Even the Chinook winds cease to blow, and the pine-tops to murmur.
It was such a night that the Potlatch began.

On an open plateau overlooking the Columbia the old chief had caused a large platform to be built, and on this were piled all his canoes, his stores of blankets, his wampum, and his regal ornaments and implements of war.

Around the plateau were high heaps of pine-boughs to be lighted during the Spirit-dance so as to roll a dark cloud of smoke under the bright light of the high moon, and cause a weird and dusky atmosphere.
The sun set; the shadows of night began to fall, but the plateau was silent.

Not a human form was to be seen anywhere, not even on the river.
Stars came out like lamps set in celestial windows, and sprinkled their rays on the crimson curtains of the evening.
The glaciers on Mount Hood began to kindle as with silver fires.

The east seemed like a lifting gate of light.