THE LIGHT OF THE CROSS
The afternoon sun was flooding the whole landscape with the golden glory of a burnished shield as Keith Steadman, the outcast, sat on a mountain ridge looking down upon the village of the fierce Quelchie Indians. His clothes were torn and tattered, his bronzed face and hands scratched and bleeding. Gaunt, footsore and hungry, he presented a forlorn figure, a mere speck on the mountain's brow.
Behind him Klassan lay, two hundred and fifty miles off. For ten days he had been on the trail, along the Kaslo River, then up an unnamed branch, through forests, over valleys and plains, and across a high mountain pass.
Though an outcast, driven from home in disgrace, and the light of her he loved so dearly, no shadow of a doubt crossed his mind concerning the Father's goodness. He pictured his flock, which he had tended with such care, scattered upon the many hills. He saw vice rampant at Klassan, the church closed, the school unattended, and the Indians exposed to every temptation. Nevertheless, he did not consume his strength in useless whining, or rail at the blow which had fallen. His soul was too large for that. He remembered the command his Master had given to His disciples long ago, "When they persecute you in this city, flee ye into another," and he felt it applied to him. Perhaps they had been too secure and too self-centred at Klassan. For years no storms had come to bend them, no wind of adversity to sift the chaff from the wheat, and no fire of trial to purge the gold from the dross. Now, all had come at once, and was it not for the best? "O Lord," he prayed, "in the sifting and testing process may there be many who will stand the trial, and come forth stronger and purer for the fire of affliction?"
As for himself, he could not doubt the leading of the Divine hand. He had been so much centred in his own flock, wrapped up in their welfare, that he had neglected the sheep in the wilderness, who knew not the name of Christ. He had been, like many an earnest pastor, too parochial, unable to look beyond the bounds of his one field of labour. He had forgotten that, though his work was of great value at Klassan, after all "the field is the world," and that Christ's command was to "go into the village over against you." He imagined that his presence was absolutely necessary in his own circumscribed sphere of labour, and overlooked the fact that "He that keepeth Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps."
But when he had stood before his accusers and judges on that stormy day in the saloon, and later bade farewell to Caribou Sol at the door of the mission house, a new purpose burned in his soul, which shone forth in his face, so that even his enemies marvelled when they saw the light. It was the Lord's will, he realized that clearly, and as He used evil men in days gone by for the furtherance of His mighty plans, were not these men now to be used as instruments in spreading abroad the Gospel light?
His mind naturally turned toward the Quelchie Indians, the most cruel and savage band in the North, the dread and terror of the whole land. Mothers hushed their children to rest by the one word "Quelchie," and nothing startled a camp more quickly than the mere mention of that dreaded name. To this tribe the message must be carried, and he was the one to go.
Thus, so near the object of his desire, and the end of the long trail, he rested for a while on the mountain's brow, and gazed down upon the village nestling beneath. He could see the smoke curling up from numerous lodges, and occasionally the cry of a child or the sharp bark of a dog fell upon his ears.
He drew forth the little locket, and gazed long and earnestly upon the face within. Through the time of trial, on the rough trail, and by the lonely camp fire at night, the thought of Constance had been as an inspiration. He longed to see her, to look into her eyes, and listen to her words as she told of her faith in him. He wondered what she was doing, and if she missed him much. He pictured her moving about the cabin, or sitting in her accustomed place by the window. Would he ever see her again? Into the new field ahead were dangers unknown, and what great changes might take place in a short time!
Thinking thus, he moved cautiously down the steep mountain side, where only the bighorn sheep could walk secure. He was on an old Indian trail which would lead him to the village. By that same pass the dreaded Quelchies had filed on various occasions to bring death and destruction to some unsuspecting bands of natives beyond. Now for the first time in the world's history it was being trodden by the weary foot of a messenger of peace.