CHAPTER VI
A TRICK OF COWARDS
As Keith stood gazing in surprise upon the retreating figure, there suddenly came to him the realization of the mischief this one child might do. He felt there was a strained feeling between the Indians and some of the miners; how deep he could not tell. Should Jennie commit this crime Pritchen's followers would be only too glad to wreak their revenge upon the few natives who were at Klassan. They would make the most of the deed, and no doubt draw with them the rest of the white men. Then when the absent Indians returned from their hunting grounds, and found what had been done, their rage would be fearful, and he shuddered to think of the dire consequences.
Though this portion of the North was British Territory, yet there was no one to enforce law and order. Every man was a law unto himself, and if it came to a contest of brute strength, it would be the survival of the fittest. He believed the religious truths he had instilled into the Indians' hearts and minds would have some influence, but when their savage nature was once fully aroused they might forget it all. He determined it should not reach such a crisis; the girl must be stopped at all cost.
Seizing his cap, he started down the aisle, and had almost reached the door, when it swung open and Amos, the catechist, entered. Most gladly did Keith welcome the native's arrival. Here was help in time of need. Quickly and briefly he told his story.
"Amos," he said in conclusion, "we must go at once, and do what we can to stop the girl."
"Gikhyi" (teacher), came the reply, "you are hungry and tired. Your cabin is warm, and some good moose-steak is ready. Do not worry any more to-night about Jennie. Leave the matter to me."
Keith's heart was touched by this simple expression of thoughtfulness. "God bless you," he said, grasping the native's hand. "I am tired, very tired. But do you think you can manage it alone?"
"I am never alone, Gikhyi," was all the answer he received, and as he looked into that honest face, and read the man's meaning, he felt rebuked for his own lack of faith.
"Very well, Amos; I leave it to you, but you will come to me in the morning, will you not?"
"Amos will come," was the brief answer, and at this they left the building.
Tired though he was, it was late ere Keith sought any rest. His mind was much troubled, and after his frugal repast he sat for a long time by the cheerful fire. Pritchen was the disturbing element, and he shivered as he thought of the man. He had not expected to find him here, working havoc among his flock. His wicked, leering face stood out clearly before him. How he had changed. What a monster he had become. If Nellie knew all. If she could see him now, what would she think? His mind reverted to a sweet, pure face, and eyes filled with tears. He heard again her parting words:
"Find him, Keith; he is somewhere in the North. Bring him back to me, and to the little ones."
And he had found him,—a degraded squaw-man—with the blood of an Indian woman, and a child, upon his hands. He had seen him then, only for an instant, but long enough to receive his fearful curses ere he fled from his sight to be swallowed up by the great, silent North. He had never told Nellie, for how could he; it would break her heart. Now the villain had returned, from whence he knew not, but with intent most sinister, he had no doubt. What was he to do?
"O God," he prayed, "help me; guide me in this time of trial."
When he awoke dim daylight was struggling in through the one frost and dust-covered window which the cabin afforded. It showed him Amos sitting quietly by the sheet-iron heater in the adjoining room, which was used as study, kitchen, dining and sitting room combined. The catechist was very still, with a far-away look upon his placid face.
"Good morning, Amos," said Keith, springing from his cot. "You are early; I didn't hear you come in."
"You slept well, Gikhyi," replied the native. "It is good."
"Amos," continued the missionary eagerly, as the scenes of the previous evening rushed through his mind, "what of last night? Did you find the girl?"
"All's well, Gikhyi."
"Thank God! Thank God! But tell me, Amos, what have you been doing?"
"I went to the store when I left you, but it was in darkness. There were voices within, which sounded like Perdue's and Pritchen's. Jennie I did not see; she was not there. I had been waiting only a short time when a man arrived with a dog team. I think he came from Siwash Creek. There's a small camp of white men there, and they come in at times for supplies. This man went into the store, and that was the last I saw of him."
"And you didn't see Jennie at all?" asked Keith in surprise.
"No, not there. When I had waited quite a while near the store, and nothing happened, I went to the Indian camps, and visited them in turn. At last I found Jennie, sitting in one of the lodges, while the rest were asleep. Upon her face was a strange look. She neither spoke to me, nor I to her. I cannot understand the girl."
"But you will watch her, Amos," said Keith. "She may do the deed when we are off our guard."
"Yes, I will go at once, Gikhyi. But I will come back soon, for I have much to tell you about what happened last night."
The catechist had been gone but a short time when a knock sounded upon the door.
"Come in," called out Keith, thinking it was an Indian who had come to see him.
To his surprise, however, a white man entered, who seemed to be in a great hurry.
"Are you Mr. Steadman?" he at once began.
"Yes," replied Keith. "What can I do for you?"
"You're a doctor, I understand."
"Yes."
"Well, then, you're wanted bad at Siwash Creek. Jim Blasco's knocked out. Gun bust, and tore away his arm. Jim's a devil, if ever there was one, but he's hard pinched now and squaking like a baby. His cabin's the first you'll come to, in a bunch of timber. Will you go?"
"Certainly," replied Keith. "But, say, when did this happen?"
"Night before last."
"And who brought word?"
"Dave Perkins, and he travelled like he—, oh, I beg your pardon, like the wind."
"And got in at midnight. Why didn't he come to me at once? I might have been on the way by this time."
The man gave a slight start, and looked up quickly into the missionary's face, but seeing no shadow of suspicion there, replied:
"We didn't know about it till this morning. You see, Dave was so tuckered out from cold and want of sleep that he had to warm up with a drink or two, and so forgot his business. He only woke a short time ago, and swore like a—a—trooper at Perdue and his whiskey. I guess he's swearing yet, for as soon as he'd coughed up his story I left to find you."
"I'll be off as soon as possible," said Keith, throwing a stick of wood into the stove, and reaching for the frying pan.
"Now, Yukon, old boy," he continued, when the man had gone, "there's stiff work ahead. But you've been there before, and know the way, so I want you to strike such a gait that it will make Don and Hector think there's a fox ahead for sure. Brisko we'll leave with Amos to get some flesh on his staring ribs."
The dog pricked up his ears, wagged his tail, and gave a joyful bark. "Very well, master," he seemed to say, "you can depend upon me. I've never failed you yet."
In less than an hour Keith stood girt for his long run. His face glowed with enthusiasm; his mission was one of mercy, and it thrilled his whole being. The dogs stood before the cabin shaking their bells, impatient to be away. A parting word to Amos, a crack of the whip in the frosty air, and the three noble brutes bounded forward out upon the trail, which wound through the village, past Perdue's store, and into the great lone beyond.
Pritchen was leaning over the bar when Keith sped by. "Bells!" he cried, rushing to the small window. "There he goes, boys; see him!"
Instantly a scramble ensued for a glance at the rapidly disappearing team, and then shouts of laughter shook the building.
"A drink to the fool's success!" shouted Pritchen in high glee. "Say, Sam, you're a corker. You've missed your calling. You should be on the stage."
"Did he bite quick?" chimed in Perdue.
"Ha, ha, he bit like a d— sucker. But there's one thing I can't savvy."
"What's that?"
"He knew when Perkins arrived, and asked me why he didn't go to him at once."
"The devil!" ejaculated Pritchen, setting down his half-drained cup. "How in h— did he know that?"
"Who shaid Perkins?" broke in a watery-eyed individual, staggering up to the group. "Here he-hic-ish. Watcher want, eh?"
"It's all right, Dave," laughed Pritchen. "Come and have a drink. You held the trump card this time without any doubt."
"Don't care'f I do," assented the man. "I-hic-alish holds trumps."
While the men laughed, drank, and swore in the saloon, Keith was speeding far out upon the long trail. The dogs were in excellent form, and enjoyed the exhilarating exercise with their beloved master. The moon was full, and only a short pause was made at night for rest and refreshment.
On the second day from Klassan the weather changed. The air became milder, and a dull grey sky lowered overhead. In the afternoon the wind began to blow, and ere long man and dogs were flecked with particles of driving snow. The mountain tops were hidden from view, and the storm rolled along their sides like the smoke of a thousand cannon. It burst from the funnel-like pass to their left, swept across the valley, and struck the travellers full abeam.
Hector, the wheel dog, howled and nipped Don's heels, whose teeth gleamed white at the insult. But Yukon uttered never a sound. He gave one lightning glance at his master, straightened himself out in the harness, and nosed his way through the storm. For an hour they thus proceeded, the trail becoming more difficult all the time. At length it was entirely obliterated, and nothing remained to guide them in their onward march. The wind raved and tore round them; the snow curled and encircled their bodies like a huge winding sheet, half blinding them as they staggered on. No friendly forest was near to give them shelter. The region through which they were passing was a vast, desolate tract of burnt land. The dead trees, stripped of every vestige of foliage, stood out gaunt and weird. The wind rushed howling through their naked branches, and the driving snow seemed like the packed lances of a million unseen horsemen in a mad charge.
At length the dogs stopped and, squatting in the snow, looked beseechingly into their master's face. The small sled dragged heavily, even with its light load of blankets and provisions.
"Come, Yukon, old boy, cheer up," encouraged Keith, going to the leader's side, and patting him affectionately on the head. "I'll give you a hand. We must get out of this."
Again they pushed forward, the man assisting the dogs by means of a small rope attached to the sled. But night—an awful night—now closed down, adding its horror to the situation. A sense of helplessness shot into Keith's heart, and stayed his steps. He dropped the rope, tore away the harness from the crouching brutes, and turned them loose. Seizing the sled, he stood it on end in the snow, and taking with him only his small medicine case, began once more his hard fight. But he found it much harder now. His feet left the trail, and he sank deep into the snow. Back he scrambled, and groped onward like a blind man, searching with his feet for the hard bottom. Again and again he missed the track until at last he stopped in despair. What was he to do? Was he to perish miserably there in that blinding storm? The wind was piercing, chilling him to the bone, and he shivered.
Presently Yukon, who had been following close at his master's heels, pricked up his ears, sniffed the air, and, bounding forward, took the lead. This action aroused Keith. He believed a human habitation was near, and that the dog had scented the smoke afar off. Neither was he mistaken, for soon they reached green timber, which broke somewhat the violence of the storm.
Pushing their way through the trees for several hundred yards, a faint glimmer of light pierced the darkness straight ahead.
"Thank God!" murmured Keith, as he waded wearily up to the small log building, and rapped on the rude door. "This must be the place; the first on the trail, so I was told."
A noise of some one moving within fell upon his ear, followed by a fumbling sound as of a bar being removed. Then the door was cautiously opened, and a big grizzly head was thrust out. Keith started back at the wild appearance, and the terrible look in the man's eyes. He had seen such eyes before in mad-houses.
"Does Jim Blasco live here?" he stammered.
"Does he? Does he?" came the deep, jerky reply. "And what if he does?"
"H-h-ow is he?" Keith could not help it. An indescribable chill was creeping over him, and his teeth chattered.
"Doesn't he look well?" roared the giant, as he flung the door wide open. "Watch'er want of 'im?"
"They told me you were hurt; the gun burst, and tore away your arm."
"Who told you that?"
"The men at Klassan."
"And who are you, anyway?"
"A medical man, and a missionary."
The man started, and his eyes, terrible before, now fairly blazed in their sockets. Torrents of oaths poured from his lips, and he sprang back into the cabin towards a rifle which was standing in a corner.
No longer did Keith hesitate. He realized his danger, and turning fled from the building out again into the night, whither he knew not, any place was better than near that raving demon with those terrible eyes. Breathless and exhausted, he at length paused and listened, but nothing could he hear except the wind howling in the tree-tops overhead. The truth now flashed upon him. He had been deceived, tricked, the object of a huge joke. It hardly seemed possible that men with any spark of feeling would do such a thing. For an instant a fierce rage took possession of his soul. He clenched his mittened hands, his teeth ground together, and the blood surged tumultuously through his body.
"O God!" he cried, "punish them. Strike them down, or give me strength to do it!"
He paused. His lifted hand dropped to his side, and a change passed over his face. What was that he saw standing there in the storm? A form, thorn-crowned, with bleeding hands, and pierced side. The lips moved. "Father, forgive them," he heard Him say, "they know not what they do."
The scene was so vivid, and the words so clear, that Keith fell upon his knees in the snow, unheeding the curious dogs squatting near.
"Father, forgive me!" he cried, lifting his hands to heaven. "Forgive me, Thy ambassador, for my wicked words. I was——"
What was that? Music, the strains of a violin. He listened intently. He recognized the refrain.
"Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King,
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled."
Keith staggered to his feet, and peered through the darkness, but could see nothing. He followed the sound, and ere long a square building loomed up in the distance. Toward this he feebly made his way, tottering like a drunken man, and at times beating the air with his hands for support.