"Thank you," and Keith turned towards the old man. Then his eye rested upon Constance's animated face, standing by her father's side. It was like a ray of sunshine to his clouded heart, a light in the darkness, peace in the midst of storm, and a faint smile crossed his face—the first in many days.
Tender hands bore Old Pete over the trail to the Radhurst cabin and laid him upon the couch within. Outside, the miners stood in little groups waiting, but hardly knowing what they were waiting for. Homeless, penniless were they, but they never thought of it then. Their own losses were swallowed up in the excitement of the moment, and the sudden blow which had fallen.
Down below, the river—the river of death—surged and moaned. It had swept away the cabins and had gripped in its icy grasp the body of one wretched man, whose hand no more would be raised to strike at the Standard of the Lord and His co-workers.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE SHINING TRAIL
When morning dawned it was a dreary sight which met the eyes of the tired watchers gathered about the smouldering embers of the fire upon the high bank. The waters had subsided, leaving masses of ice, trees, rocks and mud strewn around in every direction. Of the miners' cabins nothing remained; they had been swept out into the river.
Looking down upon the scene of desolation, the men realized the helplessness of their position; without cabins, food or blankets matters seemed serious enough. Most of them said nothing, but sat or stood watching the river flowing sullenly by. A few, however, broke into loud complaints. Of these Perdue, the saloon-keeper, was the most incessant in his lamentations.
"Only think," he wailed, "I've lost everything, saved nothing. My supplies and money are all gone."
"An' yer pizened whiskey, why don't ye say," replied Caribou Sol, turning fiercely upon him. "What are ye howlin' fer, anyway? Why can't ye stan' up an' take yer dose like a man, instid of whinin' like a baby?"