The Log School-House on the Columbia | Page 8

you to eat all your apples green.
I've always been very particular about the company I keep, if I was
born poor and have had to work hard, and never studied no foreign
languages. I warn you!"
She raised her voice, and Benjamin heard what she had said. He
suspected her ill-will toward him from her manner, but he
comprehended the meaning of her last words.
He at first looked puzzled and grieved, then suddenly his thin lips were
pressed together; the passion of anger was possessing him, soon to be
followed by the purpose of revenge.
Mrs. Woods saw that she had gone too far in the matter, and that her
spirit and meaning had been discovered by the son of the chief. The
danger to which she had exposed herself made her nervous. But she
began to act on her old principle never to show fear in the presence of
an Indian.
"Here, mister, I must go now," she said, in a loud voice. "Take this rod,
and govern your school like a man. If I were a teacher, I'd make my
scholars smart in more ways than one." She held out the rod to the
master.

There was a movement in the air like a flash. Benjamin, with noiseless
feet, had slipped up behind her. He had conceived the idea that the offer
of the rod somehow meant enmity to him. He seized the rod from
behind the woman, and, sweeping it through the air, with kindled eye
and glowing cheeks, wheeled before the master.
"Boston tilicum, don't you dare!"
"Boston tilicum" was the Chinook for an American, and the Chinook or
trade language had become common to all the tribes on the Columbia.
The early American traders on the Northern Pacific coast were from
Boston.
He raised the rod aloft defiantly like a young champion, and presented
a heroic figure, which excited the tremulous admiration and wonder of
the little group. He then pointed it toward Mrs. Woods, and said
contemptuously in Chinook:
"Cloochman!" (woman).
The scene changed to the comical. Mrs. Woods snatched off her broad
sun-bonnet, revealing her gray hair, and assumed an appearance of
defiance, though her heart was really trembling with fear.
"I ain't afraid of no Injuns," she said, "and I don't take any impudence
from anybody. I've had to fight the whole world all my life, and I've
always conquered. There--now--there!"
She whipped the rod out of the young Indian's hand.
Benjamin's eyes blazed.
"Closche nanitch" (look out), he said. "I am an Umatilla. Siwash
(Indian) will remember. There are hawks in the sky."
"Kamooks" (dog), returned Mrs. Woods, defiantly. "Kamooks."
She would have said "cultus" had she dared. "Cultus" is the most
insulting word that can be applied to an Indian, and, when it is used, it

invites the most deadly revenge. The word had come to her lips, but she
had not the courage to invoke the consequences of such a taunt.
But the young Indian further excited her. He shook the rod at her, and
her passion mastered her prudence. She struggled with herself, and was
silent for a few moments. But, suddenly catching the young Indian's
eye, which had in it a savage triumph, she exclaimed:
"Cultus Umatilla--"
The old chief stepped forward and lifted his hands.
"Pil-pil" (blood), said Benjamin. "There are hawks in the air--"
"Be still!" said the chief.
"--they whet their beaks," continued Benjamin. "Potlatch!"
The whole company were filled with excitement or terror. Gretchen
trembled, and began to cry. Three Indians were seen coming down the
trail, and the sight seemed to fill Benjamin with a mysterious delight.
Mrs. Woods saw them with secret fear, and the master with
apprehension. Several of the children began to cry, and there was a
look of pain, terror, or distress on all the faces.
Suddenly Gretchen stepped apart from the group and lifted to her
shoulder her violin.
A hunting strain rose on the bright morning air. It seemed like the flight
of a singing bird.
The chief's arms dropped. The music arose like a sweet memory of all
that is good and beautiful.
The three Indians stopped to listen. The music became more sweet and
entrancing. The anger went out of Benjamin's face, and there came
better feelings into his soul.
The music breathed of the Rhine, of vineyards and festivals, but he

understood it not; to him it recalled the mysterious legends of the
Umatillas, the mysteries of life, and the glory of the heroes who slept
on the island of the dead or amid the sweetly sighing branches of the
trees. The air was the Traumerei.
When the music ceased there was a long silence. In it Mrs. Woods
turned away slowly, with a word of advice to Gretchen that under other
circumstances would