“My nation, you have always obeyed me.  I have but one more command to make.  Will you obey me?

“You bow again.  My life-blood is growing cold.  I am about to go down into that grave.

“One step!  The clouds fly and darken, and you will see them return again, but not I.

“Two steps!  Farewell, sun and light of day.  I shall see thee again, but not as now.

“Three steps!  Downward to the grave I descend to meet thee, my own dear boy.  Adieu, my people.  Adieu, hearts of faith.  Farewell, ye birds of the air, ye mighty forests, ye sun of night, and ye marches of stars.  I am dying.

“Two steps more I will take.  There he lies before me in the unfolded earth, the life of my life, the heart of my heart.

“You have promised to obey me.  I repeat it—­you have promised to obey me.  You have always done so.  You must do so now.  My hands are cold, my feet are cold, and my heart beats very slow.  Three steps more, and I shall lay myself on the body of my boy.  Hear, then, my last command; you have promised to obey it like brave men.

“When I have taken my last three steps of life, and laid down beside the uncovered bed of earth beside my boy, fill up the grave forever; my breath will be gone; Umatilla will be no more.  You must obey.

“One step—­look!  There is fire on the mountain under the curtains of the night.  Look, the peak flashes; it is on fire.—­O Spirit of All, I come!  One step more!  Farewell, earth.  Warriors, fill the grave!  The black eagle’s plumes will now rest forever.”

There was deep silence, broken only by the sobs of the little school.  A warrior moved and passed round the grave, and uttered the word “Dead!” The braves followed him, and the whole tribe like shadows.  “Dead!” “Dead!” passed from mouth to mouth.  Then a warrior threw a handful of earth into the grave of the father and son.  The braves followed his example, then all the tribe.

As they were so doing, like phantoms in the dim light, Mount Saint Helens[D] blazed again—­one volcanic flash, then another; then all was darkness, and the moon arose in a broad sea of light like a spectral sun.

The grave was filled at last.  Then they brought the Cayuse pony of Benjamin toward the grave, and a young brave raised the hatchet to kill it, that it might bear the dead boy into the unknown land.

There was a cry!  It came from Gretchen.  The girl rushed forward and stood before the hatchet.  The pony seemed to know her, and he put his head over her shoulder.

“Spare him!” she said.  “Benjamin gave him to me—­the soul of Benjamin would wish it so.”

“Let the girl have her way,” said the old warriors.

The moon now moved free in the dark-blue sky, and sky, forest, and plain were a silver sea.  The Indians began to move away like shadows, one by one, silent and slow.  Gretchen was the last to go.  She followed the school, leading the pony, her soul filled with that consciousness of a new life that had so wonderfully come to her.  Her way in life now seemed clear:  she must teach the Umatillas.