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
