Silence brooded over Oregon, the silence of the grave. England looked upon the great fur preserve as a waste, a desert where a few wild beasts gained a scanty living. As the fur-traders tramped the forest they knew of coal, but they never told it; they knew of marble and iron, but they kept it secret; voyageurs discovered ledges of gold, but were enjoined to silence; the Indian was not more quiescent. To publish to the world these vast savannas and belts of a greater Britain would bring in people, and people frighten away the game. So Oregon slept behind her battlements, waiting for the prince at whose magic kiss the gates should fall, the forest trails expand, and her thousand industries leap to life.
In November again Monique's brigade glanced like a shadow down the River of the West.
"Time? time?" he called at Fort Colvile. Chief Factor McDonald gave him the time. Monique scribbled it on his orders.
"Time? time? "he called at Walla Walla.
"Time? time? "at Fort Vancouver.
Dr. McLoughlin looked at his watch. "Five minutes past ten o'clock in the morning." Monique scribbled it on his papers and passed them in.
Dr. McLoughlin looked over the record in the quiet of his office. With drooping head the Iroquois stood like a weary race-horse. Dr. McLoughlin came to the Colvile paper.
"You scoundrel, you! "he cried, leaping to his feet. " You have run every cascade this side of Colvile! "
Up flew his cane, but Monique dodged and darted through the door. The proud Indian had reached the goal that Kennedy missed, the fastest time ever made from Colvile to Fort Vancouver.
