CHAPTER XXI
CONSTANCE'S VENTURE
The night when the mission house was burned Caribou Sol slept on the floor in the Radhurst cabin. It was not an easy bed, but he did not mind.
"All the better fer bein' hard," he laughed, when Constance apologized for their poor accommodation. "I won't sleep too sound, an' I'll be able to keep an ear peeled fer them varmints."
Constance felt safer with the old man in the cabin, but still she could not sleep. What she had heard of the trail and the mystery regarding those letters kept her much perplexed. She thought, too, of Keith, out in the wild on that dreary night, and offered up a fervent prayer on his behalf. It was the first time that she had mentioned his name in her petitions, and a sweet, pleasant feeling stole into her heart.
At length the long dreary night wore away, and morning broke, flooding the whole land with joy and brightness after the furious storm. But among the miners the day brought nothing but gloom, the memory of the wild revel and deed of destruction being too plainly evident. They realized when it was too late how far they had been led by Pritchen, and they naturally felt very sore. Many were the furtive glances cast towards the smouldering ruins of the mission house, while visions of revenging natives filled their minds. For days Perdue's store was packed with anxious men, discussing the affair in no uncertain language.
Caribou Sol carried the news to the Radhurst cabin.
"They're 'bout wild down yon," he said. "Fairly tumblin' over one another with excitement."
"Why, what's the matter?" questioned Constance.
"Afeered of Injuns, that's what's the matter. An' they've good reason to fear, too. If somethin' isn't done afore them natives come back, there'll be lively times around these diggin's."
"Can't the matter be settled with the old chief?" queried Mr. Radhurst. "Why not compensate him for the damage which has been done, and let him pacify his people?"
"They tried it, sir, but it wouldn't work. They sent several men up to the old chap to have a big pow-wow. They carried presents, too, but he wouldn't talk. He jist sat thar an' listened to 'em, though I don't believe he understood much. When they offered 'im the presents, he shook his head an' pinted to the door, an' said somethin' in the Injun tongue which nearly scart 'em out of their wits."
"But surely the Indians are Christian enough not to take any wild revenge," said Constance. "Even though they will no doubt be angry when they find what has been done, don't you think that the teaching they have received for the past ten years will have some restraining influence?"
"I suggested that, Miss, down to the store, but I got only sneers fer my trouble. 'Religion,' says they with oaths, 'it's only skin deep. When they've clothes to wear, plenty to eat, an' things go their way, they're fine Christians then. But jist wait till ye see 'em look upon yon ruins, an' ye'll see how fer their religion goes. Our guns'll have more influence then, than all their Bible pap.'
"'Ye may be right,' says I; 'but we'll see.'"
"Oh, if only Mr. Steadman could be here when they return!" exclaimed Constance. "I know he could handle them better than any one else."
"Ay, ay, miss, there's no doubt about that. But, poor chap, I'm thinkin' he'll have enough to attend to out on the hills by this time."
"Is there much talk about him at the store?" asked Mr. Radhurst.
"No, sir. He's seldom mentioned. Once Pritchen made a remark about the trial, but, gittin' no encouragement, he shet up. The men are feelin' purty sore over the whole bizness. I begin to gather they think there's somethin' crooked about the affair, though they say nothin' open. Pritchen seems to be the most unsettled one of the bunch. Not only is he dead scart of the Injuns, but he sees that the miners are turnin' agin 'im fer gittin' 'em into sich a scrape. The strange thing is that he's been mighty friendly with me of late, an' axed me a number of questions about you folk."
"About us?" cried Constance in surprise. "Why, what did he want to know?"
"Oh, nothin' much in perticular, only what yez were here fer, how long yez were goin' to stay, an' questions like that. I didn't give 'im much satisfaction, 'cept that yez were lookin' fer a relative, a young chap that come up here some time ago."
"And what did he say?"
"Seemed kinder surprised an' mighty interested when I told 'im yez were on the right track good an' hot; had discovered the lad's fiddle an' found out that the old chief has a picter of 'im."
"'Do they know whar the Injun got the picter?' says he, sudden like.
"'Not yit,' says I, 'but I'm thinkin' they'll find out.'
"'How?' says he.
"'I don't know,' says I, 'but sich things ginnerly come out in time.' At that he laughed as if it was a huge joke. He's a deep one that, fer sure, an' sometimes I think he knows more about the whole bizness than he lets on. Thar's somethin' fishy, too, about his havin' that book, an' knowin' about them letters on that rock. It's mighty curious, an' I can't savvy it at all."
During the days that followed, Constance's mind was seriously perplexed. She longed to go to the old chief, and question him about the picture, but dreaded the undertaking, knowing nothing of the native language. If only Old Pete would come, he would go, for she had great confidence in the worthy prospector. She wondered why the delay, for he had expected to return in a short time with a supply of moose-meat. Then, the miners' fear concerning the arrival of the natives oppressed her heavily. For herself, she did not care so much, but when she looked upon her feeble father, and noticed his worn, brave face, her eyes would become moist. Often she would lie awake at night in her little room, thinking of it all. "What if the Indians should return to-night?" she said to herself, over and over and over again. "Would they know the difference between the innocent and the guilty, or would they serve all alike?"
At length the suspense became unbearable. Something must be done, or else she felt she would go crazy.
One bright afternoon, when her father was sleeping comfortably, she slipped out of the house and hurried down the narrow path to the Indian trail. Up this latter she quickly moved, fearful lest the miners should see her. Reaching the top, she looked back, and breathed a sight of relief, for not a person was in sight. Had she known, however, that from a small cabin window, keen, cruel eyes were watching her every movement, and a cunning mind was revolving the purpose of her visit, she would have hesitated before advancing further.
Constance's heart beat fast as she knocked upon the door of the chief's lodge. A voice sounded within, but what it meant she could not tell. Nevertheless, she opened the door and entered. At first she could see very little, but her eyes becoming accustomed to the change, she at length observed the chief sitting upon the floor, while his wife sat a little distance away, busily engaged upon some beaded work.
A look of surprise passed over the chief's face when he saw the fair visitor standing before him. Then his old wrinkled visage broke into a smile, and he reached out a thin, scrawny hand in welcome.
Constance shrank inwardly from touching the extended member, but she knew it would not do to show any sign of fear or disgust.
"Good," said the chief, when she had complied with his wish, motioning her to a stool near by.
As Constance obeyed, she noticed that a lighted candle stood by the old man's side. Before him were two small pictures, which aroused her curiosity, for in the dimness of the cabin she could not tell what they were.
The chief loved pictures dearly, and because he was too old to read they were doubly precious. He treasured each one which the missionary had given him with the greatest care, and was never weary with asking questions about their meaning, till the complete stories were indelibly impressed upon his mind. What a comfort they had been to him through the long evenings, as he sat in the darkness of his cabin.
Since Jennie had left him, and the mission house had been burned, the chief had been fighting a hard battle with himself, and the crisis had just been reached when Constance arrived. He realized that when his people returned from the mountains and learned what had been done there would be much excitement and anger. Carried away by the impulse of the moment, they would be tempted to drive the whites out of Klassan in no gentle manner, unless restrained in time. They would look to him, their leader, and what was he to say? He himself was undecided. At times his old savage nature almost overwhelmed him when he brooded upon the injustice which had been done. At such moments, if the natives had returned, it would have gone hard with the miners. He thought of what the missionary had told him about Moses fighting great battles and defeating his enemies. Then he would bring out the picture of the patriarch, with his hands upheld by Aaron and Hur, while the battle raged below. Would it not be right, he thought, to do the same now, and thus save his people?
But gradually the feeling of anger would pass away, and he would bring forth his other favourite picture of Christ hanging on the cross, and gaze for a long time upon it. This man was greater than Moses, so he had been told, in fact, the greatest who had ever lived, the Son of God. He forgave those who injured Him, and prayed for them with almost His last breath. For days, the power of the Man of Sorrows had been making itself felt in the old chief's heart, and then the picture of Moses was laid aside. But in an evil moment Pritchen had arrived, demanded the photograph of Kenneth Radhurst, and roused the chief's anger. In Indian and broken English he had vented upon the white man the fury of his wrath, and refused to grant his request.
Since then the two pictures were studied together, the struggle becoming fiercer all the time. How little the miners at Klassan realized that in that despised cabin their lives were being weighed in the balance; that light was contending with darkness; the love of Christ with the hatred of hell, and that only little was needed to decide one way or the other. Such was the condition when Constance arrived upon the scene.
Knowing nothing of the conflict which was raging in the chief's heart, Constance sat upon the rough stool uncertain what to say. The flickering light of the candle fell upon her puzzled face, while her blue-veined hands lay clasped in her lap. It was a strange sight, worthy of the brush of a master, this fair woman, the stately flower of a dominant race, and the two old Indians, sere and withered, like clinging leaves in late November.
"Pretty picture," Constance at length remarked, breaking the silence, which was becoming painful.
"Good," answered the old man, lifting up his treasures with pride, and handing them to her. "Beeg chief," he continued, much pleased at the pale-face woman's interest. "You got all same peegee? You savvy 'um?"
Constance shook her head and smiled. "No, not like these. But I have one here," and she drew forth Kenneth's picture from beneath her jacket. "See."
The chief took it in his trembling hand, and held it up close to the candle. Then he turned it over, examined it carefully, while a surprised look passed over his face. Presently he reached to the left, and drew towards him a buckskin bag, and fumbling in this brought out the picture Pritchen had given him, the same one Jennie had copied. Finding it was safe, he appeared more satisfied, but still seemed much puzzled as he laid the two together and gazed earnestly upon them.
"All same peegee," he exclaimed at length. "You savvy 'um?"
"Yes," replied Constance, trembling with intense eagerness. "My brother."
"Ah," came the slow, unsatisfactory response.
"You know him?" she continued.
The old man shook his head. "Me no savvy."
"But where you get picture?" she persisted, pointing to the photograph.
Still he shook his head, and looked intently into Constance's face, as if to read the meaning of her words.
Suddenly a laugh filled the room, coarse and startling. It came from the old woman, who had been an amused and silent spectator of the whole scene. Then ensued an animated conversation between the aged pair, and, as Constance listened, without understanding a word, she noticed that the chief's face was clearing of its puzzled expression.
"Him no savvy," said the woman, turning to Constance. "Me savvy much. Me talk all same white man."
"Then you will tell me where that picture came from," replied Constance eagerly.
The woman chuckled and reached out a scrawny hand for the photograph.
"See um, peegee?" she demanded.
Constance nodded.
"Black bear geeve um dis."
"Black bear!" queried Constance in surprise, not knowing that this was the most offensive epithet in the Tukudh vocabulary.
Again the old woman chuckled and grinned, exhibiting her toothless gums. Then she arose, and drawing close to Constance, pointed in the direction of the miners' cabins, while a fierce look came into her wrinkled face.
"There, there!" she cried. "Him there. Bad man. Black bear, ugh!"
"Who is he? Tell me his name," replied Constance, shrinking back involuntarily from the excited creature before her.
"No, me no savvy."
"What, don't know his name?"
"Me no savvy."
"But how did the chief get this picture?"
The old woman looked at her silently for a while, as if collecting her thoughts. Then, in broken English, she told her tale of the mean trick which had been imposed upon them. So vivid was the description that Constance knew it could be Pritchen and no one else. It came to her with a shock, for she feared him more than all the others, and somehow she felt that he was responsible for all the trouble which had taken place. How could she go to him and ask him what he knew? Would he not only laugh at her?
At length, sick at heart, she arose to go. Before leaving, however, she shook hands with the chief, and turning to his wife, said:
"I want to thank the chief for giving medicine to heal my father."
"You fadder?" asked the woman in surprise.
"Yes, the missionary got it. My father was very sick, and it made him better. You tell chief that?"
"Me tell um by um by. Me glad." Suddenly she added: "You all same Clistin?"
"What?" and Constance looked her surprise.
"You all same Clistin? You pray?"
"Oh, yes, I pray, and try to be a Christian."
"You fadder all same Clistin?"
"Yes."
"Good. Me glad."
Then she added: "White man all Clistin?"
"No," answered Constance doubtfully.
"Some bad man Clistin, eh?"
This was certainly puzzling, and, receiving no reply, the native continued:
"Clistin burn mission house, eh?"
"No, no! A Christian would not do that. Only bad men. But look, all the men over there are not bad."
"Some good, eh?"
"Yes."
"Umph!" grunted the old woman, as she went back to her position on the floor, and continued her bead work.
As Constance left the lodge, she was surprised to find how dark it was. She had not noticed how the time had passed so intent had she been upon the object of her visit. She reproached herself for staying so late. What would her father say? And how uneasy he would be.
Quickly she hurried down the trail, fearful lest she should come in contact with any of the miners. Turning up the little path leading to her cabin, she gave a sigh of relief. No one would be there, as it was out of the regular thoroughfare. Just at this moment, when she felt quite secure, a figure loomed up suddenly before her and barred the way.
With a cry of mingled surprise and fear, Constance started back as she recognized Pritchen's burly form, and heard his sneering laugh.
"Frightened, are you?" he asked. "I must be a monster."
"What do you mean?" Constance demanded, summoning what courage she could. "How dare you stop me here in this lonely place!"
"Oh, just out for a stroll and happened to pass this way."
"Well, let me past, please."
"Yes, when I get ready. T'ain't often I have the pleasure of meeting such a fine, high-spirited lady in my nightly meditations."
"Will you let me pass?"
"You seem to be in a hurry."
"I am. My father is waiting for me, and will be anxious."
"Ha, ha, that's a good one. Now, you wouldn't be a bit uneasy about your dad if I happened to be the parson, would you?"
Constance was getting desperate, and not wishing to bandy words with the villain, made an effort to go by him.
"Oh, no, you don't do that," and an oath leaped from his vile mouth.
"Let me go by, I tell you."
"Yes, when I get what I want."
"Well, what is it? Tell me, quick."
"Visiting the old chief, eh?"
"Yes."
"Any success?"
"What do you mean?"
"Get the picture?"
"What picture? And why do you ask?"
"Oh, you know, well enough. The one the old devil has."
"He has my brother's picture, which I believe you gave him. I didn't get it, however, and maybe you'll tell me where you got it."
"Hell if I'll tell you, and what's more, I believe you've got it, and I want it."
"But I tell you I didn't get it."
"Oh, that's a fine story. Didn't get it! But I believe you did, and I want it."
Constance looked around, as if seeking some avenue of escape. What was she to do? Alone there with such a villain! Should she cry for help?
Pritchen seemed to read her thoughts.
"It's no use to run or make a fuss," he growled. "You can't get clear of me, and you'll soon be choked off if you start to do any croaking. You might as well make up your mind at once, and hand out that picture."
"But I tell you I haven't got it," she persisted. "Oh, please, please, let me go. Have you no pity at all?"
"Give me that picture, or by heavens, I'll take it!" and he sprang forward, and seized her with his rough hands.
With one piercing cry, Constance struggled to free herself from his terrible clutches, while her brain reeled as she felt herself being borne to the ground. Just when the last hope of help had fled, a harsh growl and a roar fell upon her ears, while out of the night sprang a dark object, and hurled itself full upon the villain bending over her. The last that Constance heard was Pritchen's cry of rage and fear as he struggled with his antagonist, and then she fell back unconscious upon the trail.