"Now I understand!" exclaimed Boyd. "It was you who stabbed him that night in the cannery."
"Yes! Chakawana tell him what the pries' say 'bout woman what don' marry. My sister say she go to hell herself and don' care a damn, but it ain't right for little baby to go to hell too."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. Wayland.
"The Father say if white man take Indian woman and don' marry her, she go to hell for thousan' year—mebbe two, three thousan' year. Anyhow, she don' never see Jesus' House. That's bad thing!" The breed shook his head seriously. "Chakawana she's good girl, and she go to church; I give money to the pries' too, plenty money every time, but he says that's no good—she's got to be marry or she'll burn for always with little baby. By God! that's make her scare', because little baby ain't do nothing to burn that way. Mr. Marsh he say it's all damn lie, and he don't care if little baby do go to hell. You hear that? He don't care for little baby."
Constantine's eyes were full of tears as he strove laboriously to voice his religious teachings. He went on with growing agitation:
"Chakawana she's mighty scare' of that bad place, and she ask Mr. Marsh again to marry her, but he beat her. That's when I try to kill him. Mebbe Mr. Emerson ain't come so quick, Mr. Marsh go to hell himself."
Wayne Wayland turned upon Marsh.
"Why don't you say something?"
"I told you the brat isn't mine!" he cried. "If it isn't Emerson's, it's Cherry Malotte's. They want money, but I won't be bled."
"You marry my sister?" asked Constantine.