CHAPTER XVII
THE SEARCH
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.