CHAPTER XXVII
GUIDED
When Keith stood before Shrahegan's lodge, the second day after the recovery of the sick youth, the spirit of conquest for Christ's sake possessed his entire being. Once it was only Klassan; then the village over against him; now, the whole northland, with its numerous tribes of the wandering foot.
Then the thought of his helplessness swept upon him. What was he to do? Only one man to carry on the great work. He must have help, men to man the field. If the miners at Klassan would not endure him, some one else must be stationed there, while he worked among the Quelchies, or in some other place. Two or three men he must have, and that as soon as possible. To write for them would take too long, with the uncertainty of their coming. No, that plan would not do; he must go himself.
He, therefore, determined to return to Klassan. The Indians would protect him while there, and when the ice ran out of the Yukon, either to drift down to St. Michael in an open boat, or await the arrival of the first steamer. He would go to Eastern Canada, lay the matter before the Mission Board, and appeal for help. Then, if the men could not be supplied, he would go from place to place, searching, ever searching, till he obtained the ones he required. He would have able men or none at all, he was set upon that.
He was aware of the feeling which prevails in the minds of some that anyone will do for the mission field. But he knew from long experience that on the frontier—the ragged edge of civilization—where life is wild and strenuous, only strong men could succeed; men sound in limb, keen in intellect, and thoroughly consecrated to the Master's cause.
Next, the money question confronted him. Suppose he got the right men, where would he obtain the necessary funds for their maintenance? It meant a big expense to provide passages for three or four men, and support them in a land where living was so dear. The Missionary Society, he knew, was able to do but little, and this would be the strongest barrier to his plan. He might appeal for help in the various towns and cities, but such aid would only be ephemeral. What was he to do?
In his perplexity he began to pace up and down before the lodge, and unconsciously thrust his hands into the pockets of his buck-skin jacket, as was his wont when in troubled thought. As he did so he touched the nuggets of gold which had lain there since his return from the rich creek. He drew them forth, gazed upon them, and at once a light clear and strong burst full upon his mind. For a while he seemed dazed by the immensity of the idea, and he stood looking upon the shining specimens in his hand, thinking it must be nothing but a dream.
"It is God's doing," he said to himself. "He never places his servants in a great battle without providing weapons for the conflict. I doubted about the money, the means to carry on the work, and here it is at hand, gold in abundance. And why should it not be used for the furtherance of the Kingdom? It is virgin gold, untainted by the touch of greedy men. If it is considered right to use the money which flows into the mission exchequer from many doubtful sources, why should not this be used? Why should missionaries who are in the field hesitate to stake their claims when a new mine is discovered, and use the gold to carry on their work? It has not been done in the past. They have stood aside, watched the crowd arrive, who wallowed in the wealth, erected saloons to further their evil designs, and work havoc among the natives of the land. Then, after watching this, the missionaries have begged the crumbs which fell from these rich men's vile tables to combat the very evil they had introduced. Why should Satan's minions be provided with fine saloons and dance-halls in a new mining camp, while Christ's ambassadors must use a miserable tent or log shack? No, no! it must not be so here! I will bring in honest men to stake their claims as I have done. We will use the gold to erect a temple to God, a hospital, a fine recreation room, library, and other things for the welfare of the place. Then if the saloons do come, and the baser element, we will be prepared to contest the ground inch by inch, and fight a glorious battle for the right.
"And aside from the work for the white men, why should not this gold be used for the uplifting of the natives? The land is theirs, and in a sense the gold is theirs, and how much better to use it for their own good than to beg it from those unwilling to contribute?"
When Keith was once fairly settled upon any line of action it was not his nature to delay long the doing of it. He thought of the Quelchies he would leave behind for a while, and this caused him a certain degree of sorrow. He had become attached to these uncouth natives during his short sojourn among them. The little children, sturdy and bright, were much in need of a teacher, while the older ones had listened earnestly to his message.
After his successful victory over the Medicine Man the old friendly feeling returned, and though the conjurer's wrath burned fiercely, he did not dare to oppose the missionary any longer. He had observed no change in the Indians' manner of living. There had been no outward sign of acceptance of the truths he had taught. But in this he was not surprised. He had planted the seed into their hearts and minds, and was content to leave the increase to the Master of Life.
When the time came for him to say farewell the old chief reached out his thin, scrawny hand.
"Pale-face come again soon, eh?"
"Yes, as soon as I can," replied Keith. "Will the great chief give me welcome?"
"The chief of the Quelchies will welcome the brave pale-face teacher. Come again soon."
"God helping me, I will."
"Ah, good," and the old man's wrinkled face broke into a weary smile.
For some distance on the trail Keith was accompanied by Shrahegan. This noble Indian seemed so different from the rest of his people that the missionary often longed to question him concerning the reason.
"Shrahegan," he said, as they moved on their way, "you told me once the cause of your kindness to me, but why are you different from your people? You are much nobler, have deeper thoughts, and are opposed to the Medicine Man."
The Indian paused and looked earnestly into his companion's face. An eager look shone in his eye as he slowly replied.
"Shrahegan has a strange fire here," and he placed his right hand upon his breast. "Once a black bear, wolf and fox all lived here, but now they have gone, and only the fire burns all the time."
"What fire?" questioned Keith, looking wonderingly at the fine figure before him.
In reply, Shrahegan stretched out his arm and pointed toward the East, where the grand peaks of the Rocky Mountains, snow-capped and sun-crowned, were standing out clear and distinct.
"There," he said, "beyond the mountains, the land of the rising sun, where the great river flows to the home of the lights which dance in the heavens—there the fire began to burn."
"What, the Mackenzie River District?"
"Ah, ah. Shrahegan saw much there, and learned many things. He saw the big canoe, breathing smoke as black as night, flying up the river, and heard men tell of the wonderful things in the land of the pale-face. Ah, Shrahegan found much."
"And you long to see the strange things?" asked Keith.
"Ah, the fire has been here ever since. Shrahegan thinks much. His feet walk in the ways of the Quelchies, but his heart is over there. And what have my people done?" he continued almost fiercely. "They make no change; they know nothing. They live like the moose, the bear, the wolf, and the fox. They eat, sleep, talk, fight, and die, but do nothing. As we are to-day, our fathers were the same before us, and so will our children be. And what has the Medicine Man done? Nothing. He says he knows much, but he is wrong. Shrahegan feels the fire. He hears a strange voice which gives him no rest."
It was truly a marvellous spectacle to see this giant savage, travailing in the throes of a new birth. It reminded Keith of a picture which often came to his mind, of the beginning of civilization among his own rude ancestors. All around was a dreary land, wind-swept and cold, over which men, women and children were crawling, fighting and dying. In the midst of this pathetic scene one man had lifted his head and was listening as if to a voice from the far-off sea, while in his dull, stupid eye the gleam of a new light could be dimly discerned. The light of God was breaking, which at last burst forth into such marvellous glory.
"Shrahegan," said Keith, when the Indian had finished, and stood looking away toward the East, "what do you want? What will give you rest?"
"To see. To know," came the slow, thoughtful reply.
"For yourself only?"
"No, no! For my people, too. Shrahegan wants them to have the fire, and to see other things."
"And do you want a teacher?"
"Ah, Shrahegan wants the pale-face teacher to live among his people, to help them. And will he come?" he questioned, looking deep into the missionary's eyes.
"Yes, he will come, or send another better," came the reply. "And while he is away Shrahegan will not forget?"
"Shrahegan will not forget. How can he when he has seen the light and felt the fire?"
When once alone, Keith's steps quickened. The King's business required haste and he must not delay. After crossing the mountain he reached the unnamed river flowing free and strong before him. Here was an opportunity which a frontiersman could not afford to overlook. The stream would speed him on his way to Klassan.
With some difficulty he fashioned a small raft from the dead, broken trees on the bank, and entrusting himself to this with a prayer for guidance, was soon sweeping down with the current.
Day after day he moved onward, past islands, bars, and jutting points, guiding the craft by means of a long, stout pole by many a dangerous place. Just when he expected that one day more would bring him to Klassan, he found that the speed of the current was decreasing to a considerable extent. Then he was surprised to find the ice drifting slowly in various places. The farther he advanced the slower became his progress, until at length he found the river entirely blocked with the floating mass. There was nothing to do but to abandon the craft which had done him such good service, and travel on foot along an Indian trail which wound its devious way through the wilderness.
He had hoped to reach Klassan early in the afternoon, but in this he was disappointed, and night had shut down when at last he paused to rest atop the hill looking down upon the village.
It was not for rest alone that he halted and seated himself upon a jutting rock. It was to collect his thoughts, which were in a perturbed condition. How would he be received at Klassan? he wondered, and what had happened since his departure? Then he was so near to her. What was she doing down there in the darkness? Moving, perhaps, about the little cabin. Was she thinking of him, the wanderer, the outcast, with the stain upon his name? He shivered, not from apprehension alone, but from the chill, mist-laden wind rolling and roaring up the valley.
He rose to his feet and advanced a few paces, when a strange sound away to the right startled him and stayed his steps. He peered ahead through the darkness. He strained his ears and listened like a hunted creature. Presently the truth flashed upon him, terrible, intense. It was the ice-jam! It had given way and was sweeping down with irresistible force upon the village below! Would the miners know of it? Would they flee to the high banks? And what of her? Was she safe?
He threw aside his rifle and leaped forward like a greyhound. Down, down, through the darkness he sped, over rocks, beating the bushes aside, falling and stumbling, but ever on, with clothes torn, hands and face scratched and bleeding. He heeded not the wounds, he never felt them, for the awful roar of the onrushing waters was in his ears. Would he never reach the place! How the trail had lengthened, and the obstacles, how many there were! What was that? Ah, a cabin. Thank God, she was safe! He reached the door. He stumbled. He fell. He regained his feet. He beat upon the wood with his hands. He saw a light, felt a warm rush of air, and heard a cry of astonishment.
"Run, run!" he shouted. "The water! It's coming! The jam has burst! For God's sake, save yourselves!"
That was all, all he had time for, then out into the night, and down the trail straight to the miners' cabins. He reached the forks of the road. He sped past, and then suddenly stopped. A cry, a noise, fell upon his ears. There, yes, to the right. He rushed on. He saw dim forms of people, and into their midst he sprang like a wildcat after its prey.
He hardly knew what he said. He comprehended not the meaning of what they were doing. He only heard a yell of fright as a wild, hurried scramble for the high banks ensued, while something fell with a dull thud almost at his very feet.
He was about to follow the miners and Indians in their flight, when a groan arrested his steps. He looked down. It was a man, helpless and bound. What did it mean? What was that crowd doing there in the darkness? The thoughts surged like lightning through his brain. He reeled and almost fell. But the roar above nerved him. He called for help, but only the waters sent back their terrible response. Desperate, determined, he seized the prostrate man in his arms and staggered with him toward the bank. Would he reach it? Would his strength hold out? Yes. No. O God, help him! for the cruel waters had reached him! They thrust out their long, icy tongues, they swept him off his feet and hurled him forward, still grasping in his arms the body of the helpless man.