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Chapter 315
Chapter 9 QUESTIONING THE DEAD.Then he said: “Cold lips and breast without breath, Is there no voice, no language of death?” Edwin Arnold. While Cecil was on his way that evening to seek Wallulah, a canoe with but a single occupant was dropping down the Columbia toward one of the many mimaluse, or death-islands, that are washed by its waters. An Indian is always stealthy, but there was an almost more than Indian stealthiness about this canoe-man’s movements. Noiselessly, as the twilight deepened into darkness, the canoe glided out of a secluded cove not far from the camp; noiselessly the paddle dipped into the water, and the canoe passed like a shadow into the night. On the rocky mimaluse island, some distance below the mouth of the Willamette, the Indian landed and drew his
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