CONSTANCE'S VENTURE
The night when the mission house was burned Caribou Sol slept on the
floor in the Radhurst cabin. It was not an easy bed, but he did not
mind.
"All the better fer bein' hard," he laughed, when Constance apologized
for their poor accommodation. "I won't sleep too sound, an' I'll be
able to keep an ear peeled fer them varmints."
Constance felt safer with the old man in the cabin, but still she could
not sleep. What she had heard of the trail and the mystery regarding
those letters kept her much perplexed. She thought, too, of Keith, out
in the wild on that dreary night, and offered up a fervent prayer on
his behalf. It was the first time that she had mentioned his name in
her petitions, and a sweet, pleasant feeling stole into her heart.
At length the long dreary night wore away, and morning broke, flooding
the whole land with joy and brightness after the furious storm. But
among the miners the day brought nothing but gloom, the memory of the
wild revel and deed of destruction being too plainly evident. They
realized when it was too late how far they had been led by Pritchen,
and they naturally felt very sore. Many were the furtive glances cast
towards the smouldering ruins of the mission house, while visions of
revenging natives filled their minds. For days Perdue's store was
packed with anxious men, discussing the affair in no uncertain language.
Caribou Sol carried the news to the Radhurst cabin.
"They're 'bout wild down yon," he said. "Fairly tumblin' over one
another with excitement."
"Why, what's the matter?" questioned Constance.
"Afeered of Injuns, that's what's the matter. An' they've good reason
to fear, too. If somethin' isn't done afore them natives come back,
there'll be lively times around these diggin's."
"Can't the matter be settled with the old chief?" queried Mr. Radhurst.
"Why not compensate him for the damage which has been done, and let him
pacify his people?"
"They tried it, sir, but it wouldn't work. They sent several men up to
the old chap to have a big pow-wow. They carried presents, too, but he
wouldn't talk. He jist sat thar an' listened to 'em, though I don't
believe he understood much. When they offered 'im the presents, he
shook his head an' pinted to the door, an' said somethin' in the Injun
tongue which nearly scart 'em out of their wits."
"But surely the Indians are Christian enough not to take any wild
revenge," said Constance. "Even though they will no doubt be angry
when they find what has been done, don't you think that the teaching
they have received for the past ten years will have some restraining
influence?"
"I suggested that, Miss, down to the store, but I got only sneers fer
my trouble. 'Religion,' says they with oaths, 'it's only skin deep.
When they've clothes to wear, plenty to eat, an' things go their way,
they're fine Christians then. But jist wait till ye see 'em look upon
yon ruins, an' ye'll see how fer their religion goes. Our guns'll have
more influence then, than all their Bible pap.'
"'Ye may be right,' says I; 'but we'll see.'"
"Oh, if only Mr. Steadman could be here when they return!" exclaimed
Constance. "I know he could handle them better than any one else."
"Ay, ay, miss, there's no doubt about that. But, poor chap, I'm
thinkin' he'll have enough to attend to out on the hills by this time."
"Is there much talk about him at the store?" asked Mr. Radhurst.
"No, sir. He's seldom mentioned. Once Pritchen made a remark about
the trial, but, gittin' no encouragement, he shet up. The men are
feelin' purty sore over the whole bizness. I begin to gather they
think there's somethin' crooked about the affair, though they say
nothin' open. Pritchen seems to be the most unsettled one of the
bunch. Not only is he dead scart of the Injuns, but he sees that the
miners are turnin' agin 'im fer gittin' 'em into sich a scrape. The
strange thing is that he's been mighty friendly with me of late, an'
axed me a number of questions about you folk."
"About us?" cried Constance in surprise. "Why, what did he want to
know?"
"Oh, nothin' much in perticular, only what yez were here fer, how long
yez were goin' to stay, an' questions like that. I didn't give 'im
much satisfaction, 'cept that yez were lookin' fer a relative, a young
chap that come up here some time ago."
"And what did he say?"
"Seemed kinder surprised an' mighty interested when I told 'im yez were
on the right track good an' hot; had discovered the lad's fiddle an'
found out that the old chief has a picter of 'im."
"'Do they know whar the Injun got the picter?' says he, sudden like.
"'Not yit,' says I, 'but I'm thinkin' they'll find out.'
"'How?' says he.
"'I don't know,' says I, 'but sich things ginnerly come out in time.'
At that he laughed as if it was a huge joke. He's a deep one that, fer
sure, an' sometimes I think he knows more about the whole bizness than
he lets on. Thar's somethin' fishy, too, about his havin' that book,
an' knowin' about them letters on that rock. It's mighty curious, an'
I can't savvy it at all."
During the days that followed, Constance's mind was seriously
perplexed. She longed to go to the old chief, and question him about
the picture, but dreaded the undertaking, knowing nothing of the native
language. If only Old Pete would come, he would go, for she had great
confidence in the worthy prospector. She wondered why the delay, for
he had expected to return in a short time with a supply of moose-meat.
Then, the miners' fear concerning the arrival of the natives oppressed
her heavily. For herself, she did not care so much, but when she
looked upon her feeble father, and noticed his worn, brave face, her
eyes would become moist. Often she would lie awake at night in her
little room, thinking of it all. "What if the Indians should return
to-night?" she said to herself, over and over and over again. "Would
they know the difference between the innocent and the guilty, or would
they serve all alike?"
At length the suspense became unbearable. Something must be done, or
else she felt she would go crazy.
One bright afternoon, when her father was sleeping comfortably, she
slipped out of the house and hurried down the narrow path to the Indian
trail. Up this latter she quickly moved, fearful lest the miners
should see her. Reaching the top, she looked back, and breathed a
sight of relief, for not a person was in sight. Had she known,
however, that from a small cabin window, keen, cruel eyes were watching
her every movement, and a cunning mind was revolving the purpose of her
visit, she would have hesitated before advancing further.
Constance's heart beat fast as she knocked upon the door of the chief's
lodge. A voice sounded within, but what it meant she could not tell.
Nevertheless, she opened the door and entered. At first she could see
very little, but her eyes becoming accustomed to the change, she at
length observed the chief sitting upon the floor, while his wife sat a
little distance away, busily engaged upon some beaded work.
A look of surprise passed over the chief's face when he saw the fair
visitor standing before him. Then his old wrinkled visage broke into a
smile, and he reached out a thin, scrawny hand in welcome.
Constance shrank inwardly from touching the extended member, but she
knew it would not do to show any sign of fear or disgust.
"Good," said the chief, when she had complied with his wish, motioning
her to a stool near by.
As Constance obeyed, she noticed that a lighted candle stood by the old
man's side. Before him were two small pictures, which aroused her
curiosity, for in the dimness of the cabin she could not tell what they
were.
The chief loved pictures dearly, and because he was too old to read
they were doubly precious. He treasured each one which the missionary
had given him with the greatest care, and was never weary with asking
questions about their meaning, till the complete stories were indelibly
impressed upon his mind. What a comfort they had been to him through
the long evenings, as he sat in the darkness of his cabin.
Since Jennie had left him, and the mission house had been burned, the
chief had been fighting a hard battle with himself, and the crisis had
just been reached when Constance arrived. He realized that when his
people returned from the mountains and learned what had been done there
would be much excitement and anger. Carried away by the impulse of the
moment, they would be tempted to drive the whites out of Klassan in no
gentle manner, unless restrained in time. They would look to him,
their leader, and what was he to say? He himself was undecided. At
times his old savage nature almost overwhelmed him when he brooded upon
the injustice which had been done. At such moments, if the natives had
returned, it would have gone hard with the miners. He thought of what
the missionary had told him about Moses fighting great battles and
defeating his enemies. Then he would bring out the picture of the
patriarch, with his hands upheld by Aaron and Hur, while the battle
raged below. Would it not be right, he thought, to do the same now,
and thus save his people?
But gradually the feeling of anger would pass away, and he would bring
forth his other favourite picture of Christ hanging on the cross, and
gaze for a long time upon it. This man was greater than Moses, so he
had been told, in fact, the greatest who had ever lived, the Son of
God. He forgave those who injured Him, and prayed for them with almost
His last breath. For days, the power of the Man of Sorrows had been
making itself felt in the old chief's heart, and then the picture of
Moses was laid aside. But in an evil moment Pritchen had arrived,
demanded the photograph of Kenneth Radhurst, and roused the chief's
anger. In Indian and broken English he had vented upon the white man
the fury of his wrath, and refused to grant his request.
Since then the two pictures were studied together, the struggle
becoming fiercer all the time. How little the miners at Klassan
realized that in that despised cabin their lives were being weighed in
the balance; that light was contending with darkness; the love of
Christ with the hatred of hell, and that only little was needed to
decide one way or the other. Such was the condition when Constance
arrived upon the scene.
Knowing nothing of the conflict which was raging in the chief's heart,
Constance sat upon the rough stool uncertain what to say. The
flickering light of the candle fell upon her puzzled face, while her
blue-veined hands lay clasped in her lap. It was a strange sight,
worthy of the brush of a master, this fair woman, the stately flower of
a dominant race, and the two old Indians, sere and withered, like
clinging leaves in late November.
"Pretty picture," Constance at length remarked, breaking the silence,
which was becoming painful.
"Good," answered the old man, lifting up his treasures with pride, and
handing them to her. "Beeg chief," he continued, much pleased at the
pale-face woman's interest. "You got all same peegee? You savvy 'um?"
Constance shook her head and smiled. "No, not like these. But I have
one here," and she drew forth Kenneth's picture from beneath her
jacket. "See."
The chief took it in his trembling hand, and held it up close to the
candle. Then he turned it over, examined it carefully, while a
surprised look passed over his face. Presently he reached to the left,
and drew towards him a buckskin bag, and fumbling in this brought out
the picture Pritchen had given him, the same one Jennie had copied.
Finding it was safe, he appeared more satisfied, but still seemed much
puzzled as he laid the two together and gazed earnestly upon them.
"All same peegee," he exclaimed at length. "You savvy 'um?"
"Yes," replied Constance, trembling with intense eagerness. "My
brother."
"Ah," came the slow, unsatisfactory response.
"You know him?" she continued.
The old man shook his head. "Me no savvy."
"But where you get picture?" she persisted, pointing to the photograph.
Still he shook his head, and looked intently into Constance's face, as
if to read the meaning of her words.
Suddenly a laugh filled the room, coarse and startling. It came from
the old woman, who had been an amused and silent spectator of the whole
scene. Then ensued an animated conversation between the aged pair,
and, as Constance listened, without understanding a word, she noticed
that the chief's face was clearing of its puzzled expression.
"Him no savvy," said the woman, turning to Constance. "Me savvy much.
Me talk all same white man."
"Then you will tell me where that picture came from," replied Constance
eagerly.
The woman chuckled and reached out a scrawny hand for the photograph.
"See um, peegee?" she demanded.
Constance nodded.
"Black bear geeve um dis."
"Black bear!" queried Constance in surprise, not knowing that this was
the most offensive epithet in the Tukudh vocabulary.
Again the old woman chuckled and grinned, exhibiting her toothless
gums. Then she arose, and drawing close to Constance, pointed in the
direction of the miners' cabins, while a fierce look came into her
wrinkled face.
"There, there!" she cried. "Him there. Bad man. Black bear, ugh!"
"Who is he? Tell me his name," replied Constance, shrinking back
involuntarily from the excited creature before her.
"No, me no savvy."
"What, don't know his name?"
"Me no savvy."
"But how did the chief get this picture?"
The old woman looked at her silently for a while, as if collecting her
thoughts. Then, in broken English, she told her tale of the mean trick
which had been imposed upon them. So vivid was the description that
Constance knew it could be Pritchen and no one else. It came to her
with a shock, for she feared him more than all the others, and somehow
she felt that he was responsible for all the trouble which had taken
place. How could she go to him and ask him what he knew? Would he not
only laugh at her?
At length, sick at heart, she arose to go. Before leaving, however,
she shook hands with the chief, and turning to his wife, said:
"I want to thank the chief for giving medicine to heal my father."
"You fadder?" asked the woman in surprise.
"Yes, the missionary got it. My father was very sick, and it made him
better. You tell chief that?"
"Me tell um by um by. Me glad." Suddenly she added: "You all same
Clistin?"
"What?" and Constance looked her surprise.
"You all same Clistin? You pray?"
"Oh, yes, I pray, and try to be a Christian."
"You fadder all same Clistin?"
"Yes."
"Good. Me glad."
Then she added: "White man all Clistin?"
"No," answered Constance doubtfully.
"Some bad man Clistin, eh?"
This was certainly puzzling, and, receiving no reply, the native
continued:
"Clistin burn mission house, eh?"
"No, no! A Christian would not do that. Only bad men. But look, all
the men over there are not bad."
"Some good, eh?"
"Yes."
"Umph!" grunted the old woman, as she went back to her position on the
floor, and continued her bead work.
As Constance left the lodge, she was surprised to find how dark it was.
She had not noticed how the time had passed so intent had she been upon
the object of her visit. She reproached herself for staying so late.
What would her father say? And how uneasy he would be.
Quickly she hurried down the trail, fearful lest she should come in
contact with any of the miners. Turning up the little path leading to
her cabin, she gave a sigh of relief. No one would be there, as it was
out of the regular thoroughfare. Just at this moment, when she felt
quite secure, a figure loomed up suddenly before her and barred the way.
With a cry of mingled surprise and fear, Constance started back as she
recognized Pritchen's burly form, and heard his sneering laugh.
"Frightened, are you?" he asked. "I must be a monster."
"What do you mean?" Constance demanded, summoning what courage she
could. "How dare you stop me here in this lonely place!"
"Oh, just out for a stroll and happened to pass this way."
"Well, let me past, please."
"Yes, when I get ready. T'ain't often I have the pleasure of meeting
such a fine, high-spirited lady in my nightly meditations."
"Will you let me pass?"
"You seem to be in a hurry."
"I am. My father is waiting for me, and will be anxious."
"Ha, ha, that's a good one. Now, you wouldn't be a bit uneasy about
your dad if I happened to be the parson, would you?"
Constance was getting desperate, and not wishing to bandy words with
the villain, made an effort to go by him.
"Oh, no, you don't do that," and an oath leaped from his vile mouth.
"Let me go by, I tell you."
"Yes, when I get what I want."
"Well, what is it? Tell me, quick."
"Visiting the old chief, eh?"
"Yes."
"Any success?"
"What do you mean?"
"Get the picture?"
"What picture? And why do you ask?"
"Oh, you know, well enough. The one the old devil has."
"He has my brother's picture, which I believe you gave him. I didn't
get it, however, and maybe you'll tell me where you got it."
"Hell if I'll tell you, and what's more, I believe you've got it, and I
want it."
"But I tell you I didn't get it."
"Oh, that's a fine story. Didn't get it! But I believe you did, and I
want it."
Constance looked around, as if seeking some avenue of escape. What was
she to do? Alone there with such a villain! Should she cry for help?
Pritchen seemed to read her thoughts.
"It's no use to run or make a fuss," he growled. "You can't get clear
of me, and you'll soon be choked off if you start to do any croaking.
You might as well make up your mind at once, and hand out that picture."
"But I tell you I haven't got it," she persisted. "Oh, please, please,
let me go. Have you no pity at all?"
"Give me that picture, or by heavens, I'll take it!" and he sprang
forward, and seized her with his rough hands.
With one piercing cry, Constance struggled to free herself from his
terrible clutches, while her brain reeled as she felt herself being
borne to the ground. Just when the last hope of help had fled, a harsh
growl and a roar fell upon her ears, while out of the night sprang a
dark object, and hurled itself full upon the villain bending over her.
The last that Constance heard was Pritchen's cry of rage and fear as he
struggled with his antagonist, and then she fell back unconscious upon
the trail.