THE RUMBLING OF THE STORM
After the Indians' cry had rung through Klassan there was no more sleep
for the miners. Excitement reigned in each cabin, where men waited and
wondered what the night would bring forth. Visions filled their minds
of tales they had heard, and stories they had read, of enraged natives
falling suddenly upon bands of white people and wiping them out of
existence in the most cruel manner.
Following the yell came a silence as deep as death. Listen and watch
as they might, no signal came from that quiet camp, and Night kept her
secret well. Some, imagining they saw Indians stealthily creeping down
upon them, sat or stood with rifles at their side, determined to sell
their lives as dearly as possible. But as the slow hours dragged by,
and nothing happened, the suspense became so unbearable that with one
accord they made their way to the saloon. Here morning found them
earnestly discussing the situation, and planning some method of
defense. Sighs of relief escaped from many a lip as the light
struggled in through the dirty window, filling them with new courage.
It is marvellous what a magical effect the day possesses. Men who,
through the dreary night of doubt and fear, are veritable cowards, will
then become the most arrogant boasters. So several who raised the
loudest lamentations of apprehension now proved the greatest talkers.
"Give us daylight," said one, "and I reckon we can stand off a whole
horde of redskins."
"Don't be too certain about that," replied another. "If those Indians
make up their minds to wipe us out, it's all the same as if we were
dead men."
"But can't we stand a siege here, and mow them down as they come up?"
persisted the other.
"Mow them down! Mow the devil down! Why, they're five to one, and, if
they rushed us, where'd we be? But never fear, that's not their way of
working. They'll not run any unnecessary risk when they've got night
in which to do the job. If it comes to a hand-and-hand tussle we're
out of it, that's all there is about it. They're as tough and supple
as mountain ash, and are always in training, while we're as soft as a
lot of kids."
The sun rose above the lofty peaks and swung high in the heavens, but
still the Indians maintained their silence and showed no sign of
hostility. Midday came, and yet no signal.
"I guess they'll do nothing," suggested one. "Maybe they're afraid of
our guns."
Just then the mournful sound of an Indian drum fell upon their ears,
causing them all to start and look at one another. What did it mean?
Were they gathering for the affray?
As they listened and waited Old Pete drew near and entered the
building. He was a stranger there, and the men gazed with wonder and
admiration upon the hardy prospector. His great stature, commanding
presence, buckskin suit, hawk-like eye, and long, flowing beard
streaked with gray, would have made him a marked man in any company.
But his sudden appearance at such a time made a strong impression.
"Who is he? Where did he come from?" passed from lip to lip, as Pete
strode up to the bar and confronted Perdue, who was standing blandly at
his post.
"Any baccy?" he inquired, glancing at the array of black bottles along
the wall.
"Plenty, pard. What's yer choice?"
"Yer best, an' I guess that'll be none too good."
"Now, what'll ye have next?" and Perdue rubbed his fat hands in
anticipation of a new customer.
"A match."
"What! nothing more? What's yer brand?"
"Ain't got any, 'cept old age, an' the good Lord done that Himself.
Guess He brands us all the same way sooner or later."
"Oh, I don't mean that," retorted the saloon-keeper, somewhat nettled
at the laugh from the men at his expense. "I mean, 'What de'ye drink?'"
"Oh, I see," and Pete stroked his beard meditatively. "Wall,
t'stimerlate the heart I sometimes drink the water of Life; to freshen
up the mind a bit, I swaller a few drops from the mighty spring of
Nater; while to keep this old carcase bright I find the good Lord's
sparklin' water jist the thing. Have ye ever tried it?"
Perdue was certainly puzzled. It was impossible to take offence at the
old man's words, spoken so quietly and impressively. Neither could he
detect any sign of fun-making in his open face and kindly eyes. He
wondered if this giant were altogether sane. He had often heard
stories of men who, living so long in lonely places, had become quite
demented. Perhaps this was one of them.
"Yer a stranger here, are ye not?" he asked not ungently. "Where did
ye drop from?"
"Jist from the Injun camp up yon."
"What! not from there!" and Perdue looked his surprise.
"Sartin. Been strollin' round, sizin' things up a bit."
"But wasn't ye afraid of the Injuns? I understand they're as mad as
hornets."
"Mebbe they be, an' I guess ye're right. But they never sting a
friend. They know Pete Martin purty wall by this time."
"What! you're not Pete Martin, the prospector, are you?" and Perdue's
eyes opened with astonishment.
And not only was the saloon-keeper surprised. The men in the room
moved a little nearer, and craned their necks to obtain a better view
of the stranger. Much had they heard of him: his great strength,
wonderful endurance, feats of daring, and simplicity of life.
"Way back in New Brunswick," replied the prospector, "the old Parish
Register says that I was baptized Peter Bartholomew Martin. I was
ginnerally known, however, as 'Pete,' while up here I only git 'Old
Pete,' though it doesn't make any difference what a feller's called. I
guess the Lord'll know me by any name; I only hope so."
"But what are the Indians doing?" asked one of the men.
"Doin'? What ain't they a-doin'! They're gittin' down to bizness
mighty lively; that's what they're a-doin'."
"In what way?"
"Wall, they're tryin' to decide whether it's best to pinch only the
ones who burnt their store, or to hand out a bunch to the whole gang.
Ye see, it's this way," and Pete glanced around upon the eager
listeners, "they're sorter divided like, some wantin' to go the limit,
an' others not. Now, the ones who hold back are the rale Christians,
the best men of the lot. This camp jist depends upon which side wins
out, an' if ye're saved ye may give the credit to that parson chap ye
hiked away from here in sich a mighty hurry."
"We're better rid of him," said Perdue.
"Ye may think what ye like, pard; it's a free country in that way. But
let me remind ye that if ye'd done this same trick to them Injuns ten
years ago, when I fust struck these diggin's, they'd a wiped ye out
quicker'n ye could say Jack Rabbit."
"Ye seem to know a heap about things here for a stranger," remarked
Perdue.
"Ay, it's true, man, what ye say. I ain't been here long, but long
enough to find out a few things, 'specially 'bout that fine lassie up
yon."
"Why, what about her?" asked several.
"What! didn't ye hear?"
"Hear what?"
"'Bout the chap that caught her on the trail last night, an' scart her
so that she fainted dead away."
At this, several men who were sitting on benches sprang to their feet,
and angry oaths rang through the room.
"Who was it?" they demanded. "Tell us more about it! We're bad men,
God knows, but we've a little manhood left. Tell us his name!"
"Don't git excited, now," replied Pete. "Jist keep cool, an' don't do
nothin' rash, or ye may be sorry fer it."
Then in his quaint way he told the story of his trip from Siwash Creek,
the cry in the night, the attack of the dog, escape of the villain, and
the finding Constance lying unconscious on the trail. Pete related his
story well, while many a muttered oath burst from the men during the
recital.
"Do you know his name?" came the cry.
"Yes."
"Is he here?"
"I don't know. Mebbe ye kin tell when ye hear, fer it's Bill Pritchen."
When Pete entered the saloon, Pritchen was sitting at a small table
dealing a pack of cards. Looking suddenly up, and noticing the
prospector, his face became pale, and his hand shook. He made up his
mind to leave the room at the first opportunity and not run the risk of
meeting the old man. Anyway, his back was to the bar, so he would not
be recognized. As Pete talked on he felt somewhat relieved. But when
the story of darkness began to be unrolled a great fear seized his
cowardly heart. He did not dare to leave the place, for if his name
were mentioned he must be on hand to defend himself before the miners
became too much excited. During the recital a burning rage possessed
him, and he longed to drop the prospector in his tracks. He saw the
trap which he had laid for another about to close upon himself with a
deadly grip, and all owing to this one old man. When, however, Pete
mentioned his name, he leaped to his feet with a terrible oath.
"You lie!" he shouted. "It's an infernal lie, I tell you, and you'll
answer for this!"
Pete swung suddenly around, and looked full upon the irate man before
him.
"So yer the gintleman, are ye? I'm rale glad to make yer acquaintance.
Mebbe ye kin explain matters, an' unravel this tangle a bit."
"There's nothing to explain, d-- you! I was out walking last night and
met Miss Radhurst on the trail. Just as I was about to pass her a
brute of a dog fell suddenly upon me, and tore my clothes, while the
young woman fell to the ground in a dead faint."
"Oh, that's the way ye put it, is it? An' so ye left the young lassie
a-lyin' thar on the snow, while ye took to yer heels with the dog after
ye. Didn't ye stop to think that there might be other dogs around what
would hurt the woman? Oh, no, ye never thought of that. Ye may tell
what ye like, but that lassie up yon has another story, which I jist
told."
"It's a lie, I tell you; a job put up against me! and you, you
confounded meddler, will answer for this!"
"Mebbe I will, man," and Pete's eyes gleamed with a light which spoke
danger. "At present the matter lies atween you an' the lassie, so I
leave the b'ys here to jedge which to believe. But as we are now
acquainted, I'd like to ax ye another question."
"Spit it out, then."
"Haven't I seed ye afore, Bill Pritchen?"
"H-- if I know."
"But ye do know. Ye know very well that I met ye on the trail in 'Dead
Man's Land,' last Fall."
"You must have been dreaming then."
"No, I wasn't a-dreamin' an' ye know I wasn't."
"Well, suppose you did meet me, what of it?"
"I'll tell ye what I want," and Pete moved nearer. "I want to know
what's become of that fine young chap what was out with ye, the lad
what had the fiddle?"
"How do I know? I can't keep track of every idiot who happens to meet
me on the trail and travels along with me for a time."
"But I tell ye ye do know, an' what's more, I'm here to find out."
"Then you'll find out something else!" cried Pritchen, as his hand
dropped to his hip pocket.
He was quick, but Pete was quicker, for almost like a flash a huge hand
reached out, seized the revolver, and wrenched it from the villain's
grasp. With an oath the latter sprang forward to strike, but he was as
a child in the giant's terrible grip. He struggled for awhile, writhed
in agony, and then sank upon the floor.
"Git up, ye coward! Git up, an' answer me!"
Pete's voice was terrible, and his eyes blazed as he bent over the
prostrate man, who made no effort to move.
"Git up, I tell ye!" again came the command. "Git up an' explain what
ye did to Kenneth Radhurst!"
Receiving no reply, he continued:
"Then I'll tell the men what ye did, ye coward. Ye left 'im a sick
man, to starve, to die in the Ibex cabin; that's what ye did. Ye stole
his gold, an' left 'im thar."
"You lie!" came from the prostrate man.
"It's no lie, I tell ye that. An' what's more, when the parson came
along, cared fer 'im, an' when he died buried 'im, ye made out that he
killed 'im. Ye went sneakin' around an' found a book he left thar, an'
tried to stir up the men here at Klassan agin 'im. That's what ye did."
A cry of rage burst from the miners as they listened with amazement to
this revelation.
"Is it true?" they shouted, as they surged near. "Tell us, is it true?"
"It's not true! By heavens, it's a lie!" and Pritchen, with face pale
as death, struggled to his feet and faced the angry men.
"Stand back, b'ys, stand back!" cried Pete. "Lave 'im to me! He's
injured 'im that's as dear to me as the apple of me eye. Lave 'im to
me!"
Just what would have happened is hard to tell, if at that moment three
Indians had not entered the room. One was Amos, the catechist, who was
accompanied by three stalwart hunters.
In the exciting affray between Pete and Pritchen the Indians for a time
had been forgotten. But the presence of these natives recalled their
uncertain position, and with one accord they turned their attention to
the visitors.
For a few minutes silence reigned in the room, and then Amos stepping
forward delivered his message in broken English.
"Pale-face brothers," he began. "The Tukudhs come back from hunt. Dey
find store burn, teacher gone. Beeg chief call Council. He want pale
face come. Amos has spoke."
With this the catechist stepped back by the side of his companions, who
had remained perfectly erect during it all.
Among the miners there was a hurried whispered conversation, and at
length Caribou Sol arose to speak.
"Whar," he asked, "will the Council be held?"
"On de flat, at foot of hill. Half way," replied Amos.
"When?"
"Bime by, to-day. Two, mebbe tree hour. Beeg chief wait word."
"All right, then. Go an' tell the chief that the white men will come
to the Council. Is that the will of all?" and Sol glanced around the
room.
"Ay, ay," came the response as one voice. "It is well."
"It is well," repeated Amos, as he and his companions turned and left
the building.
Pritchen, too, hastened away. In the excitement of the moment no one
thought of him. Terrified, filled with rage, he reached his own cabin,
stumbled through the door, and flung himself upon his cot.