When any one in the new settlement spoke of the Potlatch, this scene came up like a shadow.  Would it be repeated?

FOOTNOTES: 

[Footnote A:  See Historical Notes.]

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BLACK EAGLE’S NEST.

In the log school-house, Lewis and Clarke’s Expedition was used as a reading-book.  Master Mann had adopted it because it was easy to obtain, and served as a sort of local geography and history.

In this book is an account of a great black eagle’s nest, on the Falls of the Missouri; and the incident seemed intensely to interest the picturesque mind of Benjamin.

“Let us go see,” said Benjamin, one day after this poetic part of Lewis and Clarke’s narrative had been read.

“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Mann.

“I carry canoe, and we go and find him!”

“What?”

“The black eagle’s nest.”

“Why?”

“I’ll get a plume—­wear it here.  Please father.  I love to please father.”

There was to be a few weeks’ vacation in a part of September and October, and Benjamin’s suggestion led Mr. Mann to plan an excursion to the Falls of the Missouri at that time.  The old chief would be glad to have Benjamin go with him and help hunt, and carry the canoe.  They would follow the Salmon River out of the Columbia, to a point near the then called Jefferson River, and so pass the mountains, and launch themselves on the Missouri, whence the way would be easy to the Falls.

The dream of this expedition seemed to make Benjamin perfectly happy.  He had already been over a part of this territory, with his father, on a visit to the friendly tribes.

The mid-autumn in the valleys of the Columbia and Missouri Rivers is serene, and yet kindles, with a sort of fiery splendor.  The perfect days of America are here.

Master Mann and Benjamin started on their expedition with a few Indians, who were to see them to the Jefferson River and there leave them.

The Yankee schoolmaster had a prophetic soul, and he felt that he was treading the territory of future empires.

Launched on the Missouri, the thought of what the vast plains might become overwhelmed him at times, and he would lie silent in his boat, and pray and dream.

The soul of the Indian boy seemed as bright as the golden air of the cloudless days, during most of the time on the Salmon River, and while passing through the mountains.  But he would sometimes start up suddenly, and a shade would settle on his face.

Master Mann noticed these sudden changes of mood, and he once said to him: 

“What makes you turn sad, Benjamin?”

“Potlatch.”

“But that is a dance.”

“Hawks.”

“I think not, Benjamin!”

“You do not know.  They have a bitter heart.  My father does not sleep.  It is you that keeps him awake.  He loves you; you love me and treat me well; he loves you, and want to treat you well—­see. She make trouble.  Indians meet at night—­talk bitter.  They own the land.  They have rights.  They threaten.  Father no sleep.  Sorry.”