YUKON JENNIE
On the afternoon preceding the miners' meeting, Yukon Jennie sat
silently in the corner of the old chief's lodge. Her busy little
fingers were arranging a number of small pictures, choosing out the
best and laying them carefully by themselves. Her face was full of
animation as she bent over her task, and her eyes sparkled with delight
as she gazed tenderly upon some favourite sketch.
"The pale-face woman will like that," she said to herself. "When she
sees the little stream running through the woods, playing with the
sunbeams, laughing at the trees, kissing the flowers, and singing,
singing all the time, she will be glad."
Since the night she had fled from the church, clutching the keen knife
in her hand, a transformation had come over this dusky, wayward maiden.
As long as her terrible resolve was pent up in her little heart it
possessed her whole being. But when she had given vent to feelings in
passionate words, the outcome was marvellous. It had proven a
veritable safety-valve to her surcharged soul, a relief, which in
others of a different disposition would have been effected by scalding
tears.
To acknowledge any change to her faithful teacher was foreign to her
proud nature. When once again, however, in the cold night air she
looked for a time towards the dimly lighted saloon, and then made her
way slowly to the Indian lodge which was her temporary home. The sight
of the sad look on the missionary's face stood out clear and distinct
as she lay that night beneath her blankets. Another Face, too, often
came before her, weary, and blood-stained from the cruel crown of
thorns.
No picture had affected her so much as the one she had often gazed
upon, in the school room, of the Saviour hanging on the cross. Over
and over again she had sketched it until every detail was indelibly
impressed upon her heart. The weary face; the nail-pierced hands and
feet; the mocking crowd, had mingled with her dreams, and her
passionate resolve, but never until this night had the meaning of it
all stood out so real and distinct.
During the days that followed Jennie fought a stern battle. At times
the old longing almost gained the mastery, and she would draw forth the
knife, but always to return it to its hiding place among the bundle of
rags. Sometimes she watched Pritchen's movements with a strange
fascination, when the wild nature would reassert itself until crushed
back again by a mighty effort.
The result of this stern struggle was very apparent on this bright
afternoon as the maiden busied herself with the sketches. Her face,
almost radiant, revealed the heart within, an outward and visible sign
of an inward and spiritual grace.
When the pictures had been arranged to her satisfaction, she arose and
began to array herself in her finest dress, kept only for the most
important occasions. It took her some time to complete her costume,
and often she glanced at herself in a small broken mirror, with all the
pride of some society belle preparing for a grand ball. Finally over
her head and shoulders she threw a small bright-coloured shawl, a
present from the Christmas tree two years before.
Seizing the pictures in her hand, and drawing the wrap firmly around
her body, she left the lodge, glided swiftly and noiselessly down the
trail leading to the white settlement, and after a while turned sharply
to the left. A queer little bundle she presented as she mounted the
hill leading to the Radhurst cabin. Timidly she knocked upon the door,
and when Constance had thrown it open, she stepped into the building
without a word and seated herself upon the edge of the first stool
which caught her attention. Her little black eyes instinctively drank
in every object in the room, from the pictures on the wall to the
white-haired man sitting by the window with a book in his hand.
But Constance formed the chief attraction. White men were no novelty
to her, but a pale-face woman was something new, and worth studying.
She had seen her every Sunday at the church, sitting at the little
harmonium, and had been held spellbound by her sweet rich voice joining
in the singing. She associated Constance with that strange world, the
glorious dreamland, which filled so much of her life, and of which the
bell was an important factor. From her seat in the back of the church
she would look at her own hands, and notice how dark they were,
compared with the organist's fair white ones. Returning to the lodge
she would gaze long and earnestly into the broken mirror, and wonder
why her face was not like the white woman's. Much time did she spend
in her efforts to arrange her hair in the same fluffy way with wavy
tresses crowning cheek and brow like the object of her admiration.
But, poor child, the more she tried the less she succeeded, for her
straight black hair proved too intractable, and refused any other
method than the long braid, or its wild abandoned condition.
For a time Constance continued the sewing upon which she was engaged,
and addressed no word to the maiden. She had often heard of this
Indian characteristic of silence when first entering a building, and
wished to prove it for herself. But when at length Jennie drew forth
her treasure from beneath her shawl, and uttered the broken word
"peejee," Constance looked up.
"What is it?" she asked kindly, going over to where the girl was
sitting.
"Peejee. See, nice peejee," and Jennie held out her hand.
"Oh, pictures," laughed Constance, taking the sketches from the maiden.
"Did you bring them for me?"
"Me fetch 'm. Heem tell Jennie come."
"Who told you?"
"Gikhyi."
"What, Mr. Steadman?"
"Ah, ah."
"Look, father," and Constance crossed the room to where Mr. Radhurst
was sitting, a silent witness of it all. "Mr. Steadman sent Jennie
here to show us her pictures; how kind of him."
Jennie went softly across the room, and laid her hand upon the sketches.
"Calling us to order, are you, Jennie?" Constance laughed. "Come,
then, show us your pictures, and tell us about them."
Eagerly the girl seized the sketch in her fingers.
"Peety," she said, holding it tenderly up before them. "F'owers,
twees, water."
Constance and her father were much surprised as they examined them one
by one. They were crude, of course, from an artistic point of view,
but they exhibited genius in no slight degree. Trees, houses, dogs and
people were all there. Presently Constance caught sight of a face
which made her start. She seized it from Jennie almost rudely.
"Child!" she cried. "Who is this? Where did you see that man?"
Somewhat alarmed, Jennie shrank back without uttering a word.
"Connie, what's the matter," questioned Mr. Radhurst, astonished at his
daughter's excitement.
"Look, father," and Constance handed him the sketch. "This is
Kenneth's picture, there can be no mistake. The girl must have seen
him somewhere, perhaps on the trail."
"There is a striking resemblance," returned her father. "But we cannot
be sure that it's Kenneth's."
"No, no, father, I can't believe it's any other. It's so real. Where
did you see this man?" she demanded, turning to Jennie.
"Me no see'm," replied the maiden.
"What, never saw him; never met him on the trail?"
Jennie shook her head. "Me no savvy. Me no see'm."
"Look, Jennie," said Mr. Radhurst kindly, "How you make this picture?
You see something, eh?"
Her face brightened at this, and she hastened to reply.
"Beeg chief savvy."
"What, the big chief knows?"
"Ah, ah. All same peejee."
"What, a picture like this?"
"Ah, ah. All same peejee."
Father and daughter looked at each other, and the same idea flashed
into their minds.
"We need help," began Constance. "The old chief knows something which
might be important."
"Mr. Steadman will help us," replied her father. "He knows the
language, and has the chief's confidence."
"I shall go to him at once," and Constance reached for her cloak.
"Why not send a note by the Indian girl, and ask him to come here,
Connie? It's quite dark outside, and I don't like for you to go alone.
There are too many rough men around, and, besides, I would like to talk
with Mr. Steadman, too, about the matter."
"Very well, father; what you say is quite true."
Sitting down before the table, Constance drew forth a sheet of note
paper from her little writing pad, and with a lead pencil wrote a few
words to the clergyman. This was the first time she had ever written
to him, and her face flushed as she began, "Dear Mr. Steadman."
"I have asked him to come here as soon as possible," she said to her
father, as she folded the paper and placed it into an envelope.
"That will do, Connie. He will know that we need him on urgent
business."
"Jennie," said Constance, "will you take this to the mission house, to
Mr. Steadman?"
The maiden clutched the letter in her hand, rose, and started for the
door. She felt it was something important.
"And you will go quick?"
"Jennie go quick," was the response; "all same wind," and with that she
passed out of the room.
When once outside, Jennie paused and looked across to the Indian
village. There was a short cut, which would save her the longer way
around. This she took, and soon drew near the mission house. By this
trail she approached the building on the left side, through a small
clump of trees.
She was in the act of stepping into full view, when the sight of a man
approaching the cabin arrested her steps, and caused her to shrink back
a few paces. Not long was she left in doubt, for her keen eyes
detected the slinking form of Pritchen. That he was there on mischief
bent, she had no doubt, and she determined to watch his actions.
Leaving the trail, she skirted the edges of the bunch of trees, keeping
well within their shadows for some distance. Then she crossed an open
space, and stepped behind the very building where Pritchen had been
concealed. From this position she saw the wretch peering through the
window, and then enter the house.
With the speed of a deer, she hurried up the path, and, taking her
stand at the corner of the building, watched the door almost
breathlessly lest Pritchen should reappear. Satisfying herself that
she was secure, and could run to the back of the house, or take shelter
among the trees, she plucked up courage. Then she crept to the window
and looked in. At first she drew suddenly back, fearing she would be
seen. Finding, however, that the man did not look her way, she at
length maintained her ground.
It was easy to see everything quite plainly, from the placing of the
pokes into the chest, to the throwing of the key into the stove, and
the destruction of the picture. What it all meant, she could not tell,
and she wondered what had become of the missionary. When, however,
Pritchen had finished his cowardly work, and passed out into the night,
Jennie was nowhere to be seen. She had disappeared, bearing with her
the secret of the deed of darkness.