All through the night Dan kept watch by the constable's side. His pipe was seldom out of his mouth as he sat silently on the rough bench with his back against the wall. Twice Grey had moved a little, and once a moan escaped his lips. But otherwise there was no perceptible change. When Madeline appeared in the morning she looked much refreshed after her sleep. An expression of pleasure crossed Dan's face as he saw her standing before him. Her presence revived him after his long vigil, like the inspiring breath of dewy morn over a drowsy world. The room did not seem so close and sombre when she was present. A new spirit pervaded the place, which made it a restful abode.
That morning after breakfast Dan started forth and walked slowly to the little church. He was joined there by three natives who had returned to the village. A few moments later they came out bearing the body of Charles Nordis, the missionary. A single blanket enshrouded that stiffened form, for a coffin was out of the question. Silently they bore their burden down a gentle slope, across a narrow valley, then up a steep hill to the cemetery at the summit, for Indians choose high places in which to bury their dead. Here a grave had been dug the day before, and by its gaping mouth they laid the body down.
Dan stood for a few moments looking at the white face of the old man lying at his feet, and then glanced at the expressionless features of the three natives standing near. Deep, bitter thoughts were surging through the trapper's mind as he stood there. Was this all that the missionary had gained? A lifetime spent in the wilderness for the sake of a wandering people, and was this all—a violent death, a lonely grave in the wild, without one mourner to shed a tear? What was the use of such a life? he mused. The Indians had not responded to his care and teaching; but seemed to be as hard and cruel as ever.
A startled exclamation from one of the Indians aroused him. He lifted his head, and saw the three men looking anxiously away to the left. Dan turned sharply around to ascertain the cause of their excitement. It was certainly a magnificent view which met his eyes. Down below stretched the valley, partly wooded. Beyond, glimpses of the river gleamed like burnished silver beneath the sun, while away in the distance towered the rugged mountains to their tapering coronets of snow. At another time Dan would have drunk in the beauty with a true lover's ardent admiration. But now something else occupied his mind. Shading his eyes with his right hand he soon discerned a long, black, sinuous line trailing out from the forest beyond the Mission House. It held him spellbound for an instant, and then an exclamation of fear and concern burst from his lips. They were Indians, coming from their recent pow-wow, for what purpose he could not tell. Were they heading for the Mission House to carry away the woman and child? His first impulse was to rush down the hill, hurry to meet them, and guard the defenceless ones. This he at once realised would be folly. He could not get there in time, and what could one man do against so many?
He watched them with almost breathless interest as they drew near the house, and when the foremost ones had passed without turning aside he gave a deep sigh of relief. Through the village they threaded their way, then down the slope straight toward the hill upon which they were standing.
"They're comin' here!" he ejaculated, turning to his now thoroughly frightened companions. "What kin they be up to, anyway?"
His hand slipped to his hip and rested upon the butt of his revolver.
"If they're after mischief an' want me," he muttered, "they'll git a warm reception from my old comrade here. She's never failed me yit, an' I guess she won't now."
Up the hill the Indians swung with their easy, tireless gait, and soon the leaders were but a few hundred yards away. As Dan looked he drew his hand from his revolver, and meditatively stroked his long beard. Although armed the Indians showed no signs of hostility. On they came and without a word reached the top of the hill. Here they paused and waited for the rear to come up. Then from the midst stepped Hishu Sam. He gave one word which sounded like a command, and at once he walked over to where the dead man was lying, gave one quick glance at the cold, white face, and moved on. Others now came forward, stopped, looked, and moved away. It took them some time to do this, and Dan stood silently by wondering at the meaning of this unusual procedure.
The Hishus and Big Lakes were there—some bent and withered by the weight of years, others were young in the full strength and flush of virile manhood. But not a word was uttered, and not a movement of their impassive faces revealed the hearts within.