"Jennie go quick," was the response; "all same wind," and with that she passed out of the room.
When once outside, Jennie paused and looked across to the Indian village. There was a short cut, which would save her the longer way around. This she took, and soon drew near the mission house. By this trail she approached the building on the left side, through a small clump of trees.
She was in the act of stepping into full view, when the sight of a man approaching the cabin arrested her steps, and caused her to shrink back a few paces. Not long was she left in doubt, for her keen eyes detected the slinking form of Pritchen. That he was there on mischief bent, she had no doubt, and she determined to watch his actions. Leaving the trail, she skirted the edges of the bunch of trees, keeping well within their shadows for some distance. Then she crossed an open space, and stepped behind the very building where Pritchen had been concealed. From this position she saw the wretch peering through the window, and then enter the house.
With the speed of a deer, she hurried up the path, and, taking her stand at the corner of the building, watched the door almost breathlessly lest Pritchen should reappear. Satisfying herself that she was secure, and could run to the back of the house, or take shelter among the trees, she plucked up courage. Then she crept to the window and looked in. At first she drew suddenly back, fearing she would be seen. Finding, however, that the man did not look her way, she at length maintained her ground.
It was easy to see everything quite plainly, from the placing of the pokes into the chest, to the throwing of the key into the stove, and the destruction of the picture. What it all meant, she could not tell, and she wondered what had become of the missionary. When, however, Pritchen had finished his cowardly work, and passed out into the night, Jennie was nowhere to be seen. She had disappeared, bearing with her the secret of the deed of darkness.
CHAPTER XIX
CARIBOU SOL
Another night had shut down over the great Yukon valley, a night of wind and storm. It had been snowing since morning on this, the most memorable day in the history of Klassan.
Caribou Sol stood in front of his cabin, looking out into the darkness. He did not mind the driving wind, laden with snow, which beat against him; in fact, he never noticed it. His face was marked with anguish as he closed the door and moved slowly along the trail leading to the Radhurst cabin. Up the hill he crept like a worn-out, weary man. He breasted the tempest with his head bent forward, while his long white beard was tossed across his breast like seaweed flung upon some surf-beaten rock. Constance was sitting by the table with a look of expectancy upon her face when Sol knocked at the door. Much had she changed since the previous evening. Her old lightness of spirit was gone, and a sadness weighed upon her soul. Tears glistened in her eyes, and the rosy colour had fled her cheeks, leaving them very white.