er- ing around a vehicle that rolled on the grass. Yellow Serpent stood up. "Chick-a-chick," said the Indians, imitating the phenomenal sound. "Horse canoe," cried Yellow Serpent. Round and round the Indians walked and gave it up. Yellow Serpent bent and peered and touched it with a stick. The horse canoe paused for a moment, then rolled on over the grass to Whitman's mission. It was that wagon.
Beaver had grown scarce in the mountains. Jo Meek, the American trapper, and his "pard "had decided to settle in the Willamette valley. They went to Fort Boise" and got Whitman's old wagon. Into it they packed their Indian wives and babies, and drove by a recently discovered trail over the Blue Mountains to Waiilatpu. Dr. Whitman and his wife came out to meet them. These trappers they had met in the mountains seemed like old friends.
"'Twar a hard trip over the mountings," said Jo Meek. "Back thar ^on the plain the sage-brush war over the mules' backs and the flippers a' most cut off the axletrees. I war a'most sorry we undertook to bring the wagin."
"Oh, no," said Dr. Whitman, "you will never regret it. You have broken the road. When others see that one wagon has passed they too will pass, and in a few years the valley will be full of our people." A Delaware standing by heard these words, and told the Indians. Like wild-fire it flew from mouth to mouth.
Dr. Whitman killed the fatted hog for his trapper friends and they had a feast. Jo Meek left his little half-breed daughter Helen Mar to be educated at the mission. "How did you get that famous name?" asked Mrs. Whitman, smoothing the tangled locks of the little girl.
