THE COST
All through the night Dan kept watch by the constable's side. His pipe
was seldom out of his mouth as he sat silently on the rough bench with
his back against the wall. Twice Grey had moved a little, and once a
moan escaped his lips. But otherwise there was no perceptible change.
When Madeline appeared in the morning she looked much refreshed after
her sleep. An expression of pleasure crossed Dan's face as he saw her
standing before him. Her presence revived him after his long vigil, like
the inspiring breath of dewy morn over a drowsy world. The room did not
seem so close and sombre when she was present. A new spirit pervaded the
place, which made it a restful abode.
That morning after breakfast Dan started forth and walked slowly to the
little church. He was joined there by three natives who had returned to
the village. A few moments later they came out bearing the body of
Charles Nordis, the missionary. A single blanket enshrouded that
stiffened form, for a coffin was out of the question. Silently they bore
their burden down a gentle slope, across a narrow valley, then up a
steep hill to the cemetery at the summit, for Indians choose high
places in which to bury their dead. Here a grave had been dug the day
before, and by its gaping mouth they laid the body down.
Dan stood for a few moments looking at the white face of the old man
lying at his feet, and then glanced at the expressionless features of
the three natives standing near. Deep, bitter thoughts were surging
through the trapper's mind as he stood there. Was this all that the
missionary had gained? A lifetime spent in the wilderness for the sake
of a wandering people, and was this all--a violent death, a lonely grave
in the wild, without one mourner to shed a tear? What was the use of
such a life? he mused. The Indians had not responded to his care and
teaching; but seemed to be as hard and cruel as ever.
A startled exclamation from one of the Indians aroused him. He lifted
his head, and saw the three men looking anxiously away to the left. Dan
turned sharply around to ascertain the cause of their excitement. It was
certainly a magnificent view which met his eyes. Down below stretched
the valley, partly wooded. Beyond, glimpses of the river gleamed like
burnished silver beneath the sun, while away in the distance towered the
rugged mountains to their tapering coronets of snow. At another time Dan
would have drunk in the beauty with a true lover's ardent admiration.
But now something else occupied his mind. Shading his eyes with his
right hand he soon discerned a long, black, sinuous line trailing out
from the forest beyond the Mission House. It held him spellbound for an
instant, and then an exclamation of fear and concern burst from his
lips. They were Indians, coming from their recent pow-wow, for what
purpose he could not tell. Were they heading for the Mission House to
carry away the woman and child? His first impulse was to rush down the
hill, hurry to meet them, and guard the defenceless ones. This he at
once realised would be folly. He could not get there in time, and what
could one man do against so many?
He watched them with almost breathless interest as they drew near the
house, and when the foremost ones had passed without turning aside he
gave a deep sigh of relief. Through the village they threaded their way,
then down the slope straight toward the hill upon which they were
standing.
"They're comin' here!" he ejaculated, turning to his now thoroughly
frightened companions. "What kin they be up to, anyway?"
His hand slipped to his hip and rested upon the butt of his revolver.
"If they're after mischief an' want me," he muttered, "they'll git a
warm reception from my old comrade here. She's never failed me yit, an'
I guess she won't now."
Up the hill the Indians swung with their easy, tireless gait, and soon
the leaders were but a few hundred yards away. As Dan looked he drew his
hand from his revolver, and meditatively stroked his long beard.
Although armed the Indians showed no signs of hostility. On they came
and without a word reached the top of the hill. Here they paused and
waited for the rear to come up. Then from the midst stepped Hishu Sam.
He gave one word which sounded like a command, and at once he walked
over to where the dead man was lying, gave one quick glance at the cold,
white face, and moved on. Others now came forward, stopped, looked, and
moved away. It took them some time to do this, and Dan stood silently by
wondering at the meaning of this unusual procedure.
The Hishus and Big Lakes were there--some bent and withered by the
weight of years, others were young in the full strength and flush of
virile manhood. But not a word was uttered, and not a movement of their
impassive faces revealed the hearts within.
As the Indians moved away they turned to the right and formed in a
circle several lines deep around the grave, where they stood silently
leaning upon their rifles. At the end of the procession came Nadu, the
Indian woman. She advanced slowly with bent head, over which a scarf had
been carelessly thrown. She stopped before the body, gazed for an
instant upon the face, and then sinking on her knees upon the ground
remained silent for a few minutes. A stillness as deep as death pervaded
the onlookers, while Dan stared in amazement. Then from the woman's lips
came a low wail which steadily increased in intensity. Once Dan had
heard such a sound. He had been in an Indian village where a little
child had just died. He had heard the mother's cry ringing out upon the
night air from the rude cabin. It had haunted him for days--that low,
plaintive wail of a bereaved heart, which swelled to a wild, piercing
shriek. Until then Dan had not believed that so much pathos and agony
could be expressed in the human voice. And here was this woman kneeling
on the ground giving vent to the same heart-rending cry. What did it all
mean? Why should she, from Hishu, feel so keenly the death of the old
man? What was he to her?
As he listened and wondered the sounds grew fainter and fainter until
they ceased altogether, and she knelt as before with bowed head. For a
few moments an intense silence reigned on the hilltop.
Dan was about to give orders to lower the body into the grave when Hishu
Sam stepped forward and stood close to where Nadu was kneeling. His tall
commanding figure was drawn to its full height as he surveyed the silent
natives before him. Then he began to speak in the Hishu tongue, which
made it quite easy for Dan to understand what he was saying.
"The sun shines in the sky," he began, "the mountains stand as of old,
the rivers flow through the land, the fish swim in the water, the moose
roam the forest; but the hearts of the Indians are sad. The Hishus and
the Big Lakes are all of one family. But they have not lived as
brothers. They have been always fighting as did their fathers before
them. They lived for war. Their hearts were hard and cruel. They thought
only of evil, of killing one another. Ten winters ago a pale face came
from the great river beyond the big mountains. With his own hands he
built those houses down there. He learned to speak our language. He
taught our little ones from a book he brought with him. He made more
books, and he gave them to our children to read. He lived with us. When
we were sick he healed us, when we were hungry he gave us food, when we
were cold he gave us clothes. But our hearts were hard. He worked for
us, and loved us, but when he asked us to give up fighting we laughed at
him. When he would teach us a better way we would not listen. One night
my little child was sick. The pale face came. He made her well. He
taught me wonderful things. He told me of the Great Chief who died to
save us all. I listened, and my heart, which was like a frozen river,
thawed. I became a new man. The pale face came into our land. He did not
come to rob us. He did not come to give us fire-water. He did not come
to ruin our young women. He came to help us, to save us. And what have
we done to him?" Here the speaker paused, and raised his right hand in
an impressive manner. "We killed him, and he now lies before us. We were
fighting. We wished to kill one another. But the pale face came between
us. He tried to stop us, and he died. Now our eyes have been opened. We
see what he has done for us, and how he loved us. We have had a great
meeting. We have talked much. Our hearts and mouths spoke peace. We have
given up fighting with one another. We have promised to be friends as
long as the sun rises in the sky and the water flows in the river. We
will have a big pot-latch--the tribes will all come to witness our
agreement of peace. The pale face has done it. He is dead. We cannot
speak to him. But if another teacher comes from beyond the great
mountains we will listen."
Hishu Sam paused, and from the assembled Indians came the murmur of
assent. Several others stepped forward and spoke. They were natural
orators, and with much gesticulation they emphasised the greatness of
their race. But they all agreed with the first speaker that they had met
with a deep loss in the death of the pale face, and were anxious now for
peace.
During these harangues Dan stood silently by. He was accustomed to the
ways of the Indians. In his heart he was most thankful at the happy
termination of the trouble. When the speakers were through he gave the
signal, and the body was lowered into the ground. Seizing a handful of
gravel he stepped close to the grave, and bared his head.
"Great God in Heaven," he prayed, "listen to the words of these people.
They have killed this old man, but punish 'em not fer the sin they have
committed. They are sorry now, O Lord, an' want to do better. This old
man has died fer 'em, an' by his death they've been united. I can't make
a long prayer, O Lord, nor tell ye all that's in me heart jist now. But
I ax ye to bless these Injuns fer the sake of the old man who died fer
'em, an' in their presence I commit his body to the ground, arth to
arth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes, sartin that sich a man as this'll
rise ag'in to the life etarnal. Hear an old trapper's words, O Lord.
Amen."
Dan stood long and silently by the grave and watched the three Indians
toss in the earth upon the body. The Big Lakes and the Hishus remained
for a few moments, and then filed quickly away. When at last the grave
had been filled, the trapper, too, turned and walked slowly back to the
Mission House. His heart was deeply touched by what he had heard and
seen. Much had been accomplished, but, oh, at what a cost! It was the
story of history repeated here on this far-off frontier, that without
the shedding of blood there is no advancement, no remission of sins.