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XVII

THE BRIGADE FROM ERASER'S RIVER 1840

JASON LEE sped up the Willamette. All night he rowed, watching the fires of wigwams on the shore where naked savages passed between him and the light. "He be faster nor Dogtor Magloglin," said the Canadians, as he galloped through Champoeg. The children were at play, the dogs slept in the sun. He heard as of old the crowing cocks and the cooing pigeons in the barn lofts; again he waded knee-deep in flowers, again the larks flew up and sang. He arrived at the mission unannounced, opened the door of his own room, and paused upon its threshold. There hung the dresses of his wife, her books, her portrait, everything just as he left it two years ago. Through the wind-swayed muslin curtain he saw her garden in the rear, blooming just the same.

"Ah, God, why did they leave it so to break my heart? It seemed so long ago. Now it is but yesterday."

"Do not weep. She is gone from you entirely," said David Leslie, hurriedly followed by the tearful household. With an effort in their presence Jason Lee suppressed his grief.

"Public duty will not wait upon my sorrow. We must make place for a great reinforcement. Here is the list." Jason Lee passed the day in action