"The answer is there," and the missionary waved his hand towards the Indian houses. "I hold the natives in leash. At a word from me they will pour in from the mountains, those cabins will swarm with life, and—oh, well, you know the rest. In the meantime touch me, and you will answer to them. As for that dastardly deed to a young partner, if the miners knew—and they will know if you don't do as I advise."
Pritchen waited to hear no more. With an oath upon his lips he sprang for the trail, leaving the missionary gazing after him with a troubled mind. Keith had thrust deep into the villain's heart. He had wounded him sore, but he felt no sense of elation, for he knew he was contending with a vile serpent in human guise.
Pritchen proceeded at a rapid pace through the Indian village, and down to the miners' cabins. He did not enter Perdue's store as was his wont, but made straight for his own log house beyond. A miserable, half-starved cur was lying at the door. Giving the animal a brutal kick, which sent it howling away, Pritchen entered the building. Throwing his snow-shoes into one corner and the rifle with the ptarmigan on a pile of rugs, he sat down upon a small stool. His small, swinish eyes blazed, his brutal features twitched, and his hands clinched together as he brooded over the interview.
"He warned me, d— him, he warned me! Me—me, Bill Pritchen, the lawless, who never took such words from any man which I have taken from him! But I'll fix him! I'll bring him down from his high horse. He's got the cinch on me now through those d— Injuns, but my time'll come. He told me to leave the camp, ha, ha!" Then he paused, and a light broke over his countenance. He sprang to his feet. "I've got it! I've got it!" he exclaimed. "He said he'd expose me; that the men should know. Oh, yes, they'll know, ha, ha! But I must see first what's happened to that kid. I'll leave the camp. Oh, yes, I'll take your advice, my fine fellow, but I'll come back, yes, I'll come back, and then beware!"
Early the next morning he left Klassan with a small pack on his back, snow-shoes on his feet, and a rifle under his arm. For five days the wilderness swallowed him up, and then he returned. It was night when he came back, with the swinging stride and elastic step of a man who has accomplished his purpose.
This time he did not go to his own cabin, but stopped at the store. He was in high fettle when he entered the building. He nodded pleasantly to the few men gathered at the table playing cards, and cracked a joke with Perdue as he tossed off a draught of hootch.
"Give us a snack, Jim," he said, setting down the cup. "I'm dead beat, and haven't had a mouthful since morning."
"Sure," returned the saloonkeeper. "There are some beans in the pan, and I'll make you a cup of tea."
"Where's your game, Bill?" asked one of the men, looking up from his cards.
"Out on the hill, where they'll stay for all I care."