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over the bridge to the northern bank of the Colum bia. Like one in a dream he listened, while the young Willamette told him in a low tone that this bridge had been built by the gods when the world was young, that it was the tomanowos of the Willam- ettes, that while it stood they would be strongest oi all the tribes, and that if it fell they would fall with it. As they crossed it, he noted how the great arch rung to his horse s hoofs; he noted the bushes grow ing low down to the tunnel s edge; he noted how majestic was the current as it swept into the vast dark opening below, how stately the trees on either bank. Then the trail turned down the river-bank again toward the Willamette, and the dense fir forest shut out the mysterious bridge from Cecil s backward gaze.

Solemnity and awe came to him. He had seen the bridge of his vision; he had in truth been divinely called to his work. He felt that the sight of the bridge was both the visible seal of God upon his mission and a sign that its accomplishment was close at hand. He bowed his head involuntarily, as in the presence of the Most High. He felt that he rode to his destiny, that for him all things converged and cul minated at the great council.

They had not advanced far into the wood ere the whole train came to a sudden halt. Riding forward, Cecil found a band of horsemen awaiting them. They were Klickitats, mounted on good ponies; neither women nor pack-horses were with tnem; they were armed and painted, and their stern and menacing aspect was more like that of men who were on the war-trail than of men who were riding to a " peace-