There are black wings in the sky, and you would not be so cool if you had heard the things that have come to my ears." Mrs.Woods was secretly alarmed.

She felt that her assumed boldness was insincere, and that any insincerity is weakness.

She glanced up a long ladder of rods or poles which were hung with Potlatch masks--fearful and merciless visages, fit to cover the faces of crime.

She had heard that Umatilla would never put on a mask himself, although he allowed the custom at the tribal dances.

Mrs.Woods dropped her black eyes from the ominous masks to the honest face of the chief.
"There," said she, lifting her arm, "there sits an honest man.