If Any Man Sin

by H. A. Cody

"If he was a parson," one remarked, "the whole thing would be clear."

"Sure thing," another replied. "But he never says a word about religion."

"Doesn't he, eh? That's where you are mistaken. His is a religion of deeds and not words. If he had come here and handed out a whole lot of talk about being patient under discouragements how much good would it have done us? Mighty little, I can tell you that. But he drops in on us with a word of cheer, and brings along his fiddle. That's the religion which gets me every time."

Winter shut down unusually early, and gripped the northland in its icy embrace. Every time Martin made his rounds of the creeks he noticed the grim spectre of famine and despair creeping upon the miners in their desolate cabins. They scoured the land for miles around in search of game, with but meagre success, for the moose and caribou had withdrawn farther afield upon the arrival of the white men. To follow them far the miners had not the strength. They had been living upon short allowance for some time, and every day their small supplies were becoming much diminished. Several, feeling the pinch of want, went to the stores in town, and asked to be supplied with food on credit until spring. Their request was refused, and with hearts rankling with bitterness they marched back up the creek to bear the news to their companions. The proud spirit of this little band of men was aroused, and they swore that they would die rather than ask again for any food from Quaska. They, accordingly, shared their scanty remaining supply with one another with the feeling that when this was gone there was nothing before them but death.

Winter was now upon them in all its fierceness. The weather was extremely cold, and snow lay thick over the land. At this critical time Martin one day appeared at the cabin nearest to Quaska. He was not alone this time, for he had a sled loaded with provisions, and drawn by two husky dogs he had borrowed from Taku, the Indian.

"Had more grub on hand than I needed," was his brief explanation to the miners as they stared longingly upon the loaded sled.

Then throughout the creeks he moved, dispensing supplies wherever he went, and when all was gone he hurried back for more. His feverish eagerness to be doing something for others was what puzzled the miners. He was now more of a mystery than ever. Whereas at first they considered him as one of themselves they came at last to look upon him as some unearthly being, an angel in the form of a man, who had dropped from heaven to aid them in their distress. Who else could it be? they reasoned, who would go to so much trouble for a few lonely men, hard up in a desolate region? It was no ordinary spirit, they well knew, which would drive a man out into such cruel weather for the sake of others.

In a few weeks the news of what Martin was doing reached Quaska, and passed from man to man, causing much curious comment on every hand. In some way the refusal of the storekeepers to provide starving men with provisions leaked out, and caused considerable stir among the leading men of the place, especially Tom. They went at once to the stores, and ordered supplies for their comrades up the creeks, while several volunteered to carry forward the provisions.

"Who will pay for these things?" the storekeepers whined.

"Pay!" Tom fairly shouted the words. "D'ye think we'd come here an' order this stuff without holdin' ourselves responsible? Ye deserve to be cleaned out an' driven from town fer yer meanness. Ye've not only raised the price of yer goods beyond all reason, but ye refused to supply a few poor chaps who were starvin' to death, an' they never mentioned it to a livin' soul. That's what ye've done."