“It’s a big thing for one man to undertake. It may wreck your mission.”
Ferguson’s eyes sparkled.
“The risk mustn’t count. One can’t shut one’s eyes to what those fellows are doing. But I want backers; will you give me your support?”
“That’s more than I can consistently promise. However, I’ll look on and see you get fair play. If the opposition hit below the belt, I may take a hand in.”
“Thanks,” responded Ferguson, and Kermode went on with his team.
He was favorably impressed by the young missionary and kept the promise he had made, though it now and then involved him in difficulties with his comrades. The carload of lumber duly arrived, and with the help of men who gave their labor after their hard day’s work was done, the church was raised by the light of flaring blast-lamps which the contractor allowed. By day, Ferguson worked at it alone, and the building steadily grew into shape; but as the weather got colder trouble broke out in camp. Men engaged on the higher portions of the line were laid off by snow and frost, and when the cost of their board ran on, their tempers got short. There were dismissals, and as working hours diminished, the gangs were driven harder. Friends began to quarrel over games of chance, and the violence they displayed was often accounted for by indulgence in smuggled liquor.
Ferguson, however, was making progress: gaining staunch adherents here, tacit sympathizers there, though the opposition saw to it that several had reason to regret their joining him. Kermode took no open part in the struggle, but watched it interestedly.
At length, one nipping morning, he left his tent with a shiver before it was light and busied himself about his horses with a lantern in their rude branch and bark shelter. Winter was beginning in earnest, and a bitter wind had raged all night, covering gorge and hillside deep with snow, but this would make his hauling easier when he had broken out a trail. He plowed through the snow in the darkness, and the threatening dawn had broken when he came down the hillside with the ends of three or four big logs trailing behind his jumper-sled. The shacks and tents were white in the hollow, over which there floated a haze of thin, blue smoke; the rapid creek that flowed past them showed in leaden-colored streaks among the ice; and somber pines rose in harsh distinctness from the hillside.
Then the half-covered frame of the church caught Kermode’s eye. Something was wrong with it. The skeleton tower looked out of the perpendicular; and on his second glance its inclination seemed to have increased. The snow, however, was clogging the front of his sled and he set to work to scrape it off. While he was thus engaged there was a sharp, ripping sound, and then a heavy crash, and swinging around he saw that the tower had collapsed. Where it had stood lay a pile of broken timber, and planks and beams were strewn about the snow.
Kermode urged his team downhill, and when a group of men came running up to meet him, he recognized Ferguson some distance in front of them. The man’s face showed how heavy the blow had been.