to bed. She, herself, sat on the doorstep with 
 the doctor’s musket across her knees and Trapper at her 
 side, waiting for dawn. 
 
 It came slowly, lifting majestically over the Blue Moun- 
 tains, as if it marched to soundless music. The great plains, 
 whose every orange contour Narcissa knew by heart, and 
 the wavering lines of green that marked the willow-edged 
 creeks, softly moved from the night’s obscurity into her 
 weary view. Red glow edged the eastern peaks, shot to 
 the zenith, sought out the cottonwoods by the river and 
 suddenly centered the dawnlight of the world upon a tiny 
 mound. And here Narcissa’s eyes rested until the sound of 
 hoofs reached her. 
 
 Two Indians were driving a herd of horses across the 
 river into the field of growing wheat. Umtippe was one of 
 the two herdsmen. Narcissa fingered the gun restlessly. 
 She was by no means of a meek nature and she found her- 
 
286 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 self watching the devastating of Marcus’ hard won wheat 
 field with a growing and terrible anger. She sat with nos- 
 trils dilated, eyes gleaming like steel, long twitching fingers 
 on the gun hammer, until she had reached the breaking 
 point. Then she lifted the butt to her shoulder. 
 
 At that moment, two white riders galloped across the 
 dooryard and brought their steeds to their haunches, before 
 the fence that bounded the wheat field. 
 
 It was Governor Simpson and Miles Goodyear. 
 
 “Get out of this field, you damnable dogs!” roared the 
 Governor. 
 
 Umtippe sent his horse at a canter up to the fence. 
 “Don’t you call me a dog!” he shouted. 
 
 “Get your horses out of this field—dog!’ The Governor 
 rose in his stirrups and pointed at the grazing herd with 
 his riding whip. 
 
 Umtippe was riding half naked, his upper body smeared 
 with red paint. Shaking with anger, he leaned toward 
 Simpson. “Then you must promise to send that witch 
 woman away. That’s the only way you can pay me for 
 sending out the horses.” 
 
 “Pay you!” The Scotchman’s jaw showed white through 
 his tanned cheeks. “Pay you! Ill pay you as the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company paid the Caytise who murdered Factor 
 Jones! Do you understand ?” 
 
 “There’s been no murder here,” retorted Umtippe. 
 
 “Sir George,” interrupted Miles, who had been angrily 
 watching the destruction of the wheat, “let me go after 
 that herd while you carry on this parley.” 
 
 “Stay where you are, Miles!” ordered the Governor. 
 “Come,” to Umtippe, “how long do you propose to keep 
 me waiting here?” 
 
 “I want my pay!” shouted the chief. 
 
 “Pay! Pay! Did you ever pay Dr. Whitman for curing 
 your wives? Did you ever pay Madam Whitman for saving 
 
“MALBROUCK” 287 
 
 your nephew? Do you think you can continue as you are 
 without punishment?” 
 
 “Who will punish us?” demanded Umtippe. “They are 
 not King George people. Dr. Whitman is a Jesus man and 
 don’t dare punish any one for anything.” 
 
 “Aye? Yes?” cried the Governor. “But you overlook 
 one item, my sweet laddie! The Whitmans are friends of 
 the Kitchie Okema’s. Consider! The cannon at Fort 
 Walla Walla are loaded with nails and powder. If any 
 Indians attack this mission house, we shall take horses and 
 hitch them to the cannon and drag them out here to collect 
 pay for your destruction of the mission. And after your 
 village has been shot to pieces, our pay shall be collected 
 from your herd of a thousand horses that roam these plains. 
 "Tis evident you don’t wish peace, Umtippe. You wish 
 war. Very well! Dm glad we understand the Cayuse 
 heart at last. If it is bloodshed you desire, that is our 
 desire, too.” 
 
 Umtippe shifted uneasily in his saddle. He glared at 
 the Governor, then glanced down at Narcissa who, gun in 
 hand, had drawn near the flank of Miles’ horse. 
 
 “Tt’s this yellow-haired woman!” he shouted. “She 
 makes all the trouble. The white men who married half- 
 breeds were kind to us Indians and took our side against 
 the Bostons, until she came with her white skin and her 
 yellow hair. Now, you all turn from your dark-skinned 
 women to her.” 
 
 The Governor turned white to the lips. Miles uttered an 
 oath and raised his clubbed gun to strike the chief. But 
 before the blow could descend, Narcissa’s quiet voice stayed 
 the young man’s arm. 
 
 “It doesn’t matter what he says. He’s just a child, 
 Miles.” 
 
 Miles bit his lips, glanced at the Governor and rested his 
 zun across his knees. 
 
288 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Go!” Simpson’s voice carried across the field. 
 
 Umtippe’s contorted lips were foaming. He uttered a 
 great groan, slowly turned his horse, and called out an 
 order that caused the Indian in the field to begin hastily 
 driving his herd out of the wheat. Then, without further 
 word, he sent his pony at the fence, took it like a blowing 
 leaf and was gone. 
 
 “Put your horses into the corral, Miles,” said Narcissa, 
 “and then bring the Governor into the house.” 
 
 She hurried indoors to rouse the Mungers and Sarah, 
 then went to her own room to make herself presentable. 
 When she returned to the dining-room, she found Sarah 
 Hall eagerly narrating the events since Marcus’ departure 
 to the Governer and Miles. 
 
 Simpson came forward and took both of Narcissa’s 
 hands. “My dear Madam Whitman,—” he began. And 
 then, as he caught, for the first time, a full view of Nar- 
 cissa’s ravished eyes, he choked and turned hastily to a 
 window. 
 
 Miles, his lips quivering, kissed Narcissa. “I wish we 
 could have got here before!” he exclaimed. 
 
 “T’m thankful you got here at all, dear boy!” exclaimed 
 Narcissa. “And Sarah mustn’t make you think things were 
 worse than they were. Tell me, Governor, what do you 
 think of Sarah’s English?’ She smiled at her protegée’s 
 flushed cheeks and glowing eyes. 
 
 The Governor turned away from the window and, cross- 
 ing the room, took Sarah by the tip of one small ear and 
 turned her gently round. “Her English is as excellent as 
 her pretty frock,” he said. “She’s a real Scotch lassie, I 
 swear !” 
 
 “Prettiest girl in Oregon territory or in Rupert’s Land, 
 either,” declared Miles, with a bow and a flourish that did 
 credit to his new training. 
 
 Freed of the Governor’s hand, Sarah made a sweeping 
 
 b 
 
“MALBROUCK”’ 289 
 
 courtesy, then, blushing violently, she ran from the room. 
 Miles followed her, pausing to murmur in Narcissa’s ear 
 as he passed, “Our peppery Kitchie Okema was made into 
 a ‘Sir’ while he was in England.” 
 
 “If you’ve all finished bowing and scraping,” said Mrs. 
 Munger, whose nerves, poor soul, were gone, “you'll find 
 as good a meal of victuals on the table as I could get under 
 the circumstances.” 
 
 She shuffled from the room. Asahel had moved the 
 cabin furniture in to replace what had been destroyed. 
 Miles brought Sarah in and the meal proceeded, with Miles 
 carrying the brunt of the conversation. For Narcissa in- 
 sisted on his telling of his winter trip to Norway House. 
 The Governor listened abstractedly. When Miles had 
 finished, he said abruptly: 
 
 “You and Sarah run away and play for an hour, Miles, 
 while I talk with Madam Whitman. Mind that you remain 
 within hailing distance, my lad, for we cannot tarry here 
 long.” 
 
 “Yes, Sir George!’ Miles rose docilely and took Sarah’s 
 hand. “Come, sister, come with brother!” 
 
 Sarah giggled and the Governor looked after the two 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Narcissa shook her head, as she led the way to the little 
 parlor. “I hope you won’t encourage that too much, Gov- 
 ernor.” 
 
 “Why not?” demanded Sir George, quickly. 
 
 “For many reasons,” answered Narcissa. 
 
 The Governor gave her a searching look. “Well, we'll 
 go into that, later. We have matters of more immediate 
 import to discuss.” He seated Narcissa beside the crude 
 center table, then took the buffalo-hide chair before the 
 window and fastened his fine gray eyes on her. He was 
 looking, Narcissa thought, exceptionally well. His white 
 ruffles, spotless above his flowered vest, his clean-shaver 
 
290 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 cheeks, his well-+trimmed hair—above all, his air of power 
 and decisiveness—set him apart from Marcus—poor Mar- 
 cus, with his slovenly ways and his struggle to bend his fiery 
 nature to the Christian code. 
 
 Narcissa, herself, never had grown heedless of her per- 
 sonal appearance, as Sir George observed with satisfaction. 
 And only one who, like the Governor, understood the diffi- 
 culties of pioneer life, could appreciate what it had cost 
 Narcissa to maintain her high standard of care for herself. 
 The blue calico dress that she wore this morning was care- 
 fully made, and the waist fitted her fine form as well as if 
 it had been cut from satin. The white collar, which was 
 held at her throat by the cameo pin, gave a touch of ele- 
 gance to her appearance, and her masses of yellow hair 
 shone with good grooming. 
 
 “Where is the Cayuse brave, Tom Salmon?” asked Sir 
 George, abruptly. 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. 
 
 “T shall send Miles to find him,” the Governor went on. 
 “He must return with us to Fort Walla Walla and there 
 await Dr. Whitman’s desires. Madam Whitman, how much 
 longer shall you continue to throw yourself away in this 
 terrible place? Do you not see that, though its coming was 
 delayed, my warning at Fort Hall was true? I tell you—” 
 He suddenly rose and began to pace the floor. “—the 
 thought of that Indian’s attack on you—God pity him 
 when—” He pulled himself up with obvious effort and 
 dropped again into his chair. “‘What good is being done 
 by your stay here? Will you tell me, madam?” 
 
 “Any good that we might have done is being coun- 
 teracted, to a large extent, by the priests,” replied Nar- 
 cissa. 
 
 “But certainly!” exclaimed Sir George. “It could not be. 
 otherwise. The priests are far wiser in their understand- 
 ing of Indian nature than you Protestants. And as far as 
 
“MALBROUCK’” 291 
 
 embracing true Christianity goes, the Indians are invul- 
 nevanlecs 
 
 “Do you mean to tell me,” cried Narcissa, “that God, 
 Himself, is helpless in the face of this savage nature?” 
 
 “Not at all,” replied Sir George. “God has His own 
 reasons for making the Indian impervious to any perma- 
 nent effects by your teachings.” 
 
 Narcissa smiled. “I suspect you of believing that the 
 Lord made the Indians so, in order to further your Com- 
 pany’s interests.” 
 
 “Perhaps!” The Governor smiled with her. 
 
 There was a moment’s pause, then Narcissa leaned toward 
 her visitor and said in a low voice: 
 
 “Sir George, I acknowledge defeat!” 
 
 “Defeat!” ejaculated the Scotchman. “What do you 
 mean ?”’ 
 
 “T mean,” replied Narcissa, brokenly, “that if you will 
 sell me passage, in one of your boats, I wish to go back to 
 Angelica for a year’s visit. If I do not have that respite, 
 I cannot endure this place.” 
 
 Sir George spoke breathlessly. “Has the doctor agreed 
 to this?” 
 
 “Marcus doesn’t know,” answered Narcissa. “I only 
 came to the conclusion the night after he left, when—when 
 I realized what my loss had been, what the years before me 
 meant.” 
 
 Suddenly Sir George crossed the room, to take her hands 
 again. “Dear Narcissa, I cannot tell you how my heart 
 went out to you when I heard! Always, since that summer 
 day, I have seen you and your babe before the cabin, you 
 in your blue frock and the child in the fur-draped cradle, 
 —alone—with the ranges. Oh, my dear, my dear, if only 
 it were my right and my sacred privilege to offer you the 
 comfort that wells in my heart!’ Again his voice broke 
 and again he turned to the window. 
 
TAD WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Narcissa buried her face in her hands and prayed for 
 strength. 
 
 After a moment, Sir George said, in his ordinary voice, 
 “You may take passage in ‘The Nereus’ which sails home- 
 ward late in the summer. And you must let me say how 
 wise I think your decision, though I grieve at the tragedy 
 that drove you to it.” 
 
 “Tt was the—tragedy, yes, that brought the climax, but, 
 to be honest, Sir George, I think I’ve been coming to the 
 determination, for a long time, that Waii-lat-pu would get 
 on better without me. The Indians do not want me here; 
 and now that the little White Cayuse is gone, they will 
 never cease pursuing and annoying me. The doctor really 
 gets on with them well enough. They laugh and joke with 
 him and tell him all their troubles.” 
 
 “The doctor will have no luck here, at all, without you,” 
 declared the Governor. “Better take him with you and 
 be done with it.” 
 
 Narcissa looked at him quickly. “Just what do you 
 mean?” she asked. 
 
 “T mean that, as your friend, I’m delighted by a decision 
 which saves you from failure, unhappiness, and worse. 
 Take Dr. Whitman to the States with you. He has a sure 
 career before him, as a physician; none at all as a mis- 
 sionary.” 
 
 “If I thought,”—Narcissa spoke slowly—“that my leav- 
 ing would bring about Marcus’ defeat, I would not go.” 
 
 “But, my dear Madam Whitman,” cried Sir George 1m- 
 patiently, “you know his defeat is inevitable! Why draw 
 out the agony? When this territory becomes British we 
 shall not permit missionary work of your sort.” 
 
 “Tf this territory—” corrected Narcissa. 
 
 “No, madam, when! ‘Your Congress does not wish to 
 add this isolated empire to its other governmental problems. 
 
“MALBROUCK” 2°98 
 
 When I left London, the agreement between the two coun- 
 tries was all but ready.” 
 
 “Are you sure?” cried Narcissa. “Don’t try to startle 
 me with vague statements, Sir George!” 
 
 “Ts a treaty vague?” demanded the Governor. “Be Gad!” 
 —his face suddenly flushing—‘“America doesn’t deserve this 
 territory. What has your Government done here but neglect 
 every measure that would have insured Oregon’s welfare? 
 Consider the one item of rum alone? Has she joined with 
 us in our struggle to control its sale? Do you realize the 
 full horror of what your Yankee traders have done here 
 with rum? We have used every weapon at our command 
 to keep Americans from debauching the Indians with 
 alcohol, but they have circumvented us at every oppor- 
 tunity. Do you perceive how serious is the crime that your 
 countrymen have visited on Oregon, in refusing to obey 
 our mandates and entreaties, as to this? Do you realize 
 that, further east, they are debauching whole tribes with 
 rum? At any moment, rum may enter the Nez Percés and 
 the Cayuse camps. And then—God help you all! We 
 cannot.” 
 
 ayes easaid Natcissa,..t know.’ 
 
 “Tf I were superstitious,’ Sir George went on vehemently, 
 “T’d believe that God had placed a curse on the coming of 
 Americans into this Pacific country. It is American traders 
 from the Missouri steamer ‘Saint Peter’ who brought small- 
 pox here. It’s spreading among the Indians like the use of 
 rum. It’s raging now among the Crows and the Flatheads. 
 They die like frost-smitten flies. When that fellow, Jason 
 Lee, returns from his crusade to save Oregon for America, 
 he’ll find half the Willamette Indians dead. ... A British 
 boat captain would have shot the first man who tried to 
 leave his tainted ship. But you Americans must have lib- 
 erty—liberty to destroy the Indians! If America should 
 
294 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 gain control here, she’d destroy the Indian population in 
 fifty years.” 
 
 Narcissa tapped the table restlessly with her fingers. “I 
 know! I know!” she repeated. “We are crude and rash 
 and ignorant, as youth always 1s. We don’t, as you say, 
 deserve Oregon. By every right of personal sacrifice, wise 
 control, supreme effort, it ought to be British. Neverthe- 
 less, Sir George, it shall be American!” 
 
 “Shall be!” exclaimed the Governor, indignantly. 
 
 “Shall be! You British are safe in India because, though 
 you are far from England, you have no hungry and alien 
 Anglo-Saxons crowding in at every port. Here, though 
 nearer home than in India, you must meet uncontrollable 
 competition. Folk of your own race, millions and millions 
 of them, are pushing against your few score.” 
 
 “Very pretty! Very pretty! But, happily for us, the 
 land will be ours before the American hordes begin to 
 flow in.” 
 
 “IT wonder!” said Narcissa, slowly. Something in the 
 Governor’s indignation and impatience made her suspect 
 that he was by no means certain that the treaty had been 
 signed. 
 
 “You will be able to satisfy yourself, next spring, both 
 in London and when you reach New York.” Sir George 
 smiled with a serenity Narcissa was sure he did not feel. 
 
 “T am not sure, after our conversation, that I shall go.” 
 Narcissa returned the smile. “You have made me feel that, 
 even if I’m not of any importance to the souls of the In- 
 dians, I am to the stability of the mission.” 
 
 “You know as well as I do,” protested the Governor, 
 “that this mission is not of the slightest import.” 
 
 “This mission, Sir George, is just three hundred and fifty 
 acres of American soil to counterbalance the British soil 
 at, we'll say, Fort Walla Walla.” 
 
“MALBROUCK” 295 
 
 “With your own lips you’ve agreed that America has no 
 right to this territory. Yet you pronounce yourself about 
 to continue the unworthy struggle. How do you reconcile 
 that with your conscience as a missionary?” demanded the 
 Governor. 
 
 “TI suppose the reason is that, as you are a British sub- 
 ject before you are a servant of the Hudson’s Bay Com- 
 pany,” replied Narcissa, “I am an American before I am 
 a missionary.” 
 
 “Have it your own way!” chuckled the Governor. “Why 
 not go to your Congress yourself, Madam Whitman? 
 You’d make a most convincing advocate for Oregon.” 
 
 Narcissa drew a quick breath. Here was a suggestion, 
 indeed! Here was full justification for the cherished trip 
 she had been about to abandon. 
 
 Sir George, watching her keenly, went on casually. “I 
 am returning to England by “The Nereus’ myself, and 
 taking Miles. The wife of the ship’s captain is with him. 
 She will be company for you.” 
 
 Narcissa’s cheeks flushed and her blue eyes grew eager. 
 “How very—” she began, but a hoarse voice in the door- 
 yard interrupted her. 
 
 “T have ordered a thousand cherubim and four thousand 
 seraphim to guard the mission. Attention! Forward to 
 hell !” 
 
 “Tt’s Asahel Munger!’ exclaimed Narcissa. “He’s always 
 been a little touched in the head and has gradually grown 
 worse. I’m afraid the trouble of the last two days has un- 
 hinged him entirely. Ill go quiet him.” 
 
 But, as she rose, Munger appeared in the doorway, drag- 
 ging with him Pere Demers. 
 
 “Here is the arch conspirator!” he shouted. “We must 
 crucify him!” 
 
 And before the priest, the Governor, or Narcissa could 
 
296 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 grasp his purpose, he suddenly drove through the priest’s 
 hand, which was clinging to the doorpost, a long augur bit, 
 pinning the hand to the wood. 
 
 Sir George seized Munger at the moment of his insane 
 act. Narcissa released Pere Demers who, though his face 
 was distorted with pain, spoke with admirable self-control. 
 
 “The man is quite mad! I’m sorry to have made this 
 disturbance, madam.” 
 
 “Don’t apologize, pray!’ exclaimed Narcissa. “T’ll fetch 
 bandages for your poor hand. Mr. Munger!’—turning to 
 the carpenter, who was struggling in the Governor’s stout 
 grasp—‘‘sit down in that chair and don’t so much as lift a 
 finger till I give you permission.” 
 
 Very meekly, Munger ceased to struggle and when Sir 
 George, rather ungently, it must be admitted, pushed him 
 into a chair, he huddled in it, motionless. 
 
 Narcissa eyed him for a moment, then said, “On second 
 thought, I’ll not leave him. Sir George, if you'll just step 
 to the door and call Sarah or Mrs. Munger, Dll send them 
 for bandages.” 
 
 “Mademoiselle Sarah,” smiled Pére Demers, holding his 
 handkerchief to his bleeding hand, “is sitting on the hilltop 
 with His Excellency’s courier, her back to all the world.” 
 
 Sir George grunted and started for the door, but was im- 
 mediately forestalled in his errand, by the arrival of Mrs. 
 Munger. 
 
 “Where’s Asahel?”’ she panted. “Oh! What has he been 
 doing, Mrs. Whitman? I was in the cabin and one of the 
 squaws ran to tell me.” 
 
 “Silence, woman!” thundered Munger. “The Lord of 
 Hosts is here!’ 
 
 Mrs. Munger wrung her hands and looked helplessly at 
 Narcissa. Narcissa patted her, reassuringly, on the shoul- 
 der. “Bring bandages and hot water, Mrs. Munger. He 
 has hurt Pere Demers,” 
 
“MALBROUCK”’ 297 
 
 Mrs. Munger, lamenting audibly, ran to the kitchen and 
 returned almost immediately, with a steaming kettle and 
 the doctor’s emergency kit. The Governor offered his as- 
 sistance to Narcissa, but she shook her head. 
 
 “T’ve done this sort of thing for three years, under the 
 doctor’s supervision. I do not hurt you too much, do I, 
 Pere Deniers? 
 
 The priest, watching the skilful, tender fingers, shook 
 his head, with a little smile. Sir George looked from Pére 
 Demers to Narcissa and he too smiled, but inscrutably. 
 When the painful task was completed, Pere Demers gladly 
 rested in the buffalo-hide chair, while Narcissa turned to 
 the carpenter. 
 
 “Mr. Munger, if you are to lead your hosts on such a 
 long journey, you will need rest. I wish you’d come into 
 the doctor’s room and lie down. Will you not?” 
 
 “Will these imps of darkness remain here and will you go 
 with me?” demanded Asahel. 
 
 “Yes,” said Narcissa, shaking her head at the protest in 
 the Governor’s eyes. “Come! She took the carpenter by 
 the hand and led him into the dormitory room, which 
 Marcus was using for a hospital. 
 
 Munger was as docile as a child. He took the heavy 
 sleeping draught she prepared for him and lay down. He 
 was asleep in five minutes, still clinging to the kind, strong 
 hand. 
 
 The door of the dormitory opened into the yard. As 
 Narcissa came out, she found Sir George leaning against 
 the wall beside the door. He smiled at her with a little 
 shake of his head. 
 
 “Well, dear madam, your troubles are manifold! You 
 must lock that fellow up.” 
 
 Narcissa nodded. “What in the world was Pere Demers 
 doing here?” 
 
 “I didn’t stop to investigate,” replied the Governor, 
 
298 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Let’s go ask him now. Look! There is no trouble on 
 the hilltop, eh?” 
 
 Narcissa followed his smiling glance. Seated on the 
 bench where Narcissa had spent so many weary hours, 
 were Sarah and Miles. They were sitting very, very close 
 together, their backs to the house, their eyes on each other, 
 while the small boy, Marshall, played with Trapper at their 
 feet. 
 
 “Miles has the stuff for a fine career in that blond head 
 of his—with proper training,” said Sir George, as he fol- 
 lowed Narcissa into the parlor. “Ah, my dear Pere, I hope 
 you are feeling better! Tell us how it came about.” 
 
 The priest had risen as Narcissa entered. He picked up 
 his flat hat as he said, “I was returning from a parochial 
 visit to Fort Colville and stopped to speak to the chief, 
 Umtippe, with no intention of intruding on Madam Whit- 
 man’s hospitality. I saw this man working at the mill and 
 dismounted to ask him of Umtippe’s whereabouts. With- 
 out warning, he sprang on me, twisted my hands behind 
 me and ran me here, as you saw.” 
 
 “You mustn’t start until you’ve had dinner with us, Pére 
 Demers,” said Narcissa. “That is, if you’ve forgiven Miles 
 Goodyear and us for our share in the Jason Lee matter.” 
 
 “Miles told me of that.” The Governor spoke abruptly. 
 “You exceeded your authority there, Pere Demers.” 
 
 “The boy was entirely wrong in his accusation!” declared 
 Pere Demers, hotly. 
 
 “Right or wrong,” returned Sir George, “you must dis- 
 tinctly understand that secular authority overrides church 
 authority, in this country. I especially regret that your 
 efforts put you in controversy with Dr. and Madam Whit- 
 man.” 
 
 vAhl:breathed. Peres Demers;.)"Do; you;s indeedaaratrs 
 Then, I shall herewith offer my apologies to Madam 
 Whitman.” 
 
“MALBROUCK” 299 
 
 Narcissa looked from one man to the other, trying to 
 fathom the depths of the mystery each sought to conceal. 
 But she could only guess uneasily at their measure. 
 
 “T accept your apology, sir,” she said, with a little smile, 
 “though I’m not quite certain for what phase of the un- 
 happy episode you are apologizing. I wish,’—with an ap- 
 pealing gesture of both hands,—“‘you’d leave Umtippe alone. 
 Haven’t you Indians enough to work with, that you must 
 constantly upset our Waiti-lat-pu people? We keep away 
 from the Walla Wallapoos.” 
 
 “That’s a fair offer, Pere!” cried Sir George. 
 
 “Umtippe is already a Catholic,” the priest replied, sud- 
 denly replacing his hat on the table and taking a chair. 
 “The wise thing for you to do is to move your mission to 
 another place. He never will be reconciled to your pres- 
 ence here, especially now that—” 
 
 He hesitated, and both men’s eyes followed Narcissa’s 
 gaze, which turned to the tiny mound under the cotton- 
 woods. 
 
 Pére Demers cleared his throat. “I prayed for your 
 child’s soul, madam, though I fear you may resent it.” 
 
 “Resent it!’ Narcissa’s voice broke, but she recovered 
 herself quickly. She gave the priest a curious smile. 
 “Perhaps I deserved that! We are narrow, we priests and 
 missionaries. But I deserve it no longer. Look, Pere 
 Demers.” 
 
 She went to the little cupboard in the corner near the 
 fireplace and took from it a little bag. From the bag she 
 drew a tiny, blackened figure, which she laid gently on 
 her palm. 
 
 “Look! Did Umtippe tell you that I burned his rosary ?” 
 
 The priest’s lips tightened as he nodded. 
 
 “Did he tell you,” Narcissa went on, “that, in return, he 
 destroyed the almost completed manuscript of my Cayuse 
 primer, on which I had put over a year’s work?” 
 
300 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “No! He did not tell me that!” exclaimed Pere Demers. 
 “Oh, that was very wrong!” 
 
 “The old beast!” cried Sir George. “Be Gad, Madam 
 Whitman, I’d have burned his head off with red-hot tongs!” 
 
 “We both were wicked fools,” declared Narcissa. “I 
 had less excuse than Umtippe. Pere Demers, when Um- 
 tippe had rushed out, I stood looking at the fire. You 
 understand that I had cast in there what I looked upon as 
 an idol with which you had snared a soul that I was pray- 
 ing to save. Yet, as I looked, the tiny form on the cross 
 glowed with life and writhed in agony. And I realized 
 that it was Christ, the Christ I adore. And it seemed to 
 me that His agony was not alone for my deed, Pere Demers, 
 but for the thing you and I and our confréres are doing: 
 bringing the deadly influence of our sectarian hatreds among 
 these helpless savages—bringing it in His name and for. 
 His sake!” 
 
 Narcissa paused and gazed down at the little figure. “I 
 rescued the crucifix, as you see. And my memory was busy 
 with it when you buried poor Pierre Pambrun. It was this 
 pitiful thing that made me see how beautiful is your faith 
 —how beautiful are all our faiths, if we can but keep close 
 enough to Him for our blind eyes to see. I can never be 
 a Catholic, Pere Demers, nor you, a Protestant. But we 
 love the same Christ and we can, at least, cease to war on 
 each other.” 
 
 The priest glanced uneasily at Sir George, who was re- 
 garding Narcissa with eyes in which pain and admiration 
 glowed, for him, who would, to read. Then, with a sudden 
 obvious determination to meet this disciple of an alien faith 
 on her own high level, Pere Demers squared his shoulders 
 —defiantly, perhaps, for the Governor’s benefit—and said, 
 “We are destined to war on each other, here in Oregon, 
 Madam Whitman, till one or the other is destroyed. For 
 the first time, you have made me wish it might have been 
 
“MALBROUCK” 301 
 
 otherwise. But, even while I do that which I must do, I 
 shall pray for you, my very noble enemy.” 
 
 Narcissa, lips parted, cheeks flushed, listened with every 
 sense concentrated on understanding the grave personality 
 before her. And as she listened, the familiar premonition 
 of disaster which had been submerged by her baby’s 
 tragedy, returned to her with undiminished force. Her 
 simple, honest offer of friendship had failed before the 
 menace of something these two men represented. She 
 made the priest a graceful bow. 
 
 pimcammesorry, Pere. Deniers, shejsaid.) ““Andvianionct 
 ungrateful for your prayers.” 
 
 Once more the priest took up his hat. This time Narcissa 
 did not detain him and, with a bow that included Sir 
 George, he left the house. Narcissa put the crucifix back 
 in its place. 
 
 “T shall not go to Angelica,” she murmured. 
 
 “What in Pere Demers’ attitude has influenced you?” 
 demanded Sir George. 
 
 Narcissa returned to her seat by the table. “TI dare not 
 leave my simple, straightforward Marcus to his machina- 
 tions. I grant you, Sir George, that we shall not be able 
 to salvage the Indian. He is doomed. But we shall remain 
 at Waii-lat-pu to the end. What that end is, I cannot 
 Pomecce. a 
 
 “The end will be a massacre!” ejaculated Sir George, 
 “and through no machinations of priest or politician. The 
 cause is in the essential natures of you and the Cayuse. 
 For God’s sake, Narcissa,”’ leaning forward to take her 
 hand, “don’t do this suicidal thing!” 
 
 “I must,” answered Narcissa, wondering, as she spoke, 
 where she found strength for the refusal. For the clasp 
 of that firm, kind hand touched her inmost heart. “I was 
 half mad with grief or I could not have dreamed of going.” 
 
 “You will forego that long, peaceful ocean voyage with 
 
 3 
 
302 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 me, your friend? You will forego the stop in England, 
 where I shall take such pride in showing you my home, of 
 introducing you to the men and women who direct the 
 destinies of the empire? You will forego the visit to 
 Washington, the conversations with your President and his 
 associates? Forego all this, to stay in this God-forsaken 
 spot and invite death?” 
 
 “T must not go,” Narcissa repeated. 
 
 “Then,” said the Governor, releasing her hand and his 
 face turning a ghastly white, “I take it that you repudiate 
 my friendship.” } 
 
 “How can you say that?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “You cannot remain my friend and continue your en- 
 deavor to undermine me in the task my sovereign has set 
 me.” Still white to the lips, Sir George rose and took a 
 turn up and down the little room. After a moment he 
 paused before her and said, his face distorted with pain, 
 “You cannot realize what this is costing me—what you 
 mean to me!” 
 
 “And do you think there is no price set upon my deci- 
 sion?” asked Narcissa. “Am I a human being of stone? 
 Doesn’t my fire flare to meet yours!” 
 
 She had risen, too, and towered before him, beautiful, 
 tragic, solitary. 
 
 “Oh, Narcissa! Narcissa!” he groaned. 
 
 She struck her hands together against her bosom and 
 fought as she never had fought before. All that was «1n- 
 tamed within her, which had found outlet in her music, now 
 struggled for expression through her feeling for this man, 
 whose intellect, whose power, whose splendid personality 
 so fascinated her. But her will did not fail her; and when 
 she did speak, it was in the words of that Christ whose 
 cause she had pleaded with Pere Demers. 
 
 ““Now is my soul troubled, and what shall I say ?— 
 
“MALBROUCK”’ 303 
 
 Father, save me from this hour?—Nay, for this cause, 
 came I unto this hour! ” 
 
 The Scotchman covered his face with his hands. 
 “Amen!” he groaned. Then, he placed his palms on the 
 table and leaned toward her. 
 
 “Madam Whitman, from the moment Dr. Whitman re- 
 turns home, the protection of the Hudson’s Bay Company 
 is withdrawn from this mission and from all other Prot- 
 estant missions. You shall receive from us no supplies and 
 no support of any character. Also, this day ends the 
 friendship between you and myself. And since you per- 
 sist in ignoring all efforts on my part to dislodge you, I 
 warn you that, if the Indians do not destroy your mission 
 in the next two years, your Board of Commissioners will 
 be moved to recall you. . . . I shall be very grateful if you 
 will have your woman prepare a lunch for Miles and me 
 and we'll be away. I shall send Umtippe on an errand 
 to Fort Vancouver which will keep him occupied about 
 three weeks. I shall take Tom Salmon to Fort Walla 
 Walla. These two acts will end my care for you.” 
 
 Narcissa bowed and left, in search of Mrs. Munger. The 
 Governor went into the yard and tramped restlessly back 
 and forth while the meal was in preparation. To him there 
 came Sarah and Miles, hand in hand. 
 
 “Sir George,’ said Miles, so clearly that Narcissa, 
 smoothing her hair in her bedroom, heard him distinctly, 
 “Sir George, may I marry Sarah Hall?’ 
 
 “You may not, sirrah,” barked the Governor, “unless you 
 take the training I have designed for you and become a 
 British subject!’ 
 
 “Me—a British subject!’ ejaculated Miles. ‘‘What’s that 
 got to do with my making Sarah a good husband?” 
 
 “Everything in the world! Sarah is destined for some- 
 thing more than marriage with a catch-penny, rum-trading 
 
304 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 American. Get our horses, Miles, and save your love- 
 making. We’re away, directly luncheon is over.” 
 
 Miles stared at the Governor, as though he could not be- 
 lieve what he heard. Sarah, who held the Governor in 
 excessive awe, suddenly buried her face on Miles’ shoulder. 
 
 “But I’m an American, sir!’ exclaimed Miles. “I don’t 
 want to be British and I do want to marry Sarah. [Tm 
 sorry to defy you, Governor, but I’m going to marry her!” 
 
 “Sorry to defy me, indeed, sirrah! You young jacka- 
 napes! Sarah, look at me, miss! You'll not marry Miles 
 unless he obeys my behests. Do you understand me?” 
 
 Sarah raised her head and, though she trembled visibly, 
 she spoke up hardily, “ll not marry him till you say lI 
 may, sir, but I’m engaged to him and I love him and I'll 
 never marry anybody else.” 
 
 Sir George gave a short laugh. “Be Gad, you’ve grown 
 up, my dear !—thanks to Miles, eh? Play your pretty game, 
 Sarah, but keep yourself intact for marriage with the Brit- 
 isher I shall find for you.” 
 
 At this moment Narcissa appeared at the door. 
 
 “Luncheon is ready, Sir George,” she said. 
 
 Sarah freed herself from Miles’ arm and flew into her 
 room. Miles turned, chin up, toward the corral, and Sir 
 George followed Narcissa into the dining-room. 
 
 “You heard the conversation with the two children, 
 madam?” asked Sir George, as he took his teacup from 
 Narcissa’s hand. 
 
 “Yes, I heard it,” replied Narcissa, smiling. “I am won- 
 dering, in the light of this morning’s events, if you shall 
 wish to leave Sarah longer with me.” 
 
 “T shall send for her in a few weeks’ time,” replied Sir 
 George, with rigid jaw. “If you wish her to go at once, 
 I'll take her in to the McKinlays at Fort Walla Walla.” 
 
 “I don’t wish her to go at all,” said Narcissa, sadly. “TI 
 shall be entirely desolate without her.” 
 
 3 
 
“MALBROUCK”’ 305 
 
 “T’m just not going!” 
 
 Narcissa and Sir George turned. Sarah was standing in 
 the doorway, eyes blazing. 
 
 “Tm not going! This is the only decent home I ever 
 had. Nobody paid any attention to me for all those years, 
 till I was big enough to be worth something in trade. I am 
 a daughter to Madam Whitman and the doctor. They both 
 say so. If you take me away, I’ll run off with Miles. If 
 you leave me here, I'll do what you say.” 
 
 Something in her defiance delighted Sir George. He 
 chuckled and turned back to his plate. “You’ll do what I 
 say, in any event, mademoiselle! Ah, Miles, you’re late! 
 Make haste, lad!” 
 
 The meal was completed in silence and Narcissa was 
 relieved when it was over. When the two men stood at 
 the door, beavers in hand, she said: 
 
 “T haven’t thanked you, Sir George and Miles, for saving 
 me from my dreadful predicament this morning.” 
 
 “Thanks are unnecessary, Madam Whitman,” said the 
 Governor, bending low over her hand. 
 
 “T’ll be here soon again,” whispered Miles, as he kissed 
 her and followed Sir George out into the yard. 
 
 Narcissa stood in the door and watched them out of 
 
 ight. 
 
CHA Pal Beast 
 
 LOCHINVAR 
 
 HE days were long until Marcus’ return. Sarah Hall, 
 
 alternately ecstatic and depressed, was the one en- 
 livening element at Waiui-lat-pu. Asahel Munger kept to 
 his bed, whether because of bodily weakness or mental, 
 Narcissa could not discover. He was extraordinarily irri- 
 table, but entirely obedient. The few Indians who remained 
 in the camp made no trouble. Umtippe was not seen again 
 for many months. 
 
 Marcus returned in about three weeks. The Walkers had 
 presented Oregon with a baby son, the second white boy 
 born in the Columbia country. All had gone well, but the 
 journey was a long one, and Marcus had been consumed 
 with anxiety about Narcissa. He watched her eagerly on 
 the evening of his return, as she unpacked his saddle-bags 
 for him. She was looking thin, but she seemed otherwise 
 her normal self. He insisted on learning at once all that 
 had occurred at the mission, and she began the account by 
 telling him about little Marshall and the trouble his arrival 
 had precipitated. 
 
 Over the account of Tom Salmon’s attack, the doctor’s 
 face went livid. “Where is the vile hound?” he shouted, 
 starting for the door. 
 
 “He’s in a cell at the fort, waiting for your return,” re- 
 plied Narcissa. 
 
 “Ah!” Marcus paused. “I shall go in there to-morrow. 
 T’ll not leave him to Governor Simpson, I can tell you.” 
 He stood, biting his nails and glowering, by the door. “I 
 shall never go off and leave you again,” he said. “That’s 
 flat.” 
 
 306 
 
LOCHINVAR 307 
 
 “Come and sit down, Marcus,” said Narcissa, gently. 
 “There’s more I want to tell you.” 
 
 As the doctor sat down on the bed, she began to tell him 
 of her night of tears and her determination to go home. 
 Then she told him of the conversation with Pére Demers, 
 of her decision to remain at Waii-lat-pu, and of Governor 
 Simpson’s ultimatum. 
 
 When she had finished, Marcus stared at her, dumb- 
 founded. ‘You would have left me—here—your husband 
 —who would die for you, gladly? Oh! Narcissa! Nar- 
 cissa !” 
 
 “But I gave up the thought!” cried Narcissa. “It was 
 because of baby’s death. Don’t you understand? I’ve only 
 told you of it that you may understand how serious is the 
 stand Sir George has taken against us.” 
 
 “You wanted to leave me for two years—forever—me, 
 who love you so!” repeated Marcus. And, suddenly, he 
 dropped on his knees and, burying his head in her lap, 
 burst into agonizing sobs. 
 
 “Don’t, Marcus! Don’t!” moaned Narcissa, her hands 
 on his shoulders. “Oh, won’t you understand that my 
 thoughts are set here now, far more firmly than they were 
 before I had the temptation ?” 
 
 But, all the years of uneasiness, all the long endeavor, all 
 the frustrated dreams, all the broken hopes, had gathered 
 tremendous weight in Marcus’ heart. Narcissa’s confession 
 had opened a floodgate which could not, at once, be closed. 
 But, at last, yielding to the quiet touch on his shoulders, the 
 doctor regained his self-control and rose. 
 
 “T’ve known all along that I was too rough for you,” he 
 muttered. 
 
 “It’s not that! It’s—” 
 
 The doctor interrupted her. “If you loved me, no hard- 
 ship, no loss could drive you from my side.” He paused, 
 then, “‘Narcissa,” he said, “is there anv hope that vou can 
 
308 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 grow to love me? If there is, stay. If there is not, go— 
 for I can’t endure the torture of living with you, this way. 
 What do I lack, Narcissa? Is it because I’m slovenly? I 
 can change that, and I will. Is it because my manners are 
 rough? I can become as polished as your man, Simpson!” 
 
 “Who knows what breeds love, Marcus?’ asked Nar- 
 cissa, sadly. “I only know that I shall stay here with you 
 and that I’m, oh, so very, very fond of you!” 
 
 Marcus watched her with painful eagerness. “Lately,” 
 he said, “I’ve grown hopeless and careless. But now, I’m 
 going to begin again and make love to you, as if these three 
 years were wiped out and I was courting you in Angelica. 
 And yet, I know that I’m a fool!’ 
 
 “Then you’re a very dear fool!” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 
 Marcus lifted one of her hands to his lips. “God keep 
 you safe for me, my dear wife!’ he whispered. 
 
 The next day Marcus went into Fort Walla Walla, but 
 was back at Waii-lat-pu, in an astoundingly short time, his 
 face grimly content. His reply to Narcissa’s inquiries was 
 terse. 
 
 “Nobody there but McKinlay and his half-breed help. 
 Said Tom Salmon got into a drunken brawl a week ago, 
 with an American trapper, about rum, supplied by the 
 trapper. Salmon was killed and the trapper disappeared. 
 I shook hands with McKinlay.” 
 
 Narcissa stared, wide-eyed, at the doctor. “Do you 
 realize how horrible it is, how callous we all have become? 
 Marcus, this isn’t Christianity !” 
 
 “T know it!” replied Marcus, still with the look of grim 
 satisfaction. “Mr. McKinlay,” he added, after a moment, 
 “wishes very much that after you have got the small Mar- 
 shall into good trim, you’d let him have him. Seems that 
 McKinlay knew the boy’s father very well. He was a 
 Spanish trapper and was drowned a couple of years ago 
 saving a Hudson’s Bay Company man’s life. McKinlay 
 
LOCHINVAR 309 
 
 says he’ll see that the boy’s brought up a Protestant and 
 he'll give him an education. He’d lost all track of him 
 because of the mother’s machinations. I really think you’d 
 better do this, Narcissa. The boy will be a constant source 
 of friction here.” 
 
 “He’s a dear little fellow! I’m already attached to him,” 
 said Narcissa, thoughtfully. “But perhaps you are right. 
 But if he is to go, I’d rather he’d go at once, before I grow 
 any fonder of him.” 
 
 “McKinlay will be passing in a day or so and will take 
 him,” said Marcus. 
 
 Narcissa gave a little sigh of loss, and the child Marshall 
 had ended his brief but dramatic career at Waii-lat-pu. 
 
 What to do with Asahel Munger was a serious problem. 
 Mrs. Munger’s one prayer was that they be allowed to 
 return to the States, but this was not to be thought of, 
 while the man’s physical and mental condition remained as 
 it was. He was so amenable to Narcissa’s control and so 
 extraordinarily useful in his trade, that finally it was agreed 
 that, during the winter, he should work in the mission 
 house, finishing the interior, under Narcissa’s eye and care, 
 and that if his health permitted, he should be sent by ship 
 to the Sandwich Islands in the spring. 
 
 That the Hudson’s Bay Company had washed its hands 
 of the mission did not disturb Marcus as greatly as it did 
 Narcissa. He saw in neither Demers nor Simpson the mys- 
 terious menace that so profoundly affected his wife. Even 
 the Governor’s thrust that he could force the American 
 Board to withdraw them, while it worried him for a few 
 months, was soon half forgotten in the rush of events about 
 him. The mission was extraordinarily prosperous. Their 
 converts increased very slowly, but more and more of the 
 younger Indians were putting in crops and were learning to 
 depend on the mission for their bodily welfare. Marcus 
 snapped his fingers at Governor Simpson. 
 
310 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “And I’m net worrying about Spalding’s tittle-tattle, 
 either,” he assured Narcissa. “With the Walkers and the 
 Eells and Smiths to pick on, to say nothing of the Grays 
 and Cornelius Rogers, he’s bound to give us very little 
 attention.” | 
 
 Narcissa laughed and agreed with him as to Spalding. 
 She did not, however, in the least agree with him as to Sir 
 George Simpson’s impotence. Yet there seemed little to do 
 but to thrust the roots of the mission more and more firmly 
 into the ground and to await the turn of events. The Gov- 
 ernor’s threat to remove Sarah Hall remained unfulfilled, 
 nor did Narcissa believe that Sir George had any real desire 
 to take the young girl away from under her influence. 
 
 During the autumn, the work at Waii-lat-pu grew heavier 
 and heavier. The doctor’s little office or hospital room was 
 seldom empty, for the trappers for hundreds of miles 
 around came to Marcus to be healed. He was also phy- 
 sician-in-ordinary to the Cayuse tribe, or such meager rem- 
 nants of it as did not follow Umtippe to the south. He 
 was the farmer and the provider for the household of six, 
 the lay preacher for the Tuesday prayer meetings and the 
 double service on Sunday. 
 
 But with all the pressure of heavy work upon him, 
 Marcus did not forget his promise to Narcissa. Every 
 dawn found him painstakingly shaving his stubborn beard. 
 And he made an obvious effort to soften his coarse guffaw 
 of laughter, to subdue, in her presence, his slap-stick man- 
 ner with other men and to show her the little courtesies 
 that he had observed were offered her by men of the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company. 
 
 Narcissa was grateful. Yet it hurt her to see Marcus, 
 by nature so big, attempting to win her by means so trivial. 
 She found herself studying Marcus more carefully than 
 ever before. She grew to believe that there was a promise 
 in him that he never had fulfilled and that, she suspected, 
 
LOCHINVAR One 
 
 had caused her to have faith that she would grow to love 
 him. Despite his roughness, despite his careless attitude 
 toward much that Narcissa held dear, there was a force- 
 fulness about Marcus that made most other men seem 
 colorless. He had been destined, Narcissa told herself, for 
 big deeds, for something greater than Waii-lat-pu, so far, 
 had offered him. 
 
 Narcissa’s analysis of her own and Marcus’ problem 
 stopped here. She was too modest to realize that hers was 
 too powerful a personality to give love to one less than 
 herself. She was too modest to realize that, thus far in 
 their married life, Marcus never had shown himself to be 
 her mental or spiritual equal. She paused, after convincing 
 herself of the doctor’s capacity for great accomplishments, 
 and prayed for an opportunity to help him to the fulfil- 
 ment of himself. 
 
 In the fall of 1839, Dr. McLoughlin returned from Eng- 
 land. Marcus and Narcissa longed to see him, but he made 
 no such friendly gesture as before, from Fort Walla Walla, 
 and neither of them was willing to risk a snub by under- 
 taking the trip to Fort Vancouver, which they had promised 
 themselves when the Chief Factor should return. But they 
 heard, late in the winter, through a trapper, that trade be- 
 tween Fort Vancouver and Sitka was open, that the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company had leased ten leagues of the Russian- 
 claimed seaboard, “lousy with sea otter,” and that Mc- 
 Loughlin was sending James Douglas to conciliate the tot- 
 tering Spanish government in San Francisco and to estab- 
 lish trading posts in San Francisco Bay. Narcissa, listen- 
 ing to the trapper’s gossip, eyed the map that had been 
 transferred from the cabin to the parlor of the new house. 
 
 “They will control trade on the Pacific Coast by the time 
 our Congress has ceased bickering over the north boundary 
 of Maine,” she said. 
 
 “Well, we can’t do nothing about it,” said the trapper, 
 
312 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 squirting tobacco juice neatly into the fire, “except to git 
 enough Yankees in here to do up the British. I heerd Jason 
 Lee was doin’ a lot of preachin’ back in the States. Maybe 
 he'll start a caravan coming. I wisht it was so a wagon 
 could come through.” 
 
 Marcus gave the man a quick look, as though he, sud- 
 denly, had come to a determination, but he made no audible 
 comment on either the trapper’s or Narcissa’s statements, 
 A day or so later, however, he asked Narcissa if she would 
 be willing to go with Sarah on a visit to Lap-wai, while he 
 made his way to Fort Boise for the wagon. Narcissa was 
 eager for the wagon to complete its journey, but entirely 
 unwilling to leave Waii-lat-pu to the mercy of the Indians, 
 With Umtippe away, she had little fear of her ability to 
 keep peace. She and Marcus had a long argument over the 
 matter and finally the doctor yielded to her importunings. 
 On a lovely day, in late February, he started on his trip to 
 the Snake, leaving Narcissa at Waii-lat-pu. 
 
 Sarah gave him a last message. “Doctor, if you should 
 see Miles there, tell him I never thought he’d let the Gov- 
 ernor make him break his promise to write me. I don’t 
 see why,” she added, as she followed Narcissa back into 
 the house, “I don’t see why Miles don’t turn British and 
 be done with it. He’s working for the British and trying 
 to learn to be like them.” 
 
 Narcissa looked at the girl in surprise. “But you’ve said 
 so often, Sarah, that Miles mustn’t give up his own country, 
 that you’d have no respect for him if he did.” 
 
 “Well, I’m tired of being high-minded!” retorted Sarah. 
 “I’m tired of watching down that trail for letters that never 
 come. I know now how you used to feel. Only I’m a hun- 
 dred times sadder and more heartbroken. After all, a lover 
 is different from a mother! Oh, Madam Whitman, I’m so 
 miserable! And I’m sick of the thought of Miles Good- 
 
LOCHINVAR 313 
 
 year. I hate him for letting that old Scotchman boss him 
 so! I wish I was dead.” 
 
 Narcissa kissed Sarah’s quivering lips. “What made you 
 hope the doctor might see him at Fort Boise, dear? It’s 
 an improbable time of year for him to be there. I believe, 
 myself, that both he and Sir George are in England.” 
 
 “T didn’t really hope,” replied Sarah. “Fort Boise is a 
 Hudson’s Bay post, that was all.” 
 
 Narcissa said nothing. This was a rare outbreak on 
 Sarah’s part, and Narcissa’s heart ached in response to the 
 misery in her beautiful gray eyes. But she believed that 
 Miles’ long silence could mean only that he was still deter- 
 mined not to agree to Sir George’s alternative, and she 
 gloried in his loyalty, even while she grieved for Sarah. 
 
 Marcus had hoped to complete his trip in a month’s time. 
 By the end of the fifth week of his absence, Narcissa was 
 beginning to feel a little anxious. By the end of the sixth, 
 she had made up her mind to send Charley Compo out as 
 a relief party. On the day Compo was to start, it rained; 
 a heavy downpour, accompanied by a thick mist that ob- 
 scured all views and magnified every sound. Narcissa, 
 standing in the open door, waited with the grim patience 
 which the vagaries of the Indians were teaching her, for 
 Compo to make up his mind to begin his journey; waited 
 for a long hour for the sound of his horses’ hoofs. But 
 this was not the sound that, at the end of the hour, caused 
 her to run suddenly out into the rain toward the east trail. 
 
 She had caught a strangely familiar note. 
 
 Creak! Creak! Creak! 
 
 “Marcus,” she called. “Oh, Marcus!” 
 
 “Coming, Mrs. Whitman,” answered a cheerful voice. 
 
 “That’s Miles’ voice!” shrieked Sarah Hall, flying past 
 Narcissa. 
 
 Two long-eared, nodding heads appeared, then Miles’ 
 
514 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 face, smiling grimly from beneath the canvas of the 
 Conestoga. 
 
 “Where’s the doctor?” cried Narcissa, her heart turned 
 to ice. 
 
 “Here, Narcissa!” called Marcus, faintly, from the rear 
 of the wagon. 
 
 “Thank God! Thank God!” panted Narcissa, running 
 beside the mules. “Draw up to my door, the open one. Is 
 the doctor hurt, Miles?” 
 
 “He'll come through all right,” replied Miles. ‘Whoa, 
 Jennie! Whoa, Jewell!” 
 
 A group of Indians and the Mungers appeared as if by 
 magic. They all talked at once, as Miles and Munger made 
 a chair of their joined hands and carried the doctor into 
 the house, where they laid him on the bed. Narcissa drove 
 every one out of the room, even Miles, and bolted the doors. 
 
 Marcus looked up at her with a smile. “After all, it was 
 Miles and IJ who brought her through, the old lady 
 Conestoga!” 
 
 “What happened?” Narcissa sat on the edge of the bed 
 and chafed Marcus’ rough hands. 
 
 “T got along well enough,” said Marcus, “although it was 
 awful slow going, until I reached the Blue Mountains. 
 Then it wasn’t so bad, because I didn’t follow the Hudson’s 
 Bay pack trail, but the one Miles had told me about, which 
 can be used well enough by wagons. But about fifty miles 
 east of here, the mules slipped off a canyon edge and car- 
 ried the wagon with them. I got the mules up, all right, 
 but I brought on rupture, here in the groin, when I was 
 heaving at the wagon. I could feed myself, but I couldn’t 
 walk or ride. I’d been lying there a couple of days when 
 Frank Ermatinger came up... . Narcissa, he acted like a 
 crazy man!” 
 
 The doctor raised himself on one elbow, gasped with pain 
 and dropped back again. 
 
LOCHINVAR 315 
 
 1»? 
 
 “There! Don’t try to tell me any more now, Marcus 
 exclaimed Narcissa. “You’re here—and the wagon! That’s 
 enough for the present. What can I do to help you?” 
 
 “No, let me finish the story! He ripped through the 
 trees like a bear and shoved the wagon down the canyon 
 again, swearing he’d make kindling wood of it. Then I 
 got mad, Narcissa, and I covered him with my gun. He’d 
 rushed after me from Fort Boise, leaving all his Indians 
 behind him, or I suppose my name would have been mud 
 right there. He’d never thought of me as anything but a 
 cowardly hymn singer, I suppose. Anyhow, he couldn’t do 
 anything but sit and curse me, and I was wondering what 
 on earth to do next, when Miles appeared. Seems he’d 
 been at Fort Hall, for the Governor, and had heard of my 
 visit to Fort Boise and of Ermatinger’s wild rush after 
 me. He’d followed, knowing there’d be trouble. Narcissa, 
 Miles is a man! He made me put down my old gun; then 
 he had a rough-and-tumble with Ermatinger and tied him 
 up, while he got the wagon back on the trail. When he had 
 me packed in under what was left of the canvas, he told 
 Ermatinger that his Indians would be along in a few hours 
 and release him, and then he drove off... . Ermatinger 
 will be here any moment.” 
 
 Narcissa rose. “What can he do, but storm? How about 
 me getting you a warm drink, then helping you into bed, 
 dear?” 
 
 “Fine!” sighed Marcus. “It’s good to be home!” Then, 
 as Narcissa started for the kitchen, “Narcissa, I shaved 
 every morning, even when the pain was at its worst.” 
 
 Narcissa came swiftly back to the bed. “Marcus! 
 Marcus!” she whispered, “sometimes you make my heart 
 ache.” She stooped and, for the first time since their mar- 
 riage, she voluntarily kissed him on the lips. Then she 
 retreated, leaving Marcus to stare with tear-blinded eyes at 
 the ceiling. 
 
316 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 In the meantime, Miles had followed Sarah Hall into the 
 parlor. 
 
 “You never wrote me! You never sent me word,” she 
 began. But Miles, his young face white with feeling, did 
 not offer an immediate explanation. He put his arms 
 around Sarah and drew her slender body against his, 
 kissed her eyes, her lips, her throat, then, still with lips 
 against hers, he whispered: 
 
 “Pére Demers shall marry us to-morrow!” 
 
 Sarah moved her face from his. “How is that pos- 
 sible?” she demanded. 
 
 “Tl explain everything if only, first, you'll tell me that 
 you've had faith in me, that you love me as much as ever!” 
 cried Miles. 
 
 Sarah’s lovely mouth quivered. “I love you. Oh, I love 
 you! But how could I have faith when I didn’t know?’ 
 
 Miles held her from him to gaze at her with tenderly 
 appraising eyes. Sarah’s beauty was startling. Delicate of 
 feature, her only facial heritage from the Iroquois was a 
 certain tragic dignity of expression, infinitely appealing in 
 so young a person. Her body was slender, with the In- 
 dian’s erect carriage and look of poise. 
 
 “But you will marry me, even if I strained your faith?” 
 asked Miles. 
 
 “Yes!” replied Sarah. “But, oh, Miles, how could you 
 treat me so!” 
 
 Miles drew her to him again and answered with his cheek 
 on hers. “I’ve been to England with Sir George. I wrote 
 you, but I suppose I’m here ahead of the letters. Kiss me, 
 darling little Sarah!” 
 
 It was this kiss that Narcissa interrupted. She laughed 
 softly at their scarlet faces. “Children, I’m sorry. But I 
 must ask Miles some questions.” 
 
 “Of course, Mrs. Whitman!” Miles came toward her, 
 leading Sarah by the hand. 
 
LOCHINVAR 317 
 
 Narcissa looked from one to the other. They were very 
 beautiful. Miles had achieved six feet of height and had 
 lost his boyish look of carelessness. His blue eyes were 
 clear and ordinarily a little cold, though now they were 
 deep with tenderness. 
 
 “Ts all well with you both?” asked Narcissa. 
 
 “Yes! exclaimed Miles. 
 
 “Then tell me,” said Narcissa, “if you expect the man 
 Ermatinger here this evening.” 
 
 “Yes, he’ll be here,” replied Miles cheerfully, “to con- 
 tinue his quarrel with me.” 
 
 “What do you wish me to do?” Narcissa returned Miles’ 
 smile. 
 
 “Get Sarah ready for her wedding to-morrow. Sir 
 George has given his consent.” 
 
 “Which means you are giving up your American citizen- 
 ship!’ exclaimed Narcissa. “Miles, how can you?” 
 
 The grim look appeared in Miles’ eyes. “I must. I can’t 
 live without Sarah.” 
 
 “Ah, but you can!” breathed Narcissa. “Do not pay too 
 great a price for your love, dear Miles.” 
 
 “No price can be too great!’ cried Miles. 
 
 Narcissa sighed. “After all, you are only twenty-one, 
 aren’t you?” She thought sadly of her own starved youth; 
 then made herself say, “But, Miles, in after years, to have 
 given up your country—even for Sarah, lovely as she is—” 
 
 “Women are expected to do it right along! What’s so 
 shocking in a man’s doing it?” demanded Miles. “Besides, 
 we have work to do, big work, Sarah and I. She is the 
 granddaughter of the hereditary chief of the Iroquois. All 
 the rest of his family has died out. When I’ve finished 
 my training in England, I’m to go to Oxford House, below 
 York Factory, in Rupert’s Land and—” He paused, as if 
 in response to the sudden eager light in Sarah’s eyes. 
 “You'll be glad of that, Sarah, dearest!” 
 
318 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Glad!” Sarah lifted her oval chin. “It will be going 
 out of the darkness into light!’ 
 
 “Have you told the doctor?’ asked Narcissa. 
 
 Miles shook his head, then turned toward the door. 
 “Listen!” he cried, “I hear Ermatinger’s outfit now!” He 
 started toward the door. 
 
 But Ermatinger strode into the room before Miles could 
 leave it. 
 
 “Sorry to intrude, Madam Whitman,” he exclaimed, 
 bowing to Narcissa, “but I’m belated on my way to Fort 
 Walla Walla and I’ve got a bone to pick with this fellow.” 
 
 “You're a noisy picker, Frank,” said Miles, coolly. 
 “Let’s go outside.” 
 
 “No, indeed, you won’t!” cried Narcissa. “It’s our 
 wagon that has made the trouble. You’re quite welcome, 
 Mr. Ermatinger, to quarrel about it in our house!” 
 
 But the trader was in no mood to respond to Narcissa’s 
 amused smile. 
 
 “This young cat’s-paw! he shouted. “This lick-spittle 
 pet of the Governor! He’s made a monkey of me and I'll 
 have his scalp for it, by God! Come out from behind 
 women’s petticoats, you, before I drag you out. No man 
 can live and do what you did to me.” , 
 
 Miles grunted. “Talk sense, Ermatinger! It was a fair 
 catch-as-catch-can. I’m a younger and stronger man than 
 you, and you know it. What do you want to do? Take 
 me up to Fort Vancouver and let all the Company know 
 that I licked you, or do you want to keep your mouth shut 
 and no one be the wiser?” 
 
 Ermatinger stood glaring at Miles, swallowing rapidly 
 and obviously picturing to himself the discomfiture that 
 would be his, did Miles carry out his threat. When he 
 spoke it was from a new angle. 
 
 “You’re a traitor to the Company, you ‘Boston bastard,’ 
 
 19) 
 
LOCHINVAR 319 
 
 you! You’ve earned your discharge by letting that wagon 
 through.” 
 
 “What’s that you called me?” asked Miles, white to the 
 lips, but not stirring. 
 
 Ermatinger glanced at Narcissa and Sarah, standing side 
 by side before the fireplace and he made a hasty bow. 
 “Beg pardon!” he muttered. Then, loudly, “When the 
 Governor learns how you worked against his policy, he’ll 
 kiss you, I suppose, and raise your pay! Well, you’re going 
 to be fooled, my pretty pet. He’s going—” 
 
 “Oh, dry up, Ermatinger,” interrupted Miles wearily. 
 “The doctor had brought the wagon through, as you very 
 well know. The fifty miles left were easy going. Whether 
 you destroyed the wagon or not, he’d done his job and all 
 the Americans on the Columbia will know it and write 
 back to their friends to follow his trail. What I found 
 was a man with a rupture as big as my fist. I used his 
 infernal old wagon to bring him out after he’d done all 
 the harm he could to our policy.” 
 
 “Our policy?’ sneered Ermatinger. 
 
 “Yes, ‘ours,’ ” insisted Miles. “I’ve made my agreement 
 with Sir George Simpson to become a British citizen and 
 he’s consented to my marrying Miss Sarah Hall. Put that 
 in your pipe and smoke it, be Gad!” 
 
 Miles’ pompous voice suddenly melted to pure boyish 
 bravado. Ermatinger’s eyes started from their sockets. 
 He stared from Miles to Sarah and back again. “Marry 
 her? Do you know who she is? Are you telling the truth, 
 that the Governor has consented?” 
 
 “Do I know who she is?” mimicked Miles. “Do you 
 know who I am, Ermatinger, me buck? Well, I’m the 
 bright young bucko that limped up to Captain Thing on one 
 moccasin, four years ago, and asked him for a job. And 
 I got it! And I’ll tell you a secret, Frank! I’m so much 
 
320 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 smarter than any of those British lads the Governor haa 
 in his service that the Governor’s thinking of giving me 
 his own job, next year!” 
 
 Ermatinger’s lips twitched. “You impudent puppy! It’s 
 your brass that’s got you on with Sir George, and nothing 
 else.” 
 
 “That might be!’ agreed Miles, coolly. “He’s likely to 
 give responsibility to a fool, the Governor! But, while 
 you're talking about who’s what, Frank, let me tell you 
 another secret. My mother’s father or uncle, I can’t re- 
 member which, was Governor of Virginia. And that same 
 governor would have been a duke of somebody if he’d gone 
 back to England. Now, aren’t you proud that I threw 
 you and tied you up, you old beaver stamp?” 
 
 The trader’s twitching lips suddenly expanded into a 
 broad smile. “The devil take your impudence, Goodyear! 
 Well, if you’ll keep your mouth shut, I will. How about 
 you and the doctor, madam, and Sarah Hall?” 
 
 “We'll say nothing, of course,”’ said Narcissa. “And 
 now, is the hatchet sufficiently buried for you to sit down 
 to supper with us, Mr. Ermatinger ?” 
 
 “The hatchet is buried,” returned the trader, “but I must 
 hurry on to Fort Walla Walla. I’m due there to-night, 
 I'll eat as I ride. Good day to you all!” He bowed, half 
 sardonically, Narcissa thought, and left the house. 
 
 “T shall go tell the doctor of the outcome of the visit,” 
 said Narcissa. “If he’s not too tired, I think you two had 
 better come in and tell him about your plan of being mar- 
 ried by Pere Demers.” 
 
 Hand in hand, Sarah and Miles followed to Marcus’ 
 bedside. He listened, with a smile of amusement and sat- 
 isfaction to the account of Ermatinger’s defeat. Then, at 
 a nod from Narcissa, Miles made his announcement. Mar- 
 cus stared at the young man as if he could not believe his 
 ears. 
 
LOCHINVAR 321 
 
 “You have given up your citizenship! You are planning 
 to be married by a priest! I am astounded and disgusted!’ 
 Marcus’ great voice could have been heard in the Indian 
 village. “Look you, young man, this young girl was placed 
 in my care by Sir George Simpson. I am her guardian 
 until she comes of age or he removes me. If you think, 
 for one minute, I’ll consent to her sneaking off with you in 
 this haphazard fashion, you don’t know me, that’s all. And 
 if you think T’ll consent to her being married by a priest, 
 you don’t know me either! Let Sir George send me his 
 written consent, then Tl have Spalding or Walker down 
 here for the wedding.” 
 
 “But, Doctor,” cried Miles, “Sir George is at Montreal! 
 As soon as I can get to him with Sarah, we’re to be sent 
 to England. You’re wrecking a year’s plans by your 
 obstinacy.” | 
 
 “Am I?” shouted Marcus. “And how do I know that 
 you’re not wrecking a girl’s life by your selfish desires. 
 What I say is final, Miles Goodyear !’’ 
 
 “Then we'll act without your consent!” exclaimed Miles. 
 “Come, Sarah!” dragging that gasping young person with 
 him out into the night. 
 
 “Go after them, Narcissa, quickly!” ordered Marcus. 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. “You can’t coerce young 
 things in love, Marcus! We’ve done what we can for 
 Sarah.’ 
 
 The docter jerked himself to a sitting posture and 
 dropped back in a faint. Narcissa ran to his aid. 
 
 But Sarah was not in immediate need of Narcissa’s help. 
 
 “What are you thinking of doing, Miles?” she protested, 
 as the rain swept into her face. 
 
 “T’m taking you to Fort Walla Walla!” he cried. 
 
 Sarah turned quickly into the open door of the school- 
 room. “What a silly-billy you are!” she exclaimed. “One 
 minute you act as wise and cool as a man of forty. The 
 
322 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 next minute, you're like a child, crying for a toy. How 
 can I go off for a twenty-five-mile ride dressed this way?” 
 
 It was dusk in the schoolroom. In the dim light, Miles 
 jerked his head impatiently. “A man’s not expected to be 
 reasonable about love. Get on your wraps, my darling, and 
 let’s be away.” 
 
 Sarah calmly lighted the candle on the teacher’s desk. 
 “’m going to do as Dr. Whitman tells me to,” she said. 
 “IT want a wedding and a pretty dress. If these dear Whit- 
 mans don’t want me to be married by a priest, I’m not going 
 to be. They’ve done too much for you and me, Miles, for 
 us to leave them in this shabby way.” 
 
 “You don’t love me, Sarah Hall!” cried Miles. 
 
 “Don’t I?” asked Sarah. “Didn’t you leave me without 
 sign or word all these months and didn’t I wait for you, 
 my heart aching all the time? Now you come dashing 
 back and expect me to defy these dear kind friends—Alice 
 Clarissa’s mother—” Suddenly Sarah’s girlish voice broke. 
 
 “Don’t, Sarah, don’t!” Miles threw his arms about her. 
 “T tried to get word to you, truly I did! Darling, tell me 
 you love me! Tell me!” 
 
 “TI love you, dear, dear Miles!” kissing him between each 
 word. “But, oh, Miles, I wouldn’t be worth loving if I 
 didn’t put my best friends’ wishes first.” 
 
 “T know,” whispered Miles huskily. “You're right! 
 Only, I’m just so madly in love with you—and all my plans 
 are made—made by the Governor, Sarah. This will turn 
 them all upside down.” 
 
 “Did the Governor tell you to take me, overnight, to 
 Pére Demers, like you planned, Miles?” 
 
 “No-o!” replied Miles, reluctantly. “He said to let Mrs. 
 Whitman arrange matters. But, you see, that struggle with 
 the wagon threw me three days off my schedule. And Sir 
 George is such a wolf about promptness. I thought—” 
 His voice trailed off miserably. 
 
LOCHINVAR 323 
 
 Sarah kissed him again and the two clung, cheek to cheek, 
 a lovers’ silhouette against the candlelight. 
 
 “You will go get the letter from Sir George, will you not, 
 Miles?” whispered Sarah. “And come back for me? As 
 if I were not just a half-breed, but some one worth taking 
 trouble for?” 
 
 Miles suddenly put her from him and looked into her 
 face, intelligence dawning in his eyes. “Oh, I see!” he 
 murmured. “I see what you and the doctor mean.” He 
 lifted his hat from the desk. “I’m starting right now! 
 Supper at Fort Walla Walla at midnight.” He kissed her 
 and rushed out of the door. 
 
 Sarah, tears running down her cheeks, stood beside the 
 candle, listening for his horse’s hoofs. They came and 
 paused before the schoolroom door. Miles rushed in and 
 lifted her in his arms. 
 
 “Good-by, my darling little sweetheart! You are right! 
 But, oh, Sarah, it’s killing me to leave you! It’s like cut- 
 ting out my heart and leaving it at Waii-lat-pu.” 
 
 Sarah clung to him, sobbing. And Miles put his lips to 
 her ear— 
 
 “Good-by, dear little bonne! I shall travel these trails 
 as they were never traveled before. Kiss me once more! 
 One that I’ll feel on my lips till I get back to you!’ 
 
 A long moment of silence, and then a slamming door 
 and the sound of galloping hoofs. 
 
 Sarah blew out the candle. 
 
CHARTER Wovit 
 
 THE BATTLE JOINED 
 
 | 1M feat made only a slow recovery from his injury. 
 It was a month before he was able to resume his 
 usual activities. Fortunately matters at the mission were 
 in an unusual state of quiet. There was, of course, con- 
 stant friction with the Indians, but as Umtippe did not re- 
 turn, there was no outbreak. The Whitmans were much 
 puzzled by the old chief’s non-appearance, until a letter 
 from Miles to Sarah told that he had met the Cayuse at 
 Fort Walla Walla and was taking him to Rupert’s Land 
 that the old chief might get an idea of the power of the 
 “King George men.” Good politics, remarked Miles, and 
 also a method of safeguarding the mission, which con- 
 tained the whole of his heart! 
 
 They heard in June of this year of 1840 that Jason Lee 
 had returned by ship with a large group of Methodist mis- 
 sionaries. Marcus tried all summer to find time for a visit 
 to the mission on the Willamette, but his hands were too 
 full. His mind too, for Spalding’s activities among the 
 American Board missions were so continuous, that it re- 
 quired all the kindliness and finesse which Marcus pos- 
 sessed to keep the various missions from open controversy. 
 In spite of his and Narcissa’s efforts, William Gray and 
 Cornelius Rogers left Lap-wai and during the year resigned 
 from mission work entirely and set up farms for them- 
 selves. Smith, shortly after, was forcibly driven from his 
 mission by the Indians, incited to this overt act by Pere 
 Demers, Smith insisted. He stopped at Waii-lat-pu for a 
 time, a disappointed man with broken nerves. After a time, 
 
 324 
 
THE BATTLE JOINED 325 
 
 stimulated by the Whitmans, he departed for the Sandwich 
 Islands. 
 
 Although for many months after Alice Clarissa’s death, 
 Marcus stoutly maintained that he was indifferent to 
 Spalding’s machinations, he was obliged, after listening to 
 the reports of Gray and Rogers, to admit that there was 
 real danger to the prestige of the American Board mis- 
 sions in Henry’s petty maneuvers. The Methodist mis- 
 sions, specializing more and more in the salvation of the 
 whites and less and less in that of Indians, seemed to be 
 far more harmonious in their inner workings than those of 
 the American Board. To be sure, Jason Lee had been 
 obliged to dispense with the services of the notorious Dr. 
 Elijah White, and that amorous gentleman had returned 
 to the United States to the immense interest and edification 
 of the Columbia countryside. 
 
 But, in spite of this, the mission on the Willamette was 
 prospering inordinately, both in this world’s goods and in 
 political prestige. Narcissa, with a jealous ache in her 
 heart for Marcus, admitted that Jason Lee was the greatest 
 organizer among the Americans in Oregon. It was the 
 Methodist mission that, while the American Board mis- 
 sions were contending among themselves, sent two petitions 
 to Congress, begging it to form a territorial government in 
 Oregon. And it was the mission on the Willamette which 
 kept in close touch with Commodore Wilkes when, with 
 American gunboats, he entered Puget Sound on an explor- 
 ing expedition. Marcus, overworked as a physician, in- 
 adequate as a savior of Cayuse souls, too greatly burdened 
 as a source of supply for his own household and for the 
 unattached and itinerant missionaries who constantly per- 
 colated through the mountains, toiled, always beyond his 
 strength; and it seemed to Narcissa, herself overworked, 
 that always his toil was fruitless and futile. 
 
 The Cayuse were restless and sullen. The few notable 
 
326 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 exceptions could not hide this fact. Nor could their readi- 
 ness to take all and more than the Whitmans could give 
 them of care and sustenance blind Narcissa, at least, to 
 their contempt for the givers of the endless gifts. It was 
 obvious that, as the popularity of the priests on the Co- 
 lumbia increased among the Indians, the unpopularity of 
 all the Protestant missionaries increased also. 
 
 In spite of all the comings and goings, Waii-lat-pu was 
 as solitary as an island in the Pacific. Spalding’s constant 
 aspersions on Narcissa’s character had a dampening effect 
 on the friendliness of the other missionary wives, and the 
 Hudson’s Bay factors shunned the mission as though it 
 were a pest station. This was, to Narcissa, the final touch 
 of loneliness. Miles’ letters to Sarah constituted the mis- 
 sion’s most cheering contact with the outer world. The 
 first one, after he reached Norway House, contained an 
 enclosure from Sir George Simpson. 
 
 “Dr. Marcus Whitman, 
 Waii-lat-pu Mission, 
 Oregon Territory. 
 
 My Dear Sir: 
 
 I am pleased, herewith, to sanction the betrothal of Sarah 
 Hall and Miles Goodyear. You were quite right in refus- 
 ing to allow to take place the hasty marriage urged by 
 young Goodyear. I am sending the impetuous young man 
 to London for the remainder of the year. Next year, on 
 his appearing at Waii-lat-pu, I shall be happy to have you 
 arrange the marriage of the two in whatever way you may 
 think suitable. | 
 
 I remain, my dear Doctor, 
 
 Your obliged s’v’t, 
 GEORGE SIMPSON, 
 
 —Governor of Rupert’s Land, etc.—” 
 
THE BATTLE JOINED 327 
 
 Sarah wept tears of mingled joy and disappointment over 
 this letter. She had not really believed Miles’ declaration 
 that the marriage would be postponed for more than a 
 year. But, after a day or so of moping, she settled to her 
 studies and tasks with good grace. She was preparing for 
 a future more ambitious than she would have dreamed of 
 divulging to any one but Miles. 
 
 Early in 1841, Ewing Young sent for Marcus. The 
 erstwhile “bandit”? was now a successful stockman in part- 
 nership with the Methodist mission, though still an outlaw 
 as far as the Hudson’s Bay Company was concerned. He 
 was a desperately sick man before he sent for Marcus and, 
 although Marcus traveled at top speed in a canoe manned 
 by four Indians, Young died before Marcus reached him. 
 But Marcus attended the funeral and returned to Narcissa 
 with several interesting facts to relate. 
 
 Ewing Young had died possessed of a considerable prop- 
 erty; and after the funeral, the some thirty odd white men 
 who had attended it went into session to form a provisional 
 government and to appoint civil officers who could admin- 
 ister estates, record marriages, births and deaths. The 
 officers had been appointed, but, Marcus reported, Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin had brought bitter opposition against the forming 
 of a government. In this he was abetted by Commodore 
 Wilkes, who had so strongly advised against such action 
 that the attempt had been dropped. 
 
 “But why does the Commodore oppose it?” asked Nar- 
 cissa. 
 
 “He says to wait until Congress acts,” replied Marcus. 
 “But he has become very intimate with Dr. McLoughlin. 
 So we all can judge just how unbiased his opinion is! 
 Narcissa, I wish I could do something to further the 
 American cause here. It’s terrible to think how much time 
 and strength I have given to Spalding’s childish bickering, 
 
328 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 and how little I am doing for this other matter. Can’t you 
 make a suggestion?” 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. “The time will come, Marcus, 
 and when it comes we'll be ready for it.” 
 
 She spoke in such tones of conviction, even of prophecy, 
 that Marcus was more than half satisfied. He drew a deep 
 breath and gave one last bit of gossip before returning 
 to work. 
 
 “A Yankee ship, loaded with barrels of rum, arrived last 
 month and anchored off Fort George, ready for trade with 
 the Indians. Dr. McLoughlin went out and tried to per- 
 suade the skipper to go away, but, of course, that didn’t 
 work. So he bought the entire stock of rum and de- 
 stroyed it.” 
 
 It was Narcissa’s turn to draw a deep breath. “Marcus,” 
 she said slowly, “Miles is right. They know how to 
 govern.” 
 
 Marcus nodded as he repeated her words. “They know 
 how to govern! But,” he added, as he picked up his hat, 
 preparatory to beginning the day’s routine, “but they shall 
 not govern Oregon, nevertheless.” 
 
 The year 1841 ground to an end, prosperously as far as 
 the physical welfare of Waiui-lat-pu was concerned, but with 
 an ever-increasing sense of isolation and of despair over 
 Indian obduracy of character. Early in 1842 came a letter 
 from Miles, announcing that Governor Simpson would set 
 out, in March, for a trip around the world, that he prob- 
 ably would reach Fort Walla Walla in June, and that then 
 the wedding would be celebrated. 
 
 Sarah Hall had long since decided that Henry Spalding 
 was to perform the marriage ceremony. She disliked him, 
 she explained to Narcissa, but he had baptized Alice 
 Clarissa and had buried her. No one else could unite her 
 to Miles. Narcissa kissed her and understood. All during 
 June they awaited word from Miles. Henry Spalding ar- 
 
THE BATTLE JOINED One 
 
 rived about the middle of the month, but it was not until 
 the last day of the month that Miles arrived. 
 
 Narcissa and Sarah were in the schoolroom working with 
 the primer class when faintly from the west trail sounded 
 a skirling of bagpipes: 
 
 “Malbrouck nas gone a-fighting, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, 
 Ah, page, brave page, what tidings 
 From my true lord bring you?” 
 
 The two women, suddenly white of cheek, looked at each 
 other. Then Narcissa dismissed the class and she and 
 Sarah ran toward the west gates. Silhouetted against the 
 pale green of wheat and the pale blue of mist-wreathed 
 mountains, a gay line of riders approached the mission; 
 the pipers at the head, followed by Miles in scarlet coat, 
 bearing the British flag, with H. B. C. on its folds. Then 
 Sir George Simpson and Dr. McLoughlin, ruffles flutter-: 
 ing in the wind, then Archibald McKinlay and Frank 
 Ermatinger, followed by a dozen voyageurs in feathered 
 hats and fringed tunics. Marcus, in calico shirt-sleeves 
 and collarless, hurried from the milking-shed, as Sarah and 
 Narcissa swung open the gates. Henry Spalding came run- 
 ning from the Indian village, where he had been attempting 
 to hold service. 
 
 It was just within the gates that the company dismounted. 
 Sir George bowed over Narcissa’s hand. 
 
 “The wedding guests are here, madam, and not too be» 
 lated, I hope!” 
 
 “Not as long as you bring the bridegroom, Sir George,” 
 replied Narcissa. “Dr. McLoughlin,” turning to the mag- 
 nificent white-bearded figure towering behind the Governor, 
 “it is good to see you again. We have missed you.” 
 
 “T have missed you, madam,” bowed the Chief Factor, 
 kissing Narcissa’s hand. “I was glad of the excuse that 
 
330 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 brought me here. Bless my soul, is that pretty thing little 
 Saran! 
 
 “Yes! I’m so proud of her!” exclaimed Narcissa. “Isn’t 
 she lovely? Sarah, won’t you spare a glance for any one 
 but Miles?” 
 
 Sarah, as pink as her calico frock, came forward and 
 made a curtsy that included the whole company. Then 
 Miles, with the laughing excuse that he must show the 
 bride her ring, led her into the house. It was very evident, 
 thought Narcissa, that -an occasion was to be made of 
 Sarah’s wedding. She was glad that her larder was well 
 stocked and that the wedding cake was mellowing under 
 Mrs. Munger’s guardian eye. 
 
 “Come into the house to supper, gentlemen!’ cried 
 Marcus. “We’ve food for a regiment!” 
 “You perhaps exaggerate our appetites, doctor!’ said 
 
 Factor McKinlay. 
 
 “Not mine!” declared Sir George. “Madam Whitman, 
 will you not permit the wedding to take place while supper 
 is preparing? I must leave Fort Walla Walla at dawn 
 to-morrow and will be glad if this task, pleasant as it is, 
 takes but a couple of hours.” 
 
 “Certainly, if you so wish it,” replied Narcissa, not to 
 be outdone in urbanity. 
 
 She allowed Marcus to lead the Governor, with Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin and Archibald McKinlay, into the parlor, while 
 she hurried in search of Sarah. 
 
 In the parlor, the little group of men, with Miles and 
 Henry Spalding standing by the center table, waited in 
 almost unbroken silence for the bride’s appearance. She 
 wore, when at last Narcissa brought her in, Narcissa’s own 
 wedding dress, brought down to Sarah’s size. 
 
 “Oh, you are lovely! Lovely! exclaimed Miles, im- 
 petuously, as he took her hand. Dr. McLoughlin began 
 an elaborate compliment, but Henry Spalding interrupted. 
 
THE BATTLE JOINED oo 
 
 “Dearly beloved—” he began abruptly, and there was in- 
 stant silence in the room. 
 
 Narcissa, standing beside Marcus, was moved, as a 
 woman always must be, by this most moving ceremony of 
 human life. And yet, she was acutely conscious of the 
 drama suggested by these men gathered in the mission 
 parlor. Sir George stood with his gray eyes on Spalding’s 
 sallow face, something sardonic, something infinitely sad in 
 his expression. He was on his way around the world. 
 What delicate and invaluable thread was he about to weave 
 into the British fabric of empire, she wondered. And what 
 fatal turn had he been able to give to her and Marcus’ 
 destiny before leaving on a journey that would take him 
 away for two years from the control of immediate events 
 in Oregon? He was not a man to make idle threats. Nar- 
 cissa was certain that he would not have come back to 
 Waii-lat-pu, even to Sarah’s wedding, had he not been con- 
 vinced that he had already defeated the mission cause. It 
 was with a mingled sense of wistfulness and defiance that 
 her glance turned from the Governor to Dr. McLoughlin. 
 
 The Chief Factor was not looking either at the clergy- 
 man or the bridal pair. He was eyeing Sir George as a 
 watchdog eyes one whom he trusts but does not like. It 
 seemed to Narcissa that there was something less arrogant, 
 even less sure of himself in McLoughlin’s bearing than had 
 been there when she first knew him. She wished she could 
 know what had happened to the White Headed Eagle on 
 that trip to London. 
 
 Marcus slipped warm, work-roughened fingers around 
 hers and she looked up at him with a smile of trust and 
 affection. Here, at least, she could rest without suspicion 
 or fear. 
 
 “And God keep you in mutual love:and understand- 
 ing !”’ 
 
 Spalding closed his prayer and suddenly, to Marcus’ vast 
 
332 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 amusement, kissed the bride. A moment later, Mrs. 
 Munger announced supper. 
 
 It was after this very gay meal, during which the pipers, 
 stationed in the dooryard, played Scotch airs to a throng 
 of enchanted Cayuse, and during which Marcus and Dr. 
 McLoughlin vied with each other in telling stories of out- 
 landish bridals they had known: it was after this that Nar- 
 cissa, slipping away to finish Sarah’s packing, was accosted 
 in the schoolroom by Sir George. 
 
 He took Sarah’s books from Narcissa, then detained both 
 her hands in his. | 
 
 “You are wondering why I came, and with this retinue,” 
 he said, abruptly. 
 
 “Yes!” Narcissa returned his gaze clearly. 
 
 “It was necessary,” he said, “to make Dr. McLoughlin 
 understand the importance I attach to this wedding.” 
 
 “And to make us feel,” added Narcissa, with a little 
 smile, “that your threats are about to be realized.” 
 
 “Yes!” exclaimed Sir George, his tanned cheeks flushing. 
 “TI come to beg of you, Narcissa, once more, and for the 
 last time, to leave here while yet you can do so with colors 
 flying. You are not to be permitted to continue here. For 
 God’s sake, go of your own volition and while McLoughlin 
 can still control the Cayuse.” 
 
 “Ah! breathed Narcissa, her eyes very wide and very 
 blue in the candlelight. “I knew as much! ... Sir George, 
 I cannot go!” 
 
 “Cannot? And why?” watching her intently. 
 
 “All that has been best in my life has died and is buried 
 here in Oregon. Even the old ache for Angelica has been 
 replaced by deep preoccupation with what has come to me 
 here—come and gone. I have no desire to run from my 
 destiny, Sir George. And you know, quite as well as I, 
 that Waii-lat-pu is my destiny.” 
 
 The Governor drew a deep breath. “And are all your 
 
THE BATTLE JOINED 333 
 
 dead buried under the cottonwoods yonder, Narcissa?” 
 
 For a moment Narcissa feared that she was going to 
 weep. All her dead? Dear God, no! Only the dearest 
 flesh of her flesh lay in that little grave heaped over with 
 rock against the wolves. She choked back a sob and, look- 
 ing into Sir George’s face, she answered him in a low 
 voice. 
 
 “All my dead?” she said. “When my every waking hour 
 is haunted by dead thoughts, dead dreams of what might 
 have been, dead passions and dead mad hopes, none of them 
 ever to know the decency and peace of burial? Look into 
 your own soul, Sir George, and answer your own question.” 
 
 “But what shall you do, Narcissa? What shall you do? 
 I shall never see you again, perhaps. Will you not give 
 me some assurance of your safety?” 
 
 “You have done your duty, you tell me,” returned Nar- 
 cissa quietly. “You must not ask me to do less than mine.” 
 
 Sir George slowly relinquished her hands and, looking 
 suddenly unutterably weary and unutterably overburdened, 
 he turned away from her and returned to the noisy dining- 
 room. And, after a moment’s battle with herself, Narcissa 
 picked up Sarah’s books and carried them to the bedroom 
 where, pink-cheeked and star-eyed, Sarah awaited her. 
 
 The bride was dressed in a dark blue riding habit. Her 
 belongings—there was no large amount of them—were 
 packed on the waiting pack horses. One after another, the 
 company bade Narcissa farewell, mounted and followed the 
 pipers out the gates onto the starlit trail. 
 
 “Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, 
 Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 But when will he return?” 
 
 . . . Dimly the silver mirage of the ranges and faintly, 
 more faintly, voices and pipes blending: 
 
334 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, 
 And so we sing the glories 
 For which great Malbrouck bled!” 
 
 Leaning on the gate, Narcissa strained her eyes after 
 those far diminishing figures until Marcus’ hand on hers 
 roused her and she went in to help Mrs. Munger clear up 
 the remains of the wedding feast. 
 
 They missed Sarah every hour of the day, even though 
 those hours were filled, as they never before had been, with 
 work. Mrs. Munger gave birth to a little daughter in July 
 and so Narcissa was deprived, not only of Sarah’s assist- 
 ance, but, for the most of the summer, of Mrs. Munger’s 
 as well. But she was glad that every waking moment was 
 full. 
 
 One September afternoon, Trapper, now grown to a 
 sedate doghood, announced as clearly as dog could, that 
 strangers were coming along the east trail. Narcissa, at 
 work in the schoolroom, as usual, gave no heed until 
 Marcus called her from the dooryard; then she hurried 
 out. 
 
 A long trail of packhorses and oxen, led by a man on 
 horseback, was halting at the great gates. Men, women and 
 children slid from their mounts, and as each emaciated 
 beast was thus released of its burden, it dropped with a 
 groan to the ground. The leader, a bearded man with 
 rather a heavy cast of feature, strode up to Marcus. 
 
 “I am Dr. Elijah White,” he announced. “I’ve been ap- 
 pointed sub-Indian agent by the American Government, and 
 I’ve come out to investigate Indian conditions. I’ve brought 
 with me a hundred and twenty immigrants, who want to 
 settle on the Willamette. We are almost starved. What 
 can you sell us?” 
 
 “We can’t sell you anything, according to American 
 
THE BATTLE JOINED 335 
 
 Board ruling,” replied the doctor. “But we can give you 
 some good fat steers to butcher, fifty bushels of potatoes and 
 enough flour to give you all a couple of bakings of bread. 
 Camp your folks down there by the cottonwoods near the 
 mill.” 
 
 Dr. White turned to the exhausted immigrants and re- 
 ported Marcus’ offer. There was a feeble cheer. Beasts 
 were kicked to their feet and Marcus eagerly led the way, 
 while Narcissa, half carrying a woman with a new-born 
 babe, brought up the rear. 
 
 It was night before the Whitmans ceased ministering to 
 Dr. White’s forlorn cavalcade. When, however, every one 
 had been fed, Marcus asked White for news from the 
 States. 
 
 “And come to the house while you talk, doctor,” Marcus 
 suggested. “I know my wife is tired and the confusion 
 here is awful. We aren’t used to many folks around, you 
 know.” 
 
 “Be glad of a little peace and quiet, myself,” ejaculated 
 Dr. White. ‘‘Let me bring Amos Lovejoy along. He’s a 
 Boston lawyer who’s made this trip out of curiosity. He’s 
 a smart fellow and can tell you more than I can. I'll bring 
 your letters, too.” 
 
 He appeared shortly in the mission parlor, with a tall 
 young man, dark of hair and eye, who sighed with pleasure 
 as he sank into one of the buffalo-hide chairs. Dr. White 
 gave Marcus a little bundle of letters, which Marcus laid 
 aside to be read when his guests should leave. 
 
 “What’s Congress doing?’ he asked. “What’s England 
 doing about Oregon?” 
 
 “Lord Ashburton and Daniel Webster are completing a 
 treaty which will settle the boundary question before Con- 
 gress adjourns next March,” replied Lovejoy. 
 
 “What is to be the boundary of Oregon?” asked Nar- 
 cissa. 
 
336 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Report has it,” said White, “that England will possess 
 everything north of the Columbia.” 
 
 “But Congress will never ratify such a treaty, surely! 
 cried Marcus. “They can’t plead ignorance of the possi- 
 bilities of Oregon now, after the work Lee and my old 
 traveling mate, Parker, have done.” 
 
 “You'd think half of them never heard of Oregon,” re- 
 plied Lovejoy. “I did hear that Jason Lee had presented 
 some petitions to Congress and men like Representative 
 Cushing of Massachusetts and Senator Linn of Missouri are 
 strong advocates for our holding all we can of the territory. 
 But there are politics within politics. President Tyler him- 
 self is said to want to give Great Britain all north of the 
 Columbia down to 36° 30’. You see”’—rising and pointing 
 to the map—‘‘that will give us San Francisco and Monterey. 
 I understand that Lord Ashburton, after much advice from 
 a certain Sir George Simpson, the Hudson’s Bay Governor, 
 has implied that England would agree to such a decision. 
 Mexico is really just a dependent colony of Great Britain 
 now, financially speaking.” 
 
 “IT want California, all right!’ exclaimed Marcus, “but 
 I want Oregon too. There’s no logical reason for our not 
 having both. If Daniel Webster and President Tyler only 
 knew what they were relinquishing!” 
 
 “They must know,” said Dr. White. “My heavens, I’ve 
 talked my head off in Washington! But Congress is too 
 much for them. And after all, when it comes to making 
 the treaty, we haven’t got much standing. We claim this 
 section by right of discovery. Well, maybe we did discover 
 it, but England, through the Hudson’s Bay Company, has 
 done all the real work on it. She’s got the voters here, 
 unless my caravan will overbalance them.” 
 
 “But surely, Mr. Lovejoy,” said Narcissa, turning to the 
 lawyer, “you are not reconciled to our giving up this great 
 section ?” 
 
 3 
 
THE BATTLE JOINED O37 
 
 “No, I’m not reconciled, but I think we’re helpless and 
 had better be satisfied with what we can get by compromise. 
 By March, Congress will have ratified the treaty.” 
 
 Marcus suddenly brought his fist down on the table. 
 “T’m not satisfied!” he shouted. “I’m going to see Jason 
 Lee at once and put my shoulder to his in forming a real 
 American government here. We'll see if that won’t put a 
 spoke in England’s wheel when she comes to take over.” 
 
 “You're too late for that to help,” said Lovejoy. “You'd 
 better be philosophical about it, Dr. Whitman. And now, 
 I know you wish to get at your letters. If you’ll excuse us, 
 Mrs. Whitman, we'll take ourselves off to bed.” 
 
 “There are many things I want to ask you about,” re- 
 plied Narcissa, “but I know you’re very tired. Dll ask them 
 in the morning.” 
 
 The two men bowed themselves out, leaving Marcus ex- 
 citedly repeating: 
 
 “T’ll not be reconciled without a fight, Narcissa! Tl 
 not !” 
 
 “Nor I,” agreed Narcissa. “If it were spring, I’d say 
 we ought to send a petition to Secretary Webster at once. 
 But with winter coming on—” 
 
 “A petition!” snorted Marcus. “Why, Jason Lee’s been 
 presenting petitions and memorials and entertaining ex- 
 plorers ever since he settled on the Willamette and what 
 good has it done?” 
 
 “Helped educate the public more than we can realize, I 
 suspect,” replied Narcissa. “Marcus, read your letters from 
 the American Board.” 
 
 Marcus took the missive from Narcissa, broke the seal 
 and read the letter aloud, then dropped it on the table, while 
 he and Narcissa stared at each other as if paralyzed. 
 
 The American Board ordered the closing of the missions 
 of Lap-wai and Waii-lat-pu. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 
 
 HE blow had fallen. The apprehension, the uncer- 
 
 tainty, the sense of impending disaster that so long 
 had haunted Narcissa, these were ended now in certainty. 
 Mingled with her anger and grief over the letter was a 
 curious feeling of relief. At last the battle was joined. 
 
 Marcus looked at her, unseeingly. “Close the mission!” 
 he repeated. “But we can’t!” 
 
 “Certainly, we can’t,” agreed Narcissa. “The Board has 
 no idea of what it’s doing. It’s been systematically de- 
 ceived, first by Henry Spalding, then by Sir George or his 
 agents. We've Henry to thank for the fact that the minds 
 of the Board were entirely prepared to believe the worst of 
 us. You see, the letter says that the dissensions among 
 our members have undermined our usefulness. They were 
 ready to explode when Sir George touched the trigger!” 
 
 Marcus drew a long breath. “Narcissa, if our missions 
 are closed, Oregon will go Catholic. Lee can’t, alone, out- 
 weigh the priests. The Board, even after all I’ve written 
 them, doesn’t understand that.” 
 
 “And if it goes Catholic,” added Narcissa, “it also goes 
 British. Marcus, let’s get William Gray to take charge here 
 while you and I go to Boston next spring and make the 
 Board understand.” 
 
 Marcus’ somber eyes brightened, then he shook his head. 
 “The Board would be so angry at the expense of such a 
 trip that we’d defeat our own purpose.” 
 
 “That’s true,” agreed Narcissa. “T’ll give up any thought 
 of going. That halves the expense at one blow.” She 
 
 338 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE oh, 
 
 tapped the table with thoughtful fingers, her eyes on the 
 dying fire. 
 
 “IT must call a meeting of all the members as soon as 
 possible,” said Marcus. 
 
 “Yes,” Narcissa nodded, “but we must have a plan to 
 present to them.” She rose and began to pace slowly up 
 and down the room. 
 
 How to meet the crisis adequately ; how to turn the evil 
 which had befallen them to a great good, commensurate 
 with the suffering and sacrifice of the years. Her answer 
 to this, Narcissa told herself, would prove whether or not 
 she and Marcus were failures, not only as missionaries— 
 and she was willing to grant that as such they had not suc- 
 ceeded greatly—but also as citizens and as pioneers. 
 
 Marcus had begun to write his notices of the meeting, 
 when, with a little cry of excitement, “Oh, Marcus! 
 Marcus!” Narcissa took the quill from his fingers and 
 caught both of his hands in hers. The doctor looked up, 
 startled by her unusual vehemence. Her blue eyes were 
 burning, her cheeks vivid. 
 
 “Marcus, don’t wait for spring! Go now, over the route 
 that William Gray and Frank Ermatinger took, then the 
 winter storms won’t matter so much. Go now! But go 
 first to Washington and tell the President and the Secretary 
 of State what they are giving away with Oregon. I know 
 Jason Lee has done what he could, but, Marcus, you do 
 more! See President Tyler, see Daniel Webster! Make 
 them understand. Don’t wait for spring, Marcus! Oregon 
 will belong to England by then!” 
 
 Still holding Marcus’ hands, her lips and voice quivering 
 with excitement, Narcissa gave him no chance to reply, 
 though he jumped to his feet, eyes blazing. 
 
 “Then go on to Boston, Marcus, and make the Board see 
 that, though we have few converts, we stand here as out- 
 posts against the advance of the Jesuits. They will respond 
 
340 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 to that. I know those men! Oh, Marcus, do this! Do 
 this and I will feel to you as I’ve never felt before.” 
 
 Marcus caught his breath and suddenly pressed both her 
 hands against his heart. “You mean,” he whispered, “that 
 success such as that would make you love me?” 
 
 “T can’t promise that, can I?” asked Narcissa, half tear- 
 fully. “But Marcus, I cannot love where I cannot look up 
 to aman. You never have fulfilled the unconscious prom- 
 ise of bigness you made to me. Oh, Marcus, fulfil it 
 now !” 
 
 A great light suddenly flooded Marcus’ mind. Still hold- 
 ing his wife’s hands against his heavily beating heart, he 
 stood silent for a moment, while new understanding and 
 new purpose welled high within him. Then, as if he were 
 making a holy vow, he bowed his great head and mur- 
 mured: 
 
 “T’ll fulfil it now, so help me God.” 
 
 The next day White started on toward the Willamette 
 with his weary train. Lovejoy, however, did not go with 
 him, but remained at Waii-lat-pu to rest and to answer 
 Marcus’ and Narcissa’s innumerable political queries. He 
 was interested keenly in the doctor’s proposed trip and to 
 the delight of both the Whitmans he volunteered to accom- 
 pany Marcus on his journey. 
 
 Marcus had set the earliest possible date for the meeting. 
 On September twenty-sixth, Walker and Eells, Spalding and 
 Gray, gathered at Waii-lat-pu. The meeting was a long 
 and a stormy affair, with the bitterness of resentment and 
 chagrin of all his confréres turning against Henry Spalding. 
 Marcus, Gray, Eells and even the gentle and diffident 
 Walker, spoke their minds freely and at length on Spal- 
 ding’s share in the catastrophe. 
 
 Henry, at first, attempted to combat them, but only at 
 first. The fact that his machinations had turned into a 
 boomerang for his own destruction had a most wholesome 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 341 
 
 effect on the combative clergyman. And at last he wept, 
 acknowledged his sins and begged for forgiveness. 
 
 From that moment the meeting held a more hopeful tone; 
 and when Gray suggested that a joint letter be written to 
 the Board, telling of the reconciliation and asking that the 
 stern orders for disbandment be reconsidered, the sugges- 
 tion was made a motion and carried unanimously. 
 
 It had required the best part of two days to reach this 
 point. It was nearing supper-time of the second day when 
 Marcus said quietly: 
 
 “I'd like to present that letter in person to the Board!” 
 
 There was a gasp of surprise and disapproval. 
 
 “You cannot return to the States without the consent of 
 the Board!” declared Eells. 
 
 “Your mission will be destroyed by the Cayuse if you 
 leave it,’ said Walker. “You know very well that they 
 only await opportunity.” 
 
 Narcissa, who had, as the rules of the society required, 
 remained silent hitherto, now broke her silence. 
 
 “I will stay here and carry on the mission work,” she 
 said. “Let the doctor go.” 
 
 “Yes, let him go!’ cried Henry Spalding. “He will 
 plead for us as our letter cannot.” 
 
 “Tf I go”—Marcus spoke carefully—“TI shall visit Wash- 
 ington and try to see the President and Secretary of State. 
 Perhaps it’s not too late to make them want to keep Oregon, 
 instead of swapping it for cod-fishing banks.” 
 
 His words roused a storm of protest, the burden of which 
 was that he was a missionary and not a politician, that the 
 Board would never consent to his performing such an 
 errand and that he was not to waste his energies as Jason 
 Lee had wasted his. 
 
 Henry Spalding, however, to the Whitmans’ surprise, 
 stuck persistently to Marcus’ side. Gray, too, after a few 
 moments of thought, said with a chuckle: 
 
342 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “Down with the Hudson’s Bay Company! Go ahead, 
 doctor, I’m with you!” Then he buttonholed Elkanah 
 Walker and began so vehement an argument with that 
 gentle soul that Walker literally threw up both hands and 
 half groaned: 
 
 “Doctor, do anything you wish! Go to Sitka, while 
 you're at it and persuade the Russians to give us the coast 
 as far as Behring Straits!” 
 
 Every one laughed at this, and with the laugh Cushing 
 Fells capitulated, adding as he did so a word of warning. 
 
 “Do you fully realize your danger, doctor? I’ve heard 
 that the Sioux are on the warpath against the Flatheads. 
 So you can’t go through Flathead country.” 
 
 “If I can’t go that way, I’ll use the Oregon Trail,” re- 
 plied Marcus, coolly. “If I start within a week, I’m sure 
 I can get through the Rockies before the big snows come.” 
 
 “Shall you go with only Indians for company?” asked 
 Gray. “That’s never wise.” 
 
 “T know,” replied Marcus. “But I’m very fortunate. 
 Mr. Lovejoy has agreed that if I go, he’ll go back with me 
 and help me to bring out a train of immigrants next spring; 
 selected, religious folks who will settle near our respective 
 missions.” 
 
 “T ain’t going to hold supper another minute,” said Mrs. 
 Munger, putting her head in at the door. And the men, 
 laughing, followed Narcissa to the dining-room. 
 
 Innumerable details of Marcus’ trip were discussed dur- 
 ing the meal, and many suggestions were made for safe- 
 guarding Narcissa during his absence. Because of poor 
 Asahel’s mental instability, it was necessary to find another 
 man to stay at the mission. At first, it seemed as if it would 
 be very difficult to find any one, but finally it was decided 
 to ask a young man named Geiger, an old friend from An- 
 gelica, who had settled on the Willamette, to bring his wife 
 and take charge of the mission farm. And each of the 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 343 
 
 missionaries volunteered to visit Waii-lat-pu as frequently 
 as possible. There was much discussion of what Marcus 
 should say to the American Board, and many messages for 
 relatives and friends. 
 
 When supper was finished, every one fell to writing let- 
 ters to be intrusted to the doctor, and until late that night 
 only the scratching of half a dozen quills disturbed the quiet 
 of the house. 
 
 The next day, the visiting missionaries hurried back to 
 their stations, and Marcus plunged into preparations for 
 his departure. 
 
 His greatest anxiety was over what Umtippe might be 
 inspired to do during his absence. The old chief had been 
 in wretched health for the past year, too ill, in fact, for 
 mischief. Under Marcus’ care, he had improved suff- 
 ciently to be able to leave, late in September, for the Salt 
 Lake country, where he always spent the winter. If he 
 lived to return in the spring,—Marcus shuddered each time 
 this thought returned to him. What the old Cayuse would 
 do in the spring, when he learned that the doctor would be 
 absent until fall, was a matter on which Marcus dared not 
 speculate. 
 
 Narcissa pooh-poohed at his fears and worked furiously 
 to complete two sets of double-weight flannel underwear for 
 the doctor. The dog, Trapper, observing the extended 
 preparations for a journey, barked and panted and fol- 
 lowed Marcus about all day. Observing this, Narcissa said 
 the evening before the doctor and Lovejoy were to leave: 
 
 “Marcus, I wish you’d take Trapper with you. I’d feel 
 better if you would. MHe’s a splendid hunter and a won- 
 derful trail-finder. He'll be as useful in many ways as a 
 man.” 
 
 “But, I couldn’t hope ever to bring him back to you, 
 Narcissa,”’ protested Marcus, deeply touched. “And he’s so 
 dear to you because of baby.” 
 
344 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “It’s because of her I want you to take him. She loved 
 him so. I have the most curious feeling that she and 
 Trapper both will be guarding and guiding you. Won’t 
 you, Trapper?” turning to the dog, who stood between the 
 two in an agony of interest, his eyes fixed now on Marcus 
 and now on Narcissa, tail wagging, tongue slavering. 
 “Won't you, old dog?” repeated Narcissa. 
 
 Trapper rushed to Narcissa and dropped his head on her 
 knee, while he stared up at her with adoring, brown eyes; 
 then he hurried over to Marcus, pawed at Marcus’ high 
 boots, and barked. 
 
 There were tears in the doctor’s eyes as he laughed. 
 
 “Tl take him, dear!” he said and went on, soberly pack- 
 ing his saddle-bags. 
 
 At dawn the next morning, October third, Lovejoy 
 mounted his horse and, leading the two pack-mules, started 
 slowly along the east trail, thoughtfully leaving Marcus and 
 Narcissa alone for their last farewell. Marcus folded Nar- 
 cissa in his arms and gave her a long kiss. He was beyond 
 speech. Narcissa clung to him as one clings to a life raft, 
 then she summoned all her courage and thrust him gently 
 from her. 
 
 “God keep you for me, Marcus,” she whispered. 
 
 Face working, he turned to his horse, leaped into the 
 saddle and spurred him toward the great gates. Trapper 
 barked joyfully and followed. Narcissa stood in the door- 
 way, until the mists of early morning swallowed the tiny 
 cavalcade. 
 
 It was four hundred miles to Fort Hall. The Blue 
 Mountains were already well snow-covered, as was most 
 of the upland country over which the Oregon Trail twisted 
 and turned. It was a far better marked trail than it had 
 been six years before, and for that and for many other 
 reasons they made much better speed than had been made 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 345 
 
 on that earlier journey. They reached the fort in eleven 
 days; that is, in ten days of travel, for Marcus would not 
 move on Sunday. 
 
 Changes, as Marcus knew, had taken place in the man- 
 agement of the post. Captain Thing had been replaced by 
 Captain Grant, a cordial, pleasant-mannered Englishman 
 who, however, had bad news for Marcus. The Pawnees 
 and the Cheyennes, he said, were on the warpath, and his 
 trappers were hurrying in from the east to save their fur 
 pelts and their lives. Three trappers coming in, on this 
 first evening at the fort, corroborated what the factor had 
 said and added that a terrible winter was impending. The 
 hair on pelts never had been so thick, buffalo and deer were 
 deserting well established winter grazing fields and were 
 moving rapidly down to lower levels, and already snows in 
 the mountains had attained at least two-thirds of their 
 ordinary winter level. They laughed at Marcus when he 
 told them he planned to reach St. Louis that winter. No 
 white man, they declared, could live through such an under- 
 taking. . 
 
 Sitting around the roaring fire in the trading store, 
 Marcus and Amos Lovejoy discussed the matter at length 
 with Captain Grant and the trappers, the two Americans 
 becoming every moment more convinced that to go east or 
 north was impossible. On the wall across the room hung 
 a map of the western half of the continent, a duplicate of 
 the map Narcissa had borrowed from Fort Walla Walla. 
 Marcus, during the discussion, jumped to his feet and, 
 taking a candle, went to examine this map. To the south 
 of Fort Hall, parallel forty-two was indicated; below this, 
 west to the Pacific and east to the Arkansas River, all the 
 territory was labeled Spanish Mexico. Except on the west 
 coast and to the south, where Santa Fé was indicated, with 
 Taos just above, the map showed no settlements or trails. 
 
346 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Two forts were marked on the east side of this Spanish- 
 Mexican territory, Fort Uinta and, southeast of this, Fort 
 Uncompahgre. 
 
 “How far is it from here to Santa Fé?” asked Marcus, 
 of the room at large. 
 
 There was a sudden pause in the conversation round the 
 fire. Men looked from Marcus to the map, and from the 
 map at one another. A half-breed Spanish trader, humor- 
 ously known as Don Pedro, finally replied: 
 
 “Must be a thousand miles. It cannot by any means be 
 traveled in winter. Are you a stranger to our winters?” 
 
 A general guffaw greeted these remarks. Lovejoy joined 
 Marcus before the map. 
 
 “T was wondering,” explained Marcus, “if we couldn’t 
 reach Santa Fé by way of those two forts, Uinta and Un- 
 compahgre, and on down the Rio Grande, to Taos and Santa 
 Fé. By Santa Fe trail to St. Louis would be no trouble 
 aeralie 
 
 Before Amos could reply Don Pedro strode across the 
 room. “Look!” he cried, sweeping a brown hand down the 
 east side of the map. “Here are the worst peaks in all the 
 Rockies, terrible ranges, awful rivers, even in summer. In 
 winter, ice, snow, storms—” 
 
 “Hold on! Hold on, Don Pedro!” shouted Marcus. 
 “Let’s talk facts. How would you go through in summer ?” 
 
 Don Pedro studied the map, during which process the 
 three trappers and Captain Grant joined the group. Finally, 
 after much deep breathing and muttering, the Spaniard 
 pointed to a north-and-south lying range of mountains to 
 the east of Great Salt Lake. 
 
 “You go down Bear River valley to the lake. You go 
 south along the east side of the lake, to about here. Then 
 you turn northeast to a pass in this great range, a terrible 
 pass. You work up here, out of Spanish territory, to 
 Bridger’s fort. From Bridger’s fort you go south into the 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 347 
 
 Uinta Mountains. There you find the headwaters of the 
 Uinta River. You follow this river south till you come to 
 Fort Uinta.” 
 
 “But why go clear back up to Bridger’s fort?” asked 
 Lovejoy. 
 
 “One always does,’ replied Don Pedro. “From Fort 
 Uinta you follow the White River till you cross the valley, 
 ReLC. 
 
 “No you don’t, my friend,” interrupted a French trapper. 
 “You go up to Green River.” 
 
 “What does a sack of paper like you know of this Spanish 
 country?’ demanded Don Pedro, calmly. “You leave the 
 White River here and cross a range and there you find the 
 Grand River. This you follow to the Uncompahgre valley 
 and find, at this point, the fort. From here you work south- 
 east, to seek through most terrible ranges the headwaters 
 of the Rio Grande. This stream found, you follow it to 
 Taos and Santa Fé.” 
 
 “And you say I cannot do it in winter?’ asked Marcus. 
 
 “Never,” declared Don Pedro. 
 
 “But I say he can!” cried a new voice. A young Nez 
 Percé pushed his way up to the map. “My father went 
 through there years ago. He had heard of wonderful 
 white strangers in a hot winter country. All declared he 
 could not do it... But he did. More than that, he did it 
 again and took me with him. I can guide you, doctor! I 
 will—” 
 
 A chorus of hoots and imitations of cock crowing 
 drowned the Indian’s last sentence. He strode angrily back 
 to the fire. Thither Marcus followed him, took him by the 
 shoulder and led him again to the map. 
 
 “Come, be a friend, Jo!” begged Marcus. ‘And you too, 
 Don Pedro! Trace a trail for me as carefully as you can.” 
 
 It was nearly midnight before, with fierce argument be- 
 tween themselves and constantly interrupted by questions 
 
348 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 from Marcus and Amos Lovejoy, and by suggestions and 
 criticisms from the others, Don Pedro and Jo marked a trail 
 on the map Marcus drew from one of his saddle-bags. It 
 was the copy Narcissa had made long before on linen, of 
 the Fort Walla Walla map. 
 
 Before the two Americans rolled in their blankets near 
 the fire that night, Jo, the Nez Percé, had agreed to guide 
 them to Santa Fe. And had Jo agreed to take them into 
 Hades, it would have caused no more derision and been 
 looked upon as a no more insane exploit. Marcus would 
 not for one moment admit, even to himself, that the average 
 of chances were not in his favor. To be sure, his impul- 
 siveness had led him to make the decision, but sober 
 thought did not suggest that he retreat. He had a physi- 
 cian’s knowledge of his own extraordinary physical endu- 
 rance. For years, his medical calls had been giving him 
 training in traveling under terrible conditions. He believed 
 that a cool head, warm clothing, an ax and plenty of am- 
 munition would see a man safe over the worst trail. 
 
 For a moment he had been troubled about Amos Lovejoy 
 and, before they slept that night, he told the young lawyer 
 that he feared he hadn’t the strength for the journey and 
 suggested that he return to the Columbia. But Lovejoy, 
 even in this short time, had developed a fanatical faith in 
 Marcus. He wished to go with him. He very much de- 
 sired that Daniel Webster be told, by a man like Marcus 
 Whitman, the truth about Oregon. And he believed that 
 two men had a better chance to get to Santa Fé than one, 
 
 It was necessary to give Jo time in which to make ready 
 for the trip. So they put in the following day resting, 
 studying the map and asking questions on geography of 
 the Indians and trappers. At dawn on the second morning, 
 their thirteenth day out from Waii-lat-pu, they set out 
 from Fort Hall, with Jo and three pack-mules, to say noth- 
 ing of Trapper, who was obviously enjoying every moment 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 349 
 
 of the expedition. There was no snow in the valley, but 
 the hills through which Narcissa had wandered six years 
 before were deep with it and the Bear River was fro- 
 zen. 
 
 They made rapid progress through the Bear River val- 
 ley, with its long reaches of marsh lands, where they shot 
 enough duck to keep them in meat for two weeks. When 
 they reached the mouth of the Bear, they turned due east, 
 toward the Wasatch Mountains, and here, as they reached 
 an elevation of seven thousand feet, the thermometer 
 dropped and their first blizzard overtook them. They were 
 fresh, however, and took this first serious encounter with 
 winter, jovially. The snows were deep, but they made the 
 crossing of the Wasatch range without great difficulty and 
 tescended into the valley that separated them from the 
 Uinta Mountains, a full day ahead of the schedule marked 
 out by Don Pedro and Jo. Their supplies still were ample, 
 so they did not swing north to Bridger’s fort but made 
 directly for the headwaters of the Uinta River, to the 
 southeast. 
 
 The whole country had now taken on a winter aspect. 
 The valley which they were crossing had an elevation of 
 nearly seven thousand feet and was covered by a foot of 
 snow. The mountains that hemmed it in were heavily tim- 
 bered, but the valley, save for the willows that fringed its 
 many brooks, was barren. They found many deer and 
 antelope trails as well as wolf, and as they began the climb 
 into the Uintas, Trapper had an encounter with a porcupine 
 and held up the party for an hour, to Jo’s disgust, while 
 the doctor extracted the worst of the quills from the dog’s 
 lips. 
 
 The peaks of the Uintas ran up to something over thir- 
 teen thousand feet, and the pass that Jo found for them 
 was well over nine thousand. Fortunately, none of the 
 three leading the reluctant horses and mules through the 
 
350 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 heavy drifts knew this. They only knew that they were 
 very high because breathing was difficult, the cold intense 
 and Lovejoy’s nose bled. They crossed the pass at noon 
 and swung to the right, down a precipitous mountain side, 
 to search for the headwaters of the Uinta River. Jo 
 promised them that Fort Uinta was now not more than two 
 days’ travel away. But on the morning of the day that 
 should have landed them at the fort, a heavy snowstorm 
 and zero temperature greeted them. They struggled on by 
 eompass for a few miles, then Jo shouted in the doctor’s 
 ear: 
 
 “Must camp! My horse is lame! Lovejoy is sick with 
 cold.” Reluctantly, as always, Marcus agreed to the halt. 
 He grudged every moment of daylight that was not spent 
 in travel. The knowledge that he was working against 
 time drove him like an overseer’s lash. In the serene 
 warmth of a Washington October, he told himself, Lord 
 Ashburton and Daniel Webster, with a supine Congress, 
 were mulcting the nation of an empire. And only he and 
 Lovejoy, held by the fury of a blizzard in the Rocky Moun- 
 tains, it seemed to him, were lifting a hand to prevent the 
 irremediable loss. He wished now, very poignantly he 
 wished, that he had done more to uphold Jason Lee’s hands 
 during the years. He might have accomplished much. And 
 he wished too that he had had time to advise with Lee 
 before leaving on this mad journey. 
 
 The blizzard held them in camp for three days. When 
 it ceased and they started on their way, they were obliged 
 to break trail through six feet of snow. They took turns 
 at this, a half hour to each horse and rider. It was ex- 
 hausting work to man and beast and they were five days 
 in reaching the Uinta River, instead of two. This rapid 
 stream was only partially frozen and by following its bed 
 they were able to make speed. In forty-eight hours, they 
 staggered up to the gates of a tiny log fort and were wel- 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 351 
 
 comed by its astounded owner, one Roubideau, a French 
 trader from St. Louis. 
 
 Roubideau begged them to spend the winter with him, 
 although with the tiny fort aswarm with French and 
 Spanish trappers with their squaws, it was difficult to dis- 
 cover where three more human beings could have been 
 stored. But the French trader’s plea was based on some- 
 thing other than fear of the weather. He was expecting 
 an attack at any time from hostile Utes and would be glad 
 of the help of the newcomers to combat it. Also, with 
 Utes on the warpath, he cheerfully prophesied that a trio 
 of scalps would depend from some Ute belt a day after the 
 travelers left his fort. 
 
 Marcus laughed. “Come! Come! You can’t frighten 
 me by dangling scalp-locks! I’ve lived among the Cayuse 
 too long. Sell me some tea and jerked beef, Brother 
 Roubideau and let me awa’, as the Scotch say.” 
 
 “Your friend needs rest, Doctor, if you and Jo do not!” 
 The trader jerked his head at Amos Lovejoy, who was 
 shielding his frosted face from the heat of the fireplace. 
 
 “I am perfectly well, except for the frost bite,” declared 
 Lovejoy as Marcus looked at him anxiously. “How many 
 days to Fort Uncompahgre, Monsieur Roubideau?” 
 
 “Only the Good God can tell you that in this weather,” 
 replied the Frenchman. “Maybe three hundred miles. In 
 summer, perhaps three weeks. Now—” he shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 “Then let’s waste no time in thinking about it, Doctor 
 My frost bites feel better in the wind than before a fire, I 
 do assure you.” Amos grinned cheerfully. 
 
 “You've got the makings of a trapper in you, monsieur!” 
 exclaimed Roubideau. “Come, I'll give you a good meal 
 and set you on your way.” 
 
 On their way, indeed! Jo led them slowly but surely to 
 the Green River, which they crossed at a ford where the 
 
Doe WE MUST MARCH 
 
 rush of water carried horses and mules off their feet, and 
 ‘Trapper, howling with fright, scrambled from the icy cur- 
 rent to the top of a mule pack, where his hair instantly con- 
 gealed in a thousand icicles. But with braying of mules 
 and whinnying of horses, they all scrambled ashore through 
 broken ice cakes and after infinite difficulty, got a fire of 
 driftwood going and dried their frozen clothes. Then on 
 east to the White, a tributary of the Green, and along the 
 White for three comparatively easy days, then south, fol- 
 lowing a small creek flowing into the White. 
 
 They were passing now through canyon country, where 
 the streams had worn the great levels into a thousand wind- 
 ing crevices, on the brinks of which the horses halted, 
 sweating with fear. Lovejoy, weary and straimed as he 
 ‘was, halted many times a day to exclaim over the weird 
 beauty, the fiendish cruelty of the landscape. Peaks and 
 canyons of orange, purple, black and vermilion, now half 
 ‘veiled with snow, now swept naked by the unending winds, 
 took the place of the strange blue valleys and the bronze- 
 green, spruce-clad slopes of the Uinta range. 
 
 “Gorgeous country!” shouted Amos, above the wind, a 
 dozen times a day to Marcus. 
 
 “Can’t compare with the country round Waii-lat-pu!” 
 Marcus would reply invariably, his inward eye envisaging 
 each time, Narcissa with a fur-draped cradle beside her, 
 and the ranges behind her. Strange how the years since 
 the baby’s death had become as nothing! 
 
 After a few days, canyon country began to give way to 
 ranges rising higher and higher on the east. The directions 
 on the map told them to keep west of these ranges, and still 
 work south. But the eighth day after leaving Fort Uinta, 
 they came upon the body of a trapper, horribly mutilated. 
 Jo pronounced it Ute work and declared in favor of moving 
 ‘into the ranges at once. They gave the stock a last good 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 353 
 
 feeding of the grass still to be obtained in the valleys by 
 scraping away the snow, and turned abruptly east. 
 
 Now came two weeks of nightmare traveling, while they 
 fought their way south through the ranges in search of the 
 Grand River to which they had been told the Uncompahgre 
 was tributary. Jo never for a moment admitted uncer- 
 tainty, but Marcus felt many doubts as to the Nez Percé’s 
 knowledge of the country through which he was leading 
 them. The stock began to suffer from hunger, there was 
 little grass, and the bark of cottonwood and willow was 
 poor fodder for animals working as they were. Trapper 
 throve well on cottontails, and the men were comfortable 
 enough as to food. But frightful cold and the climbing in 
 the great elevations wore them down terribly. At every 
 stop now Amos did not exclaim over the beauty of the 
 landscape. Instead, he fell fast asleep, much to Marcus’ 
 and Jo’s anxiety. They feared the worst for him, should 
 he be separated from them for an hour. 
 
 Of Jo, both the white men had grown very fond by the 
 time they had known him a fortnight. He was, as Marcus 
 told Lovejoy with a rueful chuckle, everything that the 
 Cayuse were not; gentle, hard-working, affectionate, and 
 humorous. And, as it turned out, he knew the way to 
 Fort Uncompahgre, for on the morning of the twenty-third 
 day out from Fort Uinta, as they followed the course of 
 a frozen stream toward its source, blue smoke suddenly 
 belched from a snow-bank not a quarter of a mile before 
 them. | 
 
 “Indians!” ejaculated Amos. 
 
 “Fort Uncompahgre!” grinned Jo. “I told you I knew 
 him !” 
 
 They urged the tired animals forward. Shortly a chorus 
 of dogs greeted them, and Trapper ran forward to make 
 personal observations. Marcus tied a grimy white hand- 
 
354 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 kerchief to the muzzle of his gun and waved it as they 
 approached what at first seemed a huge snowdrift, but 
 which a little later showed itself to be a snow-banked log 
 stockade, with gates closed, and Trapper barking insolent 
 comments before it, to the dogs within. 
 
 As the three pulled their horses up the river bank, how- 
 ever, the gates were opened and a short man in a buffalo 
 overcoat came out, his black eyes above his shaggy beard 
 bulging with astonishment. 
 
 “Who in the name of God are you?” he gasped. 
 
 Marcus explained, while half a dozen trappers appeared 
 in the gateway. 
 
 “Come in! Come in!’ shouted the trader, midway in the 
 explanations. “My name is Le Bret. You’re just in time 
 for dinner. Those cattle of yours need oats, but I can’t 
 give it to ’em. But there’s plenty of mountain hay stacked 
 in the corral. Come in, gentlemen. Nobody can come from 
 Fort Uinta here in the winter, but [ll take your word 
 TO 16." 
 
 They remained two days with the hospitable Le Bret, 
 eating and sleeping and waking to eat again. He did all 
 that he could to dissuade them from crossing the Great 
 Divide, which he told them separated them from the waters 
 of the Rio Grande. But, in spite of hardships, and exhaus- 
 tion, their accomplishments so far had been so great, that 
 all three of the travelers were a bit heady. They now were 
 certain that they would win through with no greater suf- 
 ferings than they already had undergone. 
 
 They left Fort Uncompahgre on a brilliant morning in 
 late November, refreshed themselves and with fresh horses, 
 for Le Bret had been willing to take their exhausted 
 mounts in trade. The mules, which still were in fair con- 
 dition, they kept. 
 
 Four days out from the fort, they crawled up upon a 
 verdureless tableland and halted for observation, Behind 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE oa: 
 
 them, to the northwest, lay the snow-peaked valley of the 
 Uncompahgre. Before them, to the southeast, lay a vast 
 area of high, sharp peaks, close set, verdureless. By some 
 curious alchemy of the great elevation, the snow that cov- 
 ered them to their crests appeared a brilliant blue of a 
 deep sapphire tone, while the sky behind them was a deli- 
 cate, translucent green. As they stood discussing the pass 
 which they must discover through these peaks, Jo pointed 
 to a scarcely perceptible vapor rising from the nearest 
 peaks. 
 
 “They're making snow. We must get off this butte be- 
 fore the blizzard strikes us.” 
 
 He urged his horse into the wind. Amos and Marcus, 
 who had learned that Jo was an almost infallible weather 
 prophet, followed without protest, although it was dinner- 
 time. They were two hours crossing the tableland. By that 
 time the peaks were hidden in whirling snow clouds, and, 
 as still heading east, they began to drop down the steep and 
 heavily drifted butte wall, the biting particles of snow were 
 stinging their cheeks. ‘The horses fought persistently to 
 turn their tails to the wind, so slowing down their progress 
 that the three men dismounted, tied the stock nose to tail 
 and, with Jo leading, Marcus and Amos bringing up the 
 rear, they wallowed as best they might to the foot of the 
 butte. Here was a clump of cottonwoods, offering fodder 
 for the animals. Behind a flying buttress of rock they 
 pitched the tent and prepared to wait with what patience 
 they could the passing of the storm. 
 
 Three days of impatience spent in beating down the snow 
 around the tent, lest it be drifted completely over, and in 
 keeping a rough corral open among the trees for the stock. 
 Fortunately, there was plenty of firewood; and while 
 Marcus restlessly paced the open space under the trees, 
 Amos Lovejoy crouched close to the fire and wrote his 
 diary and Jo and Trapper curled in the tent and slept. 
 
356 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 The morning of the fourth day dawned clear and wind- 
 swept. They hurriedly broke camp and endeavored to work 
 round the foot of the butte. The snow made this impos- 
 sible. They agreed to climb back to the top of the butte, 
 cross its top, southward, and try for the south rather than 
 the north pass, through the peaks. 
 
 They reached the butte top at noon. And as each man, 
 leading a horse and mule, reached the final level, he threw 
 himself down on the bare, frozen rocks. Such a scream- 
 ing, fiendish tempest of wind was rushing across the table- 
 land that neither man nor beast could endure it. Without 
 a word, Jo crept back to the trail they had just ascended 
 and the others followed. 
 
 Back, once more, in the cottonwood camp, they rebuilt — 
 the fire, ate supper and silently went to bed. Something in 
 that sinister wind had depressed them all. But the next 
 day at dawn they repeated yesterday’s attempt and, al- 
 though the wind was still high, it was so much lessened 
 that they crossed the butte and had worked, by sundown, 
 well into the ranges to the south. For several days they 
 fought through the canyons and steppes that characterized 
 the lower reaches of those strange sapphire peaks. The 
 going so fatigued both men and animals that Marcus was 
 obliged to decree two days of rest. 
 
 They made camp in a canyon in which there was a thick 
 growth of spruce, with much dried grass under the snow 
 and with a deep little river running beneath thick ice. 
 Trapper at once routed out a jack-rabbit, and Jo, weary 
 though he was, found a fresh deer slot and announced that 
 he’d bring in venison for supper. Marcus made camp, 
 insisting that the exhausted Amos go to bed at once on the 
 pile of spruce boughs he quickly cut and spread in the 
 tent. Amos slept without waiting for food and Marcus sat 
 by the fire listening for Trapper’s bark or for the report 
 of Jo’s gun. 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE S54 
 
 The afterglow died and the moon rose before a sound. 
 broke upon the solitude. It was an unusual and uncanny 
 sound—a low whine from Trapper, who trotted dejectedly 
 into camp and scratched at Marcus’ knee. 
 
 “What’s wrong, Trapper boy?” asked Marcus. 
 
 Trapper whined again, and turned back on his own trail 
 with a very evident invitation for Marcus to follow. 
 Marcus picked up his gun and hurried after the dog, his 
 heart sinking with premonition of evil. Not twenty minutes 
 from the camp, Trapper stopped with a howl. Marcus 
 wallowed through the snow to the dark object over which 
 the dog was standing. It was Jo, with an arrow through 
 his heart. 
 
 Marcus groaned and looked about the canyon. It was 
 narrow, and there were no trees here, so that the snow 
 was brilliant in the moonlight. He made a short tour, look- 
 ing for footprints. But as he could find none, he concluded 
 that the arrow had come from the top of the canyon, and 
 this conviction was enhanced by the fact that Jo’s scalp had 
 not been taken. Nor should it be, Marcus told himself, 
 fiercely. He hurried back to Jo, got the poor, inert body 
 hoisted onto his own broad shoulders and made back for 
 the camp. 
 
 Amos was still asleep. Marcus carried Jo’s body to the 
 edge of the river where he had earlier broken a hole from 
 which the animals could drink. Into this hole he silently 
 dropped the Indian’s body and the swift current sucked it 
 smmediately from sight. He picked up Jo’s musket and 
 powder horn and bore them back to the tent. 
 
 Marcus was terribly shaken. The implications to be 
 drawn from Jo’s sudden taking off entirely overturned the 
 feeling of confidence the past weeks had been breeding in 
 the doctor. There was a hostile Indian in the neighbor- 
 hood. Perhaps there were several Indians. They were 
 without a guide at the very worst point in their journey. 
 
358 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 He dared not try to cross the Great Divide without a guide. 
 
 Although he was sure that Jo’s murderer had located the 
 camp and that such precautions were useless, he kicked out 
 the fire, then roused the weary Lovejoy and, as easily as 
 ne could, told him of the evil that had befallen them. Amos 
 took the news with characteristic calm. 
 
 “What do you think it best for us to do, doctor?” he 
 asked. 
 
 “We'll take our two days’ rest here, then go back to 
 Fort Uncompahgre for a guide,” replied Marcus. “I’m 
 sure we’d be able to find our way back.” 
 
 “Doctor,” said Amos slowly after a moment’s thought, 
 “you'd better go back and leave me here. I would only 
 hamper you, I’m so done up. Take the best of everything 
 and make the trip as comfortably as you can.” 
 
 “And leave you at the mercy of the brutes that killed poor 
 Jo, I suppose!” cried Marcus. “No! No, old man!” 
 
 “T’ll be no more at their mercy than you on the trail,” 
 replied Amos. “Be reasonable and not sentimental, doctor. 
 Leave me here, and if the Indians don’t ‘pot shot’ me, Ill 
 be fit as a fiddle for the big crossing. Is your strength 
 equal to such added strain, doctor ?” 
 
 “Yes,” said Marcus, thoughtfully. He knew that Amos’ 
 strength was not equal to such a mad, fushing trip as he 
 contemplated. Yet he could not but feel extremely uneasy 
 at the idea of leaving the young lawyer alone. But, as a 
 matter of fact, he had no choice but to agree. “I'll give 
 the horses another day, then I'll start,” he said. “That 
 is, if Indians don’t finish us! There’s no use in trying to 
 keep guard, except for what old Trapper will do. I’m 
 going to sleep, Lovejoy.” 
 
 Not five minutes later, except for the thud of the live 
 stock’s hoofs as they dug the snow away from the sweet, 
 wild grass, there was not a sound in all the camp. 
 
 Whoever had murdered Jo evidently had been sated, for 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE ope, 
 
 the time being, at least. Marcus slept and ate, alternately, 
 all the next day, and added a twelve hours’ sleep the next 
 night for good measure. Before daylight, he was on his 
 way back to Fort Uncompahgre. Trapper was left to keep 
 Lovejoy company. 
 
 That was, in a way, the maddest portion of that extraor- 
 dinary journey. Freed of all responsibility to guide or 
 friend, Marcus made no attempt to find their former trail, 
 which certainly had been erratic enough to be well worth 
 avoiding. He traveled by compass and, contrary to all 
 rules, he kept out of the valleys and well up on the heights 
 from which the eternal winds swept the snows. He suf- 
 fered intensely from cold as a consequence and froze his 
 feet so badly that he was obliged to abandon his boots, into 
 which he could not thrust his swollen toes, and take to 
 moccasins. These, with their parfleche soles, were so slip- 
 pery that he crossed all icy stretches, when off his horse, 
 on his hands and knees. Of Indians he saw no trace. 
 
 After the first day or so, he slept a good deal in his 
 saddle, so that much of his trip was hazy to him. And yet, 
 on the fourth day he dismounted at the gate of the fort. 
 
 It required many hours of cajolery to induce a Mexican, 
 the only possible guide, to go back with him. This man, 
 a native of Santa Fé, was anxious to return to his home, 
 but not at all anxious to undertake the rigors of a winter 
 trip thither. However, when Marcus had agreed to pay 
 him a hundred dollars in gold, he capitulated; and after a 
 single day of rest and with a fresh horse, Marcus started 
 back for Amos. 
 
 Amos said nothing in his diary of the loneliness of his 
 long wait in that solitary camp. Yet what a profound soli- 
 tude it was, and how strange and desolate his situation 
 must have seemed to this city dweller! And he must have 
 wondered, too, if those easy gentlemen in the nation’s 
 Capitol could be made to take one whit more interest in 
 
360 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 the empire northwest of the Rockies, because of this un- 
 believable journey. Trapper, during those endless days, 
 must have been more than a human being to Amos Lovejoy. 
 
 The meeting between the two men was a silent one. 
 Marcus’ frosted fingers would not permit a handshake. 
 Lovejoy put his hands on Marcus’ shoulders, and the two 
 men smiled at each other. Then Marcus introduced Juan 
 and fell to work on the venison stew that steamed over the 
 fire. When he had finished this and a rapid account of his 
 trip at the same time, he said: 
 
 “We're three weeks behind schedule now. If Congress 
 adjourns early our efforts have all been for nothing.” 
 
 “We'll make up time when we reach the Santa Fé trail, 
 I’m sure,” said Amos. “I’m so fit now that I won’t hold 
 you back. But, doctor, you ought to put in a few days here 
 getting your feet in shape.” 
 
 “Not a minute!’ exclaimed Marcus. “My feet aren’t so 
 bad since I took to moccasins. We'll leave before daylight 
 in the morning.” 
 
 And leave they did, just as long streamers of red from 
 the rising sun flared news of the coming day across the sky 
 above the canyon. 
 
 Juan was not the gentle, companionable soul that Jo had 
 been, but he was a better guide than Jo, for the simple 
 reason that he knew the country better. He led them un- 
 erringly up and up into the high-flung passes of the Great 
 Divide, up and up, until for many days the only sign of 
 living thing, other than themselves, was an eagle silhouetted 
 against the western sky one desolate noon. Less than rab- 
 bits, in the blue and white grandeur, they must have seemed 
 to the eagle looking down on them from steady pinions, less 
 than pack rats, moving with agonizing slowness over the 
 purple magnificence that spread beyond the uttermost reach 
 of that eagle’s gaze. 
 
 Imperceptibly they moved, leaving behind them one of 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 361 
 
 the mules with a broken neck, clinging to each other, for 
 snow blindness affected them at times. Yet, always moving 
 and never turning back, they saw at last before them, in- 
 stead of endless peaks, long, snow-choked valleys stretching 
 southward. And they began their descent toward the upper 
 waters of the Rio Grande. 
 
 They had had no luck whatever in finding game while 
 crossing the Divide, and had eaten up their store of jerked 
 beef and pemmican. In fact, the last day of the crossing 
 was made without food. They were not worried, however, 
 for Juan assured them that game would be plentiful once 
 they dropped to the river valley. But events proved that, 
 while Juan knew his trails, he could not know that this 
 winter of 1842-43 was to go down in history as one more 
 destructive to wild animals than any since recorded. The 
 cold in the upper Rio Grande valley was almost insupport- 
 able. And not so much as a jack-rabbit could they find to 
 eat. They pushed on for another day and then, reluctantly, 
 Marcus killed one of the mules. 
 
 And that night a ravening pack of wolves appeared, de- 
 voured all of the carcass save the few pieces cooked and in 
 the tent, and disappeared before Trapper’s frantic barking 
 and the growls of the wolves themselves could rouse the 
 men from exhausted slumbers. 
 
 They pushed on feebly for two days more, and then 
 made camp beside the black ice of the Rio Grande. Marcus 
 dared not move away from driftwood until they had food. 
 With warmth and water death could be stalled off for some 
 time to come. They dared not kill one of their horses. The 
 last mule could be spared only by abandoning all that they 
 had not lost already of their baggage. Juan, who was 
 carrying a bundle of furs to Santa Fé, which he valued at 
 a fabulous sum, was particularly urgent that the mule be 
 spared. For the major portion of the mule’s pack now 
 consisted of Juan’s pelts. 
 
362 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Marcus respected the little man’s desires as long as he 
 dared. But when they had been in camp on the Rio Grande 
 for a day and Amos Lovejoy had become too weak to load 
 his gun, Marcus announced that the mule must be sacrificed. 
 
 Juan, squatting with the Americans beside the fire, looked 
 up with a scowl in his ugly, dark face. 
 
 “No!” he snarled. “Kill the dog first.” 
 
 “Good heavens, no!’ Marcus shouted, staring at the 
 Mexican as if he could strike him. 
 
 Quick as thought, Juan drew his hunting knife and 
 plunged it to the hilt in the heart of the sleeping dog, who 
 lay curled in a gray knot beside the fire. With a back- 
 handed blow, Marcus knocked Juan over, took the knife 
 from him, then seized him by the throat. Weakened though 
 he was, Marcus still was worth three of the Mexican. 
 
 With infinite difficulty, Lovejoy staggered to his feet. 
 There was murder in Marcus’ contorted face, and the 
 Mexican, without a knife, was as helpless as a child in the 
 doctor’s great hands. : 
 
 “Doctor!” shouted Amos. “Your wife would not have 
 itso. 0 elect him go.) 
 
 Marcus, without loosening his grip on the choking man, 
 turned his head toward Amos. “That was my baby 
 daughter’s dog!’ he snarled. 
 
 “Tt won’t bring Trapper back to have murder on your 
 hands. Nor it won’t help your cause with Waii-lat-pu, nor 
 Oregon,” urged the lawyer quickly. 
 
 Slowly Marcus took his fingers from the Mexican’s 
 throat, turned him and gave him a kick that sent him 
 sprawling. Then he stooped over the motionless dog. 
 
 “You don’t know all he meant to Narcissa and me,” he 
 said brokenly. 
 
 “IT can guess,” replied Lovejoy, quietly. “He was alone 
 with me two weeks, back yonder, remember?” 
 
 Marcus straightened himself and looked about him. In 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 363 
 
 every direction mountains pressed upon them. In every 
 direction, snow and desolation, and the infinite brutality of 
 the wastes. 
 
 “I'd like to bury him,” he murmured, “but that’s impos- 
 sible. He must go as poor Jo went.” 
 
 With great difficulty, for his strength was spent, he gath- 
 ered in his arms the gray body so pitifully emaciated, and 
 staggered to the river bank where a water hole was kept 
 open. He broke the new film of ice and dropped Trapper 
 into the black rush of the current. Then he dragged him- 
 self back to the fire and dropped down beside Lovejoy. 
 Amos put his mittened hand on Marcus’ shoulder. 
 
 ““He should have died, hereafter,’ ”’ he quoted, gently. 
 
 And this was Trapper’s epitaph. 
 
 When he had recovered sufficient strength, Marcus shot 
 the remaining mule and forced the still trembling Juan to 
 butcher it. Here was food for many days and, after two 
 days of hearty feeding, they were able to continue on down 
 the river. Behind them, they left as a passing monument 
 to Trapper’s burial place, a pile of furs and all their extra 
 clothing, including Marcus’ broadcloth coat. 
 
 Juan, more anxious than ever to reach his destination, 
 led on with his same unerring skill. The going was fright- 
 ful and, after the mule meat gave out, they suffered again 
 for food, though an occasional rabbit and once a wolf kept 
 them from actual breakdown. On the fifteenth of De- 
 cember, emaciated, ragged, hungry, they reached the Mexi- 
 can settlement of Fernandez de Taos. 
 
 Here, to Marcus’ infinite chagrin, they were obliged to 
 rest for two weeks. Marcus’ frozen feet demanded care, 
 and both he and Lovejoy were suffering from snow-blind- 
 ness and exhaustion. Juan deposited them in a little adobe 
 hotel, from which, had one cared to look, there was a won- 
 derful view of the seven-tiered pueblo dwelling of the Taos 
 Indians. But Lovejoy was too ill and Marcus too uneasy 
 
364 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 to give more than a passing thought to this, their first 
 meeting with the Indian of the desert. The Mexican who 
 kept the hotel was a kindly and voluble soul. He fed his 
 guests on peppery dishes, found new horses for them, and 
 introduced them to the priest, who knew no English and 
 less French! 
 
 They reached Santa Fé without serious difficulty. This 
 old town was the headquarters of Kit Carson and other 
 well-known plainsmen and Marcus had hoped here to get 
 recent news from Congress. But no one had a word for 
 him. They stayed only a day, then with a new guide swung 
 out on the Santa Fe trail on the last lap of their journey. 
 Eight hundred miles to Westport. 
 
 They must travel northeast now, toward Bent’s Fort, 
 which was on the Arkansas River near the present town 
 of La Junta, Colorado. The hardships they endured going 
 through the mountains of New Mexico were extreme. 
 Even Lovejoy, in his diary, spoke of the almost unendurable 
 cold and of their despairing of their lives, at one point, 
 where the guide lost the way in a raging blizzard, and only 
 the wisdom of one of the pack-mules led them back to the 
 trail in safety. Still, they made the two-hundred-mile trip 
 in record time. They were nervous about hostile Indians, 
 although their guide assured them that the really dangerous 
 country lay beyond Bent’s Fort. But they met no living 
 soul on the trail until they were within four days of Bent’s 
 Fort, when a long pack train wound along the trail and its 
 leader drew up and returned Marcus’ salute. 
 
 He was George Bent, brother of the owner of the fort, 
 en route to Santa Fé with freight. He was much impressed 
 when he learned of their trip through the Rockies, but 
 warned them that it would not be safe for them to attempt 
 the trip between the fort and Westport, Missouri, unless 
 they went with an armed pack train. Such a train was on 
 the eve of leaving the fort, he said, adding: 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 365 
 
 “Tf you move rapidly you may overtake them.” 
 
 Marcus looked at Amos Lovejoy, whose weary face told 
 of an exhaustion his lips would not. 
 
 “You go ahead, doctor!’ exclaimed Amos. “If I put 
 this horse to the gallop, both he and I will fall to pieces!” 
 
 “But to-morrow’s Sunday,” mused Marcus. “I’ve never 
 traveled on Sunday. However—” with a sigh, “surely this 
 is justified. I'll not waste a moment, either, in starting.” 
 He shook hands with George Bent. ‘Do you know whether 
 Congress has done anything about the Oregon boundary ?” 
 
 Bent shook his head and turned in his saddle to wave his 
 arm at his waiting pack train. The last laden mule had not 
 passed out of sight before Marcus had made up a small 
 pack of food and was ready to start. 
 
 “Amos, we'll meet at St. Louis in late spring. You know 
 all that I want you to do about notifying folk that I’m 
 ready to lead a caravan out in June. Tell them to come in 
 wagons! I'll write you, regularly.” 
 
 The two men clasped hands, Marcus spurred his horse 
 and was gone. Four days later Amos turned in at the gates 
 of Bent’s Fort and asked, at once, for Marcus. He had 
 not been heard of! In consternation, Amos explained to 
 Mr. Savery, the man in charge of the fort, what Marcus’ 
 plans had been. Savery at once sent off a messenger to 
 overtake the convoy, which had been delayed in starting 
 until that day, directing them to wait until the doctor was 
 found. Amos took a fresh horse and went out to search 
 for his friend. He had worked nearly a hundred miles up 
 the Arkansas before he found an Indian who told him that 
 the previous day he had directed the doctor to the fort. 
 Back to the fort pushed poor Amos. But Marcus had not 
 arrived. Amos went to bed, his heart full of dark fore- 
 bodings, yet unable to persuade himself that anything could 
 go seriously wrong with Marcus and his seemingly charmed 
 life. 
 
366 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Nor had there. Early the next day Marcus appeared. 
 He was very tired and worried, but still, he insisted, able 
 to hurry on to meet the waiting convoy. He had lost his 
 ax, he said, and in turning back to seek it, had lost his way. 
 
 “All because,” he said simply, “I was traveling on Sun- 
 day.” 
 
 It was four hundred miles from Bent’s Fort to Westport 
 Landing. Marcus reached there the last of January and 
 delayed only long enough to post a notice that he would be 
 ready to lead an immigrant train, with wagons, to the Co- 
 lumbia, as soon as grass was high enough that spring. Then 
 he went on to St. Louis. 
 
 When he arrived there he went directly to the hotel which 
 he and Narcissa had visited six years before. He had no 
 luggage and no money to spare with which to provide him- 
 self with luggage. Not that this unimportant detail both- 
 ered Marcus. When he entered the little hotel that winter 
 day he wore a buffalo-skin overcoat and fur leggings over 
 boot moccasins. The beaver-skin cap on his head could be 
 supplemented by the fur hood attached to his coat. 
 
 Frontiersmen were the ordinary rule in St. Louis then. 
 Still, when Marcus, having divested himself of his coat 
 and cap, drew up to the long dining table, his frosted face 
 and hands drew an immediate fire of questions from his 
 fellow guests. Marcus answered in as few words as pos- 
 sible. He had a question of his own he was burning to ask. 
 
 “Has the Ashburton Treaty been signed?” 
 
 “Oh, yes!” replied a man whom the others addressed as 
 Dr. Barrows. “That was signed the ninth of August and 
 has been confirmed by the Senate. The President signed 
 on the tenth of November.” 
 
 Marcus dropped his knife and fork, and his heart sagged 
 within him. Alas, for his great dream; for his superhuman 
 effort! Oregon had been lost before he left Waii-lat-pu! 
 
MARCUS WHITMAN’S RIDE 367 
 
 “Do you feel ill, Dr. Whitman?” asked Dr. Barrow. 
 
 “Tt will pass, thank you,’ muttered Marcus. ‘Tell me, 
 if you can, just how far south of the Columbia the Oregon 
 border has been placed.” 
 
 “Bless you!” exclaimed Dr. Barrow. “How you do 
 flatter our present administration! The only boundary 
 settled was that of Maine! Congress has only got so far 
 with Oregon as to spend months debating the merits of our 
 claims. Some don’t want to be bothered with so remote an 
 empire ; some want us to cross to the Russian frontier ; some 
 want to scrap with Mexico for California. Senator Linn 
 has introduced a bill that will give six hundred and forty 
 acres to every adult settler in Oregon and an additional one 
 hundred and sixty to each child. That’s got a lot of folks 
 eager to go out there. But between the Indians and the 
 fact that wagons can’t go through, they’re hesitating. Still, 
 IT understand that a good many are talking of going out 
 there this spring.” 
 
 Marcus picked up his knife and fork and began to eat. 
 When Dr. Barrow paused for breath, he asked: 
 
 “Ts there any real information about the fertility of 
 Oregon accessible to the public?” 
 
 “Yes, during the last two or three years, the papers have 
 published a great deal that they picked out of the Slacum 
 and Wilkes reports, and Lieutenant Frémont has just re- 
 ported his trip to South Pass last year. But good Ameri- 
 cans don’t want to go out there if it’s going to be British, 
 and the present administration is doing all it can to dis- 
 courage immigration out there. What’s your idea of the 
 prospects?” 
 
 This was the opening Marcus desired. Once more, laying 
 down his knife and fork, he gave the gaping table a short 
 and graphic picture of Oregon, and ended by saying that 
 his friend, Amos Lovejoy, would be in St. Louis later and 
 
368 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 would do some pamphleteering to induce a substantial num- 
 ber of immigrants to be ready in the spring for Marcus to 
 lead them westward. 
 
 Having completed this statement, he finished an enormous 
 dinner and excused himself. He went, at once, to a bar- 
 ber-shop, and although it was agony to have his face 
 touched, he ordered his heavy beard removed. This was 
 his sole concession to the demands of civilization. From 
 the barber-shop he went directly to the stage and started 
 for Washington. 
 
CHAPRTERAXEX 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 ASHINGTON in March is New England in April. 
 Marcus left his buffalo coat and two of the three 
 suits of underclothes he’d been wearing, at his boarding 
 house, along with his fur leggings. He had never a thought 
 for the broadcloth, rotting on the Rio Grande, even though 
 he’d solemnly promised Narcissa he’d don it the moment he 
 reached St. Louis. Nor was he bothered by the curiosity 
 he aroused in the country streets of Washington. In three 
 months he proposed to be back on the trail again, when his 
 present clothes would be necessary. He had no intention 
 of spending a penny to conciliate the esthetic senses, either 
 of Washington or of Boston. 
 
 Congress had adjourned when Marcus reached the capi- 
 tal. But he was not, now that he knew the details of the 
 Ashburton Treaty, perturbed by that fact. He desired to 
 see President Tyler, and the Secretary of State, Daniel 
 Webster. If it was possible he proposed to discover the 
 truth about the pending negotiations with Great Britain. 
 But, alas!’ Washington in 1843 was no whit different from 
 the Washington of to-day. It was not an encouraging spot 
 for the simple truth-seeker. 
 
 Armed with a six-year-old letter of identification from 
 the American Board of Commissioners of Foreign Missions 
 and with his old passport, countersigned by Captain Thing, 
 Dr. McLoughlin and again by Captain Grant, he presented 
 himself at the office of Daniel Webster. And after three 
 days of waiting he was allotted a fifteen minutes’ inter- 
 view. Fifteen minutes in which to save Oregon! Ah, Nar- 
 cissa, did you have any conception of the difficulties of the 
 
 369 r 
 
370 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 demand you were making? . . . Marcus squared his shoul- 
 ders, opened the door of the inner office and entered. 
 
 At a desk, at the forward end of the room, sat a smooth- 
 shaven, elderly man, with the face of a saturnine old eagle. 
 From beneath shaggy eyebrows, he watched Marcus ap- 
 proach and make his bow. 
 
 “Be seated, sir,” said Webster. 
 
 “T can talk faster if I stand, thanks,” replied Marcus. 
 “For six years, I’ve lived in Oregon territory, on the Walla 
 Walla River. I’m a missionary to the Cayuse Indians. I’ve 
 come to Washington to tell you that if you give Oregon to 
 England, you give it to the Catholic church and to the 
 Jesuits—to the powers of Hell.” 
 
 The Secretary groaned. “Another fanatic! I thought, 
 perhaps, you could give me facts.” 
 
 “T’ve given you the most important fact,” declared Mar- 
 cus. “But I can add others.” He burst into a eulogy of 
 the wonders of Oregon. 
 
 Mr. Webster listened for a moment, then interrupted 
 with a terse question. “Is the country west and north of 
 the Columbia River worth going to war with England for?” 
 
 Marcus hesitated, then exclaimed, stoutly, “I’d shoulder 
 abot n et Oreity « 
 
 “Humph!” ejaculated the Secretary. “Perhaps you'll tell 
 me how we'd hold Oregon against the British? I am in- 
 formed that the Hudson’s Bay Company has three thousand 
 armed men in its employ in that region, with a marvelous 
 equipment for sending men and supplies through from 
 Montreal. We have perhaps a hundred white men who 
 claim American citizenship. The Indians are favorable to 
 the British and hostile to the Americans. We are cut off 
 from sending men and supplies by practically an impassable 
 mountain barrier, with no means of protecting any pack 
 trains we might hastily equip and send through. I have no 
 patience with these ill-informed folk who demand that we 
 
WASHINGTON 371 
 
 keep Oregon, as though Oregon were in our possession and 
 we had but to close our fists.” 
 
 “Have you arranged a secret treaty with England, ceding 
 her Oregon?” demanded Marcus, bluntly. 
 
 “And if I had, do you think I could admit it to you?” 
 demanded the Secretary in return. “But [ll give you an 
 answer to that question, impertinent as it is. No, Dr. 
 Whitman, no secret agreement with Great Britain has been 
 reached.” : 
 
 “England has no right to Oregon,” said Marcus, doggedly. 
 
 “She claims as many rights as we,” replied Webster, 
 tartly. “Rights cf discovery and occupation. The owner- 
 ship of Oregon is likely to follow the greater settlement 
 and larger population.” 
 
 “Which to-day is British!” exclaimed Marcus. “How 
 can it be otherwise when you consider how grossly our 
 Government neglects the interests of its immigrant citizens! 
 The British parliament, long since, extended the jurisdic- 
 tion of Canada over its citizens in Oregon. They have 
 civil and military protection. We Americans have nothing 
 except what rule o’ thumb measures we have taken for 
 ourselves.” 
 
 “You'll have to ask the Congress that question,” replied 
 Mr. Webster. “But this I will say, that as long as I have 
 influence this country will never go to war to increase its 
 territory. That which we have, we'll protect with the last 
 man and the last dollar. But a war of aggrandizement, 
 never! We are attempting an experiment, sir, in democ- 
 racy, the greatest experiment the world ever has seen of 
 its kind. Our one hope of success is, I believe, in having 
 a country so compact that we can protect it from predatory 
 enemies.” He pulled a bell cord behind him and an at- 
 tendant entered. Webster held out his hand to Marcus and 
 his voice held a kindlier note as he said, “My next visitor 
 is due, sir. I thank you for your interest in this matter.” 
 
372 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Marcus took the extended hand with a grim smile. “TI 
 wish I could share your sense of gratitude, sir. But I 
 cannot.” And he followed the attendant from the room. 
 
 The interview with Daniel Webster infuriated Marcus; 
 infuriated and discouraged him. It had seemed so simple, 
 at Waii-lat-pu, this matter of saving Oregon. “Just explain 
 how wonderful Oregon is!” Narcissa had said. Marcus 
 groaned aloud as he strode along the muddy road toward 
 the White House. Explain! Why, he told himself, if these 
 politicians knew that Oregon was Paradise it would have 
 no effect on them! Oregon was only a pawn to them in 
 some complicated intrigue they were carrying on. Think 
 of it! A fifteen-minute interview to pay for those one 
 hundred and five days spent in coming through from Waii- 
 lat-pu. Yet, he muttered, he’d rather do the trip again than 
 have another interview with Daniel Webster. The thing 
 was hopeless! If it were not for Narcissa—! He paused 
 beside a new-planted sycamore and closed his eyes. Nar- 
 cissa! Narcissa! Such a wave of homesickness for her, 
 and for the beloved mission swept over Marcus that he 
 could only stand and pray that it would not make a weak 
 fool of him, driving him home before his task was done. 
 
 “T will not go back to Narcissa defeated,” he said, be- 
 tween his teeth, when his prayer was ended. “I will not! 
 God keep her. I dare not think of her dangers, for it un- 
 mans me.” 
 
 Then he strode into the yard of the White House. 
 
 He had no appointment here, nor was he going to try to 
 procure one through any Congressman. It was the Presi- 
 dent’s hour for shaking hands with casual visitors. Marcus 
 was in the Lord’s hands. 
 
 Those were uncrowded days. When the negro door man, 
 his eyes starting at Marcus’ appearance, passed him on to 
 an attendant who showed him into a reception room, Presi- 
 dent Tyler was standing in laughing conversation with a 
 
WASHINGTON 373 
 
 fashionably attired gentleman who held gloves, beaver and 
 silver-headed cane in one hand, while he shook hands with 
 the other. 
 
 Marcus was prepossessed at once in the President’s favor. 
 John Tyler was fifty-three years of age at this time, a thin- 
 faced, clear-eyed man, with an aggressive chin and a pleas- 
 ant smile. “Well! Well!” he exclaimed, turning to Mar- 
 cus. “You look like a plainsman, sir!’ He spoke with a 
 Virginian accent, very different from the hard New Eng- 
 land pronunciation of Webster. 
 
 “T think I’d only about half qualify to that title, Mr. 
 President,” said Marcus. Then he introduced himself, 
 adding, “I’ve come through during the winter months, by 
 a route they told me no white man could take, for this 
 interview with you, sir. So I shall not apologize for the 
 condition of my face and hands. They, as well as my feet, 
 were frozen.” 
 
 Marcus was learning! The President’s attention was 
 arrested at once. “What route was that, Dr. Whit- 
 man?” 
 
 Marcus told him. Mr. Tyler’s face kindled with interest. 
 “But, my dear doctor!” he cried, “we cannot have you 
 treated as a casual visitor. There are no other callers. 
 Come into my office and tell me what induced you to take 
 such a trip.” 
 
 His heart beating high with hope, Marcus followed the 
 President into a quiet room that looked out on the budding 
 lawn. There, seated opposite that pleasant inviting face, 
 Marcus poured out his story. It was a long one, for though 
 he touched only lightly on the recent journey, he took the 
 President back to the arrival of the mission party at Fort 
 Hall in 1836 and sketched the history of Oregon since. For 
 a half hour he talked without interruption. At the end of 
 that time he told of the letter and the news that Elijah 
 White had brought and paused. 
 
374 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “And so you and Mrs. Whitman thought that we must 
 be very ignorant of conditions in Oregon,” said President 
 Tyler. 
 
 “We thought you’d been misinformed,” replied Marcus. 
 “We believed it was the intention of the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company to keep you misinformed.” 
 
 “We've had entirely honest and adequate reports of con- 
 ditions there,” said the President. He looked thoughtfully 
 at Marcus. “And can.a man of your education and expe- 
 rience really believe that I, alone, can save Oregon?” 
 
 “T have little doubt that you and Daniel Webster can 
 and will sign up with England any treaty you desire.” 
 
 “But supposing the treaty we offer the Senate to ratify 
 is not pleasing to that body,” suggested Tyler, “don’t you 
 know that my following is not strong enough with either 
 party to whip it through?” 
 
 “Perhaps not,” agreed Marcus, “but Daniel Webster can 
 handle the Senate.” 
 
 “You flatter him!” declared President Tyler. “Dr. Whit- 
 man, this Oregon question from every angle is one for dip- 
 lomatic negotiation, and not for threats. If we had more 
 American citizens out there, we could assume a different 
 attitude toward Great Britain. But we have only a hand- 
 ful, and with no wagon route through, I see no prospect 
 that for another generation we could hope to have a real 
 showing of our citizens there. And this question of 
 boundary cannot be kept open for a generation.” 
 
 “But there is a wagon route through!” cried Marcus. 
 “T’ve taken a wagon through.” 
 
 “How much would the Indians leave of a wagon train?” 
 exclaimed the President. “What man is going to trust his 
 wife and babies to a journey like that?” 
 
 “I took my wife through,” replied Marcus. 
 
 “She must be a brave woman,” said Mr. Tyler, “and, 
 from what you have told me, an intelligent one, too.” 
 
WASHINGTON 375 
 
 “She’s all of that!’ agreed Marcus. Then, his face 
 kindling, “I wish she were here in my place. She’d be able 
 to meet your politicians and reply to your objections as I 
 can’t. Not that she’d stoop to politics, but she’s so clear- 
 eyed, she’d see what you're trying to do.” 
 
 John Tyler’s pleasant face darkened. “You are not com- 
 plimenting me, sir!” 
 
 Marcus threw up his hands. “I beg your pardon, Mr. 
 President! I’m proving that I’m no diplomat, am I not? 
 ... Will you not tell me this, sir? Is there anything that 
 I can do to persuade you to throw your weight toward 
 keeping Oregon?” 
 
 “And how do you know that I’m not doing so?” asked 
 Tyler, with a little smile. 
 
 “Because you evade me so,” replied Marcus, doggedly. 
 “And that’s not right. I’ve risked my life to come and tell 
 you how, in this instance, I think you should use your great 
 office. I deserve at least a yes or no answer to my ques- 
 tions.” 
 
 “If you will answer one question fully and honestly from 
 me, sir, I’ll answer one from you,” returned Tyler with a 
 sudden cynical gleam in his eyes. “Dr. Whitman, what do 
 you expect as a reward if Oregon territory becomes 
 American ?” 
 
 Marcus started to his feet. His face burned. “Mr. 
 President,” he shouted angrily, “why should you insinu- 
 ate—” then he paused, held by a sudden memory. He did 
 expect a reward. And it was the thought of this reward 
 that again and again had given him strength to go on during 
 those ghastly days in the Rockies. With a quick softening 
 of eye and voice he said, “Yes, I expect a reward, sir! But 
 it is not in land or money or position. It is nothing that 
 Congress nor you nor all the king’s horses or all the king’s 
 men could give me. What it is—well, you must allow a 
 poor missionary to have his little mystery, too.” 
 
376 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 The President laughed. “Hanged if I don’t like you, 
 Whitman! You must come to see me again.” | 
 
 “But, Mr. President, my question to you!— Will you 
 help save Oregon?” 
 
 John Tyler rose and walked slowly toward the window 
 and back again before he replied. “Listen, sir! California 
 Alta, Texas, Oregon; the extraordinarily adroit diplomacy 
 of Great Britain backed by her naval supremacy; a new- 
 born republic weakened by partisan strife and controlled 
 by ignorant backwoodsmen. ‘These are facts. Ponder on 
 them for a moment and then see if you do not realize 
 that it is impossible for me to give you a yes or no answer 
 to your question. I can say only this: If you will look 
 back over my political record you will observe that I’ve 
 fought always for what I believed to be the welfare of my 
 country, even when it has estranged me from my party 
 and crippled my influence. The questions of territorial 
 expansion under which my administration is staggering are 
 colossal. I shall do my best to solve them for the good 
 of the nation, as God gives me wisdom.” 
 
 Across the intellectual abyss that separated them, the 
 two men looked at each other clearly. Then Marcus slowly 
 extended his hand. 
 
 “T shall say good-by, then, Mr. President 
 
 “Good-by, Dr. Whitman, I am grateful to you for call- 
 ing !” 
 
 Marcus made his way out to Pennsylvania Avenue and 
 tramped slowly through the mud while he revamped his 
 plans. He was convinced now that the administration was 
 making no effort to keep the country north of the Columbia. 
 Congress could do little until a treaty was given it to ratify. 
 There would be no session of Congress anyhow until next 
 fall. Was it not true that, no matter what sort of a treaty 
 was promulgated, no matter how the statesmen intrigued, 
 the settlement of ownership lay between two things: the 
 
 1? 
 
WASHINGTON Ova 
 
 increase of British rights to the exclusion of all other rights 
 in the country or the establishment of sufficient American 
 rights by a sufficient number of citizens to overwhelm the 
 British? Having reached this point, Marcus went to call 
 on the Secretary of War, James Porter. Marcus wanted 
 to petition the Secretary to establish forts along the Oregon 
 Trail. Porter was willing to see Marcus for exactly ten 
 minutes. He allowed Marcus two minutes to state his de- 
 sires and consumed the remaining eight minutes in asking 
 Marcus questions about the usefulness of cannon in fighting 
 Indians. When his secretary interrupted to announce the 
 next visitor, he dismissed Marcus with an affable wave of 
 the hand. 
 
 “Put it all in writing, Dr. Whitman, and I’ll see what I 
 can do for you.” 
 
 Marcus suddenly chuckled as he again found himself on 
 Pennsylvania Avenue. “I’d better have brought that broad- 
 cloth suit along, I guess. Won’t Narcissa laugh, though! 
 Now, I'll see how quickly Senator Linn of Missouri will 
 turn me out.” 
 
 He found the Senator at his boarding house and was ad- 
 mitted at once to his room. All the time that Marcus was 
 talking to him the gentleman from Missouri was packing 
 his horsehair trunk, preparatory to leaving for home within 
 the hour. But when Marcus, after fifteen minutes of rapid 
 talk, had presented his problem, Senator Linn dropped a 
 linen shirt with which he had been wrapping a pair of 
 polished riding boots and pointed a finger at Marcus. 
 
 “My boy, can you lead a wagon train to the Columbia ?” 
 
 “T can,’ replied Marcus. 
 
 “Can you keep your mouth shut?” 
 
 “T can!’ Marcus smiled a little, but the Senator was 
 scowling in his earnestness. 
 
 “The administration,” said Linn rapidly, “is carrying on 
 secret negotiations with Great Britain that will continue for 
 
378 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 at least another year. Those negotiations contemplate 
 giving up Oregon north of the Columbia. Speaking in 
 general, Oregon has no friends in Congress outside a very 
 small circle, of which Senator Benton is the leader and I’m 
 a member. Benton, if he doesn’t die, will see California 
 Alta a part of the United States. But if Oregon is to be 
 saved to us we must do it ourselves, and there’s but the one 
 way. Move American citizens out there till they outnumber 
 the British three to one. Up to the moment of your call, 
 frankly, I didn’t see how it was to be done in time. But 
 if wagons can go through now, meaning that men can 
 take their families and take up the offer in our land bill— 
 Look here, Dr. Whitman, when could you start with such 
 a caravan?” 
 
 “In May,” replied Marcus, his eyes sparkling. 
 
 “Then you get out of Washington and start things mov- 
 ing,” ordered Senator Linn. “Above all things, don’t speak 
 of your plans here, and don’t mention Benton or me in 
 connection with them anywhere.” 
 
 Here was a man who spoke Marcus’ own language. 
 With flushing cheeks, Marcus straightened his shoulders 
 and picked up his fur cap. But before he could leave, Linn 
 put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. 
 
 “Dr. Whitman, if you can deliver us out there, this fall, 
 a thousand persons, we'll do the rest. Can you do it?” 
 
 “Yes, I can!” shouted Marcus. “But not if you keep 
 me here all spring, talking!’ 
 
 Senator Linn burst into a roar of laughter. “Good 
 enough! I’ve been hearing of you for years out my way, 
 Doctor! I know now why they all had confidence in you. 
 God speed you!” 
 
 With a grasp of the hand that almost burst Marcus’ 
 swollen and peeling fingers, the two men parted. 
 
 Marcus rushed back to his boarding house, seized his 
 buffalo overcoat, stuffed the underwear in one pocket and 
 
WASHINGTON 379 
 
 his shaving outfit in the other and within the hour was on 
 his way to Boston. 
 
 Tle reached there on the morning of April fourth and 
 went directly to the offices of the American Board. As 
 luck, good or bad, Marcus could not guess which, would 
 have it, a meeting of the Prudential Committee was in ses- 
 sion, with the Board’s Secretary, Mr. Greene, in the chair. 
 An astounded office boy admitted Marcus. 
 
 “Dr. Whitman, from Oregon!” 
 
 Marcus bowed and the members of the committee stared. 
 Mr. Greene was the first to recover his breath. 
 
 “Dr. Whitman! But what are you doing away from your 
 mission without permission.” 
 
 “But my mission was ordered closed by the Board! I 
 came to protest in person. Gentlemen, you must not close 
 these missions. You must not recall Henry Spalding.” 
 
 “Must not! Tut! Tut, Doctor! That is hardly the way 
 to speak to this Board!” exclaimed Greene. 
 
 Marcus looked round for a chair and sat down. It 
 seemed to him incredible that, knowing the distance he had 
 come, knowing the dangers and difficulties of the most ordi- 
 nary trip from the Columbia country to the United States, 
 it seemed impossible that Greene and his fellows could 
 greet him as though he were a schoolboy playing hookey 
 from the neighboring seminary. But his sense of humor 
 got the better of Marcus’ wrath. 
 
 “Tt couldn’t have happened anywhere but in Boston,” he 
 told himself, grimly, and then he answered Greene, quietly. 
 “If you'll allow me to explain, Mr. Greene. It’s a long 
 story.” 
 
 “You may begin it,” said Greene, grudgingly. 
 
 So Marcus began the Iliad of Waii-lat-pu. 
 
 The sounds of Boston’s traffic jouncing over cobblestones 
 roared through the windows. The spring sun crept from 
 the east window upward, disappeared for an hour and re- 
 
380 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 appeared through the skylight above the long committee 
 table. And Marcus’ voice did not cease all that time. After 
 the first few sentences, the look of disapproval left the 
 faces of the committee men, leaving them rapt, almost 
 awe-struck. For though Marcus did not at all realize it, his 
 story was built around Narcissa: around her sacrifices and 
 her sufferings, her courage and her endeavors. This was 
 not the political story he had told to President Tyler. This 
 was the intimate story of the mission, with all its weak- 
 nesses and all its strength. 
 
 At noon he paused, weary of speech. He had brought 
 them through the burial of Alice Clarissa. 
 
 Secretary Greene drew a long breath and wiped the tears 
 from his cheeks. “Brothers,” he said, looking at the red- 
 eyed group around the table, “will some one move a vote 
 of confidence in Dr. Whitman and Mrs. Whitman?” 
 
 “T move,” said one of the members, brokenly, “that Dr. 
 Whitman go back to Waii-lat-pu and stay there and that 
 if he feels confident that Brother Spalding has been suffi- 
 ciently disciplined, to keep him from making further 
 trouble, he be told to go on with his splendid work at 
 Lap-wai.” 
 
 “Let’s put it in the form of a resolution,’ suggested 
 another voice. 
 
 Marcus suddenly rose. He had told his story in a steady 
 voice, keeping himself steeled for the battle he felt sure 
 was coming. The sudden change in the attitude of the 
 committee utterly undid him. He bolted from the offices 
 and wandered in the streets until he had himself again in 
 hand. ‘Then he returned to complete his report and to 
 receive the resolutions of the committee. 
 
 By the last of April, Marcus had completed his work in 
 Boston, had paid a flying visit to Narcissa’s home and his 
 own, had traveled through central New York, spreading 
 
WASHINGTON 381 
 
 the gospel of Oregon, and was back in St. Louis to put 
 in action his plans for gathering together a great immi- 
 grant train. 
 
 It was a tremendous task. Amos Lovejoy had worked 
 well, putting out circulars and acting as a bureau of infor- 
 mation; but there was still an enormous amount of work 
 to be done. Marcus had not the slightest intention of lead- 
 ing into Oregon an unorganized rabble of men and boys, 
 half tramps, half adventurers, as would be the case if he 
 did not enforce certain rigid requirements on persons who 
 desired to travel in his caravan. Men with families and 
 farming experience were what Marcus desired; men who 
 had the means to struggle through two or three seasons of 
 unproductiveness, while their farms were coming into bear- 
 ing. More than that, he wished for men of intelligence, 
 who on reaching Oregon could take immediate part in the 
 struggle for possession. 
 
 To any one but Marcus Whitman the difficulties of 
 carrying out such a program in less than a month’s time 
 would have seemed insurmountable. The matters of 
 wagons alone seemed, at first, to doom the experiment to 
 failure. People were convinced that one could not go 
 through to the Columbia with covered wagons. Marcus 
 lectured, scolded, and wrote, always on the text of his 
 own experience, until he grew utterly weary of the word 
 Conestoga. 
 
 And then, a week before the time appointed for the start, 
 when only a few straggling families had appeared at the 
 appointed rendezvous near Westport, Missouri, Marcus was 
 laid down with an acute attack of malaria. He did not 
 actually give in to the disease until the very day he was to 
 have left St. Louis. Then he fainted and was put to bed, 
 where he lay, neglected and alone for three days, for Love- 
 joy had left for Westport early in May. 
 
 Marcus knew that every moment of his delay was injur- 
 
382 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 ing the prospect of success for the migration. Men, even 
 the hardiest and most aggressive, dreaded that trip through 
 Indian country with their wives and children to protect. 
 Unless he were there to hearten them, to keep them to- 
 gether, Marcus knew the party would break and scatter. 
 The scarcity of news was almost unendurable. It was a 
 long way in 1843 from St. Louis to Westport, the present 
 Kansas City. Marcus, from his sick bed, could get no 
 authentic report of his caravan. At last, when his fever 
 had been reduced sufficiently for him to sit erect without 
 fainting, he left the hotel and crawled aboard a river 
 steamer for Westport. At Westport, he made his way to 
 the stables where he had arranged for a riding horse. 
 
 The livery man looked him over sympathetically. “Gawd, 
 Doctor, been having a wrestle with the shakes, eh? Well, 
 the folks is waiting for you out yonder.” 
 
 “Many of them?” asked Marcus, clambering with diffi- 
 culty into the saddle. 
 
 His horse, fresh from long standing, immediately bolted 
 up the road, but Marcus looked anxiously back for his 
 answer. 
 
 “More’n you'll ever get to the Columbia!” shouted the 
 livery man, waving his hand. 
 
 Marcus allowed the horse to gallop the two miles that lay 
 between the village and the rendezvous, which was beyond 
 the bluffs, that lined the river to the northwest. At the foot 
 of the first of the bluffs he met a horseman who gave a 
 great shout at the sight of Marcus. It was Amos Love- 
 joy. 
 
 “Hurrah! Doctor, I’ve been worried! You've been sick, 
 taseen 
 
 Marcus nodded. “Got enough folks to make a caravan, 
 out there?” 
 
 Amos gave him a curious look. “I can show you better 
 than I can tell you, Doctor. Come up here a moment!” 
 
WASHINGTON 383 
 
 He spurred his horse up the long slope of the bluff. 
 Marcus followed. At the top both men pulled up. 
 
 “Look!” exclaimed Amos, pointing across the river. 
 
 And Marcus looked. 
 
 At the foot of the bluff flowed the Missouri, brown and 
 slow-moving. Beyond the river stretched the May prairie, 
 on and on, into the remote blue heavens. Along the farther 
 bank of the river was stretched an immigrant camp, hun- 
 dreds of little tents set in crude street formation, and, at 
 the end of the street, a gigantic circle of canvas-covered 
 wagons. Swung out across the prairie were great herds of 
 grazing horses and cattle. 
 
 Marcus stared unbelievingly. 
 
 “They’re waiting for you, Doctor,” said Amos Lovejoy, 
 softly. “There are a thousand men, women and children, 
 with a herd of nearly three thousand head of stock.” 
 
 “They’ve come!” repeated Marcus unsteadily. “They’ve 
 come, that many of them! Amos, do you realize that if 
 I can bring that city of people safe into Oregon, it will 
 absolutely swamp the Hudson’s Bay Company, and Oregon 
 is ours?” ; 
 
 Amos nodded. “Senator Linn was out here with Senator 
 Benton the other day. They were speeding Lieutenant 
 Frémont on an exploring expedition out Taos way. They 
 expected to see you. When they saw that crowd down 
 there I thought they’d go crazy. They pounded each other 
 on the back and they’d have kissed me if I’d been you! 
 Senator Benton told me to tell you that if you got them 
 out there by fall you’d save Oregon.” 
 
 Marcus did not speak for a moment. Then he straight- 
 ened his sick body in the saddle and looked up at the ex- 
 quisite blue overhead. 
 
 “God, I thank Thee!” he murmured and, turning his 
 horse, he spurred him down the bluff-side toward the wait- 
 ing camp. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE 
 
 HE caravan started on the twenty-second day of May, 
 
 1843. We shall not try to follow it as it sweated its 
 
 ten miles a day across the plains. To do justice to this, 
 
 the first of the great western migrations, would require a 
 
 book of many words’ length. To Marcus the trip was an 
 
 old story though the shepherding of so huge a flock was 
 novel. 
 
 “Travel! Travel! Travel!” was his constant cry, as he 
 rode up and down the long, long line of plodding oxen, of 
 footsore horses and milch cows. “Travel! Travel! Or win- 
 ter will overtake us in the Rockies and then, God help us!” 
 
 He was scout for the caravan as well as physician. He 
 was adviser-in-chief as well as lay preacher, and his leader- 
 ship was as difficult as it was many-sided! He had selected 
 his party for its sturdy intelligence and it was correspond- 
 ingly headstrong and independent. Not that any member 
 of the caravan rebelled at following Marcus along the 
 trail, for in this matter every one had entire confidence in 
 him. But early in the trip something very like a crusader 
 sense began to develop among the immigrants. The men 
 and women who urged their tired oxen and footsore horses 
 through the choking alkaline dust were not undergoing the 
 torments and hazards of this trip merely to take up land 
 in the Columbia River valley. They were going to take 
 that valley from the British! And gradually a militant 
 note crept into the camp-fire talk that troubled Marcus. 
 He believed that only by keeping friendly relations with the 
 British could Oregon be won. But the men who stood 
 
 384 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE = 385 
 
 guard over the fires, who watched the herds under the star- 
 light, began, before Fort Laramie was reached, to talk of 
 ousting the Hudson’s Bay Company by force of arms. 
 
 The leader in this line of talk was a Missouri man by the 
 name of Jesse Applegate, a fine, upstanding citizen of ex- 
 ceptional virility and intelligence. He was particularly 
 bitter against the Hudson’s Bay Company and was deter- 
 mined that the immigrants should take up land north of 
 the Columbia, and in the vicinity of Fort Vancouver. If 
 he had his way, the loose formation of the caravan was to 
 be tightened into close order, after the Blue Mountains 
 were crossed, and if Fort Vancouver showed a hostile front 
 Applegate was all for attacking it. 
 
 Marcus liked and admired the Missourian, but he did 
 not agree with a single one of his ideas regarding Oregon. 
 He wished the immigrants to go directly to the Willamette 
 and help form a provisional government that should at once 
 take over the civil and military control of the territory. 
 But he wished this to be done by votes and not by bullets. 
 
 Day in and day out, as he and Applegate rode at the head 
 of the winding column, they debated this question, but as 
 far as Marcus could see all that came of the debates was 
 an ever-increasing determination on Applegate’s part to 
 defy him and an ever-growing hold of Applegate on the 
 imagination of the immigrants. 
 
 And so it moved on into the fastnesses of the Rockies, 
 this grimly purposeful company of Pilgrim fathers, urged 
 by a racial instinct that carried it uncomplainingly through 
 parching desert and tortuous canyon, westward and ever 
 westward, heckled by marauding Indians and enormous 
 wolf packs, menaced by terrible streams, and paying daily 
 toll to the disasters that lurked in every mile. 
 
 On the same day in May on which the caravan left West- 
 port, Narcissa returned to Waii-lat-pu from a round of 
 
386 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 visits on the Willamette. She had been wretchedly ill most 
 of the winter with a cold that refused to wear off, even 
 when the warm weather of spring appeared. Under Wil- 
 liam Geiger’s efficient management the mission farm had 
 prospered greatly, but Narcissa had been able to do but 
 little teaching; and in February, when traveling became 
 possible, the Geigers persuaded her to go to the Methodist 
 mission and put herself under the care of the doctor there. 
 
 He diagnosed her illness as one of the mind rather than 
 the body and prophesied that if she’d stay away from the 
 anxieties and alarms of Waii-lat-pu for a couple of months, 
 she’d get well. This proved to be the case, and Narcissa 
 returned to the mission in her old exuberant state of health. 
 
 During all these weary months, Narcissa had had no word 
 from Marcus. Not that she had expected any. Neverthe- 
 less, the thought of him was with her constantly. She had 
 heard, through Captain Grant, of his mad undertaking in 
 seeking a south trail and she knew that he had reached and 
 left Fort Uncompahgre safely. Beyond this there was no 
 word. During the vast loneliness of the winter months she 
 used to wonder how she had had the courage to send 
 Marcus on so dangerous an errand. Certainly had she 
 known of his prospective change in route, she could not 
 have done it. Vhe awful responsibility of what she might 
 have done to Marcus weighed on her mind like a nightmare. 
 And she began to long for his safe return as the one great 
 desire of her life; longed for it, without regard to the 
 success of his undertaking; longed for Marcus, her house- 
 mate and the guardian of her hearth. 
 
 Immediately on her return, Narcissa took up her neglected 
 teaching and clinical work. She also arranged by letter 
 that Elkanah Walker, Cushing Eells and Henry Spalding 
 should each give Waii-lat-pu one week of religious meet- 
 ings each month until Marcus should return. 
 
 William Geiger tried to dissuade her from making this 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE = 387 
 
 arrangement. “You'll start trouble, I’m afraid,’ he said. 
 “They were pretty good, all spring, with you gone and 
 nobody nagging them about religion. Why don’t you let 
 up on them until the doctor gets back ?” 
 
 “T promised the doctor I’d do this,” replied Narcissa. 
 “The priests have been baptizing some of our converts. 
 Doctor will be frantic.” 
 
 “Some one will have to die to save us from the Cath- 
 olics,” said Asahel Munger, darkly. 
 
 “Oh, no, some one won't,” contradicted Narcissa cheer- 
 fully. “Mr. Munger, I want you to build a platform and 
 pulpit under the willows near the grist mill. _We’ll hold 
 the protracted meetings there, with big bonfires at night to 
 attract the Cayuse.” 
 
 Asahel looked pleased and his gloom disappeared as it 
 always did when Narcissa gave him a task. 
 
 The first meetings were held during the last week in 
 July, under the auspices of Elkanah Walker. Henry 
 Spalding held the second set of meetings during the last 
 days of August. Henry had visited the mission during 
 the winter and had made himself both useful and pleasant. 
 He was haunted by the fear that Marcus might not be suc- 
 cessful in his attempt to save Lap-wai and was meek in 
 proportion. The fear had increased greatly by August, and 
 then even Mrs. Munger admitted that he was an acquisi- 
 tion to society! 
 
 “That cantankerous old mule is acting just like a human 
 being!’ had been her amiable expression. 
 
 Although the buffalo season was on, at least a hundred 
 Cayuse appeared at Henry’s meetings; and at the last ses- 
 sion of all an unexpected guest appeared in the person of 
 Pére Demers, who seated himself quietly in the rear of the 
 congregation. Umtippe sat well forward and told his beads 
 during all the exercises. 
 
 This bead-telling was, as Umtippe intended it should be, 
 
388 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 a source of great irritation to the whites, especially to 
 Asahel Munger. Henry insisted, wisely, that to ignore 
 Umtippe was to punish him. But poor, unstable Asahel 
 could not concur in this. And at the end of the last prayer 
 he flung himself from the platform on top of the old chief, 
 shrieking as he did so: 
 
 “Crucify the red Judas! Crucify him!” 
 
 Instantly the quiet meeting turned to a maelstrom, with 
 a hundred Indians shouting and struggling to lay hands 
 on Asahel. Narcissa, the Geigers, Henry and Mrs. Munger 
 stood on the platform staring at one another in consternation 
 fora moment. Then, just as William Geiger was about to 
 plunge into the welter, the crowd about Umtippe scattered 
 and the old chief emerged with Asahel struggling in his 
 grasp. He had bound the carpenter’s hands together with 
 a leather belt. 
 
 Silence fell as Umtippe smiled benignly. “Now,” he 
 said, jerking his head toward the bonfire, from which a 
 red glow lighted his face and turned the willow leaves above 
 to gold, “now I’ll do to him what the white squaw did to 
 my beads,” and he began to push Munger toward the flames. 
 
 “Oh, let’s help him!” screamed Narcissa, rushing from 
 the platform toward Munger. 
 
 “Stop!” thundered a new voice. 
 
 It was Pere Demers. 
 
 “Free that heretic, Umtippe!” he shouted. 
 
 Umtippe dropped Munger instantly. And as instantly 
 poor crazed Asahel lunged forward to the fire and thrust 
 his manacled arms to the elbow in the bed of red hot coals. 
 
 “No Catholic fiend can untie my hands,” he shrieked, 
 and fainted, rolling into the flames. 
 
 Geiger was the first to reach him. Utter confusion fol- 
 lowed. The Cayuse shouted and threatened but Pére 
 Demers held them in check, while the whites carried 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE = 389 
 
 Asahel to the hospital room and there ministered to his 
 terrible burns. 
 
 When she had done all that she could for him, Narcissa 
 went out into the dooryard where a few of the Indians 
 still were gathered around the priest. It was moonlight and 
 Narcissa thought that the three hundred acres of harvested 
 fields looked like a wide lake of pale gold. Pére Demers 
 left the group of Cayuse and came forward to speak to 
 Narcissa. 
 
 “How is the unfortunate man?” he asked. 
 
 “He is beyond mortal help, I’m afraid,” replied Narcissa. 
 “At least half his body is scorched to the bone.” 
 
 “T meant to save him,” said the priest, looking at Nar- 
 cissa as though he expected her to doubt him. 
 
 She nodded, then added gently, “God knows what He is 
 about with you and poor Mr. Munger.” 
 
 “We have seemed to cross each other’s paths in a tragic 
 manner,” murmured the priest. “Madam Whitman, it was 
 not chance that led me here to-night. I had a very special 
 message for you.” 
 
 “Yes?” Narcissa drew a quick breath of alarm. She 
 could not trust this man, although she had a curious intel- 
 lectual liking for him. 
 
 “Dr. McLoughlin is to be at Fort Walla Walla to-morrow 
 and he would like an interview with you. His stay is short 
 and he begs of you a very great favor, that you ride in 
 with me to-night that he may not be delayed. His old 
 enemy, the gout, makes traveling torture to him.” 
 
 Narcissa stared at the priest, whose face, all silver and 
 black in the moonlight, was absolutely expressionless. It 
 was not an unreasonable request, and yet— 
 
 “T’m sorry,’ said Narcissa, “but Asahel Munger is a 
 dying man. He and his wife have grown very dear to me. 
 I cannot leave here until he is finished with his agony. If 
 
390 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin cannot wait, and he thinks the matter worth 
 it, I'll follow him to Fort Vancouver.” 
 
 Pére Demers shook his head. “That will not do. The 
 matter is immediate and urgent.” 
 
 “Curious!” exclaimed Narcissa. “Matters are never as 
 immediate as all that on the Columbia, my dear Pere! You 
 mustn’t let Dr. McLoughlin’s regal manner excite you.” 
 
 The priest made a gesture of impatience. “I have no 
 authority to give you a hint but I will say this much. The 
 errand has to do with your husband’s welfare.” 
 
 “With Marcus!” ejaculated Narcissa. “What has hap- 
 pened, Pére Demers?” 
 
 “T don’t know,” replied Pére Demers. 
 
 Suddenly terrible forebodings filled Narcissa’s mind, the 
 culmination of all the wretched anxieties of the winter and 
 spring. This, she told herself, was exactly as the priest 
 wished her to feel and she, helplessly, was respondizg to his 
 suggestions. But Marcus! dear, careless, faithful, high- 
 thinking Marcus! Could it be that Dr. McLoughlin, after 
 all the years of isolation the Hudson’s Bay Company had 
 forced upon them, was making a friendly gesture? 
 
 “Is Dr. Whitman in danger?” asked Narcissa. “In such 
 danger that I must leave my friend to die alone?” 
 
 “T do not know,” replied the priest. 
 
 Again deadly fear clutched at Narcissa’s heart. “Wait!” 
 she said. “I will talk to Henry Spalding.” 
 
 She turned and entered the house. 
 
 Henry sat in the dining-room, gazing gloomily at the 
 flickering candle. 
 
 “This is a ghastly thing!’ he exclaimed, as Narcissa 
 entered. 
 
 “We can only pray for the poor soul’s release now,” 
 agreed Narcissa. “Henry, I want your advice!” And she 
 repeated to him her conversation with Pere Demers. 
 
 Henry clutched the table with both hands and leaned so 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE 39% 
 
 far forward that the candle almost scorched his chin. 
 “Something must be going wrong with Marcus! You'd 
 better start right away for the fort, Narcissa.” 
 
 “And leave poor Asahel?” exclaimed Narcissa. 
 
 “He’s beyond your care. There must be something to 
 this, for Dr. McLoughlin to send such a message. I'll go 
 with you if you wish.” 
 
 “I do wish it,” said Narcissa, with a sense of relief that 
 almost made her smile. Henry as a chaperone and guardian 
 appealed to her sense of humor. “I can be ready to start 
 in a very few minutes, if you'll see to the horses and tell 
 Pére Demers.” 
 
 That was a strange trio traversing the moonlit trail that 
 sweet August night. At first they rode in silence. But 
 silence for any length of time was torture to Henry 
 Spalding and this was a heaven-sent opportunity for him 
 to wrangle over religion. He began by asking Pére Demers 
 why he believed in celibacy for the priesthood. The dis- 
 cussion that ensued lasted for hours and hours. It out- 
 lasted the moon and continued through the black hour 
 before the dawn and, as the sun rose gloriously it was wax- 
 ing furious, with Henry losing his temper and saying stupid, 
 impertinent things and the priest imperturbable, so greatly 
 Henry’s intellectual superior that, Narcissa thought, Henry 
 must bore him to distraction. 
 
 When the gates of the fort opened to them, Archibald 
 McKinlay welcomed Narcissa with a little embarrassment, 
 she thought. 
 
 “This is decidedly unceremonious, Madam Whitman. 
 But Dr. McLoughlin can’t put his foot into a stirrup.” 
 
 “The lack of ceremony doesn’t matter!” exclaimed Nar- 
 cissa. “Is my husband dead? Is that what you're trying 
 to tell me?” 
 
 “No! No!” cried McKinlay. “Why, what can Pere 
 Demers have said to you? I don’t know what the White 
 
592 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Headed Eagle wants of you, but certainly it’s not to break 
 that news to you. Will you rest, Madam Whitman?” 
 
 “Not until ’ve seen Dr. McLoughlin, thank you,” replied 
 Narcissa. “How soon can that be?” 
 
 “As soon as you have breakfasted,” answered the fac- 
 LOL. 
 
 Relieved of her worst fear, Narcissa ate a good meal, 
 then was led to Dr. McLoughlin’s room. The Chief Factor 
 was sitting with a bandaged foot on a stool. 
 
 “T can’t rise, Madam Whitman,” exclaimed McLoughlin, 
 pointing to his foot. “Will you accept my apologies for 
 that and for asking you to come to me?” 
 
 “Tl forgive you gladly if only you'll tell me, without 
 further mystery, what has happened to Marcus.” 
 
 “Just close that door, madam, then, so’s we can speak 
 without an audience.” 
 
 Narcissa complied, then seated herself opposite the Chief 
 Factor. She was wearing the same riding habit with which 
 he had grown familiar on that memorable visit to Fort 
 Vancouver in 1836. Her face was a little thin and worn, 
 yet she was wonderfully unchanged. But the six years 
 might have been twelve, to judge by the ravages in Dr. 
 McLoughlin’s face. He leaned forward suddenly and said: 
 
 “Madam, a Snake Indian came in yesterday from Fort 
 Laramie. He had a letter for you and I took it upon my- 
 self, after hearing the news, to ask you to come in here. 
 hiss sour.letter 
 
 He gave Narcissa the usual oilskin packet. It contained 
 an unsealed fold of paper on which Marcus had written: 
 
 “Fort Laramie, July 14, 1843. 
 DEAR NARCISSA: 
 Arrived here in safety. A.B.C. agreed to all our re- 
 quests. All is well. 
 Marcus.” 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE = 393 
 
 Just for a moment the room grew black before Narcissa’s 
 eyes. Then her heart began to beat heavily again. She 
 smiled at Dr. McLoughlin. 
 
 “Is this your news?” she asked, indicating the note in 
 her hand. 
 
 “Madam, I do not read other people’s mail!’ thundered 
 Dr. McLoughlin. “My news was received from the Indian. 
 Dr. Whitman left Westport on May 22nd with a caravan 
 of a thousand souls and two hundred canvas-covered 
 wagons. They are on their way to Oregon under his lead- 
 ership. Did you, by any chance, know of this?” demanded 
 the Scotchman. 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. “I did not know whether he 
 was alive or dead, where he was or what he was doing. 
 T could only pray.” 
 
 “Then you'd better pray some more,” said McLoughlin 
 bruskly. “Madam Whitman, Sir George Simpson left here 
 a year ago, secure, he thought, in the knowledge that he 
 had clinched this territory for Great Britain. He knew 
 that President Tyler could negotiate the sort of a treaty 
 Simpson wanted. He knew that your missions were 
 doomed. So away he went. But he is a foresighted man 
 and he sought to cover every contingency. He left orders 
 with me that, for at least two years after he left, immigra- 
 tion was to be kept out of here!” 
 
 He paused and stared at Narcissa from beneath his 
 shaggy white brows. Narcissa returned the stare and every 
 force in her nature rose to do battle for Marcus, joyful 
 that, at last, after the weary years of apprehension, the 
 moment for action had come. 
 
 “What are you going to do first, Doctor?” asked Nar- 
 cissa, very gently. 
 
 “First, I’m going to tell you a little about myself. 
 Namely, that if Dr. Whitman brings a thousand folk in 
 here, Oregon, to at least the 49th parallel, will go American, 
 
394 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 and I, Madam Whitman, will be held to blame for it by 
 my Company and by my Sovereign. I have been over- 
 friendly to Americans, particularly to missionaries, and 
 Sir George has seen to it that, in London, I’m the guilty 
 party.” 
 
 He spoke with unbelievable bitterness. Narcissa, watch- 
 ing him, felt a great wave of sympathy. 
 
 “T wish it might not have hurt you!” she exclaimed. 
 
 “The hurt has not been done, as yet,” said McLoughlin 
 grimly. “I’m merely telling you this to show you that ’m 
 hard-driven, not only by my loyalty to my country, but by 
 a desire to save my own skin. ... You'll have realized, 
 long since, my dear Madam Whitman, that this is no game 
 for softies. England and America both are acting with no 
 bowels of compassion. ... Your husband’s caravan will. 
 proceed with no undue accidents, it is probable, as far as 
 Fort Hall. There, every possible inducement will be 
 offered to the people to get them to turn south into Cali- 
 fornia. If they will not, then they will proceed along the 
 Snake River canyons until, at a favorable spot, Madam 
 Whitman, a massacre by the Indians will take place. A 
 massacre that will leave not so much as a babe to be car- 
 ried across the Blue Mountains into Oregon.” 
 
 Breathing heavily, the sweat standing on his forehead, 
 the Chief Factor made his slow pronouncement. 
 
 “No!” breathed Narcissa, her eyes black with horror. 
 “No! No! No! You will never permit that, Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin !” 
 
 “Tt is not mine to permit,” replied the doctor huskily. 
 ‘Unless Dr. Whitman takes his hosts south, I cannot save 
 him or them. That massacre plan has been gathering head- 
 way ever since Umtippe first turned against you at Waii- 
 lat-pu. He has put in nearly five years working among the 
 Nez Percés, the Snakes and the Utes. At his signal, the 
 word will be given.” 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE = 395 
 
 “When did you learn this?” gasped Narcissa. 
 
 “Yesterday noon. Madam McLoughlin learned it from 
 one of the Cayuse women you've been kind to.” 
 
 “I must start for Fort Hall and head Marcus off.” 
 Narcissa staggered wildly to her feet. 
 
 “Ten days is the best any one, even an Indian can do, 
 between here and Fort Hall. I have sent runners, several 
 of them. But, Madam Whitman, your hope is Umtippe.” 
 
 “Umtippe!” cried Narcissa, tragically. “He hates me! 
 But Pere Demers!’ with sudden thought, “he can handle 
 Unmtippe !” 
 
 “Have him in!” cried the doctor. 
 
 Narcissa rushed out of the room and called to Henry 
 Spalding who was loitering before the door of the store 
 opposite. “Send Pére Demers here, please, at once!” 
 
 Shortly the priest hurried across the stockade enclosure 
 and followed Narcissa into the Chief Factor’s room. Mc- 
 Loughlin repeated his statement of facts. Pére Demers 
 stood by the window, head bowed, arms folded on his 
 chest. When the Chief Factor was through the priest 
 smiled, sardonically. 
 
 “Some one has been telling you his bad dream, Doctor. 
 Old Umtippe, I don’t believe, could effect such an organi- 
 zation.” 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin pounded on the split log floor with his 
 cane. “TI tell you, Pére, it is so!” he roared. “Don’t waste 
 my time, doubting. You must call Umtippe off! This 
 goes too far!” 
 
 “What may you mean by that, if you please?’ asked 
 Pére Demers. 
 
 “T mean that Simpson may do his own dirty work. I’m 
 through. ’Tis one thing to plan to frighten an immigrant 
 train and deflect it southward. ’Tis another thing to ac- 
 tually permit these hellish redskin clans to gather.” 
 
 “You malign Sir George Simpson, Dr. McLoughlin, and 
 
396 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 you insult me and my cloth!’ The priest was standing 
 erect now, his eyes flashing angrily. 
 
 Narcissa, utterly baffled, watched the two. She was in 
 an agony of apprehension. 
 
 “Perhaps I go too far in suggesting that you and Sir 
 George know of the proposed massacre,” said McLoughlin 
 grudgingly. “But, I do know that you have done all that 
 you could, Pére Demers, to turn the Indians against the 
 Protestant missionaries,” 
 
 “Have I done more than the Protestants have done to 
 turn the Indians against the priests?’ demanded Pere 
 Demers. 
 
 “Yes!” exclaimed Narcissa. “You have done more be- 
 cause you have been able to influence the Indians and we 
 have not! Pére Demers, I don’t for a moment think you 
 capable of taking a hand in this terrible plan, nor do I 
 believe Sir George Simpson—” 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin interrupted. “Didn’t I admit that my- 
 self? But what both of them have done is to play with 
 the forces of hell, and now these forces have got out of 
 hand. You will get hold of Umtippe, at once, Pére 
 Demers!” 
 
 “Certainly,” replied the priest. “T’ll start immediately 
 for Waii-lat-pu.” 
 
 “He should be here shortly,” said McLoughlin. “I sent 
 for him last night. I could have had you bring him in, 
 only the squaw did not divulge his name till after you’d 
 gone. Pray be seated, madam,” to Narcissa, who was 
 walking the floor, “You make me lose my courage.” 
 Then, as Narcissa obeyed, he added to Pére Demers, 
 “Open the door that we may watch the trail for Umtippe. 
 Have them open the stockade gates, too.” 
 
 But the stockade gates already were swinging open to 
 admit a solitary rider. It was Umtippe, jogging in serenely 
 on a pinto pony. He was riding half naked, his hideously 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE 397 
 
 wrinkled old body daubed with red and black paint. He 
 wore the white horse’s tail, as usual, and a long string of 
 fetishes, human fingers and ears. Pére Demers stepped to 
 the door and called to the old chief. Umtippe dismounted 
 in a leisurely manner, leaving his horse to a lounging 
 Indian boy, and strolled into the Chief Factor’s room. 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin pointed to a chair and said in Cayuse, 
 “Rest, Chief Umtippe. Are your people well?” 
 
 “All are well,” replied Umtippe. 
 
 “IT am told, Umtippe,”—the Chief Factor leaned forward, 
 chin on hands clasped over his cane—‘“I am told that you 
 are, indeed, a great chief. That you have sworn brother- 
 hood with your enemies, the Snakes and the Utes. Only 
 a very great chief could have done that!’ 
 
 Umtippe smiled, but said nothing. 
 
 “Hearing of your great power, I have a favor to ask of 
 you, for which I will pay. The Snakes and the Utes are 
 about to make war on a long line of Bostons who are 
 coming this way. The Kitchie Okema and I do not wish 
 this to happen. If you will stop it I will make you the 
 richest Indian chief among all chiefs.” 
 
 “Who says they will war on the Bostons?’ asked 
 Umtippe. 
 
 “TI say it! I, the White Headed Eagle.” 
 
 “Then you are a fool!” grunted the Cayuse. 
 
 Before Dr. McLoughlin could reply, Pére Demers spoke. 
 “Send out runners now, Umtippe. Call in the war chief 
 of the Snakes and the Utes and the Nez Percés. Let us 
 have council together.” 
 
 Umtippe scowled. “What business have you two to in- 
 terfere with my business?” he demanded. “Shall a great 
 chief take orders?” 
 
 Suddenly Pere Demers brought out his rosary. ‘When 
 I reach the eighth bead,” he said, “I shall begin to pray 
 your soul into hell.” 
 
398 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “T’ll send for the war chiefs,” said Umtippe, sullenly. 
 
 “T shall go with your messenger to bring the Ute chief,” 
 said the priest. “Factor McKinlay will go with your mes- 
 senger to bring the Snake. The Nez Percés chief we have 
 less anxiety about.” 
 
 “And you, Umtippe, shall be my guest until their re- 
 turn,” added Dr. McLoughlin. “You shall have all you 
 wish to eat, but if, at the end of the second sunset, after 
 to-day’s sunset, the chiefs: have not arrived and if plans 
 for the war on the Bostons have not stopped, you, my 
 greatest of great chiefs, shall be stood up against the 
 stockade wall and shot—by me!” He turned to Narcissa. 
 “Have in McKinlay, but tell him first what has happened.” 
 
 On trembling legs, Narcissa hastened to obey. Archi- 
 bald McKinlay listened to her hurried explanations, then, 
 white to the lips, followed her into McLoughlin’s room. 
 A short time after, Pére Demers and Archibald McKinlay 
 galloped out of the gates in the company of a Snake and 
 a Ute Indian runner. Umtippe, accompanied by two of 
 Dr. McLoughlin’s voyageurs, crossed the stockade to one 
 of the clerk’s houses which was not in use. 
 
 How she got through the succeeding two days, Narcissa 
 never knew. She sent Henry Spalding back to Waii-lat-pu. 
 Madam McLoughlin was ill and Narcissa sat with her for 
 a part of both days. The rest of the time she talked with 
 Dr. McLoughlin. By mutual consent, they avoided discus- 
 sion of Oregon. The doctor, between gout twinges, told 
 Narcissa much about his children and made a long story of 
 the death of his son at the northern post. Narcissa talked 
 to the doctor about her music and her early dreams con- 
 nected with it. She even confided in him about her earlier 
 engagement and her desire to live in Paris. But it was 
 mere whistling to keep up their courage. And, on the last 
 afternoon they were silent, Narcissa walking the floor and 
 Dr. McLoughlin reading Scott’s “Napoleon” upside down. 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE = 399 
 
 The Nez Percé chief arrived at noon. Archibald Mc- 
 Kinlay came next, accompanied by the Ute runner and the 
 Ute war chief in full feathered headdress, an eagle’s wing 
 strapped to his wrist. Pére Demers followed, almost im- 
 mediately, with the Snake chief, who wore buffalo horns 
 on his head, elaborately decorated with eagle’s feathers. 
 Neither chief had been willing to come alone. At least a 
 hundred braves of both tribes went into camp outside the 
 fort as the chiefs entered. 
 
 Narcissa, being a woman, was requested at once by the 
 Snake chief to leave the council room. Neither she nor 
 McLoughlin dared to argue about the matter, and Narcissa 
 withdrew, to pace up and down the adobe yard while the 
 debate within the room proceeded. 
 
 It was dusk when the door opened and Archibald Mc- 
 Kinlay came out. 
 
 “We can handle the others, but not Umtippe,” he said. 
 “The doctor wants you.” 
 
 Narcissa entered the candle-lighted room. 
 
 “Madam Whitman,” said the Chief Factor in English, 
 “Umtippe will not make us the desired promise. See if 
 you can make an appeal to his memory of the little White 
 Cayuse. What’s that song?” : 
 
 Narcissa twisted her hands together, offered an unspoken 
 prayer and opened her lips to sing. But only a broken note 
 came forth. She could not sing. She knew as she stared 
 at the Cayuse chief that her singing would fall on un- 
 moved ears. A devil had roused in him that the little 
 White Cayuse herself could not have downed. Narcissa 
 drew a deep breath and gambled her all in one throw of 
 the dice. 
 
 “Umtippe,” she said in Cayuse, “if you will promise that 
 Dr. Whitman and all his caravan shall not be molested by 
 the Indians, I will agree that we will give back Waii-lat-pu 
 to you.” 
 
400 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 Umtippe leaned forward, his deep eyes expressionless 
 black holes in the shadowy light. 
 
 “And will you return it as it stands with all that you 
 have put upon it, you and the doctor?” he asked. 
 
 “T will return it with all, save the body of the little 
 White Cayuse. That I shall have removed and buried 
 wherever I shall at last find an abiding place.” 
 
 “No!” thundered Umtippe. “She belongs to me and my 
 tribe, the gift of the Great Spirit.” 
 
 A passion of resentment that none save a mother could 
 have understood swept over Narcissa, and for a moment 
 clouded in her mind the great issue for which she had 
 offered her sacrifice. She rose from her place beside Dr. 
 McLoughlin, thrusting a long, trembling hand toward the 
 scowling Cayuse. 
 
 “You can demand that of me! You, Umtippe, when you, 
 better than any man here, know what the loss of my little 
 child has cost me! You can be so low, so bad of heart—” 
 
 Umtippe interrupted her with a roar. “Don’t talk any 
 more! Leave with us the little White Cayuse or I shall 
 Letdse all? 
 
 Narcissa sank back in her chair and, for a moment, hid 
 her eyes with her shaking fingers. Then she moistened her 
 lips, lifted her chin and looked at the chief with a hauteur 
 that exceeded his own. 
 
 “All that we brought to Waii-lat-pu, including the body 
 of the little White Cayuse shall remain with you.” 
 
 “When will you go?” demanded Umtippe. 
 
 “One week after Dr. Whitman and his caravan reach the 
 mission,” replied Narcissa. 
 
 “You swear before the White Headed Eagle?” 
 
 “I will swear if you will swear,” agreed Narcissa. 
 
 “I swear by the Great Spirit that the Indians shall not 
 harm the caravan,” said Umtippe at once. 
 
 “I swear,”—Narcissa’s voice was very low,—‘“so help me 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE 401 
 
 God, that if Umtippe keeps his word I will give Waii-lat- 
 pu back to him.” 
 
 There was silence in the room after this, until Dr. Mc- 
 Loughlin said, huskily: 
 
 “Will you order a couple of steers to be given for a 
 feast, to-night, Archie?” 
 
 “‘Aa-a-ah!” breathed the chiefs pleasantly, and the coun- 
 cil was ended. 
 
 “Now I know the old devil will keep his word,” said 
 McLoughlin when he and Narcissa were left alone, staring 
 at each other across the candle. 
 
 “But what am I to say to Marcus?” Narcissa wrung 
 her hand: “Every grain of sand at Wali-lat-pu is dear to 
 him! What am I to say to the American Board?” 
 
 “You say nothing of your own grief at leaving the mis- 
 sion,’ said McLoughlin. “You did the one thing that could 
 avert the disaster. Be content with that, as your husband 
 may well be. And now, madam, I have my own request to 
 make.” 
 
 “And what is that?’ asked Narcissa, wearily. 
 
 “You will admit, will you not,” eyeing her closely, “that 
 T did all that lay within my power, although it was against 
 my own cause to protect your husband and his followers?” 
 
 “You did, indeed, to my undying gratitude!” exclaimed 
 Narcissa. 
 
 “Madam Whitman, if that immigrant train, with its 
 wagons and its thousand souls reaches Oregon, I am a 
 ruined man. I am fifty-nine years of age. All that was 
 best in me for twenty odd years I have given to saving this 
 territory, to ruling the whites and the redskins for what I 
 thought was their greatest good. It’s for you to say 
 whether or not I’ve been a wise ruler. I ask you now, I 
 beg of you, to hasten immediately to meet your husband 
 and deflect him before he reaches the Grande Ronde, into 
 California. I ask this as a personal favor, as a reward, if 
 
402 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 you please, as a return for saving your husband’s life and 
 the lives of a thousand other of your compatriots.” 
 
 Narcissa gave a sigh that was almost a sob. 
 
 “You have signed your failure with the Cayuse,” the 
 doctor went on. “Personally, you have no love for this 
 wilderness. Personally it can make no difference to you 
 whether America rules north of the Columbia or not. But 
 it means ruin or success for me.” 
 
 Anger and compassion together held Narcissa quiet for 
 a space. ‘Then she said, gently: “But what makes you 
 think that I could accomplish such a thing? Doctor, I 
 couldn’t deflect Marcus one mile from the course he has 
 chosen.” 
 
 Dr. McLoughlin brought his cane down heavily on the 
 floor. “But you could!” he shouted. “You have us all 
 beaten as a diplomatist and you know it! It would be im- 
 possible for any one but you. But you can do what you 
 will with Marcus Whitman or Umtippe or George Simpson 
 —if you desire to do it sufficiently.” He paused, gazing 
 at Narcissa with an expression so pleading, so eager and 
 so sad, that her heart died within her. 
 
 “Oh, Doctor, Doctor!” she groaned, “do not ask it of me. 
 Ask me to do anything else on earth and I will not hesi- 
 tate, for I owe you my very life in gratitude for what you’ve 
 done. But that, I cannot do.” 
 
 “Cannot ?” exclaimed McLoughlin. 
 
 “Will not!” replied Narcissa, sadly. 
 
 Then again silence. And it was as if England and 
 America looked at each other across a sea of mutual re- 
 sentment, admiration, longing, understanding and despair. 
 
 With infinite difficulty, Dr. McLoughlin pulled himself 
 to his feet and, leaning heavily on his cane, he executed a 
 low bow. 
 
 “Then I have the honor, Madam Whitman, to wish you 
 a very good evening.” 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE = 403 
 
 Narcissa swept him a courtesy, then stood staring at him. 
 “Doctor, if ever I or mine can do aught, but this one thing, 
 for you or yours, command us. Good night, sir!” and she 
 left him standing alone by the solitary candle. 
 
 Narcissa saw no one that night, and she left for Waii- 
 lat-pu the next morning before any one was up, save Char- 
 ley Compo, whom Henry Spalding had sent in to bring her 
 back to the mission. Charley brought her two items of bad 
 news. Asahel Munger had died the previous day. And 
 in the night following Narcissa’s departure, Umtippe had 
 burned the grist mill. 
 
 “How the old villain must regret that, now!” thought 
 Narcissa with a sigh. 
 
 They held the funeral for Asahel as soon as Narcissa 
 reached home. Poor Mrs. Munger, utterly forlorn except 
 for her baby daughter Mary, announced that she would 
 now never leave Narcissa. Henry Spalding, half delirious 
 with joy over Marcus’ news and entirely ignorant of Nar- 
 cissa’s bargain with Umtippe, left for Lap-wai the morn- 
 ing after the funeral, and Narcissa began at once to make 
 preparations for the reception of the great train of folk 
 that must pass by Waii-lat-pu. Food she knew would be 
 their prime necessity. The vegetable and grain harvest had 
 been enormous that year and Narcissa had no fears of 
 being unable to supply all reasonable needs. 
 
 She had William Geiger set up the stone hand-mill that 
 Marcus had used before the arrival of the larger grist mill 
 from the Sandwich Islands. He ground every day until 
 the store room was overflowing with bins of flour. Pota- 
 toes, turnips, beets and onions were measured and piled in 
 huge quantities where it would be easy to distribute them 
 to the hungry horde. 
 
 Umtippe, in the meantime, had come back from Fort 
 Walla Walla to the Indian village, which was being filled 
 rapidly by returning hunters. To Narcissa’s surprise he 
 
404 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 did not harass her as usual, but kept close to his lodge, as 
 though content that the white woman he hated should have 
 one last fling. . 
 
 On the first day of October, Narcissa posted an Indian 
 on the hilltop, with instructions to fire three shots from the 
 doctor’s old musket whenever the vanguard of the caravan 
 should appear. But not until early on the afternoon of the 
 sixth did the signal sound. Instantly, Narcissa, followed 
 by the Geigers and Mrs. Munger, rushed up the hillside. 
 
 Far to the east, where the trail over the plains began to 
 rise into the foothills of the Blue Mountains, a line of 
 horsemen had appeared and, as Narcissa reached the crest 
 and shading her eyes with her hand peered over the familiar 
 trail, the white top of a wagon appeared from beneath the 
 first growth of timber on the purple mountain slope. In 
 a moment another white top followed this, then another, 
 and still another. 
 
 “Four,” counted William Geiger, “five—six—seven— 
 eight—” 
 
 “Hush!” exclaimed Narcissa. “I feel more like singing 
 Doxology, than like counting!” 
 
 So they stood in reverent silence while, one after an- 
 other, the white tops glided down into the valley. Indians 
 were joining them now, and the hillside was filled with com- 
 ments and conjectures. 
 
 After a time a horseman was seen to ride ahead of the 
 long line of the caravan and move westward, at a gallop. 
 
 “That’s the doctor!” said Mrs. Munger softly. “He aims 
 to be here ahead of the others. You must go down to greet 
 him alone, Mrs. Whitman.” 
 
 “It will be at least an hour before he can reach here,” 
 replied Narcissa, unsteadily. “Still, I think I will go. 
 There are some little things I wish to finish before he gets 
 heres; 
 
 The little things—well, perhaps that was the correct 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE 405 
 
 phrase for them—! WNarcissa hurried into the deserted 
 house and changed her calico dress to the gray silk, still 
 ample in the skirt after the tragic breadths had been cut 
 from it three years before. She did her hair more loosely 
 round her face and stared long at herself in the tiny mir- 
 ror, and sighed over her roughened hands. Then she went 
 out and stood motionless in the doorway that gave on the 
 east trail. 
 
 She was motionless until, in the sunset glow, Marcus 
 jumped from his horse, tossed his hat to the ground and, 
 with a great cry of “Narcissa!’”’ gathered her to his heart. 
 
 Then she flung her arms about his neck and lifted her 
 lips to his. They clung to each other for a breathless mo- 
 ment. At last Marcus raised his head. 
 
 “Ah, this is what I lived for! You standing in the gray 
 silk in the door of Waii-lat-pu. Tell me, are you glad I’ve 
 come?” 
 
 “Glad! Marcus! Marcus!* Narcissa lifted her eyes to 
 his. 
 
 At what he saw there Marcus’ eyes burned, but he burst 
 forth as if he would tell truth at whatever cost. 
 
 “But I did not do what you planned, Narcissa!’’ 
 
 “T can’t help that!’ exclaimed Narcissa. “Whatever 
 you've done or have not done, you’re Marcus—oh, my dear, 
 my dear! How shall I show you what I’ve grown to feel 
 for you!” 
 
 Marcus’ face, under its tan, turned very white. He drew 
 Narcissa out from the shadow of the door and with a big, 
 gentle hand turned her face into the afterglow. A moment 
 of scrutiny, then he said, brokenly: 
 
 “T don’t deserve it, my darling! I don’t deserve it! But 
 put into words the wonderful thing your eyes are saying.” 
 
 Narcissa’s low voice had never before held overtones of 
 such beauty. “I love you, Marcus,” she said. “I love you.” 
 
 “Now, indeed, I am blessed above all men,” murmured 
 
406 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 the doctor, and he kissed her as if never before had he laid 
 his lips to hers. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Geiger held back the Indians as long as it 
 was possible, but even with their best efforts, Marcus and 
 Narcissa did not have a quarter of an hour alone before 
 the whole crew burst upon them. Narcissa, even had she 
 wished to do so, would have had no opportunity to tell 
 Marcus of the fate of» Waii-lat-pu then, for by the time he 
 had freed himself from his Indian friends the first of the 
 immigrants were riding up to the gates. They were in 
 great straits for food, and the task of apportioning flour 
 and vegetables was begun at once. 
 
 The work was carried on systematically. Barrels of flour 
 were opened in the yard and from these each immigrant was 
 given his portion by William Geiger, while Marcus, with 
 Charley Compo, handled the vegetables. The job was well 
 under way and the yard thronged with immigrants and gap- 
 ing Indians, when Umtippe shouldered his way into the 
 glare of the fire by which the distributing was being done. 
 His face was distorted with rage. 
 
 “What right have you to give away my food?” he shouted, 
 violently striking a cup of milk from Narcissa’s hand. 
 
 Every one within earshot became silent. 
 
 “You are a liar! You are a thief!” As he spoke Um- 
 tippe’s lips were flecked with foam, and before Narcissa 
 could move or speak the old Cayuse struck her violently 
 across the face. 
 
 Instantly Marcus, rushing forward, knocked him down. 
 Umtippe scrambled to his feet and flung his tomahawk at 
 Narcissa’s head. It cut across her braids and buried itself 
 in Charley Compo’s skull. Compo pitched, head foremost, 
 into the half empty potato barrel. There rose a diabolical 
 howl from an Indian in the crowd and Charley Compo’s 
 father rushed forward, tomahawk raised. Marcus seized 
 
THE BARGAIN WITH UMTIPPE = 407 
 
 his hand just in time to prevent his scattering Umtippe’s 
 brains as Umtippe had scattered the te-wat’s. 
 
 “Let him go, doctor!” shouted William Geiger. “The 
 old villain has got to be killed by some one.” He seized 
 Umtippe by the arms. 
 
 Umtippe thrust Geiger aside. “Let him go,” he snarled 
 at Marcus in Cayuse. “I will not owe my life to you.” 
 
 He jerked a small ax from his belt and as he made a 
 rush at Compo’s father, Geiger suddenly threw himself 
 against Marcus, breaking the doctor’s hold on the struggling 
 man. 
 
 A moment later, with the ax of Compo’s father in his 
 skull, old Umtippe lay dead beside the crackling fire. 
 
 Narcissa’s cheek was bruised and one of her braids cut, 
 but she was unhurt otherwise. She was, however, terribly 
 shaken and after the wailing Indians had removed the 
 bodies of the two Indians, Marcus left the further distribu- 
 tion of food supplies to the Geigers and took Narcissa into 
 the house. 
 
 Sitting beside her on the couch, he chafed her hands and 
 sought to calm her, as if she had been a child. 
 
 “You don’t know all it means!” cried Narcissa, excitedly. 
 “It’s not only that he’s been a nightmare to me, for seven 
 years! Not only that! That’s the least of it. You don’t 
 know !” 
 
 “Then tell me what I don’t know, dearest!” said Marcus. 
 
 Narcissa rose and, pacing up and down the room, told 
 of her last encounter with Dr. McLoughlin and of her 
 bargain with Umtippe. 
 
 “Not that I think,” she ended, “that his death removes 
 our obligation to keep the bargain. But Charley Compo’s 
 father will be Umtippe’s successor. Perhaps—’’ 
 
 But Marcus crossed over to Narcissa and took her in his 
 
408 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 arms. “So it was you, after all, who brought the caravan 
 safely through!” he exclaimed, brokenly. “Darling Nar- 
 cissa, what can I say to you? How can I thank you?” 
 
 “How can there be thanks between you and me?” Nar- 
 cissa spoke with a little sob. “There is that between you 
 and me, so much bigger than gratitude—after all these years 
 together—all that we have done and suffered and sought—” 
 She buried her bruised face against Marcus’ heart. 
 
 Under the cottonwoods, the immigrants were quieting 
 down for the night. From the Indian village rose the wail 
 of squaws; and far, from the plains, came the howl of 
 circling wolves. Marcus, with a tender great hand, lifted 
 up the flushed, beautiful face and gently touched the bruised 
 cheek with his lips. 
 
 “Dear, dear Narcissa!” he whispered, and gathered her 
 €loser still. 
 
GUE ATED Ee ROE 
 THE PROMISED LAND 
 
 i the threatened loss of the mission staggered Marcus, 
 he did not allow Narcissa to perceive it, that night. He 
 was deeply anxious over the movements of the caravan, 
 under Jesse Applegate’s political leadership, and he put 
 off discussing with Narcissa their own problematical move- 
 ments by telling her of Applegate’s plans and threats. He 
 admitted to her that his only hope of maintaining peace in 
 Oregon was in his reliance on Dr. McLoughlin’s diplomacy. 
 
 It was long after midnight before they ceased this dis- 
 cussion of Applegate’s plans and went to sleep. 
 
 The immigrant column was up and on its way by day- 
 light. Marcus, with a fresh horse, could allow the column 
 a start of a day and easily overtake it, the following morn- 
 ing. This he planned to do, in order to take what steps he 
 might, in the matter of Narcissa’s bargain with Umtippe. 
 When the last of the herds had followed in after the covered 
 wagons, Marcus turned to the Cayuse village. 
 
 Already a group of squaws was erecting the burial scaf- 
 folds, on the plains beyond the village. Marcus passed by 
 these grim workers without comment, and entered the lodge 
 of the new chief, Compo’s father. 
 
 “We shall miss our brother,” said Marcus, sitting down 
 beside the fire. 
 
 “You were his friend. He was your friend,” responded 
 the Cayuse heavily. 
 
 The doctor nodded. ‘He was a Christian, too. You will 
 let me say the burial service for him?” 
 
 “Yes!” groaned the chief, “but all your prayers to your 
 
 409 
 
410 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 God will not bring him back. I saw that, with the little 
 White Cayuse.” 
 
 “God needs him, or he would not have taken him,” de- 
 clared Marcus. 
 
 The chief did not contradict this, and the two sat in silent 
 contemplation of the fire until Marcus rose to go, asking 
 as he did so, “Did you know of Mrs. Whitman’s bargain 
 with Umtippe?” 
 
 “Yes,” grunted the chief. 
 
 “We were to leave, one week after my return,” said 
 Marcus. “If you insist, we shall do so. But I would like 
 to lead these Bostons to the Willamette before I begin to 
 make a new mission. Will you give us two months longer?” 
 
 The new chief looked up at Marcus, curiously, and Mar- 
 cus returned the look. For all that he and Narcissa had 
 known Charley Compo so intimately, the interpreter’s father 
 was almost entirely unknown to them. That he was the 
 greatest hunter in the tribe and thus seldom in the village, 
 and that he was the richest man in the tribe, next to Um- 
 tippe, formed about the sum total of their knowledge of 
 him. He never had made trouble for the Whitmans. On 
 the other hand, he never had shown them friendliness. 
 What his attitude would be toward the program of the man 
 who had murdered his son, Marcus could not guess and 
 dared not ask. He watched the fierce, brooding face and 
 waited. 
 
 “Tl give you two moons,” said the chief finally. “But 
 you must not allow any of the Bostons to take land near 
 herew 
 
 “They don’t wish to stop here,” retorted Marcus. “When 
 is your son’s funeral to take place?” 
 
 “At noon,” answered the chief. “No other white but you 
 must come.” 
 
 “Very well,” replied Marcus, meekly, and he hurried out 
 to tell Narcissa of their reprieve. 
 
THE PROMISED LAND All 
 
 At noon, under a cloudless sky and with a high, clean wind 
 sweeping down from the Blue Mountains, Marcus said the 
 last prayers over the blanket-wrapped body of his best 
 friend among the Cayuse. Then he helped to hoist the 
 tragic bundle to the scaffolding of cottonwood sticks, where 
 it was left to the not ungentle ministrations of the wind and 
 sun. An hour later, with great pomp of chant and beating 
 drums, old Umtippe was hoisted to his last resting place. 
 It was at a point that he himself had chosen. From his 
 airy platform, his dead eyes never would lose sight of the 
 grave of the little White Cayuse. And from her bedroom 
 window, whenever she looked toward her baby’s grave, 
 Narcissa must see, silhouetted against the exquisite shadow 
 of Mount Hood, the death scaffold of the aborigine whose 
 soul, after all, she had been unable to save. 
 
 Marcus left that night to overtake the caravan. 
 
 He had been gone a week, when Miles and Sarah ap- 
 peared at the mission gates, followed by a small retinue of 
 Indians and voyageurs. It had been a particularly lonely 
 day for Narcissa. For hours, sleet had driven across the 
 plains, stilling, for the first time in many days, the cries 
 of wild geese in southward flight. The mission never had 
 seemed more isolated, and Narcissa greeted the two young 
 travelers with a cry of joy. 
 
 “What a time of year to be gadding about!” she added, 
 as she settled them before the fire with steaming cups of tea. 
 
 “We’re wintering at Fort Vancouver,” said Sarah, sipping 
 gratefully at her tea. 
 
 Narcissa looked at her keenly. Already girlishness had 
 departed from Sarah’s face. She looked a little harassed, 
 as if her responsibilities weighed upon her. 
 
 “Fort Vancouver is not eastward, but westward!” Nar- 
 cissa’s eyes twinkled. 
 
 “We've just come from The Dalles,” said Miles, abruptly. 
 “Dr. Whitman’s immigrants are having the very devil of a 
 
412 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 time getting through there. The big rains are playing havoc 
 with them. They’re short of food and their stock is in bad 
 shape.” 
 
 Narcissa gave an exclamation of pity. “Oh, what will 
 the poor things do!” 
 
 “Eat the food Dr. McLoughlin is sending them, unless 
 that fire-eater of an Applegate is able to prevent it,” re- 
 torted Miles. 
 
 “T don’t see how Applegate can do that!” protested Nar- 
 cissa. 
 
 Miles shrugged his shoulders. He too was looking har- 
 assed and over-burdened. 
 
 “That’s a fine thing for Dr. McLoughlin to do,” Narcissa 
 went on. 
 
 “It’s better politics than any one else in the Company has 
 the brains to play!’ declared Miles. “It’s the one way to 
 prevent war, here in Oregon—to buy the gratitude of these 
 settlers.”’ 
 
 “Does Dr. McLoughlin feel as helpless as that?” asked 
 Narcissa, skeptically. 
 
 “You know he must feel so!’ answered Miles. “This 
 caravan of Dr. Whitman brings the American population 
 up so that it outnumbers the British, three to one. Every- 
 body laughed at him when he sent back to London, a year 
 ago, asking for protection. They'll sing another tune now!” 
 
 Narcissa leaned forward, her blue eyes eager in the fire 
 glow. “Then Oregon is American!” she exclaimed. 
 
 “Not yet!” replied Miles. “The day Sarah and I leit 
 Fort Vancouver, Her Majesty’s ship, ‘Modeste,’ cast anchor 
 before the fort. It’s a man-of-war, carrying twenty guns 
 and five hundred men. On board her is Lieutenant Peel, 
 son of Sir Robert Peel, the British prime minister. He is 
 furious over what he calls the Chief Factor’s ‘friendliness’ 
 to the Yankees. He can’t see that McLoughlin’s way is the 
 only way to prevent massacre.” 
 
THE PROMISED LAND 413 
 
 “Massacre!” cried Narcissa. 
 
 “Yes, massacre, Mrs. Whitman! If the Americans start 
 trouble, the Indians are going to turn against the Bostons, 
 and Dr. McLoughlin will be powerless to hold them back. 
 Though he’s doing what he can.” 
 
 “Tt’s at this point that I contribute my mite!” said Sarah. 
 “T’m calling a pow-wow of the big chiefs.” 
 
 ‘‘As the last of her mother’s line,” explained Miles, “Sarah 
 has much influence, even though she’s a woman.” 
 
 Sarah smiled. “If only that old villain of an Umtippe 
 had lived long enough for me to bully him into line!” 
 
 Narcissa’s lips tightened. “He still is bullying us!” she 
 exclaimed and she told in as few words as possible of her 
 bargain. 
 
 When she had finished, Sarah cried, indignantly: 
 
 “They shall never drive you from Waii-lat-pu, Madam 
 Whitman! I can promise you that!” 
 
 For the first time Narcissa felt real hope. “Sarah! Do 
 you think you can help?” 
 
 “I know I can,” replied Sarah. Then she added, with a 
 Yook in her gray eyes that was half humorous, half sad, 
 “Though if it would send you back to civilization, where 
 you belong, I’d be tempted to let the bargain go through!’ 
 
 Narcissa sheok her head. “The doctor’s heart-roots are 
 in the soil of Waii-lat-pu. And I long since recognized that 
 my life work is here and nowhere else.” 
 
 “IT know!” Sarah suddenly rose to cross the room and 
 kiss Narcissa. “What do I not owe to you, my more than 
 mother !” 
 
 “You owe me to her, that’s certain,” announced Miles, 
 with a ridiculous smirk. 
 
 Narcissa laughed. 
 
 “Nevertheless,” Sarah nodded vigorously, as she joined 
 in the laughter, “here’s the chance for me to make first pay- 
 tment on my debt and I shall make it, to-morrow.” 
 
414 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 “And my way of showing my gratitude, Mrs. Whitman,” 
 said Miles, soberly, “must be to ask you to undertake an- 
 other heavy task. The reason Sarah and I came here, first, 
 was because I want to ask you to hurry down to The Dalles 
 and see what you can do with Jesse Applegate. Dr. Whit- 
 man tells me you had no conversation with him while he 
 was here.” 
 
 Narcissa shook her head. “There was no opportunity. 
 Anyhow, I don’t see what I can do.” 
 
 “You can try to prevent Applegate’s starting war be- 
 tween England and America!” replied Miles. 
 
 Narcissa threw up her hands. “But, Miles, how can [| 
 do anything ?” 
 
 “I don’t know,” replied Miles. “But you always do 
 manage people, and I’m surprised that Dr. Whitman didn’t 
 call on you to help him.” 
 
 “He wants to finish this work himself. It’s his own!” 
 explained Narcissa. “I cannot interfere.” 
 
 “You don’t see the seriousness of this!” 
 patiently. 
 
 “I do, only too clearly,” returned Narcissa, sadly, touched 
 by Miles’ confidence in her ability, but nevertheless unper- 
 suaded that she could handle Jesse Applegate. “I know 
 that the sight of that man-of-war must be maddening to 
 Americans, even to Marcus. And if Marcus loses his 
 head—” 
 
 “Exactly !” exclaimed Miles. “Go down to The Dalles, 
 dear Mrs. Whitman, and if you do nothing else, help Dr. 
 Whitman to keep his head!’ 
 
 Narcissa hesitated and Miles saw her hesitation. “Mc- 
 Kinlay is sending a boat express to Fort Vancouver, to- 
 morrow night,” he said. “You can travel swiftly and in 
 comfort.” 
 
 “T could, perhaps, help Marcus to keep steady,” admitted 
 Narcissa. “Perhaps I’d better go.” 
 
 cried Miles, im- 
 
THE PROMISED LAND 415 
 
 “And I’ll see the Cayuse chief, to-night,” added Sarah. 
 “T’ll see him, now, so that that worry may be off your mind.” 
 
 She rose, as she spoke, and was off into the storm. 
 
 Miles turned to Narcissa to say, in a voice husky with 
 emotion, “Mrs. Whitman, God alone knows all that I owe 
 to you! It would have been more than enough if you’d 
 only been my conscience, as you were all these first years 
 in Oregon. But you’ve given me so much more than that. 
 For you gave me Sarah! I don’t think even you realize 
 what a person she is, Mrs. Whitman. She’s big, that’s 
 all. Up there among the Iroquois, she’s already their ruler. 
 And yet, she’s not at all an Indian. She’s white to her core. 
 And you know, she understands me and all my weaknesses 
 as no one else does, yet she loves me. You and Sir George 
 Simpson and Sarah—well, if I don’t do something first-rate, 
 in the world, I ought to be shot!” 
 
 “You are doing something first-rate, right now, dear 
 Miles!” Narcissa laid a caressing hand on the young man’s 
 head for a moment, before going in search of Geiger, to 
 whom she wished to announce her prospective trip. 
 
 Sarah was gone until supper time. Miles was prowling 
 uneasily about the house, threatening, every moment or so, 
 to go after her, when she burst into the dining-room, threw 
 her wet cloak on a chair and gave Miles a kiss and Narcissa 
 a hug. 
 
 “°Tis done! We are bosom friends, the new chief and 
 I! We decided that, to circumvent old Umtippe’s ghost, it 
 was even worth while to keep the Whitmans at Waii-lat-pu! 
 Also we are going to work toxethes to ally the Cayuse with 
 the Iroquois.” 
 
 Narcissa stood by the table, white of face. “Then I 
 can give Waii-lat-pu back to Marcus! Oh, thank God! 
 Thank God!” and suddenly, fearful of showing too much 
 emotion, she hurried into her bedroom. 
 
 As the door closed behind her, Sarah sank, wearily, into 
 
416 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 a chair. Miles knelt beside her and drew her head against 
 his shoulder. “Was it very hard, my darling?” 
 
 Sarah raised her head to look into her young husband’s 
 eyes. “Miles,” she said in a low voice, “it was almost im- 
 possible! The hatred these Cayuse have for whites in gen- 
 eral and the Whitmans in particular is horrible. I used his 
 jealousy of Umtippe and his greed for power in the new 
 alliance, to curb his designs on the mission. But nothing 
 can touch his vicious hatred.” 
 
 “Are they safe, now?” asked Miles, anxiously. 
 
 “For the time being. For a year or so! Then I shall 
 come back and do it over again. They are in my care, these 
 two dear people.” 
 
 “And in mine,” agreed Miles. “Rest now, dearest, until 
 supper is ready.” 
 
 Sarah gave a great sigh of comfort, and dropped her head, 
 once more, on Miles’ shoulder. 
 
 Four days later, Narcissa disembarked at the immigrant 
 camp, which by now was set a few miles west of The 
 Dalles. It was shortly after sunset when she left the boat, 
 and the western sky was brilliant, following a day of gusty 
 rain. The many wagons were bedraggled and dripping, 
 but camp fires were appearing in every direction, along the 
 rock-strewn shore, giving, somehow, the sense of home 
 to every canvas top that turned from gray to gold in their 
 glow. 
 
 Narcissa pulled her beaver cloak close about her and 
 asked a boy to direct her to Dr. Whitman. He jerked an 
 uninterested thumb toward a lodge, at some distance from 
 ‘the shore, and Narcissa made her way thither. 
 
 It was a large lodge, of buffalo hide. A bright fire burned 
 ‘before its entrance. Within, Narcissa perceived that three 
 ‘men were seated. So engrossed were they with one an- 
 other, however, that Narcissa was actually in the tent en- 
 
THE PROMISED LAND 417 
 
 trance before she was observed. Then the three jumped ta 
 their feet. 
 
 “Narcissa!’’ cried Marcus. “What is wrong?” 
 
 “Nothing is wrong at Waii-lat-pu. I bring you good 
 news from there, dear Marcus,” Narcissa smiled at her 
 husband, then turned to a man in tattered buckskin, a power- 
 ful, bearded man, who flashed white teeth as he returned 
 her smile. 
 
 “Good evening, Mr. Applegate!” 
 
 “Good evening, Mrs. Whitman! MI’ll introduce Lieu- 
 tenant Peel, of the ship, ‘Modeste.’ ” 
 
 Narcissa held out her hand to the Englishman. He was 
 a young man of fine height, with a smooth-shaven, aquiline 
 face, and remarkably large, clear, gray eyes. He wore a 
 red coat, with light blue trousers. Both fitted his slender 
 figure without a wrinkle. On his sleeve were the anchor 
 and star of a senior lieutenant. 
 
 He bowed gracefully over Narcissa’s hand. “I hope, 
 madam, that you have not been obliged to travel far in this 
 inclement weather.” 
 
 “Our mission station is a three days’ journey from here,” 
 replied Narcissa. “But I’m well sheltered by my cloak.” 
 She glanced down at its ample folds and added, with a smile: 
 “It’s been a blessing to me for many years and I have the 
 Hudson’s Bay Company to thank for it. Sir George Simp- 
 son sent it to me before my baby came.” 
 
 “Ah, yes! Sir George is a friend of my father,” said the 
 Lieutenant. “I have met him. I wish—” with a rueful 
 smile, “that he were here now, instead of in India.” 
 
 “T don’t!” cried Marcus. “His iron grip would be all 
 wrong. Here, Narcissa, this is a man’s camp and we’ve 
 no chairs. But you can make use of this log, can’t you? 
 We've finished our supper, but I'll have something—” 
 
 Narcissa interrupted. “Thank you, Marcus, I had my 
 supper in the boat. I hope I’m not going to interrupt the 
 
418 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 conference. If you wish, I’ll go visit in one of the covered 
 wagons.” 
 
 “I’m glad you’re here,” said Marcus, abruptly. “See if 
 you can make these two obstinate folks see reason. Apple- 
 gate swears by all that’s holy he’s going to found a town 
 on the north bank of the Columbia as close as he can crowd, 
 I suppose, to Fort Vancouver. Lieutenant Peel says that 
 if he or any other American encroaches on British prop- 
 erty, the ‘Modeste’ will. know how to protect it.” 
 
 Applegate flushed and smiled, while young Peel laughed, 
 though grimly, and said: 
 
 “It’s not quite as gauche as that, Madam Whitman!’ 
 
 “Still, the doctor has a way of getting at the heart of a 
 situation !’’ said Narcissa, as she warmed her hands at the 
 fire and looked from one man to the next. 
 
 All were seated now, on logs, before the fire, the two 
 ragged and dirty frontiersmen contrasting violently with the 
 immaculately uniformed officer. Peel looked at the beauti- 
 ful, careworn woman, his interest quite unconcealed. 
 
 “What would you have us do, madam?” he asked, still 
 smiling, “give Fort Vancouver to Mr. Applegate?” 
 
 “You'd save time and expense if you did!’ declared Ap- 
 plegate, truculently. 
 
 “You are demanding war, sir!’ exclaimed the Lieutenant. 
 
 “Why not!” retorted Applegate. 
 
 The Englishman shrugged his shoulders, and for a mo- 
 ment no one spoke. 
 
 Narcissa sat looking into the fire, while her mind went 
 back, step by step, over the struggle for the possession of 
 Oregon. 
 
 “Tt will be a ghastly thing,” she said, at last, “if the win- 
 ning of Oregon by either side is accomplished by a baptism 
 of blood. I am against joining any territory whatever, at 
 the cost of human lives. What Daniel Webster said to Dr. 
 Whitman, as to his belief that Oregon was not worth war 
 
 b 
 
THE PROMISED LAND 419 
 
 was right. And yet even he did not dream of what war 
 would mean here on the Columbia and the Willamette. 
 Nor do you two gentlemen understand, who have not lived 
 as housemates to these savages for seven years, as we have. 
 It is their land which we are quarreling about, and they 
 know it.” 
 
 “They've never made use of the land,” interrupted Mar- 
 Clicweeuney can‘t.expect.toikeep at. 
 
 “I agree with you,” replied Narcissa. “But they’ll never 
 see it that way, of course.” She turned to the Lieutenant. 
 “May I ask, sir, did you come, armed with authority from 
 your Government to precipitate war between America and 
 Great Britain?” 
 
 “T am here to protect British citizens from overt acts on 
 the part of American citizens,” replied Peel. 
 
 “And that is all?” insisted Narcissa. 
 
 “That is all,” replied the Lieutenant. 
 
 “Then you are the aggressive spirit, Mr. Applegate.” She 
 looked at the Missourian. “You are willing, nay, anxious, 
 to start war between the two nations. For you must realize 
 that fighting here will mean war in the east. The doctor 
 tells me that already the American public is so inflamed 
 over the attitude of England in Texas, that any pretext will 
 be seized upon to declare war.” 
 
 “T ask no one to do more than I’m doing myself.” Apple- 
 gate squared his shoulders, doggedly. “I’m willing to shoul- 
 der a gun and offer my own life, to save this territory.” 
 
 “Nonsense!” exclaimed Narcissa. “You are melodra- 
 matic where there’s no need! Why should you thrust dan- 
 ger into a situation that is secure as it stands? Dr. Whit- 
 man’s plan is sane and will work. Your caravan, added to 
 the Americans already on the Willamette, can absolutely 
 control the government of Oregon.” 
 
 “If Mr. Applegate will agree to keep his hosts south of 
 the Columbia, until our respective governments have made 
 
420 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 their treaty, I will agree that the ‘Modeste’ shall withdraw 
 from the Columbia,” said Peel. 
 
 “Where will you go?” asked Applegate, suspiciously. 
 
 “To join my squadron. There are twelve British men-o’- 
 ‘war on the Pacific coast,” replied the Lieutenant. 
 
 “There! What did I tell you!’ shouted Applegate. 
 “England’s going to take this country while we sit debat- 
 ing. I refuse—” 
 
 He was interrupted hy a woman’s voice, without. “Jesse! 
 ‘Oh, Jesse! I’m all out of firewood!” 
 
 With an exclamation of annoyance, the Missourian dashed 
 out of the lodge and Narcissa suddenly picked up her cloak 
 and hurried after him. Two tall figures, one of them a 
 woman’s, were walking toward a near-by covered wagon. 
 Narcissa came up to the camp fire, just as Applegate strode 
 away toward the river, leaving the women alone by the 
 fire. 
 
 “Vm Mrs. Whitman, Dr. Marcus Whitman’s wife,” said 
 Narcissa, holding out her hand. “You are Mrs. Applegate, 
 aren’t you?” 
 
 “Yes!” The woman, thin, sunburned, anxious looking, 
 took Narcissa’s hand, with a frankly curious glance. “TI 
 saw you at the mission, back yonder. But I guess I looked 
 like all the rest of the women, to you.” 
 
 “Well, there was a great number of you!” replied Nar- 
 cissa apologetically. 
 
 “And you were having plenty of troubles of your own! 
 My, wasn’t that Indian murder a terrible thing?” 
 
 “Indian murder is what I came to talk to you about,” 
 replied Narcissa. 
 
 “I believe you know all about it! Sit down, Mrs. Whit- 
 man. I brought that rocking chair through in spite of 
 everything.” 
 
 “Have you two or three neighbors you could ask over, 
 
THE PROMISED LAND 421 
 
 Mrs. Applegate, women who have influence with others? 
 There’s something I want to suggest to you all, just as an 
 old timer to newcomers, you know!” 
 
 “Any number of ladies would be pleased to hear you,” 
 said Mrs. Applegate, thoughtfully. “That’s fine, Jesse!” 
 as her husband came up with an arm-load of wood. ‘“You’re 
 excused, now.” 
 
 “Coming back to finish that talk, Mrs. Whitman?” asked 
 the Missourian. 
 
 “In a little while,” replied Narcissa. “I don’t think you 
 really need me.” 
 
 “Well, you'll do for a rubbing post for our ideas,” an- 
 swered Applegate, turning toward the lodge. 
 
 “The Ladies’ Prayer Meeting is meeting to-night, over by 
 Sister Owen’s Conestoga. Might be a good chance for you 
 to talk. Let’s go over right now.” 
 
 Narcissa, a few minutes later, stood facing a gathering 
 of perhaps a hundred women, seated on rocks and logs, 
 about the fire. She prayed for guidance and then plunged. 
 into one of the great efforts of her life. She proposed ta 
 beguile these women into refusing to settle anywhere but 
 upon the Willamette. She wished to tell them of the immi- 
 nence of Indian massacre and what Indian massacre in 
 Oregon would mean. She talked for about half an hour, 
 and during that time, she made every appeal that her 
 imagination could muster, to the jaded, home-seeking hearts 
 of her hearers. But mostly she played up the menace of 
 war, contrasted with their opportunity for peaceful occupa- 
 tion of vast homesteads, south of the Columbia. 
 
 “You have heard the men discussing this ever since you 
 left Missouri,” she said, in closing. “But none of them 
 knew what they were talking about, because none of them 
 knew real conditions here. I know, for I’ve lived here seven 
 long years. And I beg of you, for the sake of all you 
 
422 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 hold dear in life, to refuse to follow Jesse Applegate in 
 his mad venture against the Hudson’s Bay Company. You 
 have come through a more terrible journey than the Pilgrim 
 mothers made, two hundred years ago. You are standing 
 on the edge of the Promised Land, which in very truth flows 
 with milk and honey, for your children and your children’s 
 children. Shall you, then, allow the men to deflect you and 
 lead you into all the ghastly hazards of this war of ageres- 
 sion?” 
 
 “No, Sister Whitman, we shan’t!” cried Mrs. Apple- 
 gate. “I guess I speak for most of the women here when 
 I say our ears had got so sick of hearing the men debate 
 that we were willing to be led anywhere for the sake of 
 making them keep quiet. But the men were mighty careful 
 to keep any war talk from us.” 
 
 “Well, if all the men’s information,” exclaimed a little 
 old lady in a black sunbonnet, “is as bad as what they had 
 about Dr. McLoughlin, I guess none of it’s to be trusted. 
 We've all eaten his bread for two days. There ain’t any of 
 my men folks going to lift a finger against that man’s fort, 
 I say that, flat!” 
 
 “The last of the wagons got around The Dalles and came 
 into camp to-night,” said Mrs. Applegate. “How many of 
 you ladies will agree to get hitched up and in line to fol- 
 low Dr. Whitman into the Willamette country at dawn to- 
 morrow? As far as I’m concerned, I take this stand. I 
 want Jesse and the boys to shoulder a gun for defense, when- 
 ever it’s necessary. But for aggression, never!” 
 
 A quick clapping of hands followed this, then the old 
 lady of the sunbonnet spoke again. “We'll all go with 
 Dr. Whitman! Don’t you worry a mite, Sister Whitman. 
 All we wanted to have was a little common-sense truth told 
 us. The men are so full of politics they forget religion 
 and truth and the good of their own families. If you see 
 that man, McLoughlin, give him our undying thanks,” 
 
THE PROMISED LAND 423 
 
 “T will,” replied Narcissa. “Thank you all for listening 
 to me, and good-night to you.” 
 
 She turned away, but not, for the moment, to return to 
 the lodge. The moon had risen and she walked toward the 
 river bank, whither, a moment before, she had seen Lieu- 
 tenant Peel strolling. She found him gazing at the mag- 
 nificent shadows of distant peaks, his face curiously wistful. 
 
 “You left us very suddenly, Madam Whitman!” he ex- 
 claimed, as she came up. 
 
 “T went away to find help,” replied Narcissa, “and I 
 found it. I’ve started an insurrection among the wives!” 
 and smiling a little, she told him of the interrupted prayer 
 meeting. 
 
 Young Peel, tall and elegant in the moonlight, listened 
 intently. “You believe that they will be able to accomplish 
 this?” he asked. 
 
 “Yes,” replied Narcissa simply, “that part is as good as 
 done.” 
 
 “Then, when they reach the Willamette, I'll leave with the 
 ‘Modeste,’”’ said the Lieutenant. “I think this thing will 
 have to be compromised, and I shall tell my father so. With 
 twelve hundred Americans with the spirit of Applegate 
 against our handful, compromise is our only choice. We 
 must be satisfied with the forty-ninth parallel, as your Dan- 
 iel Webster has proposed. I believe, Madam Whitman, if 
 the hot-heads can be withheld from war until my ship can 
 reach England, all will be well.” He turned his steady 
 gaze from Narcissa, to the rushing river and the sentinel 
 peaks. “’Tis a glorious country. But we are a year too 
 late!” | 
 
 “Do you feel it necessary to start back for your ship, to- 
 night?” asked Narcissa. “I’m sure the doctor can find a 
 sleeping place for you, and I’d like to have you witness the 
 exodus of the women, in the morning.” 
 
 “Oh, I shall stay for that!” exclaimed Lieutenant Peel, 
 
424 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 with a quiet laugh. “I’m a little skeptical about it, you 
 know.” 
 
 Narcissa laughed with him, but added: “You don’t know 
 American wives, Lieutenant! Especially pioneer wives, 
 such as these are. ‘There is fine steel in their resolution, 
 and they are fully as intelligent as the men and quite as well 
 educated. They came up through the district schools, side 
 by side. That’s very important in making you understand 
 that the men fully recognize their wives’ equality with 
 themselves.” 
 
 “IT see!” said young Peel, courteously. 
 
 “Of course, you don’t see at all!’ exclaimed Narcissa, half 
 laughingly and half ruefully. “But you will, to-morrow 
 morning! Good night, Lieutenant.” 
 
 The Lieutenant bowed over her hand and Narcissa turned 
 to the lodge, where Marcus sat alone, awaiting her. 
 
 What was said, that night, in the Applegate Conestoga, 
 or in two hundred other Conestogas, history does not re- 
 veal. But candles burned behind the canvas covers and 
 voices rose in argument from beneath them, to an unprece- 
 dentedly late hour. One would give much to know what 
 Mrs. Applegate said to her husband, although almost any 
 wife or any husband, knowing the pioneer woman’s theme 
 could guess with approximate accuracy at most of the argu- 
 ments used. But Mrs. Appiegate did not keep a diary, and 
 all that we may know is what Narcissa knew. 
 
 Long before dawn, the usual cry sounded from the watch, 
 “Arise! Arise! Arise!” and the camp surged to life. 
 
 To Marcus and Narcissa and Lieutenant Peel, break- 
 fasting on coffee and fish before the lodge, came Jesse 
 Applegate, equipped for riding. 
 
 “Well!” he said, “you’re smart, Mrs. Whitman, that’s all 
 I’ve got to say! The women in this outfit, thanks to you, 
 are starting to-day for the Willamette, whether the men 
 go or not!” 
 
THE PROMISED LAND 425 
 
 Narcissa laughed. “And the men are going on, to attack 
 Fort Vancouver, I suppose!” 
 
 “No, we’re going with our families,” replied Jesse Apple- 
 gate, “but with the distinct understanding that the ‘Modeste’ 
 leaves the Columbia.” | 
 
 “Tt will,” said young Peel. 
 
 “And more than that,” continued Applegate, belligerently, 
 “T want it distinctly understood that my main reason for 
 changing my mind is not any woman’s influence, but be- 
 cause of Dr. McLoughlin’s attitude toward us. I believe 
 he’s been maligned, and maybe his Company’s been maligned. 
 I’m going to look him up, after I get my folks settled for 
 the winter, and see if we can’t compromise, say on parallel 
 forty-nine.” 
 
 “Right you are, Applegate!” exclaimed the Lieutenant. 
 “Your decision is sane. No one will admit more quickly 
 than McLoughlin that your caravan has won a bloodless 
 victory for America.” 
 
 The half sullen, half belligerent look died out of Apple- 
 gate’s honest eyes. He straightened his shoulders and held 
 out his hand to the Englishman. 
 
 “Thank you, Lieutenant! And if you ever get back to 
 this country, you make my house your headquarters. I’d 
 admire to have you.” 
 
 “T shall be most grateful to do so,” replied Peel, rising to 
 accept the proffered hand. 
 
 Marcus looked at Applegate in silence for a moment, 
 then he said: “Jesse, the trail is clear as an avenue from 
 here to the Willamette. You don’t need me. Lead on, 
 yourself. I like to think of you as finishing this trip as 
 head of the expedition.” 
 
 A broad smile showed Applegate’s perfect teeth. ‘“That’s 
 white of you, Doctor! Nothing I’d like better—Lord, 
 there’s my wife starting the ox-team!”’ 
 
 The Missourian whirled on his heel and rushed toward 
 
426 WE MUST MARCH 
 
 his horse, shouting as he did, the rallying cry of the trail: 
 
 “Catch up! Catch up! You sluggards, catch up!” 
 
 Narcissa, Marcus and Lieutenant Peel stood before the 
 lodge, watching the camp fall into line. The rising sun 
 was struggling to pierce a fog, and all the world was orange 
 mist, through which wagons and riders, straining oxen and 
 muscle-sore horses, moved like creatures of a dream, past 
 the audience of three:—wagon after wagon, with children 
 peeping from under the hoods, or capering beside the rat- 
 tling wheels, then horseback riders, boys and men bearing 
 guns, then cattle, with starting ribs, and last of all, a flock 
 of sheep, trotting patiently on bleeding hoofs. 
 
 The sun was sailing high, when the last sound of the 
 bleating sheep died in the west. A breeze from the river 
 was lifting the fog, and peaks and wooded crests showed 
 forth. 
 
 The Lieutenant’s gaze swept the deserted camp ground, 
 with its fires still smouldering, and rested on the river edge, 
 where sat a group of patient voyageurs beside a canoe. He 
 raised his hat to Narcissa. 
 
 “T have seen the Israelites, coming out of the wilderness 
 into the land of Canaan,” he said, “and I must return and 
 tell the skeptics in London of it.” 
 
 Narcissa was standing with eyes still strained toward 
 the west. But she responded to the Lieutenant’s sugges- 
 tion by repeating the immortal message to Joshua, “ ‘Now, 
 therefore, arise, go over this Jordan, thou and all thy peo- 
 ple, unto the land which I do give to them. . . . From the 
 wilderness . . . and unto the great sea, toward the going 
 down of the sun, shall be your coast. There shall not any 
 man be able to stand before thee all the days of thy life. 
 ... I will be with thee. I will not fail thee nor forsake 
 theevas 
 
 “Yes,” said the young Englishman, soberly, “it must, 
 indeed, seem to you that God has led you on.” 
 
THE PROMISED LAND 427 
 
 He shook hands with Narcissa and Marcus, and went 
 slowly down to his waiting canoe. 
 
 Narcissa and Marcus watched his boat fly into the far 
 mists of the river, then, with hearts and minds too full for 
 words, they began to make preparations for their return 
 to Waii-lat-pu. 
 
 Only eighty-two years ago, it was, that morning of golden 
 mist on which the most important single migration the west 
 has known, began that last short lap of its mighty journey. 
 Only eighty-two years since that morning and only seventy- 
 nine years since America and Great Britain signed the 
 treaty which gave Oregon, up to the forty-ninth parallel, to 
 the United States. And yet in that short four score of 
 years memories of Narcissa and her heartaches, her griefs 
 and her dreams, and of her and Marcus’ inestimable gift 
 to America have been dimmed by the uproar of the civiliza- 
 tion which throngs the valleys wherein she made the ulti- 
 mate sacrifice. And yet she experienced during her life- 
 time what is, perhaps, the greatest satisfaction vouchsafed 
 to human beings. She was permitted to give all that lay 
 within her to her country. Blessed was she among women. 
 
 THE END 
 
hey *S 
 
 Piles A et 
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 Cap’n Dan’s Daughter. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 Cap’n Eri. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Cap’n Jonah’s Fortune. James A. Cooper. 
 Captains of Souls. Edgar Wallace. 
 
 Cap’n Sue. Hulbert Footner. 
 
 Cap’n Warren’s Wards. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 Cardigan. Robert W. Chambers. 
 
 Carib Gold. Ellery H. Clark. 
 
 Carnac’s Folly. Sir Gilbert Parker. 
 
 Carry On, Jeeves! P. G. Wodehouse. 
 
 Case and the Girl. Randall Parrish. 
 
 Case Book of Sherlock Holmes, The. A. Conan Doyle. 
 Cask, The. Freeman Wills Crofts. 
 Cat-O’Mountain. Arthur O. Friel. 
 
 Cat’s Eye, The. R. Austin Freeman. 
 
 Catspaw, The. Terry Shannon. 
 
 Cattle. Winifred Eaton Reeve. 
 
 Cattle Baron, The. Robert Ames Bennet. 
 Cavalier of Tennessee. Meredith Nicholson. 
 Celestial City, The. Baroness Orczy. 
 
 Certain Dr. Thorndyke, A. R. Austin Freeman. 
 Certain People of Importance. Kathleen Norris. 
 Chaffee of Roaring Horse. Ernest Haycox. 
 Chance—and the Woman. Ellis Middleton. 
 Charteris Mystery. A. Fielding. 
 
 Cherry Square. Grace S. Richmond. 
 
 Cheyne Mystery, The. Freeman Wills Crofts. 
 Child of the North. Ridgwell Cullum. 
 
 Child of the Wild. Edison Marshall. 
 
 Children of Divorce. Owen Johnson. 
 Chronicles of Avonlea. L. M. Montgomery. 
 Cinema Murder, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 City of Lilies, The. Anthony Pryde and R. K. Weeks, 
 City of Peril, The. Arthur Stringer. 
 
 City of the Sun, The. Edwin L. Sabin. 
 
THE BEST! OF URECEN ? -BICEIONM 
 
 N 
 
 
 
 Clair De Lune. Anthony Pryde. 
 
 Clever One, The. Edgar Wallace. 
 
 Click of Triangle T. Oscar J. Friend. 
 
 Clifford Affair, The. <A. Fielding. 
 
 Clock Strikes Two, The. Henry Kitchell Webster. 
 Clouded Pearl, The. Berta Ruck. 
 
 Cloudy in the West. William Patterson White. 
 Club of Masks, The. Allen Upward. 
 
 Clue of the New Pin, The. Edgar Wallace. 
 Clue of the Twisted Candle. Edgar Wallace. 
 Coast of Enchantment. ‘Burton E. Stevenson. 
 Cock’s Feather. Katherine Newlin Burt. 
 
 Cold Harbour. Francis Brett Young. 
 
 Colorado Jim. George Goodchild. 
 
 Come Home. Stella G. S. Perry. 
 
 Coming of Cassidy, The. Clarence E. Mulford. 
 Coming of Cosgrove, The. Laurie Y. Erskine. 
 Coming of the Law, The. Charles A. Selzer. 
 Communicating Door, The. Wadsworth Camp. 
 Concerning Him. Introduced by the writer of “To M. L. G.” 
 Confidence Man, The. Laurie Y. Erskine. 
 Conquest of Canaan, The. Booth Tarkington. 
 Conquering Lover, The. Pamela Wynne. 
 Conqueror Passes, A. Larry Barretto. 
 
 Constant Nymph, The. Margaret Kennedy. 
 Contraband. Clarence Budington Kelland. 
 Copper Moon. Edwin Bateman Morris. 
 
 Corbin Necklace, The. Henry Kitchell Webster. 
 Corsican Justice. J. G. Sarasin. 
 
 Corson of the J. C. Clarence E. Mulford. 
 Cottonwood Gulch. Clarence E. Mulford. 
 Court of Inquiry, A. Grace S. Richmond. 
 
 Cow Woman, The. George Gilbert. 
 
 Crime at Red Towers. Chester K. Steele. 
 Crime in the Crypt, The. Carolyn Wells. 
 Crimson Circle, ‘The. Edgar Wallace. 
 
 Crooked. Maximilian Foster. 
 
 Crooked Cross, The. Charles J. Dutton. 
 Crook’s Shadow, The. J. Jefferson Farjeon. 
 Cross Trails. Harold Bindloss. 
 
 Cruel Fellowship. Cyril Hume. 
 
 Cryder of the Big Woods. George C. Shedd. 
 Cry in the Wilderness, A. Mary E. Waller. 
 Crystal Cup, The. Gertrude Atherton. 
 
 Cup of Fury, The. Rupert Hughes. 
 
 Curious Quest, The. E, Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
THE BEST Of RECENT FICTION 
 
 
 
 Cursed Be the Treasure. H. B. Drake. 
 Cytherea. Joseph Hergesheimer. 
 Cy Whittaker’s Place. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Daffodil Murder, The. Edgar Wallace. 
 Dagger, The. Anthony Wynne. 
 
 Dalehouse Murder, The. Francis Everton. 
 Damsel in Distress, A. Pelham G. Wodehouse. 
 Dan Barry’s Daughter. Max Brand. 
 
 Dance Magic. Clarence Budington Kelland. 
 Dancers in the Dark. Dorothy Speare. 
 Dancing Silhouette, The. Natalie Sumner Lincoln. 
 Dancing Star. Berta Ruck. 
 
 Danger. Ernest Poole. 
 
 Danger and Other Stories. A. Conan Doyle. 
 Dangerous Business. Edwin Balmer. 
 
 Dark Duel. Marguerite Steen. 
 
 Darkest Spot, The. Lee Thayer. 
 
 Dark Eyes of London, The. Edgar Wallace. 
 David Strange. Nelia Gardner White. 
 Daughter of the House. Carolyn Wells. 
 Daughter of the Sands, A. Frances Everard. 
 Daughter Pays, The. Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 David Copperfield. Charles Dickens. 
 Deadfall, The. Edison Marshall. 
 
 Dead Men’s Shoes. Lee Thayer. 
 
 Dead Ride Hard, The. Louis Joseph Vance. 
 Dear Pretender, The. Alice Ross Colver. 
 Death Maker, The. Austin J. Small. 
 
 Deeper Scar, The. Sinclair Gluck. 
 
 Deep in the Hearts of Men. Mary E. Waller. 
 Deep Lake Mystery. Carolyn Wells. 
 
 Deep Seam, The. Jack Bethea. 
 
 Defenders, The. Stella G. S. Perry. 
 
 Delight. Mazo de la Roche. 
 
 Demon Caravan, The. Georges Surdez. 
 
 Depot Master, The. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 Desert Dust. Edwin L. Sabin. 
 
 Desert Healer. E. M. Hull. 
 
 Desire. Gladys Johnson. 
 
 Desire of His Life, and Other Stories. Ethel M. Dell. 
 Destiny. Rupert Hughes. 
 
 Devil of Pei-ling, The. Herbert Asbury. 
 Devil’s Mantle, The. Frank L. Packard. 
 Devil’s Paw, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
THE BESTOP” RECEN fF (PIG Ri@ms 
 
 
 
 Devonshers, The. Honore Willsie Morrow. 
 Diamond Murders, The. J. S. Fletcher. 
 Diamond Thieves, The. Arthur Stringer. 
 Diana at the Bath. Elizabeth Hall Yates. 
 Diana of Kara-Kara. Edgar Wallace. 
 
 Diane’s Adventure. Ann Sumner. 
 
 Dimmest Dream, The. Alice Ross Colver. 
 Divine Event. Will N. Harben. 
 
 Divots. P. G. Wodehouse. 
 
 Dixiana, A Novelization. Winnie Brandon. 
 
 Dr. Glazebrook’s Revengé. Andrew Cassels Brown. 
 Dr. Nye. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Doctor S. O. S. Lee Thayer. 
 
 Doctor Who Held Hands, The. Hulbert Footner. 
 Don Careless. Rex Beach. 
 
 Door of Dread, The. Arthur Stringer. 
 
 Doors of the Night. Frank L. Packard. 
 Door With Seven Locks. Edgar Wallace. 
 Dope. Sax Rohmer. 
 
 Double Chance, The. J. S. Fletcher. 
 
 Double House, The. Elizabeth Dejeans. 
 Double Thirteen, The. Anthony Wynne. 
 Double Traitor, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Downey of the Mounted. James B. Hendryx. 
 Draycott Murder Mystery. Molly Thynne. 
 Dream Detective. Sax Rohmer. 
 
 Dream Kiss. Ann Sumner. 
 
 Drums of Aulone, The. Robert W. Chambers. 
 Drums of Doom. Robert Welles Ritchie. 
 Duke Steps Out, The. Lucian Cary. 
 
 Dust. Armine Von Tempski. 
 
 Dust of the Desert. Robert Welles Ritchie. 
 Dust to Dust. Isabel Ostrander. 
 
 Eames-Erskine Case. A. Fielding. 
 
 Easy. Nina Wilcox Putnam. 
 
 Eddy and Edouard. Baroness Von Hutten. 
 Eight Panes of Glass. Robert Simpson. 
 Ellerby Case, The. John Rhode. 
 Emerald Tiger. Edgar Jepson. 
 
 Emily Climbs. L. M. Montgomery. 
 
 Emily of New Moon. L. M. Montgomery. 
 Emily’s Quest. L. M. Montgomery. 
 Emperor of America, The. Sax Rohmer. 
 Empty Hands. Arthur Stringer. 
 
Pie BEST OF “RECENT FICTION 
 
 
 
 Enchanted Canyon, The. Honore Willsie Morrow. 
 Enemies of Women. Vicente Blasco Ibanez. 
 Erskine Dale, Pioneer. John Fox, Jr. 
 
 Evil Shepherd, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
 Exile of the Lariat, The. Honore Willsie Morrow. 
 Extricating Obadiah. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Eye of Osiris, The. R. Austin Freeman. 
 
 Eyes of the World, The. Harold Bell Wright. 
 
 Face Cards. Carolyn Wells. 
 
 Face in the Night, The. Edgar Wallace. 
 
 Fair Game. Olive Wadsley. 
 
 Fair Harbor. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Faith of Our Fathers. Dorothy Walworth Carman. 
 Family. Wayland Wells Williams. 
 
 Fantomas Captured. Marcel Allain. 
 
 Far Call. Edison Marshall. 
 
 Fatal Kiss Mystery, The. Rufus King. 
 Fathoms Deep. Elizabeth Stancy Payne. 
 
 Feast of the Lanterns, The. Louise Jordan Miln. 
 Fellowship of the Frog, The. Edgar Wallace. 
 Fidelia. Edwin Balmer. 
 
 Fifteen Cells, The. Stuart Martin. 
 
 Fight on the Standing Stone. Francis Lynde. 
 Findings Is Keepings. John Boyd Clarke. 
 Find the Clock. Harry Stephen Keeler. 
 
 Fine Feathers. Margery Lawrence. 
 
 Fire Brain. Max Brand. 
 
 Fire Tongue. Sax Rohmer. 
 
 First Sir Percy, The. Baroness Orczy. 
 
 Fish Preferred. P. G. Wodehouse. 
 
 Flame of Happiness, The. Florence Ward. 
 Flames of Desire. L. Noel. 
 
 Flaming Jewel, The. Robert W. Chambers. 
 Flamingo. Mary Borden. 
 
 Fleur de Lys. J. G. Sarasin. 
 
 Flood Tide. Sara Ware Basset. 
 
 Flowing Gold. Rex Beach. 
 
 Flutes of Shanghai, The. Louise Jordan Miln. 
 Flying Clues. Charles J. Dutton. 
 
 Flying Squad, The. Edgar Wallace. 
 
 Fool in the Forest, A. Anthony Pryde. 
 Foolish Virgin, The. Kathleen Norris. 
 Footsteps in the Night. G. Fraser-Simpson. 
 Footsteps That Stopped. A. Fielding. 
 
THE (BEST OR UREGCEN Tf HiGiiaa, 
 
 
 
 Forbidden Door, The. Herman Landon. 
 
 Forbidden Trail, The. Honore Willsie Morrow. 
 Forbidden Lips. Terry Shannon. 
 
 Foreman of the Forty-Bar. Frank G. Robertson. 
 Forever Free. Honore Willsie Morrow. 
 
 Forfeit, The. Ridgwell Cullum. 
 
 Fortunate Wayfarer, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Fortunate Mary, The. Eleanor H. Porter. 
 Four-and-Twenty Blackbirds. Howard Vincent O’Brien. 
 Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, The. Vicente Blasco Ibanez. 
 Four Just Men, The. ~ Edgar Wallace. 
 
 Four Million, The. O. Henry. 
 
 Foursquare. . Grace S. Richmond. 
 
 Four Stragglers, The. Frank L. Packard. 
 
 Fourteenth Key, The. Carolyn Wells. 
 
 Fourth Finger, The. Anthony Wynne. 
 
 Four Winds, The. Sinclair Gluck. 
 
 Fox Woman, The. Nalbro Bartley. 
 
 Free Grass. Ernest Haycox. 
 
 French Wife, The. Dorothy Graham. 
 
 From Now On. Frank L. Packard. 
 
 From Six to Six. W. Bert Foster. 
 
 Frontier of the Deep, The. Will Beale. 
 
 Frozen Inlet Post. James B. Hendryx. 
 
 Frozen Justice. Ejnar Mikkelsen. 
 
 Full of the Moon. Caroline Lockhart. 
 
 Fur Brigade. Hal G. Evarts. 
 
 Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. Frank L. Packard. 
 Furthest Fury, The. Carolyn Wells. 
 
 Fury. Edmund Goulding. 
 
 Gabriel Samara, Peacemaker. E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Galusha the Magnificent. Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 Garde A’Vous (On Guard). J. D. Newson. 
 Garden of Flames. E. S. Stevens. 
 
 Gaspards of Pine Croft. Ralph Connor. 
 
 Gate Through the Mountain, The. Hugh Pendexter. 
 Gay Ones, The. Charles Hanson Towne. 
 Gay Year, The. Dorothy Speare. 
 
 Gentle Grafter, The. O. Henry. 
 
 Gentleman Grizzly. Reginald C. Barker. 
 
 Gertrude Haviland’s Divorce. Inez Haynes Irwin. 
 Get Your Man. Ethel and James Dorrance. 
 
 Ghost of Hemlock Canyon. Harold Bindloss. 
 Giants in the Earth, O. E. Rolvaag. 
 

 
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