GUARDED
While the old chief, and the Indians about him, were quietly listening
to the missionary's message, and drinking in every word, there was one
person present who was consumed with a bitter hatred. This was the
Medicine Man, who, sitting on the ground, never once took his eyes off
the face of the speaker.
Crafty, base, and devoid of any spark of humanity, he was the terror of
the whole band. Believing himself to be in league with the unseen
powers around him, he exercised over the ignorant and superstitious
people all the influence of his fearful craft. An octopus in human
guise, he reached out, gripped his victim, and held him in his
merciless grasp. His pretensions at curing the sick by wild juggling;
his sleight-of-hand work; foretelling of future events, and conjuring
in order to drive away evil spirits, were all parts of his method of
work.
His greed was beyond description, and he acted according to the price
paid. In times of sickness, women would take their beads to the
"doctor's" tent, silently throw them at his feet, and then return. If
the amount satisfied the conjuror, he would go to the sick man's side,
when incantations took place. If the sick person recovered he would
acknowledge all the praise; but, if otherwise, he declared that some
rival opposed him, who had been better paid. His jealousy was a
constantly burning fire, and woe sooner or later fell upon the man,
woman, or child unfortunate enough to incur his anger. So when he
beheld a rival in the stranger, the pale-face who boldly told of
changes which had taken place at Klassan, where he knew the Medicine
Men had been put to confusion, he determined to bestir himself.
For two or three days he watched the effect the new teaching had upon
the Quelchies. He listened to the earnest discussions in the various
camps, as every detail was carefully considered. He was a silent
observer of all that took place, and insinuated himself into any
company where he was likely to further his designs. What he learned
was sufficient to cause him much unrest, and he realized that some
sudden and startling coup was necessary to remove his rival, and to
re-establish his own influence.
He hated the old chief for allowing the missionary the freedom of the
camp, and he hated the people for listening so readily to the words of
a stranger.
Fortune wonderfully favoured him, for on the very day that Keith and
Shrahegan left for the gold-bearing creek the old chief's youngest and
most beloved son became seriously ill. The Medicine Man was
immediately called to the side of the sufferer, who, dressed in his
hideous costume, began at once his strange incantations.
Those in the lodge watched almost breathlessly his wild contortions,
anxious to catch any word which might fall from his lips.
"An evil spirit is in the camp," he muttered at length. "It has cast
its spell over the chief's son, and he will die. Other children will
die, too, unless the spirit is driven out."
A long pause followed this startling announcement, and the listeners
bent eagerly forward to catch the name of the one who was causing the
trouble.
They were forced to wait for some time, however, before the crafty
rogue was ready to satisfy their curiosity. Then "pale-face stranger"
fell upon their ears, causing them to look quickly at one another.
The conjurer thrilled with joy as he noticed the effect of his words,
and saw the Indians quietly leave the lodge to spread the news to those
without. The old spell had still its influence, and he gave a low
chuckle of delight.
Knowing nothing of what was taking place at the Quelchie camp, Keith
returned with Shrahegan after two days' absence. It was only natural
that he should feel much elated over the success of his visit. He had
been more than human if his heart had not beat fast when he looked upon
the gold gleaming from the bed rock, exposed to view, along the steep
banks of the creek. Here were virgin riches untold, which for ages had
been awaiting the coming of the miners.
He glanced around upon the splendid scenery; the long, deep gulches;
the banks lined with trees, among which the squirrels scolded, and the
early birds warbled. He thought how peaceful it all seemed, with the
little brook babbling and sparkling below him.
Then there came to his mind the change which would take place when this
vast wealth became generally known; the mad rush of gold seekers; the
mushroom mining town, with all its greed and wickedness.
Before leaving the place he staked his claim, and broke off several
fine pieces of gold as specimens. For the first time the prospector's
fever possessed him, and all the way back to the village he could think
of little but his great discovery. This, however, was suddenly
dispelled when he entered the camp and beheld the storm which was about
to fall upon his head.
"The Indians are much excited," said Shrahegan, who soon found out all
about the matter. "I hardly know what to do."
"Where is the sick boy?" asked Keith. "I should like to see him."
"In the chief's lodge. Come, I will take you to him."
The youth was lying upon several rugs on the floor, breathing hard. He
was only a stripling, but noted for his rare skill in the chase and
endurance on the trail.
The Medicine Man was by his side, holding the conjurer's rattle in his
hand. He paused in his hideous, mournful noise when he beheld his
hated rival enter the building.
This time the old chief gave no sign of welcome, but sat on the floor
with his knees drawn up to his chin, and head bent forward in token of
grief.
"Pale-face brought evil upon my boy," he said fiercely, when Shrahegan
addressed him. "If he die the stranger must answer for it."
This Keith well knew, and unless something was done at once, not even
Shrahegan's protection could save him from the angry Indians incited by
the conjurer.
"Great chief," he said, advancing to the bowed figure, "cannot the
Medicine Man cure your son?"
"No," came the fierce response.
"Does he say he will die?"
"Yes, he will die."
"Well, then, great chief, will you let me examine the youth, I am a
doctor, too, and perhaps I can do something to help your son."
Before an answer could be given, the Medicine Man leaped before the
missionary and in wild rage gave vent to his fury. He danced,
screamed, and denounced the pale-face stranger in the most violent
terms.
For a time this was permitted, and then into Shrahegan's face came a
look of determination. With one grip of his powerful hand he seized
the conjurer by the arm, shook him like a rat, and sent him tumbling
out of the lodge.
The Indians within the room looked aghast at such a move, and half
expected the house to collapse, or something terrible to happen. It
was a thing unknown for any one to meddle with the "doctor," and of
this Shrahegan was well aware. But it seemed to disturb him not in the
least. He turned quietly to the missionary.
"Examine the sick boy," he said. "Shrahegan gives you permission to
look at his brother."
"Is it the will of the great chief of the Quelchies?" asked Keith,
turning towards the old man.
Receiving only a nod in reply, he at once stepped to the side of the
prostrate lad, and made a careful examination of his condition.
"He is very sick," he quietly remarked.
"What is the matter?" asked Shrahegan anxiously.
"A high fever."
"Not an evil spirit?"
"The only evil spirit," continued Keith, "is the one who has increased
the fever by vile medicine and terrible noise."
"What, the Medicine Man?"
"Yes. He soon would have made an end of your brother."
A fierce look came into Shrahegan's face, and he made a move as if to
leave the building. Keith laid a restraining hand upon his shoulder.
"Stay," he said. "Don't do anything rash. I want your help. We must
remove the lad to a quiet lodge, and I shall try to undo the harm which
has been done. It is the only way to save his life."
Shrahegan looked intently into the missionary's face, as if to fathom
the depth and strength of his mind.
"Does my pale-face brother know?" he asked, "the risk he is running?
Does he know that the wrath of the Medicine Man is upon him? that the
Indians are very angry, and, if the boy die, the pale-face will die
too?"
"I know it all," replied Keith. "I am not afraid of the Medicine Man.
There stands with me One greater than he, who will help me. He is my
Master, my Great Chief, Jesus, whom I serve."
"And the pale-face is not afraid?" repeated Shrahegan in surprise.
"Why should I be afraid? What good will it do? It will not cure your
brother, and I know Shrahegan will help me."
"Shrahegan will help; he will do all he can. But remember, the Indians
are much excited, and, if the boy die, Shrahegan can do but little to
help his pale-face brother."
"And if the boy gets better?" queried Keith, "what will your people
think?"
"Pale-face will be safe," came the evasive reply.
"Good. Now we must get busy."
By this time the condition of the sick lad was very serious, and Keith
knew that whatever was done had to be done quickly and wisely.
Therefore as soon as the youth was removed to another lodge, he brought
forth his little medical companion, which Shrahegan had rescued from
the Indians, made a careful selection, and rapidly prepared the
medicine which he thought best to administer.
But before laying a hand upon the patient he fell upon his knees and
poured out his soul to the Giver of Life for help and strength in the
time of trial.
Then the fight began, a fight not only for the life of one person, but
for the souls of all those around him, sunk in the darkness of vice and
superstition.
For hours he stayed by the side of the sufferer, Shrahegan only keeping
watch with him. Seldom they spoke, and then only in a whisper. The
day and the night passed, but still Keith remained at his post, much of
the time on his knees. Shrahegan brought him food, but he ate very
little, there was too much at stake to think of bodily wants.
Throughout the camp the smouldering fire of excitement was intense,
ready to burst forth at any instant. During the day perpetual watch
was kept upon the little lodge, and at night anxious ears were strained
to catch the faintest sound. The old chief remained in his own house,
silent and bowed with grief. His wives sat almost motionless by his
side, not daring to address their imperious master. The Medicine Man
prowled like a wolf from place to place, the very incarnation of
jealousy, fear and rage.
On the morning of the third day Shrahegan emerged from the silent
lodge. He was surrounded by an eager, persistent crowd of natives, who
demanded information concerning the patient. To these he said nothing,
but going at once to the old chief, led the feeble, tottering man to
his son's side. Keith, weary and haggard, arose as the two entered.
He saw the look of surprise and delight upon the chief's face, when he
beheld his son lying before him on the road to recovery.
"Great chief," said Keith, "see, your son is better. Soon he will walk
again."
"Is the evil spirit gone?" came the eager query.
"All gone. You have nothing to fear."
"Was the Medicine Man here? Did he help?"
"No," replied Shrahegan contemptuously. "He would have killed the boy,
and now he is outside, raging in his fury and jealousy. This is the
Medicine Man," and he pointed to Keith, "the doctor who has done the
good work."
"Give not the credit to me," answered the missionary, "but to the Great
Medicine Man, the Doctor of souls, Jesus, my Master. He has wrought
this cure. I had but little to do with it."
Saying this, he moved wearily from the lodge, to seek food and rest,
leaving the feeble chief and the noble Shrahegan alone with the patient.