It was but a simple song which Constance and Kenneth had often sung together in the good old happy days. She little realized then to what purpose it would one day be used. But with the men the words affected them not so much as the sight of that sweet face, whiter than it should be, and the trim figure on the platform. Into many a mind flashed the memory of other days.
For an instant there was silence when Constance ended. Then, "Three cheers for the lady," shouted one strapping fellow. "Three cheers," came the response, and how their voices did ring as they roared and stamped their approval.
Keith in the meantime had taken his place at the harmonium, and when the men's voices had died down he played the air of "Annie Laurie." With Constance leading, and the miners joining in the chorus, it was a time never to be forgotten at Klassan.
Pritchen was a surly witness of this marvellous transformation. Regaining his feet, he tried to speak to his men. But they had forgotten him in the new excitement. They were in a rollicking humour, these husky fellows, who but a few minutes before were tearing at one another in the wildest confusion. In his anger Pritchen seized one by the shoulder.
"D— you!" he shouted. "What's wrong with you all? Are you going to let a bit of lace turn your heads?"
The only response he received was the man wheeling square around, and bawling full into his face:
"And for bonnie Annie Laurie,I'll lay me doon an' dee."
"Curse you all!" he cried. "You confounded idiots!" and in a rage he left the building and started for Perdue's store.
The sound of the last verse followed him into the darkness, and then silence. He stopped and listened. Presently there floated through the air the old, familiar tune of "Jesus, Lover of My Soul." All were singing it, he could easily tell that, and his men, too! He turned and shook his fist at the building.
"My time will come!" he cried. "You d— missionary! I'll get even with you! You may laugh at me now, but beware!"
The morning after the debate Constance was moving briskly about the little cabin she had assisted in erecting with her own hands. She was relating to her father, who was lying on a cot, the stirring scenes of the previous evening.
"Oh, it was so funny at first to listen to the strange things some of the men said. They were like a lot of school boys. But there was one old man who spoke so earnestly when he told about his past life that I could not keep back the tears from my eyes."
"And you were behind the curtain all the time?" questioned her father.
"Yes, until the row began. At first I felt like running out of the building by the door which was near, I was so frightened. But when I saw the efforts Mr. Steadman was making to stop the fight I seemed like a coward for the thought of deserting. For a few minutes I did not know what to do. Then I remembered a story I had read long ago, how an angry mob was stilled by a song, and I made up my mind to try it on those men. I could hardly stand at first, my knees were so weak, and I trembled violently. But when I saw the effect the song produced I took courage and had no more trouble."
"My dear, brave child," responded Mr. Radhurst affectionately, "you remind me of your mother; you have her disposition, so brave, and yet so kind and gentle."
"Not very brave, daddy, but I would do anything for you," and Constance gave the old man a loving kiss. "If I am gentle it is you who made me so; you are always so considerate."
"But tell me, Connie, how it all ended. I am anxious to hear some more."
"Oh, we sang hymns and songs the rest of the evening, and then those great, rough men came up one by one and shook hands with me. Some of them, I really believe, had not shaken hands with a woman for years, as they just wabbled my hand, and then dropped it as if they were frightened. But the old man with the white hair and long beard squeezed my hand till I nearly cried out with pain. The tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked into my eyes and said, 'God bless ye, lady, ye've done us a power of good to-night.'"
"Mr. Steadman must have been pleased, Connie, at the happy ending."
"Happy? I don't believe I ever saw such a look on any man's face before; it fairly shone with delight. He looked at me and tried to express his gratitude in suitable words, but I never heard a man stammer so in my life. He gave up the attempt at last, and simply said, 'Thank you!'"
"Did he say he would come this morning to see me?"
"Yes, as soon as he could, and I believe that's his step now."
"I am afraid I am very late," said Keith, when he had entered the building, "but you see I've been delayed."
"Overslept yourself?" laughed Constance.
"Oh, no. I've been to the drug store."
"The drug store!"
"Yes, and found the druggist asleep. When I awoke him it took me two whole hours to get what I wanted. How is that for business?"
"A drug store! and a druggist! I don't understand," and a puzzled expression spread over Constance's face.
"Well, you see, it's this way. I left Pete asleep, as he was tired after his long trip, and went to get the roots of which I told you at Siwash Creek. I found the old chief asleep, and when he was awake and I told him what I wanted it took me one hour to answer all the questions he asked. Then he made a long speech about his ancestors, and how the wonderful roots had cured so many of them. By the time he was through another hour had slipped by. But at last I got what I wanted and here it is, so I am going to begin at once upon that racking cough."
"Mr. Steadman," said Constance, "will you please tell me where all these things came from which we found in this room?"
"What things?" queried Keith, as he carefully unwrapped the precious roots from their thin bark covering.
"Why, this splendid bear-skin rug on the floor; that large wolf skin on my father's cot, and those pictures on the walls; they do not belong to us."
"Do you mind very much, Miss Radhurst? If you are offended I'll take them away, for it was I who brought them here."
Receiving no reply, he continued: "When I came to light the fire, so as to have the building warm for your arrival, I noticed how bare the room looked, and turned over in my mind how to improve its appearance, and so brought these over. That bearskin rug is from one of the finest grizzlies ever seen in the North. I brought him down one morning when he was about to make a breakfast of me."
Keith did not tell that in killing the animal he had risked his own life to save an Indian youth, who was in the creature's grip. The lad was a stranger to him, and when he was released he gave one quick, searching glance of gratitude at the missionary and then sped like a deer up the long, deep ravine. He had never seen the lad since, but his bright face and manly figure were often in his mind.
To Keith, the days that followed were full of peace and happiness. The Reading Room was well attended and, more important still, the church was filled every Sunday with an orderly number of men. It now appeared that the turn of affairs on the night of the debate had discouraged Pritchen entirely from his opposition.
Keith became a regular visitor at the Radhurst cabin, and Constance always awaited his coming with pleasure. They read aloud from some favourite author, during the long evenings, when Mr. Radhurst was an eager listener until he fell asleep.
"I wish I had my copy of Browning," said Keith one night, "but I have lost it somewhere. I had it on the trail, and well remember the last time I read from it. It was in an open camp, where I must have left it."
"He seems to be your favourite author," replied Constance.
"One of my favourites. He deals with the deep, serious things of life, and has such a virile faith."
One afternoon, instead of reading, they went out for a short snow-shoe tramp. The day was clear and fine, and the myriads of snowy crystals gemmed the whole landscape with surpassing glory. They climbed the hills, chatting like happy children, while at times their voices rang out in joyous peals of laughter. When they returned to the cabin their faces glowed with the keen exercise, and Keith, looking at Constance, thought he never beheld a fairer picture of health and beauty.
"You will come in to see father," she said, when they had reached the door.
"No, not to-day, thank you," Keith replied. "I have had so much enjoyment this afternoon, that I feel quite intoxicated. I must get back to my cabin and do some translationary work. Spring will soon be here, so I want to get the task finished and off in the first boat."
Keith had been engaged for some time upon the Psalms, and had reached the one hundred and twenty-first. Generally it was easy for him to concentrate his mind upon his task, and hours would slip quickly by. But to-day it was different. "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills," he began, and then tried to write. Instead of the Indian words slipping from beneath his pen, he found himself sketching a fair face upon the white sheet before him. So absorbed was he at this pleasant occupation that time moved unheeded by. He was at length startled by a loud rap upon the door, and quickly turning the sketch face downwards upon the table called to the visitor to come in. At once a young man entered, and cast a curious glance around the snug room.
"Mr. Steadman," he began, "you're wanted at the store. There's trouble on hand. Tim Fleeters had a poke of gold stolen from his cabin, and a miners' meeting has been called to see what's to be done."
"Certainly I will go," replied Keith. "Will you wait for me?"
"No, I must hurry on; I have more calls to make," and with that he was away.
Before leaving, Keith lifted the drawing from the table and placed it in a strong chest in one corner of the room.
"There, if anyone should enter during my absence nothing will be left to tell how I have spent the afternoon."
As he moved along the path leading to the store, Pritchen crept out from behind an adjacent building and watched the missionary until his tall figure was out of sight. Then with a low chuckle he moved towards the light shining through the window from the candle which Keith in his hurry had forgotten to extinguish. Drawing near he peered cautiously into the room, but could observe no one within. To be surer, he knocked, and, receiving no response, opened the door and entered.
"Ha, ha," he muttered half aloud, as he glanced swiftly around the room. "Snug place this. Nice books there. But you'll learn something soon, my hearty, not found in those pages. Now a place for these."
As he spoke he drew from beneath his coat a heavy poke of gold, and also an empty one, on which appeared the two letters, "K. R." Presently his eye caught sight of the chest.
"That looks good; a most likely place, so in you go."
Lifting the cover, which was not locked, he beheld the picture lying in full view.
"Hello! what in h— is this? A picture, and a woman's! It's too dark here to see clearly. I must have more light. Ah, now I see," and he held the candle close down to the chest. "Well, well, I didn't know it had gone that far, but it only makes bigger game for me. Down underneath is the place for these, snug away in that corner, beneath this stuff. There, that's good."
No sense of shame or pity struck the villain's heart, as he gave one more swift glance at the sweet face before him ere he slammed down the cover. Then locking the chest he was about to put the key into his pocket.
"No, that won't do," he thought. "The stove's the best place for you. There, down among the coals and ashes, away out of sight."
He then started to leave the building, and had almost reached the door, when his eye fell upon a picture standing upon the rough deal table. He stopped and went back. The photograph was that of a sweet-faced woman and two lovely children, a boy and a girl.
Pritchen looked at them curiously for an instant. "Long time since I've seen you, Nellie. I expect you don't look so young and fresh now, and the kids must be well grown up. Here's to the d— breed, with all their saintly, pious ways. I'm done with you all—all except one, by God, and he'll soon be finished."
Seizing the picture in his hand, he tore it to pieces, threw the fragments into the stove, and, turning, left the building.
Of all criminals in the unwritten code of mining camps in the early days in the Yukon, the sneak-thief was the most despised. A man might live as he pleased, as a squaw-man, or with several paramours; he might shoot a man down in his tracks, if for honour or self-defense. But for a man who robbed sluice boxes or stole from cabins there was no term of condemnation strong enough in the English language. Cabins in those days were seldom locked, and a man who secured his door at night, or when he left the place, was viewed with suspicion, and often shunned. Anyone might enter another's abode, borrow what he needed, and, if hungry, help himself. It was the law, the unwritten verdict of the place.
When Keith reached the store he found most of the men congregated there, discussing the whole affair in no light terms. Some were sitting on rude benches, others were standing. The room reeked with tobacco and whiskey fumes. As he gazed around and noticed how the scent of blood had aroused their passions, a sigh escaped his lips. A number who at the debate had talked the strongest about temperance, who were so quiet in the Reading Room, and orderly in church, were among the most vehement talkers, and expressed their views in the strongest manner.
They reminded him of a certain Sunday School class in his old home town. When separated each was quiet and manly, a typical little saint, who said "yes, sir," and "no, sir," most carefully, and could tell about Moses and David with evident pride. But when together, the mob instinct seemed to possess them, and to carry them beyond all bounds of reason in thought, word and deed.
As he listened to these miners and heard their rash remarks he shuddered. "God help the poor fellow!" he thought, "whoever he may be, if he once gets into such brutish hands."
"Yes," he heard Tim Fleeters saying, "it was only yesterday that I went out to cut fire-wood. The poke of gold was in my chest, at the foot of my bunk. When I returned, and lifted the lid to get some tea which I kept there, the poke was gone—gold and all."
"The sneak!" spoke up another, "shooting's too good for him."
"Hanging would be better," remarked a third. "Shooting'd be a cinch."
In the meantime the rest of the men had arrived, among whom was Pritchen, and joined in the conversation.
There were several miners in the room calmer than the rest, of whom Caribou Sol was one. He had watched the whole proceedings, and listened to the talk as it drifted along. Seeing that nothing definite was being done, he at length rose slowly to his feet, and mounted the bench on which he had been sitting.
"B'ys," he began, rolling a wad of tobacco in his cheek, "let's git down to bizness. We've met here, as I understand it, to see about that poke of gold, and all the talk seems to be about what to do with the thief. Now, who is he, and how are we to find him? I suggest that fust of all we appoint a chairman to this here meetin', an' git down to bed rock."
"Right ye are, Sol," said one, "and I move that you take the chair, or, I should say, bench."
"Hold right thar, pard," broke in the old man. "I don't want that persition, an' I won't take it. Appint some one else."
"Pritchen, then," called out another. "I move for Pritchen."
"Pritchen, Pritchen," came the response. "He'll do. He's the tongue for such things. Mount the bench, Bill."
Since the night of the debate Pritchen appeared to be a changed man. Instead of making a big fuss over the affair he had laughed it off with the men, and even shook hands with Caribou Sol. "It was only a little racket," so he told them, "and the sooner forgotten the better." He occasionally went to the Reading Room, and one Sunday attended church. The men declared that Bill was "the clear stuff," after all, so agreeable did he make himself to every one who came in his way. It was therefore quite natural that he should be chosen chairman on this occasion.
A half smile played around his mouth as he complied with the miners' request. He was much pleased with the result so far, and looking from his elevated position, a contemptuous feeling for the men around him came into his heart. "What curs they are," he said to himself, "to be led first one way and then another. But a short time ago they were ready to drive me out of Klassan; now they have chosen me chairman. Oh, what great things a little oil will do to make human machines run smoothly. I guess I've applied it all right this time. My forbears didn't lick the Blarney stone in old Ireland for nothing, I see that for sure."
"Boys," he began very deliberately, "I thank you for this honour. Anyone else would make a far better fist at it; though I shall do the best I can. It is in the interest of the community that this serious problem before us should be considered as carefully and promptly as possible. The meeting is now open for discussion as to the best manner of proceeding."
"Let's turn out and search every cabin," suggested one.
"No, that won't do," replied another. "The thief may search his own shack, and laugh up his sleeve at us."
"But we could divvy up," insisted the other. "Several go in a bunch, and then there'd be no danger."
Caribou Sol listened attentively to the various remarks which were made. Seeing that no solution of the difficulty was being reached, but rather a greater complication, he slowly rose and looked around.
"B'ys," he commenced, "if yez don't mind listenin' to an old man, one who has been through the mill, and seen sich things afore, I'd like to offer a suggestion."
"Go ahead, Sol," responded several, for they knew the old man only spoke when he had something important to say.
"Now, I've been in several camps sich as this, where there's no one sich as magistrate or policeman to enforce law an' order. Then the miners had to take matters inter their own hands."
"How did they do it?" asked one.
"Ye may be sure they didn't leave it fer every ninny to take up valuable time waggin' his tongue, an' sayin' nothin'. They ginerally got down to bizness as soon as the camp was formed, an' appinted several of the leadin' men to dispense law as they saw fit. Sometimes they were called 'The Vigilance Committee,' an' right good work they did, too. They had their eyes peeled fer bizness, ye bet yer life."
"Tell us, Sol, how they chose them," asked Perdue.
"Sometimes by vote, either by ballot or show of hands."
"Was it ever left to the chairman to appoint them?" continued Perdue. "I should think that's a much easier way, and I suggest that we do the same."
"Hear, hear!" came the response. "Go ahead, Bill. Name yer men, and let's get this business fixed up."
Pritchen's eye gleamed with a triumphant light at this turn of affairs. He made a show of refusing such an important task, but the men would not listen.
"Come, man," said Perdue, "stick to yer job. Ye kin do it, and all 'ill be satisfied."
"Well, if you want me to do it," replied Pritchen, "you'll have to put up with my choice. I'll do the best I can, and I want no back jaw when it's done."
"All right, Bill, never fear. Go ahead."
Pritchen looked slowly round the room as if weighing each man carefully in his mind.
"Mickie O'Toole," he said, "will you stand by and help with this job?"
"Sure," came the reply. "To the very last."
"And find the rope too, Mickie?" laughed one.
"If you're the thafe, begorra, I'll find the rope, tie the knot, and give the first pull."
The laugh which followed this repartee showed that the men were in excellent humour, and enjoying the whole proceedings.
"Tim Slater, I spot you," continued Pritchen. "Is it a go?"
"Very well, pard, ye may bank on me," came the reply.
"Jim, how does your pulse beat?" and Pritchen threw a wink at Perdue.
"Leave me out, Bill. It's hard fer me to git away. Choose some one else."
"Ah, come off, Jim," remonstrated Mickie. "If I tie the knot you'll need to brace the poor divil up a bit with a dram or two of yer hot stuff."
"Guess he won't need the rope, then; the stuff'll fix him," came a voice from the back of the room.
Perdue craned his neck, and stood on tip-toe to see the speaker, while his flushed face told that the thrust had gone home.
"Never mind him, Jim," laughed one of the men. "It's only Joe, the kid, having a little fun."
"It's d— poor fun, then," surlily replied the saloonkeeper. "Yes, Bill, I'll jine ye, if my help'll do any good to round up the beast, and mebbe there's more'n one."
"You ought to know," again came the voice.
Perdue was furious. He was about to give vent to his feelings in no uncertain language, when Pritchen laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"Be quiet, Jim, and never mind the cur. Let's get on with our job. I choose the parson," he continued, looking the missionary full in the eyes.
Keith started as he heard his name mentioned. He had been standing silently in a corner, watching with disgust the way in which the business was being conducted. He noticed that the men chosen were Pritchen's tools. Why had the chairman selected him?
"I would rather not act," he quietly replied. "Please appoint some one else."
"Ye'd better do it, parson," urged Caribou Sol. "A chaplain may be needed, an' ye'll be mighty handy."
A peculiar note in the old man's voice and the look in his face placed Keith on his guard. "Yes, I may be needed," he thought. "If some poor chap gets into the hands of those brutes it will be well to see that fair play is given at any rate."
"Very well, then, I agree," he assented after a short pause.
Pritchen noted how quick Sol was to persuade Keith to accept, and the look upon his face, so the little scene pleased him immensely.
"Now, gentlemen," he announced, "I think one more will do. Five should make a good number. Let me see," and he hesitated as he looked around the room.
"What about yourself, Bill?" spoke up several. "You'll do."
Pritchen made a pretence at remonstrating, but the words were drowned in the noise of the miners, who stamped, clapped, and shouted until the clamour was deafening.
"All right, then," he replied, when the tumult had subsided. "If you are as determined as that, I suppose I must act. Let us now get to work," he concluded, stepping down from the bench.
Keith had been thinking very seriously during all this time, and when Pritchen ended he lifted up his voice.
"Gentlemen, you have placed upon us a hard and important task, and as one of the Committee I wish to ask a few questions."
The men giving him respectful attention, he proceeded:
"Suppose one of us on the Committee should be the guilty person, what are we to do?"
"Choose another," came the reply.
"Is that the will of all?"
"Ay, ay."
"And, if we find the thief, have you any suggestions to make? It may help us very much."
"Hang him," said one.
"Drive him from Klassan," replied another.
"Let the Committee decide," spoke up a third, which remark was received with applause.
"Thank you, gentlemen, that is all," and with this Keith joined the men who were waiting for him at the door.
As they passed out into the night, Caribou Sol dropped his head, and his long beard was pressed close against his breast.
"Fool, fool, that I am!" he said to himself. "Why did I refuse to act and thus leave 'im alone with that devil an' his tools? I might have knowed it. I might have knowed it. Somethin' will happen. Somethin's in the air. I don't know what it is, but when that sarpent gits to wark thare's bound to be trouble. God fergive me!"
A stiff breeze was swinging through the night as the Vigilance Committee left the saloon and started for the nearest cabin. The stars were hidden, and the weather had moderated, presaging a storm. The wind was soughing in the trees like a wandering spirit, while far in the distance the faint howl of a wolf was heard. The line of rough buildings stood indistinct in the darkness, unrelieved by one ray of light. They sent a chill to the hearts of several of the men by their gloomy silence. In one of these, perhaps, the stolen treasure was lying, the innocent cause of the disturbance.
It had been arranged that the rest of the men should remain in the saloon while the cabins were being searched. Then, if nothing came to light, a new line of action was to be entered upon. Only Tim Fleeters accompanied the searchers. He would be necessary, it was considered, to recognize the poke.
"Ugh!" exclaimed Mickie O'Toole, as they entered the first house, and lighted a candle. "This place makes me crape, it's so still and death-loike." Every nook was examined; the small box, the blankets, while even the stove, from which the fire had died out, was not overlooked. One by one the cabins were entered, and the same monotonous work continued. Some of these Keith had never entered before, and their bareness appalled him. What was there, he wondered, in this golden lure, which could induce men to abandon every comfort, and undergo such hardships in that desolate land? Was the uncertain game worth it all? He could not believe it. At length the last house was searched, the one which stood by the trail leading to the Indian village. Nothing, so far, had been discovered, and the men peered at one another through the darkness.
"Well," said Perdue, "we've had all this work for nothing, and I'm sick of the job."
"But we're not through yet," replied Pritchen sharply. "There are several more to visit, your own, the Radhurst cabin, and the mission house, to say nothing of the Indian shacks."
"But ye wouldn't bother the old man and his daughter this time of the night, surely," responded the saloonkeeper.
"I'd as soon distarb me mither's grave," said Mickie, "as to frighten the swate-faced lady up yon by our presence to-night."
"Umph! I guess she won't mind," sneered Pritchen, "especially if the parson's along."
The blood rushed into Keith's face, as he listened to these remarks. It was hard for him to stand quietly there and hear these men speak so lightly of one whose image was enshrined in his heart, and who was becoming dearer to him every day. Her pure face and large, wondering eyes rose before him, and when Pritchen uttered his coarse sneer he turned suddenly upon him.
"What do you mean by those words?" he demanded.
"Anything you like," returned Pritchen.
"That's not an answer to my question. You named me in connection with Miss Radhurst, and I want you to explain."
"You seem mighty interested."
"Yes, I am. And wouldn't any man with the slightest spark of chivalry be interested if he heard insinuations about one, especially a woman, who is as innocent and pure as the flower of the field? Refer to her again as you did lately, and you'll see how interested I am."
The tone in Keith's voice warned Pritchen and the rest that the less said about the matter the better, so an awkward pause ensued. Perdue was the first to speak.
"Let's search the mission house now," he suggested, "and leave the Radhurst cabin till the last."
This plan was at once agreed upon, and, in no agreeable frame of mind, Keith followed his companions up the narrow trail leading to the house.
How often he had traversed that very path during the long years of regular duty. Time and again had he looked up at the Indian village on the brow of the hill above him, and a spirit of joy always thrilled his being. The children who used to run to meet him were ever sure of a hearty greeting. How dear they had become to him—the lambs of his flock. Upon every one he had sprinkled the few drops of water, and sealed them with the sign of the cross in Holy Baptism. His flock he knew all by name, from the youngest to the oldest, and he was their spiritual father.
But on this night no such feelings possessed his soul. A heavy weight oppressed him in some mysterious manner. He tried to shake it off, but in vain. The gliding figures before him assumed the appearance of evil spirits luring him on to a doom over which he had no control. Why had Pritchen chosen him as one of the committee unless he had some hidden motive in view? Had a trap been laid by this wily serpent in which to entangle him? He was not superstitious; yet as they drew near the cabin a chill passed through his body. A feeble light was shining through the window, from the candle which was struggling bravely in the last throes of life.
They opened the door and entered. The room was cold, for the fire had gone out. As in the other cabins, they at once set to work and the place was thoroughly searched. Several tried the lid of the chest, but, finding it locked, desisted. At length Pritchen drew near, and seized the cover with both hands.
"Hello! this is locked!" he exclaimed. "Let's have the key."
Keith had thought of the chest, and the picture lying within. As Pritchen turned to him his face flushed in a confused manner, which Perdue, who was watching, observed.
"The key, I say!" repeated Pritchen in a sharp voice. "Let's have the key to this chest.
"It must be in the lock," replied Keith. "I left it there when I went out, and did not turn it, either."
"Look for yourself, then," and Pritchen stepped back to make room for the missionary.
Keith stooped down and examined it carefully. He tried the lid, but it was fastened. He placed his hand to his forehead and tried to think.
"Maybe you locked it and put the key in your pocket," suggested one.
Keith ran his hands through every pocket, and into each corner, but all in vain; the key was nowhere to be found.
"Very strange," muttered Pritchen. "A chest in the cabin, a strong one at that—locked, and the owner unable to find the key! What do you keep in such a precious box?"
Keith heard him, but heeded not. He was trying to think. Yes, he had placed the picture there before he left the building, and closed the lid down without turning the key. He was sure of that.
He was aroused from his reverie by Pritchen asking for an axe.
"There," and Keith pointed to a corner of the room.
At first an attempt was made to pry up the cover, by forcing the axe under the edge, but in this they failed.
"Let's smash the d— thing!" cried Pritchen. "We can't waste the whole night here, and we must see into this box."
Suiting the action to the word, he drove the blade into the smooth lid, and in a short time the cover was in splinters.
In silence Keith beheld the work of destruction. What could he do? Every blow seemed to strike at his own heart, telling him of impending trouble.
"Hello! what's this? A woman's face! Well, I'll be damned! Look, boys," and Pritchen pointed to the sketch lying in full view.
The weak candle light fell tremblingly upon the fair face as Perdue bent over the box to examine the picture more closely. Then he seized it roughly in his hand, and held it up for a better inspection. It was not the little laugh given by one of the men which stirred Keith so intensely, but the wink he caught Pritchen tipping to Perdue. It was that quick telegraphic message, the base innuendo which stung and lashed him more than a thousand words. The hot blood, recoiling at the silent insult, surged back to the body's secret depths, leaving the face as white as drifted snow. Keith's eyes flashed danger as he reached out one long tense arm.
"Give that to me," he demanded, restraining himself with a great effort. "It has nothing to do with your business here."
"It's interesting, though," replied Perdue.
"Innocent and pure as the flower of the field," sneered Pritchen, quoting the missionary's own words.
Scarcely had he ceased when Keith, throwing discretion to the wind, leaped upon him, and with one blow sent him reeling back over a small bench standing near. Regaining his feet as quickly as possible, with a terrible oath, Pritchen rushed for his antagonist, only to go down again before that clinched sledge-hammer fist. This time he did not attempt to rise, but lay on the floor, giving vent to the most blood-curdling oaths. Keith towered above him, awaiting his further movement.
"Lie there, then, you serpent!" he cried, spurning him with his foot. "It's your natural position, anyway."
An exclamation of surprise from Perdue caused him to glance quickly around, and the sight which met his gaze was one never to be forgotten. Over the chest stood the saloonkeeper, holding in his hand a well-filled moose-skin poke, which he had just lifted from the bottom of the box.
"Is that yours, Tim?" he asked.
"Yes," came the reply. "Don't you see my initials, 'T. F.' worked in the poke? I did it myself, and could swear to it anywhere."
"And what's this?" exclaimed Mickie O'Toole, holding up another poke, which was empty. "See, and here are letters, too, 'K. R.', so, Tim, you're not the only one who's been pinched."
"Maybe the parson kin throw some light on the subject," and Perdue turned towards the missionary with a malicious light in his eye.
But Keith did not answer. He stood as if rooted to the floor. What did it all mean? Was he dreaming? He placed his hand to his forehead. No, no, it was no dream, but a terrible reality. A base, cowardly trick had been imposed upon him; he felt sure of that.
"God help me!" he inwardly groaned. "What am I to do?"
"No wonder the box was locked and the key gone," he heard some one say, but it moved him not. His thoughts were elsewhere. What would she think? What would his flock think? Their pastor a base thief! It was terrible. Why had such a cross been laid upon him? What had he done to deserve it all? He thought of another, of One, sinless and pure, who had borne His cross alone; who had been mocked, laughed at, and spit upon. He would not desert him now, anyway, in his time of trial.
The idea comforted him somewhat. A new feeling took possession of him, a strength which he had seldom experienced before. He felt a Presence very near, some unseen influence giving him a marvellous calmness and courage. He looked at the men, and listened to their cruel words unmoved. He saw Pritchen standing by, with Satanic delight stamped upon his features, but it affected him not.
Base and sordid though they were, his companions could not fail to recognize the dignified, lofty bearing of the man before them, and the new light which illumined his face. Mickie O'Toole paused in the midst of a jocular remark, reverently crossed himself, and forgot to finish his sentence. Perdue remained silent, and even Pritchen failed to pour forth his quota of filth and blasphemy. They all felt, though none would have acknowledged it, that some mysterious power was in that room, before which their guilty souls shrank and feared. Keith, alone, knew that One who said, "Lo, I am with you alway," had not deserted him in the hour of distress.
It was only after they had left the house and moved down the hill through the gloomy night that the miners recovered from their temporary fear. When at length they thrust Keith into the saloon among the astonished waiting men, the vilest words in the English language were none too strong with which to introduce the wretched man.
On the afternoon preceding the miners' meeting, Yukon Jennie sat silently in the corner of the old chief's lodge. Her busy little fingers were arranging a number of small pictures, choosing out the best and laying them carefully by themselves. Her face was full of animation as she bent over her task, and her eyes sparkled with delight as she gazed tenderly upon some favourite sketch.
"The pale-face woman will like that," she said to herself. "When she sees the little stream running through the woods, playing with the sunbeams, laughing at the trees, kissing the flowers, and singing, singing all the time, she will be glad."
Since the night she had fled from the church, clutching the keen knife in her hand, a transformation had come over this dusky, wayward maiden. As long as her terrible resolve was pent up in her little heart it possessed her whole being. But when she had given vent to feelings in passionate words, the outcome was marvellous. It had proven a veritable safety-valve to her surcharged soul, a relief, which in others of a different disposition would have been effected by scalding tears.
To acknowledge any change to her faithful teacher was foreign to her proud nature. When once again, however, in the cold night air she looked for a time towards the dimly lighted saloon, and then made her way slowly to the Indian lodge which was her temporary home. The sight of the sad look on the missionary's face stood out clear and distinct as she lay that night beneath her blankets. Another Face, too, often came before her, weary, and blood-stained from the cruel crown of thorns.
No picture had affected her so much as the one she had often gazed upon, in the school room, of the Saviour hanging on the cross. Over and over again she had sketched it until every detail was indelibly impressed upon her heart. The weary face; the nail-pierced hands and feet; the mocking crowd, had mingled with her dreams, and her passionate resolve, but never until this night had the meaning of it all stood out so real and distinct.
During the days that followed Jennie fought a stern battle. At times the old longing almost gained the mastery, and she would draw forth the knife, but always to return it to its hiding place among the bundle of rags. Sometimes she watched Pritchen's movements with a strange fascination, when the wild nature would reassert itself until crushed back again by a mighty effort.
The result of this stern struggle was very apparent on this bright afternoon as the maiden busied herself with the sketches. Her face, almost radiant, revealed the heart within, an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.
When the pictures had been arranged to her satisfaction, she arose and began to array herself in her finest dress, kept only for the most important occasions. It took her some time to complete her costume, and often she glanced at herself in a small broken mirror, with all the pride of some society belle preparing for a grand ball. Finally over her head and shoulders she threw a small bright-coloured shawl, a present from the Christmas tree two years before.
Seizing the pictures in her hand, and drawing the wrap firmly around her body, she left the lodge, glided swiftly and noiselessly down the trail leading to the white settlement, and after a while turned sharply to the left. A queer little bundle she presented as she mounted the hill leading to the Radhurst cabin. Timidly she knocked upon the door, and when Constance had thrown it open, she stepped into the building without a word and seated herself upon the edge of the first stool which caught her attention. Her little black eyes instinctively drank in every object in the room, from the pictures on the wall to the white-haired man sitting by the window with a book in his hand.
But Constance formed the chief attraction. White men were no novelty to her, but a pale-face woman was something new, and worth studying. She had seen her every Sunday at the church, sitting at the little harmonium, and had been held spellbound by her sweet rich voice joining in the singing. She associated Constance with that strange world, the glorious dreamland, which filled so much of her life, and of which the bell was an important factor. From her seat in the back of the church she would look at her own hands, and notice how dark they were, compared with the organist's fair white ones. Returning to the lodge she would gaze long and earnestly into the broken mirror, and wonder why her face was not like the white woman's. Much time did she spend in her efforts to arrange her hair in the same fluffy way with wavy tresses crowning cheek and brow like the object of her admiration. But, poor child, the more she tried the less she succeeded, for her straight black hair proved too intractable, and refused any other method than the long braid, or its wild abandoned condition.
For a time Constance continued the sewing upon which she was engaged, and addressed no word to the maiden. She had often heard of this Indian characteristic of silence when first entering a building, and wished to prove it for herself. But when at length Jennie drew forth her treasure from beneath her shawl, and uttered the broken word "peejee," Constance looked up.
"What is it?" she asked kindly, going over to where the girl was sitting.
"Peejee. See, nice peejee," and Jennie held out her hand.
"Oh, pictures," laughed Constance, taking the sketches from the maiden. "Did you bring them for me?"
"Me fetch 'm. Heem tell Jennie come."
"Who told you?"
"Gikhyi."
"What, Mr. Steadman?"
"Ah, ah."
"Look, father," and Constance crossed the room to where Mr. Radhurst was sitting, a silent witness of it all. "Mr. Steadman sent Jennie here to show us her pictures; how kind of him."
Jennie went softly across the room, and laid her hand upon the sketches.
"Calling us to order, are you, Jennie?" Constance laughed. "Come, then, show us your pictures, and tell us about them."
Eagerly the girl seized the sketch in her fingers.
"Peety," she said, holding it tenderly up before them. "F'owers, twees, water."
Constance and her father were much surprised as they examined them one by one. They were crude, of course, from an artistic point of view, but they exhibited genius in no slight degree. Trees, houses, dogs and people were all there. Presently Constance caught sight of a face which made her start. She seized it from Jennie almost rudely.
"Child!" she cried. "Who is this? Where did you see that man?"
Somewhat alarmed, Jennie shrank back without uttering a word.
"Connie, what's the matter," questioned Mr. Radhurst, astonished at his daughter's excitement.
"Look, father," and Constance handed him the sketch. "This is Kenneth's picture, there can be no mistake. The girl must have seen him somewhere, perhaps on the trail."
"There is a striking resemblance," returned her father. "But we cannot be sure that it's Kenneth's."
"No, no, father, I can't believe it's any other. It's so real. Where did you see this man?" she demanded, turning to Jennie.
"Me no see'm," replied the maiden.
"What, never saw him; never met him on the trail?"
Jennie shook her head. "Me no savvy. Me no see'm."
"Look, Jennie," said Mr. Radhurst kindly, "How you make this picture? You see something, eh?"
Her face brightened at this, and she hastened to reply.
"Beeg chief savvy."
"What, the big chief knows?"
"Ah, ah. All same peejee."
"What, a picture like this?"
"Ah, ah. All same peejee."
Father and daughter looked at each other, and the same idea flashed into their minds.
"We need help," began Constance. "The old chief knows something which might be important."
"Mr. Steadman will help us," replied her father. "He knows the language, and has the chief's confidence."
"I shall go to him at once," and Constance reached for her cloak.
"Why not send a note by the Indian girl, and ask him to come here, Connie? It's quite dark outside, and I don't like for you to go alone. There are too many rough men around, and, besides, I would like to talk with Mr. Steadman, too, about the matter."
"Very well, father; what you say is quite true."
Sitting down before the table, Constance drew forth a sheet of note paper from her little writing pad, and with a lead pencil wrote a few words to the clergyman. This was the first time she had ever written to him, and her face flushed as she began, "Dear Mr. Steadman."
"I have asked him to come here as soon as possible," she said to her father, as she folded the paper and placed it into an envelope.
"That will do, Connie. He will know that we need him on urgent business."
"Jennie," said Constance, "will you take this to the mission house, to Mr. Steadman?"
The maiden clutched the letter in her hand, rose, and started for the door. She felt it was something important.
"And you will go quick?"
"Jennie go quick," was the response; "all same wind," and with that she passed out of the room.
When once outside, Jennie paused and looked across to the Indian village. There was a short cut, which would save her the longer way around. This she took, and soon drew near the mission house. By this trail she approached the building on the left side, through a small clump of trees.
She was in the act of stepping into full view, when the sight of a man approaching the cabin arrested her steps, and caused her to shrink back a few paces. Not long was she left in doubt, for her keen eyes detected the slinking form of Pritchen. That he was there on mischief bent, she had no doubt, and she determined to watch his actions. Leaving the trail, she skirted the edges of the bunch of trees, keeping well within their shadows for some distance. Then she crossed an open space, and stepped behind the very building where Pritchen had been concealed. From this position she saw the wretch peering through the window, and then enter the house.
With the speed of a deer, she hurried up the path, and, taking her stand at the corner of the building, watched the door almost breathlessly lest Pritchen should reappear. Satisfying herself that she was secure, and could run to the back of the house, or take shelter among the trees, she plucked up courage. Then she crept to the window and looked in. At first she drew suddenly back, fearing she would be seen. Finding, however, that the man did not look her way, she at length maintained her ground.
It was easy to see everything quite plainly, from the placing of the pokes into the chest, to the throwing of the key into the stove, and the destruction of the picture. What it all meant, she could not tell, and she wondered what had become of the missionary. When, however, Pritchen had finished his cowardly work, and passed out into the night, Jennie was nowhere to be seen. She had disappeared, bearing with her the secret of the deed of darkness.