THE NIGHT WATCH
As Keith bent over the prostrate man, he noticed how delicate were his
hands, not cramped and hardened like the ordinary prospector's. He
looked upon his face, white and worn, the face of an old man. What
could such a person do in the rigorous north, where only the hardiest
had any chance of existence? He was not asleep, but lying on the cot,
moaning in a pitiful manner. His eyes wandered constantly about the
room, but seemed to notice nothing.
"Miss Radhurst," said Keith. "I find what you surmised is only too
true. Your father's arm is broken. It is not a serious fracture,
however, only one of the bones, which can be quite easily re-set."
When at length the work was completed, Keith stepped back and viewed
his patient.
"There," he said. "I think he will do now. We've done the best we
could."
"Thank you. Oh, thank you," replied Constance. "You are very good."
"That's nothing, Miss Radhurst. I'm so glad I happened to be here to
help your father. Now, you and Pete had better rest a while, as I wish
to remain here for a time."
"Very well, laddie," returned the prospector. "I'll go home now."
Then, turning to Constance, he continued: "Ye kin trust 'im, lassie.
He'll bring yer dad through, if any one kin."
The old man chuckled as he waded through the snow to his own cabin.
"They think I'll rest, do they? Waal, they don't know Pete Martin yit.
Mebbe they'll see afore mornin', though."
"May I watch with you, Mr. Steadman?" Constance asked, when Pete had
gone.
"Do you not need rest, Miss Radhurst? You must be tired after such an
anxious day."
"No, no. I could not rest with my father moaning in that pitiful
manner. He is very dear to me, and I must stay by his side for a while
anyway."
"Connie, Connie," came from the sick man. "The paper, the paper; give
me the paper! Don't let any one have it!"
"Yes, father dear," said Constance, gently stroking his forehead, and
thin gray hair. "The paper is safe; no one shall get it, so do not
worry."
The man, however, did not heed her remarks, but rambled on. "The gold!
the gold! I see the gold! Look, Connie, see how it shines! We'll get
it yet."
"Hush, hush, father dear." Constance's eyes were moist as she listened
to his wandering words, and watched his wan face.
"Oh, Mr. Steadman," she said, "it is so hard to see him this way. He
does not know me at all."
"Gold! The trail! I see the gold! Connie, Kenneth," moaned the
sufferer.
"Your father seems to have some trouble pressing on his mind," said
Keith. "He talks so much about the gold, the trail, and yet he does
not look like a man who has roughed it in this country."
"My father never did any mining," Constance responded. "He knows
nothing about it. Oh, Mr. Steadman," she continued, after a pause, "I
want to speak to some one concerning this very matter. It is almost
breaking my heart. You are a clergyman and a doctor, and I know I can
trust you. May I speak?"
"I assure you, Miss Radhurst," Keith replied, "that I will not only
listen to your story, but I shall consider it a great honour, as well,
to be thus taken into your confidence."
But Constance did not begin at once. For a time she was silent, lost
in thought. She made a fair picture, sitting on the rude bench, with
her right arm resting upon the table, supporting her head.
The room was bare, painfully bare, destitute of the little comforts so
precious to a woman's heart. The walls of rough-hewn logs were
unrelieved by picture or knick-knack. The uneven floor was as
scrupulously clean as a pair of small hands could make it. This was
kitchen, sitting, dining, and Mr. Radhurst's sleeping room combined. A
portion of the building was hidden by several dark blankets, and served
as Constance's own private apartment.
"What a life for such a woman!" thought Keith, sitting on the opposite
side of the table, watching the flickering light of the one small
candle playing upon Constance's face and hair. He admired this woman,
who was living so bravely amid such dreary surroundings. Yes, he more
than admired, for a sense of pity stole into his heart at the thought
of her position, alone with her helpless father.
"You asked about my father," Constance at length began, fixing her eyes
upon the missionary. "No, he was never a miner. Several years ago he
was a prosperous business man in Vancouver. Our home was a happy one,
where I tried to fill the place of my dear mother, who had died several
years before. But I wished to be a nurse, and so attended the public
hospital in that city.
"At the end of my second year, I was placed in charge of a man who had
been terribly exposed on the trail. We did what we could to save his
life, but in vain. When he learned that he could not recover, he one
day confided to me a strange secret.
"He was a prospector, and had spent several years in the North along
the Yukon Valley. One day he and a partner discovered a valuable ledge
of gold far back from the river in an easterly direction. They filled
their pockets with nuggets, and, as winter was fast approaching, and
they had little food, they started for the coast. They had proceeded
only a short distance when they were set upon by several Indians, who
resented the intrusion of the white men into what they considered their
rightful domain. One man was instantly killed, while the other
escaped. After a terrible struggle he reached the coast, where a
passing steamer took him on board, and landed him in Vancouver. Here
he was at once taken to the hospital, and placed in my care.
"When the man had finished his story, he gave me a piece of paper, on
which was sketched a rude map of the Yukon region, describing the exact
spot where the gold was to be found. I will show you this paper; it is
the one of which my father speaks.
"The next day the prospector died, and I laid the map away, and thought
little of it at the time, being very busy with my work. When next I
saw my father, I told him the whole story, and though he seemed
interested, I little thought what an impression it would make upon his
mind.
"A year later my father, suffered severe losses in his business, which
caused him great worry. Then I found what an effect the prospector's
story had made upon him. He had been thinking of it continually, and
talked much with Kenneth, my only brother, about the matter. Both
believed that the story was real, and that the gold was there, only
waiting some one bold enough to go for it.
"When the financial trouble swept down upon us, my brother determined
to start upon the quest, notwithstanding our entreaties to the
contrary. He boarded a coast steamer for the North, and that was the
last we heard of him.
"Oh, Mr. Steadman," and tears stood in her eyes, "you little know what
he was to me. We were so much together, and after our mother's death I
took charge of him almost entirely. He had a sweet disposition, and a
lovable nature. Music was his passion, and often during the winter
evenings, when we were all home, he would play by the hour upon the
violin, his favorite instrument, which he carried away with him. Oh,
if I can only find him! I am afraid something has happened to him in
this wild country, for he was not used to roughing it. Suppose the
poor boy should now be lying in some lonely cabin, sick and calling for
me, or--I shudder to think of it--cold and still, with the snow his
only covering."
During this recital a vivid scene passed before Keith's mind. He saw
again the dreary Ibex cabin, the man huddled on the floor, and the
grave in the snow. That he was Kenneth Radhurst, this woman's only
brother, there could be no doubt. How could he tell her what he knew?
Would it be right to add this intense sorrow to her present trouble?
What should he do?
He arose suddenly, went to Mr. Radhurst's side, and watched him for a
short time.
"Pardon me, Miss Radhurst," he said, turning toward her. "Your father
is resting more comfortably. Please go on."
"After we had waited for some time," continued Constance, "and no word
came from Kenneth, my father became very impatient. He wished to leave
for the Yukon, not only to find my brother, but the gold mine as well.
"The lure of gold filled his mind, making him a changed man. Formerly
he took an interest in many things, such as religion, politics, social
matters, and was a great reader. All these he gradually relinquished,
and he talked of nothing but gold, and how he would obtain it. At
length he determined to follow up the quest himself. We did what we
could to turn him from the idea, but the more his trusty friends
reasoned, the more obdurate he became. Finding that nothing would
change his mind, I decided to cast in my lot with his, go with him and
take care of him as well as I could.
"We travelled by the way of St. Michael, and came to Klassan last Fall
in a fur-trading steamer. There we built a little cabin, in which we
intended to spend the winter. But the gold fever had still a terrible
grip over my poor father. Just when we were quite comfortably settled,
he had a dream, in which he saw men carrying away the gold he hoped to
obtain. I really believe his mind was somewhat unbalanced, for nothing
would do but that we must set out at once. We came this far, when,
finding it impossible to proceed farther, we took refuge in this
abandoned cabin. Here we have remained ever since, and but for the
kindness of Old Pete, and several of his companions, I verily believe
we should have frozen or starved.
"And you should have seen the considerate manner in which the kindness
was always bestowed. Sometimes they would have too much moose-meat,
fish, or grouse on hand, 'and would we take just a little to keep it
from spoiling.' My father knows very little about hunting, but one day
Pete took him into the woods after a moose. The animal was killed, and
Pete would insist that my father had shot it, and, of course, he came
in for a liberal portion of the game. I wish you knew what that man
has done for us. He has----"
Constance was interrupted by a knock upon the door, and when it was
opened they beheld the object of their conversation standing before
them. He was carrying something in his hand, covered with a cloth, old
and worn, but perfectly clean.
"Thar," he remarked, placing his load upon the table. "I knowed ye'd
be hungry, laddie, after yer long mush, an' mebbe, lassie, ye'll have a
snack, too."
Constance glanced at Keith, as much as to say, "Didn't I tell you so?
It's Old Pete's way."
When the cloth had been withdrawn a most appetizing repast was exposed
to view. A prospector's gold-pan served as a tray, which contained a
piece of tender moose-meat, nicely browned, some beans, a loaf of
sourdough bread, and a pot of steaming tea. Pete did not tell that he
had gone without bread and tea for weeks that he might have a little
for the "Colonel" and Constance, whom he had intended to invite to his
cabin for Christmas dinner. The bread he had made the day before, with
a deep joy in his honest heart at the pleasure he imagined it would
give the lonely ones.
"Now, lassie," he commanded, "bring on yer chiny, an' we'll have our
Christmas dinner right now. It's early, I admit, but it can't be
helped."
Constance gave a little laugh, but her eyes were filled with tears.
"My china," she replied, "will make but a poor showing beside your
bountiful repast. However, we shall have the best the cabin affords,
even if they are only iron plates and cups."
Keith was hungry, very hungry, and he did ample justice to the food.
He let Constance and Pete do most of the talking, for he was busy with
the various thoughts which surged through his mind. How different the
outcome of it all from what he had expected. He chided himself over
and over again for his lack of faith in the Master's leadings. In
every step he could see the direct evidence of His over-ruling power.
And, to crown it all, there was before him this sweet, patient woman,
adorning the humble cabin with a true and gentle grace.