THE LIGHT OF THE CROSS
The afternoon sun was flooding the whole landscape with the golden
glory of a burnished shield as Keith Steadman, the outcast, sat on a
mountain ridge looking down upon the village of the fierce Quelchie
Indians. His clothes were torn and tattered, his bronzed face and
hands scratched and bleeding. Gaunt, footsore and hungry, he presented
a forlorn figure, a mere speck on the mountain's brow.
Behind him Klassan lay, two hundred and fifty miles off. For ten days
he had been on the trail, along the Kaslo River, then up an unnamed
branch, through forests, over valleys and plains, and across a high
mountain pass.
Though an outcast, driven from home in disgrace, and the light of her
he loved so dearly, no shadow of a doubt crossed his mind concerning
the Father's goodness. He pictured his flock, which he had tended with
such care, scattered upon the many hills. He saw vice rampant at
Klassan, the church closed, the school unattended, and the Indians
exposed to every temptation. Nevertheless, he did not consume his
strength in useless whining, or rail at the blow which had fallen. His
soul was too large for that. He remembered the command his Master had
given to His disciples long ago, "When they persecute you in this city,
flee ye into another," and he felt it applied to him. Perhaps they had
been too secure and too self-centred at Klassan. For years no storms
had come to bend them, no wind of adversity to sift the chaff from the
wheat, and no fire of trial to purge the gold from the dross. Now, all
had come at once, and was it not for the best? "O Lord," he prayed,
"in the sifting and testing process may there be many who will stand
the trial, and come forth stronger and purer for the fire of
affliction?"
As for himself, he could not doubt the leading of the Divine hand. He
had been so much centred in his own flock, wrapped up in their welfare,
that he had neglected the sheep in the wilderness, who knew not the
name of Christ. He had been, like many an earnest pastor, too
parochial, unable to look beyond the bounds of his one field of labour.
He had forgotten that, though his work was of great value at Klassan,
after all "the field is the world," and that Christ's command was to
"go into the village over against you." He imagined that his presence
was absolutely necessary in his own circumscribed sphere of labour, and
overlooked the fact that "He that keepeth Israel neither slumbers nor
sleeps."
But when he had stood before his accusers and judges on that stormy day
in the saloon, and later bade farewell to Caribou Sol at the door of
the mission house, a new purpose burned in his soul, which shone forth
in his face, so that even his enemies marvelled when they saw the
light. It was the Lord's will, he realized that clearly, and as He
used evil men in days gone by for the furtherance of His mighty plans,
were not these men now to be used as instruments in spreading abroad
the Gospel light?
His mind naturally turned toward the Quelchie Indians, the most cruel
and savage band in the North, the dread and terror of the whole land.
Mothers hushed their children to rest by the one word "Quelchie," and
nothing startled a camp more quickly than the mere mention of that
dreaded name. To this tribe the message must be carried, and he was
the one to go.
Thus, so near the object of his desire, and the end of the long trail,
he rested for a while on the mountain's brow, and gazed down upon the
village nestling beneath. He could see the smoke curling up from
numerous lodges, and occasionally the cry of a child or the sharp bark
of a dog fell upon his ears.
He drew forth the little locket, and gazed long and earnestly upon the
face within. Through the time of trial, on the rough trail, and by the
lonely camp fire at night, the thought of Constance had been as an
inspiration. He longed to see her, to look into her eyes, and listen
to her words as she told of her faith in him. He wondered what she was
doing, and if she missed him much. He pictured her moving about the
cabin, or sitting in her accustomed place by the window. Would he ever
see her again? Into the new field ahead were dangers unknown, and what
great changes might take place in a short time!
Thinking thus, he moved cautiously down the steep mountain side, where
only the bighorn sheep could walk secure. He was on an old Indian
trail which would lead him to the village. By that same pass the
dreaded Quelchies had filed on various occasions to bring death and
destruction to some unsuspecting bands of natives beyond. Now for the
first time in the world's history it was being trodden by the weary
foot of a messenger of peace.
The Quelchie village lay in a valley, surrounded by frowning mountains,
well protected from the fierce northern winds. A small stream flowed
hard by, frozen in winter, gently babbling in summer, and flooded in
springtime from its own countless tributaries.
The Indians had recently returned from their various hunting grounds,
and were enjoying life to the full in their wild, uncouth way when
Keith entered the settlement. A lean, skulking cur gave the alarm,
which was taken up by scores of his companions, who rushed upon the
stranger, yelping and snarling in the most ferocious manner. From
dozens of lodges men, women and children suddenly poured, and,
beholding the cause of the disturbance, joined the dogs in their wild
clamour. The rifle was wrenched from his hand by a large Indian, who
was soon fighting with half a dozen more for the control of the prize.
Everything that Keith possessed was stolen; his knapsack, in which he
kept a few treasures; the cap was torn from his head, while rough hands
laid hold upon the very clothes he wore. He was hustled and pushed
first one way and then another. At times he stumbled and fell, though
endeavouring to maintain as dignified a mien as possible.
In the confusion his buck-skin shirt was parted at the neck, and the
locket exposed to view. Instantly a scramble ensued for the trinket.
Then Keith's blood was aroused. They might lay hands upon anything
else, but not upon that. Straightening himself up, he drove blow after
blow at his dusky assailants with his clenched fist, knocking down two
or three, and compelling the rest to fall back a few paces.
Seizing the opportunity which the lull in the storm afforded, he
addressed a few words to them in the Tukudh tongue, which, although
somewhat different from their own language, they were able to
understand.
"Quelchies!" he shouted, above the din of the yelping dogs, "listen to
what I have to say! I have a great message for your chief. Take me to
him."
A yell of derision was the only response, and the savages were about to
renew the onset when a strong, clear voice was heard commanding them to
desist. The effect was magical, and looking around for the speaker,
Keith beheld a stalwart Indian of more than ordinary height, with grace
of movement and fine, intelligent face, advancing toward him.
In this man he thought he recognized his rescuer, one who had the power
to save him from the surging horde.
"Great warrior!" he cried, addressing the stranger, "keep back the
Indians! Take me to your chief. I have a message to deliver."
For a time the native maintained a dignified silence, though never for
a moment did his eye leave the missionary's face. He seemed to be
studying every line and expression of that bronzed countenance. The
effect of this close scrutiny Keith could not tell, though he somehow
felt that it meant life or death.
"Come," said the Indian at length. "Come with me."
That was all, and without a word Keith followed his deliverer, who
strode on before, leaving the rest of the Indians quarrelling over the
articles they had filched. He was conducted to a building rather
larger than the others, composed entirely of logs. Within, several
women were sitting on wolf and bear-skin rugs, who gazed with silent
curiosity upon the pale-face stranger.
"Stay here," said the guide, motioning him to a place on one of the
rugs. "I will be back soon."
The interior of the lodge was similar to many others Keith had seen,
and interested him not. The women, he concluded, were the Indian's
wives. He noticed that they were superior in appearance to the ones he
had seen outside, and of a pleasing cast of countenance.
One of them was quite young, and good to look upon. Her long black
hair parted in the middle exposed a noble forehead. She was busily
engaged upon a pair of moccasins, weaving in a delicate pattern of
bead-work. Occasionally she shot a glance at the stranger, and then
Keith noted how bright were her eyes, while upon her face was an
expression of sadness and weariness.
Presently his eye rested upon something which made him start. By the
side of the young woman, and fastened to the wall, he beheld a
prospector's pick and shovel. How had they come there? Had some poor,
unfortunate man ventured into this camp, been slain by the Quelchies,
while only these tools remained to tell the tale? He was about to
break the silence, and question the woman, when the Indian returned and
motioned him out of the building.
He was at once taken to a large lodge standing somewhat apart, which
Keith concluded must belong to the chief. Nor was he mistaken, for he
soon found himself in the presence of the aged patriarch of the
Quelchie band. Squatting on the floor, surrounded by a motley group of
women and children, he presented a weird spectacle. Coarse gray hair
flowing down over his shoulders allowed only a portion of his withered,
wrinkled face to be exposed to view. His eyes, more like holes in a
piece of leather than anything else, peered straight at the visitor.
Keith involuntarily shuddered as he looked upon the pitiable object
before him. This, then, was the man of whom he had heard so much. How
often he had listened as the Tukudhs related tales of his fierce
jealousy, insane rage, and inhuman cruelty, when thwarted by friend or
foe. In days gone by he had heard men dilate in glowing terms of the
free, beautiful life of the Indians in their wild, uncivilized
condition. They had pictured them roaming the woods and mountains,
skimming along grassy lakes or gliding down the rapid streams. But of
the sterner, sadder side they knew nothing, and how he longed to show
those very men the difference between Klassan, where the light of
Christ had come, and this wretched Quelchie village in heathen darkness.
"Oh, Lord," he prayed, "help me, give me power to say the right word
and to bring the Spirit into these miserable lives."
Advancing to the old chief, he bowed low, and detecting a faint sign of
pleasure upon the dusky face, he felt somewhat encouraged.
"Great Quelchie chief," he began, "I am a stranger in your midst. I
have come a long way over a hard trail to bear to you a message from my
own Chief, whom I have served from a child. May I speak?"
"The pale-face is welcome," came the reply. "The chief of the
Quelchies will listen."
The missionary's heart thrilled with joy at this opportunity to say a
word for his Master. He told about the Great Father in heaven, who so
loved the world that He sent His only Son to live among men and to die
on the cross that all might be saved. He described the cruel lives of
the Tukudhs in times past, and what a change had taken place since they
became Christians; of their church, school, books they had, the hymns
they sang, and the happier lives they led. For a long time he spoke,
the Indians listening with rapt attention. He forgot his hunger and
weariness and the danger of his position as he pictured the glories of
the Christ-life. He glowed with enthusiasm. His words burned with
fire as he simply told
"The old, old story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and His glory,
Of Jesus and His love."
Then he sang for them a hymn, one loved by his own flock at Klassan.
It was a translation of "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," and he sang it with
a full, rich voice and an intensity of expression.
All this time the stalwart Indian had stood quietly by the chief's side
with his gaze fixed full upon the speaker's face. But no sign did he
give to show that the words had any effect. When the address was
ended, however, he turned to his chief and spoke a few brief words,
bearing no connection, so Keith thought, to the burning message he had
just delivered.
"The pale-face stranger is hungry," he said. "He has been a long time
on the trail, and is weary. I will take him to my lodge."
The chief nodded his approval.
"Take him," he replied. "Give him food, and bring him to me to-morrow."
Once again within his guide's house, Keith was supplied with an
abundance of food. Though not of the savouriest, and badly cooked, the
meat tasted delicious after his long fast. Much refreshed, he turned
to his host, who was observing him with a kindly expression.
"Tell me," he inquired, "why you are so kind to me. I am a stranger,
and of a race hated by your people. Yet you have delivered me from the
hands of the Indians, shelter me now in your lodge, and provide me with
food. Is this the way you treat an enemy?"
A peculiar smile crossed the Indian's face as he listened to these
words.
"I am Shrahegan," he replied, "and is there not a good reason why I
should be kind to my pale-face brother?"
"What reason?" asked Keith in surprise.
"Does not my brother remember Shrahegan?"
"Remember you! Why, I never saw you before!"
Again the native smiled as he continued.
"Does not my brother remember eight snows ago when he shot the fierce
grizzly in the pass beyond the mountains, and saved the life of an
Indian boy?"
"Yes, oh, yes, I remember that day very well," and Keith thought of the
fine bear-skin rug in the Radhurst cabin. "But what has that to do
with your kindness to me?"
"Shrahegan was that boy," came the startling response, "and Shrahegan
never forgets."
"What! you that boy? I can't believe it!" and Keith looked at the
Indian in amazement.
"You may not believe it, but it is true. Shrahegan saw you then, and
once again at Klassan."
"At Klassan!"
"Yes, at Klassan."
"But what were you doing there?"
"Ah, Shrahegan went as a spy. The Quelchies wished to attack the
Tukudhs; kill the men, and steal their women. He crossed the mountain,
and crept upon the village at night. He looked through a window into a
big building, and heard the Indians sing just like you sang to-day.
Then he saw there the man who had saved his life, dressed all in white,
talking to the people, though he could not hear what was said. Then
Shrahegan crept softly away back to his own people, and told the chief
his story."
"And that was why you spared me," said Keith in astonishment.
"Yes. Shrahegan saw there the man who saved the old chief's son, and
Shrahegan never forgets a kindness."
"What! are you the chief's son?"
"Yes."
"And what would have happened if I had not saved your life, or if you
had not recognized me?"
"You would have been put to death. No paleface ever entered the
Quelchie camp and lived to tell about it."
"So other white men have come here, then, and you cruelly killed them?"
"They came to steal our land, and to find out what you call gold."
"Ah, now I see. That is why you have the prospector's pick and shovel
there. You killed the man and kept these."
"Yes, there were two men, but one got away, and the Quelchies could not
catch him."
At once there flashed into Keith's mind the story Constance had told
him of the prospector who had died in the Vancouver Hospital, and the
map he had entrusted to her. He had seen the sketch and it
corresponded exactly with this locality. Was it the place, he
wondered, where Pritchen and Kenneth had been?
"Tell me," he said, "how many pale-face men have entered this valley
and went back again?"
"Only this many," and Shrahegan held up three fingers. "The man I told
you about, and two when the geese went South. The Quelchies did not
know they were here till too late to catch them."
"Shrahegan," and Keith looked earnestly at the Indian, "will you show
me where that gold lies? Will you take me to the place?"
A stern expression came into the native's face, and Keith feared he had
gone too far. It was only a fleeting shadow, however, which was
instantly dispelled.
"Yes, Shrahegan will take his pale-face brother to the gold," was the
brief reply. "But come, rest now. It is late."
That night as Keith lay wrapped up in a large wolf-skin robe, he
thought much of the stirring scenes which had happened during the day.
He saw most plainly the guidance of the Father's hand, and His great
over-ruling power. "Because the Saviour bore His cross," he said to
himself, "endured agony and shame, a great light has sprung up
throughout the world. So God grant, that from my cross a light may
come forth to lighten this tribe, sunk so long in the weary darkness of
superstition and sin."