He had returned from his hunting trip, and, finding the church and the lodges deserted, suspected trouble. He made his way to the saloon, feeling quite certain that there he would find an explanation of it all. Neither was he mistaken. When he beheld the presents, and the cup of whiskey held so temptingly before the face of his revered chief, his wrath flared forth in righteous indignation. He lashed the Indians with a few stinging words of rebuke, and, springing forward, with blazing eyes confronted Pritchen.
The latter, seeing the catechist's anger, realized the purport of his words. He saw that his scheme was likely to be frustrated simply through this one man.
"You dog of an Injun," he cried. "You vile psalm singer, get out of this and go to h—l," at the same time giving him a sharp slap in the face.
Stung to the quick by the double insult of word and blow, in the presence of his own people, and upon his ancestral domain, with a yell Amos leaped for his insulter. Pritchen was prepared for this, and with a well-directed blow sent the Indian reeling backwards. Recovering himself, however, with great agility, the catechist again rushed forward, dodged a second blow, and grappled with his opponent. But Pritchen was too much for him, and with a powerful effort partly disengaged himself from the native's grasp, and seized him by the throat with a death-like grip. Amos endeavored to free himself, but the more he writhed and struggled, the tighter pressed those terrible fingers.
So quickly had all this taken place, that for a while the squatting Indians stared in amazement. Then they realized the whole situation. Their leader, their chosen guide, was in danger, and had been grossly insulted by the white man. They leaped to their feet, bore down upon the struggling pair, and tore away the fingers from the catechist's throat.
Pritchen had over-stepped the mark, and had brought the storm upon his own head. He fought hard to free himself from the violent hands which were laid upon him. The women tore his face and hair, the men dealt him savage blows, and he staggered to and fro in an effort to keep his feet and to escape from the human wildcats.
During this performance the miners had remained stolidly silent, and when they beheld the tables turned upon Pritchen smiles of satisfaction flitted across their faces. They had little use for the big, blustering bully. He was not one of them, anyway, only an intruder, and whence he came or what his business no one seemed to know. But when they saw him in real danger they bestirred themselves, went to his assistance, and everything pointed to a free and general fight.
At that instant the saloon door was flung open, and a tall, stalwart figure sprang into the room. A subtle influence spread over the contestants, and, pausing in their struggle, turned to look upon the new arrival.
"Lord! who is it?" gasped Tim Murphy, shrinking back a step or two.
The stranger's eyes swept the room with one swift glance. In an instant he comprehended much.