CHAPTER XXIII
THE RUMBLING OF THE STORM
After the Indians' cry had rung through Klassan there was no more sleep for the miners. Excitement reigned in each cabin, where men waited and wondered what the night would bring forth. Visions filled their minds of tales they had heard, and stories they had read, of enraged natives falling suddenly upon bands of white people and wiping them out of existence in the most cruel manner.
Following the yell came a silence as deep as death. Listen and watch as they might, no signal came from that quiet camp, and Night kept her secret well. Some, imagining they saw Indians stealthily creeping down upon them, sat or stood with rifles at their side, determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible. But as the slow hours dragged by, and nothing happened, the suspense became so unbearable that with one accord they made their way to the saloon. Here morning found them earnestly discussing the situation, and planning some method of defense. Sighs of relief escaped from many a lip as the light struggled in through the dirty window, filling them with new courage.
It is marvellous what a magical effect the day possesses. Men who, through the dreary night of doubt and fear, are veritable cowards, will then become the most arrogant boasters. So several who raised the loudest lamentations of apprehension now proved the greatest talkers.
"Give us daylight," said one, "and I reckon we can stand off a whole horde of redskins."
"Don't be too certain about that," replied another. "If those Indians make up their minds to wipe us out, it's all the same as if we were dead men."
"But can't we stand a siege here, and mow them down as they come up?" persisted the other.
"Mow them down! Mow the devil down! Why, they're five to one, and, if they rushed us, where'd we be? But never fear, that's not their way of working. They'll not run any unnecessary risk when they've got night in which to do the job. If it comes to a hand-and-hand tussle we're out of it, that's all there is about it. They're as tough and supple as mountain ash, and are always in training, while we're as soft as a lot of kids."
The sun rose above the lofty peaks and swung high in the heavens, but still the Indians maintained their silence and showed no sign of hostility. Midday came, and yet no signal.
"I guess they'll do nothing," suggested one. "Maybe they're afraid of our guns."
Just then the mournful sound of an Indian drum fell upon their ears, causing them all to start and look at one another. What did it mean? Were they gathering for the affray?
As they listened and waited Old Pete drew near and entered the building. He was a stranger there, and the men gazed with wonder and admiration upon the hardy prospector. His great stature, commanding presence, buckskin suit, hawk-like eye, and long, flowing beard streaked with gray, would have made him a marked man in any company. But his sudden appearance at such a time made a strong impression.
"Who is he? Where did he come from?" passed from lip to lip, as Pete strode up to the bar and confronted Perdue, who was standing blandly at his post.
"Any baccy?" he inquired, glancing at the array of black bottles along the wall.
"Plenty, pard. What's yer choice?"
"Yer best, an' I guess that'll be none too good."
"Now, what'll ye have next?" and Perdue rubbed his fat hands in anticipation of a new customer.
"A match."
"What! nothing more? What's yer brand?"
"Ain't got any, 'cept old age, an' the good Lord done that Himself. Guess He brands us all the same way sooner or later."
"Oh, I don't mean that," retorted the saloon-keeper, somewhat nettled at the laugh from the men at his expense. "I mean, 'What de'ye drink?'"
"Oh, I see," and Pete stroked his beard meditatively. "Wall, t'stimerlate the heart I sometimes drink the water of Life; to freshen up the mind a bit, I swaller a few drops from the mighty spring of Nater; while to keep this old carcase bright I find the good Lord's sparklin' water jist the thing. Have ye ever tried it?"
Perdue was certainly puzzled. It was impossible to take offence at the old man's words, spoken so quietly and impressively. Neither could he detect any sign of fun-making in his open face and kindly eyes. He wondered if this giant were altogether sane. He had often heard stories of men who, living so long in lonely places, had become quite demented. Perhaps this was one of them.
"Yer a stranger here, are ye not?" he asked not ungently. "Where did ye drop from?"
"Jist from the Injun camp up yon."
"What! not from there!" and Perdue looked his surprise.
"Sartin. Been strollin' round, sizin' things up a bit."
"But wasn't ye afraid of the Injuns? I understand they're as mad as hornets."
"Mebbe they be, an' I guess ye're right. But they never sting a friend. They know Pete Martin purty wall by this time."
"What! you're not Pete Martin, the prospector, are you?" and Perdue's eyes opened with astonishment.
And not only was the saloon-keeper surprised. The men in the room moved a little nearer, and craned their necks to obtain a better view of the stranger. Much had they heard of him: his great strength, wonderful endurance, feats of daring, and simplicity of life.
"Way back in New Brunswick," replied the prospector, "the old Parish Register says that I was baptized Peter Bartholomew Martin. I was ginnerally known, however, as 'Pete,' while up here I only git 'Old Pete,' though it doesn't make any difference what a feller's called. I guess the Lord'll know me by any name; I only hope so."
"But what are the Indians doing?" asked one of the men.
"Doin'? What ain't they a-doin'! They're gittin' down to bizness mighty lively; that's what they're a-doin'."
"In what way?"
"Wall, they're tryin' to decide whether it's best to pinch only the ones who burnt their store, or to hand out a bunch to the whole gang. Ye see, it's this way," and Pete glanced around upon the eager listeners, "they're sorter divided like, some wantin' to go the limit, an' others not. Now, the ones who hold back are the rale Christians, the best men of the lot. This camp jist depends upon which side wins out, an' if ye're saved ye may give the credit to that parson chap ye hiked away from here in sich a mighty hurry."
"We're better rid of him," said Perdue.
"Ye may think what ye like, pard; it's a free country in that way. But let me remind ye that if ye'd done this same trick to them Injuns ten years ago, when I fust struck these diggin's, they'd a wiped ye out quicker'n ye could say Jack Rabbit."
"Ye seem to know a heap about things here for a stranger," remarked Perdue.
"Ay, it's true, man, what ye say. I ain't been here long, but long enough to find out a few things, 'specially 'bout that fine lassie up yon."
"Why, what about her?" asked several.
"What! didn't ye hear?"
"Hear what?"
"'Bout the chap that caught her on the trail last night, an' scart her so that she fainted dead away."
At this, several men who were sitting on benches sprang to their feet, and angry oaths rang through the room.
"Who was it?" they demanded. "Tell us more about it! We're bad men, God knows, but we've a little manhood left. Tell us his name!"
"Don't git excited, now," replied Pete. "Jist keep cool, an' don't do nothin' rash, or ye may be sorry fer it."
Then in his quaint way he told the story of his trip from Siwash Creek, the cry in the night, the attack of the dog, escape of the villain, and the finding Constance lying unconscious on the trail. Pete related his story well, while many a muttered oath burst from the men during the recital.
"Do you know his name?" came the cry.
"Yes."
"Is he here?"
"I don't know. Mebbe ye kin tell when ye hear, fer it's Bill Pritchen."
When Pete entered the saloon, Pritchen was sitting at a small table dealing a pack of cards. Looking suddenly up, and noticing the prospector, his face became pale, and his hand shook. He made up his mind to leave the room at the first opportunity and not run the risk of meeting the old man. Anyway, his back was to the bar, so he would not be recognized. As Pete talked on he felt somewhat relieved. But when the story of darkness began to be unrolled a great fear seized his cowardly heart. He did not dare to leave the place, for if his name were mentioned he must be on hand to defend himself before the miners became too much excited. During the recital a burning rage possessed him, and he longed to drop the prospector in his tracks. He saw the trap which he had laid for another about to close upon himself with a deadly grip, and all owing to this one old man. When, however, Pete mentioned his name, he leaped to his feet with a terrible oath.
"You lie!" he shouted. "It's an infernal lie, I tell you, and you'll answer for this!"
Pete swung suddenly around, and looked full upon the irate man before him.
"So yer the gintleman, are ye? I'm rale glad to make yer acquaintance. Mebbe ye kin explain matters, an' unravel this tangle a bit."
"There's nothing to explain, d— you! I was out walking last night and met Miss Radhurst on the trail. Just as I was about to pass her a brute of a dog fell suddenly upon me, and tore my clothes, while the young woman fell to the ground in a dead faint."
"Oh, that's the way ye put it, is it? An' so ye left the young lassie a-lyin' thar on the snow, while ye took to yer heels with the dog after ye. Didn't ye stop to think that there might be other dogs around what would hurt the woman? Oh, no, ye never thought of that. Ye may tell what ye like, but that lassie up yon has another story, which I jist told."
"It's a lie, I tell you; a job put up against me! and you, you confounded meddler, will answer for this!"
"Mebbe I will, man," and Pete's eyes gleamed with a light which spoke danger. "At present the matter lies atween you an' the lassie, so I leave the b'ys here to jedge which to believe. But as we are now acquainted, I'd like to ax ye another question."
"Spit it out, then."
"Haven't I seed ye afore, Bill Pritchen?"
"H— if I know."
"But ye do know. Ye know very well that I met ye on the trail in 'Dead Man's Land,' last Fall."
"You must have been dreaming then."
"No, I wasn't a-dreamin' an' ye know I wasn't."
"Well, suppose you did meet me, what of it?"
"I'll tell ye what I want," and Pete moved nearer. "I want to know what's become of that fine young chap what was out with ye, the lad what had the fiddle?"
"How do I know? I can't keep track of every idiot who happens to meet me on the trail and travels along with me for a time."
"But I tell ye ye do know, an' what's more, I'm here to find out."
"Then you'll find out something else!" cried Pritchen, as his hand dropped to his hip pocket.
He was quick, but Pete was quicker, for almost like a flash a huge hand reached out, seized the revolver, and wrenched it from the villain's grasp. With an oath the latter sprang forward to strike, but he was as a child in the giant's terrible grip. He struggled for awhile, writhed in agony, and then sank upon the floor.
"Git up, ye coward! Git up, an' answer me!"
Pete's voice was terrible, and his eyes blazed as he bent over the prostrate man, who made no effort to move.
"Git up, I tell ye!" again came the command. "Git up an' explain what ye did to Kenneth Radhurst!"
Receiving no reply, he continued:
"Then I'll tell the men what ye did, ye coward. Ye left 'im a sick man, to starve, to die in the Ibex cabin; that's what ye did. Ye stole his gold, an' left 'im thar."
"You lie!" came from the prostrate man.
"It's no lie, I tell ye that. An' what's more, when the parson came along, cared fer 'im, an' when he died buried 'im, ye made out that he killed 'im. Ye went sneakin' around an' found a book he left thar, an' tried to stir up the men here at Klassan agin 'im. That's what ye did."
A cry of rage burst from the miners as they listened with amazement to this revelation.
"Is it true?" they shouted, as they surged near. "Tell us, is it true?"
"It's not true! By heavens, it's a lie!" and Pritchen, with face pale as death, struggled to his feet and faced the angry men.
"Stand back, b'ys, stand back!" cried Pete. "Lave 'im to me! He's injured 'im that's as dear to me as the apple of me eye. Lave 'im to me!"
Just what would have happened is hard to tell, if at that moment three Indians had not entered the room. One was Amos, the catechist, who was accompanied by three stalwart hunters.
In the exciting affray between Pete and Pritchen the Indians for a time had been forgotten. But the presence of these natives recalled their uncertain position, and with one accord they turned their attention to the visitors.
For a few minutes silence reigned in the room, and then Amos stepping forward delivered his message in broken English.
"Pale-face brothers," he began. "The Tukudhs come back from hunt. Dey find store burn, teacher gone. Beeg chief call Council. He want pale face come. Amos has spoke."
With this the catechist stepped back by the side of his companions, who had remained perfectly erect during it all.
Among the miners there was a hurried whispered conversation, and at length Caribou Sol arose to speak.
"Whar," he asked, "will the Council be held?"
"On de flat, at foot of hill. Half way," replied Amos.
"When?"
"Bime by, to-day. Two, mebbe tree hour. Beeg chief wait word."
"All right, then. Go an' tell the chief that the white men will come to the Council. Is that the will of all?" and Sol glanced around the room.
"Ay, ay," came the response as one voice. "It is well."
"It is well," repeated Amos, as he and his companions turned and left the building.
Pritchen, too, hastened away. In the excitement of the moment no one thought of him. Terrified, filled with rage, he reached his own cabin, stumbled through the door, and flung himself upon his cot.