CHAPTER VIII
A SURPRISE
When Keith opened his eyes, it was to see Old Pete, with an anxious expression upon his face, sitting by his side. He looked at him somewhat puzzled, but soon the recollection of his terrible experience came to his mind.
"Why, Pete," he exclaimed, "I didn't know you were here."
"Ye didn't, laddie?" replied the prospector, delighted to see his patient recover so quickly, "an' whar did ye think I'd be?"
"Out on the trail, of course, where you generally are."
"Ha, ha! Ye thought that, did ye, an' yer a parson! Waal, waal, I didn't think it."
"Didn't think what? I don't understand you."
"Ye don't?" and Pete stroked his long, white beard meditatively. "But, laddie, what would I be out on the trail fer, when the good Lord wanted me here to help a friend in need? Tell me that. Didn't He send you, laddie, to save me from Hell's Canyon five years ago? Ye talk about them angels in the Good Book a-comin' down to arth, but I guess the Lord uses us sometimes."
"You've been my good angel to-night, anyway," replied Keith feebly.
"A queer angel, laddie," and Pete glanced at his coarse clothes, "though, I guess, He doesn't mind how a feller looks on the outside, so long's his heart's right. But, thar, I've talked too much already, an' fergot my dooty."
Crossing the room, Pete soon produced a small can, which had been heating for some time upon the rickety stove.
"Here, drink this; it'll narve ye up a bit. It won't hurt ye, fer it's only some moose-meat soup."
"Thar now, ye'll feel better," he remarked, when Keith had finished the savory broth. "When ye've had a good sleep ye'll be all right. The rest of the b'ys have gone, so the cabin'll be quiet."
"Thank you," replied Keith; "you're kind. I do feel sleepy, but there is just one thing I want to ask you about now."
"Fire away, then."
"Who is that man living down the trail?"
"What, Jim Blasco?" and Pete's face suddenly clouded.
"Yes."
"Oh, he's bughouse."
"What, crazy?"
"Yes, an' worse than crazy; he's devilish."
"He's terrible!" and Keith shivered.
"Did ye run agin 'im, laddie?"
"Yes."
"I thought mebbe ye had, an' he's death on parsons, too."
"Why, what does he have against us?"
"Laddie," and Pete laid his hand upon Keith's arm, "his heart's bad, an' he hates what's good. Ye see sich fellers everywhar. They talk mighty big about social rights, the welfare of the country, an' the improvement of mankind in gineral. But I take notice that sich chaps, as a rule, put stumblin' blocks in the way of progress. They shun a church as if it was a pest house, an' pass on to the saloon, or places worse'n that. They see a parson comin' down the street, an' they cross to t'other side, as if he had smallpox. Oh, I've seen 'em, I've lived among 'em, an' know their actions. Didn't I see several sich curs strike a fine mission settlement a few years ago? It was as quiet an' decent a place as ye'd wish to see, but afore them wolves left, it was hell, yes, laddie, it was hell. An' ye should have heard the stories they told about the missionary; they were awful. They broke his heart, that's what they did.
"Now, Jim Blasco's one of them curs. I knowed 'im years ago, when he was fust married. He had as sweet a lassie fer wife as ever breathed, an' he treated her like a dog, her an' the kids. The parson thar interfered, an' saved her from that devil, so that's why Jim hates parsons. When the town got after 'im, he cut an' run. He came north, an' last Fall struck this camp, half crazy. He raves an' talks about parsons most of the time. He says that they're a meddlin' lot. He cusses 'em like mad, an' I've seen 'im in sich a rage that I thought he'd have an athletic fit. I guess he'll be taken outside when the river opens, fer he ain't safe, nohow."
Keith's face flushed with anger as he listened to these words. He thought of the man who had visited him that morning at Klassan and told him the base lie. He and the rest knew about Blasco, and yet they sent him to his very door over that long trail. He glanced at Pete, and noted his strong, noble face. Here was a man, he well knew, who would avenge the insult he had received. With his five hardy companions he would march to Klassan, face Pritchen and his gang, though they were ten to one. He felt how just it would be, and for the welfare of his dusky flock that those scoffing miners should be brought to task.
There was a certain degree of pleasure in this idea as he lay on the comfortable cot, and listened to the fire roaring in the room, and the wind howling outside. Gradually he slipped away from the little cabin into the airy land of dreams.
He was again on the trail, fighting with the furious storm, and calling to the dogs. Then a mountain, sheer and steep, lifted itself across his path. He tried to scale it, but his hands slipped, and he fell back, bruised and bleeding. Through the storm he heard mocking voices, jeering and laughing at his futile efforts to advance. He saw Pritchen in the form of a huge serpent, leering forth at him from the darkness, while Perdue, Tim Murphy, and others he could not distinguish, were grinning in the background. A horrible feeling of helplessness possessed him, and the more he struggled the weaker he became. The darkness deepened, and the mountain was falling upon him. He tried to escape, but could not move. He gave a cry for help, and suddenly a light burst through the gloom. He looked, and behold a woman, beautiful in form and feature, moved swiftly toward him. He recognized the face—the face in the locket, but sweeter than ever. With a smile, she reached out her hand, lifted him out of the terrible pit, and placed him in the broad sunlight. The storm had passed, the mountain was nowhere in sight, and the jeering voices had ceased. All around were green meadows, fragrant flowers and sparkling streams. In the midst of this splendid scene stood the woman, still smiling upon him. In his joy and ecstacy he reached out his hand to touch her, but in an instant she vanished from his sight. He strove to follow, when the sound of voices fell upon his ears, and caused him to awake with a start.
He rubbed his eyes, as he looked around the cabin to be sure that he was not dreaming, for there before him, talking with old Pete, was the very woman he had seen in his dream, and whose picture was in the locket.
She was beautiful, he could see that at once. The hood which covered her head could not hold in thrall the entire wealth of her dark-brown hair. Some tresses had escaped, and the wind had tossed them across her cheeks and brow. She was thinly clad for such a night. Her dress of dark-blue serge, and a shawl over her shoulders, were little protection in that furious storm, while her hands, he noticed, were bare.
All this Keith intuitively beheld, for he was endeavoring to grasp the drift of the conversation, in order to solve the problem of her mysterious presence. She was speaking, but he could only catch the word "father" now and then. Presently Pete jerked his thumb toward the bunk, and in a louder voice, said:
"I wish yon lad was awake, fer he's a doctor, an' understands sich things. But he's been knocked out mighty bad in this storm, an' I hate to distarb 'im."
At this Keith rolled out of the bunk, and stood before the two. "Pardon me," he said, "but I have just awakened, and would like to do anything in my power to help you."
At the sudden appearance of the tall, unkempt figure, the woman gave a start of surprise. Keith, noticing this, felt somewhat abashed, when he realized how he must look. But it was not fear or disgust which caused the woman to start. It was the picturesque figure he presented by the dim candle light.
"What a subject for a sketch," she thought. "I wish I had my pencil and paper."
"Lassie—Miss Radhurst, I mean," Pete began, "this is my old friend, Keith Steadman, an' he'll fix up yer dad if any man kin."
At once the woman held out her hand to the missionary. As he grasped it, he noticed how small it was, and rough, too. It evidently knew hard work. Holding it for an instant, and looking into her eyes, he felt like saying:
"I know you, Miss Radhurst. I have known you for days, and your face has been so often in my mind."
"Oh, Mr. Steadman," she said, trembling with excitement, "I am so glad you are here. My poor father has been strange all day. To-night he got up, opened the cabin door, and fell down the steps. With great difficulty, I managed to get him back into the room, where he now lies moaning as if in great pain. I fear his arm is broken. Will you come over to see him?"
"Certainly, I shall go at once," and Keith started for his cap and medicinal companion. "And, Pete, you'll come too?" he continued. "You may be needed."
"Lead on, pard," returned the old man. "I'll stand by, never ye fear that." To himself, however, he said: "Thar's more'n colors here, I kin see that at a glance, an' when two gold veins meet thar's sure to be rich diggin'."