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 a neigh-

bouring tribe, and has ever since been dodging about through the hills overlooking the great valley where his fathers were once the lords and masters, with only the Great Spirit to say yea or nay to them.

Captain Jim is a harmless fellow, and a good hunter. Sometimes in harvest he goes down in the fields and binds wheat, and gets pay like a white man. His squaws gather berries and sell them to the whites. Sometimes they take a great fancy to children, and give them all the berries they have, and will take nothing for them. Captain Jim says that is not good management. One day some one asked him why he had two squaws. He studied awhile, and said he had two squaws so that they could bury him when he died. He wears a stiff- brimmed beaver hat with feathers in it ; clothes like a white man, even to the white shirt; smokes and chews tobacco, swears, and sometimes gets drunk. In fact, he is so nearly civilized, that no great efforts are now made to return him to the Eeservation. Some day soon the two wives of Captain Jim will be per mitted to lay the last of the Willamette Indians to sleep on the banks of that sunny river.

What would I do? It would be long to tell. But I would blow the Indian Bureau to the moon. I would put good men, and plenty of them, to look into the Indians interest. I would set apart good tracts of land for each tribe. I would pay these men so well that they would not steal from the I