CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE LAST OF THE CHILDREN OF SHASTA.
LEANED from the black stone wall that sheltered the lodges from the south, and watched the white McCloud riding like a stream of light through the forest under me, and thought of many things.
Yonder lay my beautiful Now-aw-wa valley; that was wholly mine, that I should never possess, to which I should never dare assert my right, and there, not far away, were the ashes of the great Chief of the Shastas. Strangely enough he had fought his last fight there, not far from the spot where he had stood and given me possession of the cherished part of his old inheritance.
How still, how silent were all things! Not a campfire shining through all the solemn forest. It was a tomb, dark and typical; the Cyprus and the cedar trees drooped their sable plumes above the dead of a departed race.
Why had I returned here? The reasons were
