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So musing, he passed on down the bank of ths river. He was now perhaps two miles from the camp and seemingly in complete solitude. After a little the path turned away from the beach and led toward the interior. As he entered the woodland he came upon several Indian sentinels who lay, bow in hand, beside the path. They sprang up, as if to intercept his pas sage; but seeing that it was the white shaman whom Multnomah had honored, and who had sat at the council with the great sachems, they let him go on. Cecil indistinctly remembered having heard from some of the Indians that this part of the island was strictly guarded; he had forgotten why. So absorbed was he in his gloomy reflections that he did not stop to question the sentinels, but went on, not thinking that he might be treading on forbidden ground. By and by the path emerged from the wood upon a little prairie; the cottonwoods shut out the Indians from him, and he was again alone. The sunshine lay warm and golden on the little meadow, and he strolled for ward mechanically, thinking how like it was to some of the sylvan lawns of his own New England for ests. Again the shade of trees fell over the path. He looked up, his mind full of New England mem ories, and saw something that made his heart stand still. For there, not far from him, stood a girl clad in soft flowing drapery, the dress of a white woman. In Massachusetts a woman s dress would have been the last thing Cecil would have noticed. Now, so long accustomed to the Indian squaws rough gar ments of skin or plaited bark, the sight of that grace ful woven cloth sent through him an indescribable thrill.