Page:McLoughlin and Old Oregon.djvu/358



3

All day the council lasted, and at night they still talked by the flickering light of the driftwood fire. Outside, the snow beat up against the windows.

Blankets, shirts, guns, ammunition, to the value of $500, lay on the council floor.

"There," said Ogden, as an attendant displayed the tempting array, "these are for you. Hasten, now; bring me the captives and receive the ransom."

On Christmas Eve the messengers were speeding over the new-fallen snow to Lapwai, to the Umatilla, to every lodge where a prisoner lay waiting her uncertain doom.

What joy to the poor captives, terrified by old women fierce as Waskema, who came round flourishing their dull tomahawks, only too eager to put them to death; girls who had seen their fathers slain, women who had been snatched from their husbands and brothers, all to be dragged to lonely lodges, a prey to savage passion.

It was yet early morning when the chiefs came to the lodge of Five Crows. On a couch of costly skins lay the beautiful white girl. For a savage Five Crows had been kind to his white wife.

"Don't go," he pleaded. "All horses," he waved his hand toward the herds on the hills, "all cattle," feeding in the lower meadows, "all skins," they were heaped in the lodge of this rich Indian, "all slaves," there were dozens at his command, "all house," close by stood Five Crows' log house with glass windows, " all land," with a gesture toward the young woman " yours."

She only shook her head.

"Then let me go with you, live with white people," begged the Indian suitor.

Still she shook her hea