The trail of the Golden Horn

By H. A. Cody

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Title: The trail of the Golden Horn

Author: H. A. Cody

Release date: November 14, 2025 [eBook #77231]

Language: English

Original publication: Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1923

Credits: David E. Brown and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRAIL OF THE GOLDEN HORN ***




  The Trail of
  The Golden Horn

  H. A. CODY




By H. A. CODY

  THE TRAIL OF THE GOLDEN HORN
  THE KING’S ARROW
  JESS OF THE REBEL TRAIL
  GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH
  THE TOUCH OF ABNER
  THE UNKNOWN WRESTLER
  UNDER SEALED ORDERS
  IF ANY MAN SIN
  THE CHIEF OF THE RANGES
  THE FOURTH WATCH
  THE LONG PATROL
  ROD OF THE LONE PATROL
  THE FRONTIERSMAN




  THE TRAIL OF
  THE GOLDEN HORN

  BY
  H. A. CODY

  McCLELLAND AND STEWART
  PUBLISHERS : : TORONTO




  COPYRIGHT, 1923,

  BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

  [Illustration]

  THE TRAIL OF THE GOLDEN HORN. III

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                        PAGE

   1 The Smokeless Cabin            9

   2 A Night Vision                17

   3 The _Tell-tale_ Lock          27

   4 To be Continued               37

   5 Face to Face                  47

   6 Zell                          57

   7 Terrors of the Night          67

   8 Hugo to the Rescue            76

   9 Stains on the Snow            84

  10 Lost                          92

  11 Where Strength Counts         99

  12 Confession                   109

  13 The Rush of Doom             118

  14 Life for Life                126

  15 The Truce of the Storm       136

  16 The Man of The Gap           145

  17 The Trapper Arrives          155

  18 A Cowardly Deed              166

  19 Anxious Waiting              176

  20 United Forces                186

  21 Helping Hands                194

  22 The Messenger                206

  23 Rejected                     213

  24 The Wages of Sin             221

  25 Maintien le Droit            229

  26 The Night Struggle           241

  27 An Unfolded Record           251

  28 Waiting                      261

  29 Good News                    270

  30 His Message of Farewell      279

  31 Plans                        287




The Trail of the Golden Horn




THE TRAIL OF THE GOLDEN HORN




CHAPTER 1

The Smokeless Cabin


“No Smoke!”

Hugo, the trapper, rasped forth these words upon the stinging air as he
paused abruptly upon the brow of a steep hill. He was puzzled, and he
rubbed the frost from his eyelids with his mittened right hand. Perhaps
he had not seen aright. But no, he had not been mistaken. There, close
to the river, stood the little cabin, nestling amidst a grove of young
firs and jack-pines. But no smoke poured from the pipe stuck up through
the roof.

“Strange! strange!” Hugo muttered. “There should be smoke. Bill Haines
hasn’t moved overnight, that’s certain. Something must be wrong.”

His eyes swept the landscape to right and left. Everywhere stretched
the vast wilderness of glistening snow, dark forests, and towering
mountains. That long white streak, winding like a serpent, was the
river, now frozen from bank to bank. From a few open places where the
current was exceptionally swift vapour rose like dense clouds of smoke.
Near one of these stood the cabin, for running water was a luxury in
the Yukon when winter gripped the land in its icy embrace.

Hugo hated the river, and always kept as far away as possible. To him
it was a treacherous demon, and the great dark breathing-places seemed
like yawning mouths ever open for new victims. That curling vapour
appeared more sinister now than ever. He glanced again at the lonely
cabin. Why was there no smoke rising above its squat roof? Had Bill
Haines slipped while drawing water? Such a thing was not unlikely. But
what about his wife? Surely she would keep the fire burning for the
sake of herself and child. But had she gone, too, in attempting to
rescue her husband?

For a few minutes Hugo stood there, his great form drawn to its full
height. His long beard, covered with frost, swept his breast. His keen
eyes peered out from beneath the big fur cap drawn well down over
ears and forehead. He resembled a patriarch of Hebrew days who had
stepped suddenly out upon one of nature’s mighty stages. The dark,
sombre trees formed a fitting background to the lonely figure, while
the valley below and the limitless region beyond made a magnificent
audience-chamber. But none witnessed the silent form upon the hill
save, perhaps, a few shy, furry creatures of the wild, and ghosts of
miners, prospectors, trappers and Indians, who once roamed the land and
made the Yukon River their chief highway of travel.

Hugo, however, thought nothing of all this. His mind was agitated by
conflicting thoughts. He longed to be off and away upon the trail,
headed for the log abode of which he alone knew. But that smokeless
cabin down by the river fascinated him.

“It’s none of my business,” he growled. “Bill Haines is nothing to me,
so why should I worry about him? And yet, I wonder--”

He ceased abruptly, unslung a rope from his right shoulder, and
turned swiftly around. At his heels lay the small toboggan he had
been drawing, loaded with a couple of blankets, food, rifle, and a
large lynx he had taken from one of his snares. He looked at these
thoughtfully for a few seconds, and then reached for his rifle. This he
carefully examined to be sure that the magazine was full. Picking up
the dropped rope, he threw it again over his shoulder, and with rifle
in hand, he sped rapidly down to the valley below. The long narrow
snow-shoes creaked beneath his powerful strides, and the light snow
flew from their curved points like spray from a cutter’s bow.

Reaching the forest, he threaded his way among the trees and came out
at length into the open space where stood the cabin. Here he stopped
and looked carefully around. Seeing nothing, he once more advanced, and
only slowed down when within a few yards from the building. He walked
warily now, listening intently for any sound from within. Hearing
nothing, he was about to place his ear close to the door when the faint
wail of a child arrested his attention. Presently the cry subsided to a
fretful whimper, and then all was still.

Feeling certain now that something was seriously wrong, Hugo glanced
cautiously around. The snow near the cabin was beaten down hard, and
a well-worn trail led to the river. He looked off to the place where
the vapour was rising into the air, and shuddered. Why he did so he
could not tell. Then he lifted the rude latch, pushed open the door
and entered. The sun shining in through the window on the south side
of the building brightened the room. Hugo recalled the last time he
had been there, and the pleasant welcome he had received. How clean
and cosy the place was then, notwithstanding the meagre furniture and
the bare floor. But now what a change! Everything was in disorder, the
table overturned, the few rough, homemade chairs battered to pieces,
and broken dishes lying on all sides. What did it mean? He stared
around, greatly puzzled.

“Mam-ma! Mam-ma!”

The call came from a corner on the right. Turning quickly toward a bunk
against the wall, Hugo saw the movement of a gray four-point blanket.
Stepping forward, he stooped and beheld the face of a little child,
its cheeks wet with tears. Big blue eyes looked expectantly up, and
two small dimpled hands reached eagerly out, while a gurgle of delight
rippled from soft, rosy lips. Instantly it realized its mistake.
An expression of fear leaped into its eyes, the outstretched hands
dropped, and the happy gurgle gave place to a cry of fright. Hugo was
in despair.

“Queer mess I’ve got into,” he muttered. “What am I to do with the kid?
Pity it hadn’t gone with its parents. I wonder what has happened to
them, anyway?”

He looked around and noted more carefully the sad havoc which had
been wrought. He was sure now that a terrible tragedy had been
enacted there, either during the night or early that morning. Again
he shuddered, and realized for the first time how cold was the room.
In a few minutes he had a good fire burning in the sheet-iron heater,
which fortunately had escaped destruction. Then he searched for some
suitable food for the child. But not a scrap could he find--every
morsel had been taken from the house. Hugo uttered an angry oath
and registered a solemn vow. Going outside he was about to draw his
toboggan into the room when his eyes caught sight of peculiar marks
upon the beaten snow. That they were blood-stains he was certain, and
there were others on the trail leading to the river.

Leaving the toboggan, and forgetting for a time the sobbing child,
Hugo walked slowly along, keeping his eyes fixed upon the narrow
path. At every step more stains appeared, which increased in number
and vividness as he neared the shore. Out upon the ice he moved, and
stopped only when close to the long, wide, yawning gulf. Here the river
was exposed to view like a great artery from which the flesh has been
torn. The water raced by like a mill-sluice, leaping forth from beneath
its icy covering upstream to dash out of sight with a swish and a swirl
half a mile or more farther down. Its murmur resembled the snarl of an
angry beast when suddenly surprised or cheated of its prey. And yet
Hugo felt certain that but a short time before it had been fed, when
two victims had been enwrapped in its cold, merciless embrace. And one
of them was a woman, whose little helpless child was now calling to her
from the lonely cabin--and calling in vain!

And standing there, Hugo’s soul suddenly became charged with an intense
anger. Mingled with his hatred of the river was an overwhelming
revulsion at the foul crime which had been committed. And who were
the perpetrators? What reason could anyone have for committing such a
diabolical deed? Haines and his wife were quiet reserved people, given
to hospitality, who never refused a meal or a lodging for the night to
a passing traveller. During the summer Bill had rocked out gold from
the river bars, and in winter had cut wood for steamers plying between
Whitehorse and Dawson. That he made but a bare living Hugo was well
aware, and he had often wondered why he was content to remain in such a
lonely place.

Hugo turned these things over in his mind as he walked slowly away from
the river. Reaching the cabin, he drew his toboggan into the building.
The fire had been doing good work and the room was warm. The child,
unable to cry more, was lying uncovered upon the blankets. It watched
Hugo’s every movement with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, little chap,” the man said. “I won’t hurt you. I’m
going to give you something to eat. Maybe that will make you friendly.
I wonder how old it is, anyway,” he mused. “It can’t eat meat, that’s
certain. Liquids and soft food are the only thing for babies. Now, what
in time can I give it! Ah, I know. Just the thing.”

He turned and walked over to the toboggan. Throwing aside the blankets,
he lifted a tin can, blackened from numerous campfires. This he placed
upon the stove, removed the cover and looked in.

“Ptarmigan soup should be good for the little fellow,” he remarked.
“It’s mighty lucky I didn’t eat it all for breakfast. My! it’s hot
here.”

He raised his hand as if to remove his fur cap, but suddenly desisted.
Then he stepped outside and looked carefully around. Seeing no one, he
went back into the cabin, took off his cap, and hung it upon one of
the legs of the overturned table. The head thus exposed was covered
with a wealth of hair, thickly streaked with gray. The startling and
outstanding feature, however, was one lock as white as snow, crowning
the right temple. This was not due to age nor to any outward cause, but
was evidently a family characteristic. Such a lock would have singled
out the owner in any gathering for special and curious attention.

When the soup was warm enough, Hugo dipped out a portion into a tin cup
which he carried over to where the child was lying.

“Come, little chap,” he began, “here’s something nice.”

Forced by hunger the lad scrambled quickly to its knees, and drank
eagerly from the cup held to its lips.

“More,” he demanded when the last drop had been drained.

“Ho, ho, that’s good!” Hugo chuckled, as he went back to the stove and
dipped out another helping. “There’s nothing like ptarmigan soup for an
appetizer. I guess, my little man, you’re older than I thought.”

When the child had been fed to its satisfaction, Hugo sat down upon
the edge of the bunk and gave himself up to serious thoughts. What was
he to do with the boy? That was the question which agitated his mind.
He could not keep him, that was certain. He must hand him over to
someone who knew more about children than he did. But where could he
take him? To whom could he turn for assistance? Swift Stream was out of
the question. Besides being too far away it was the last place where
he wanted to go. But what about Kynox? He did not want to go there,
either. But it was nearer than Swift Stream, and less dangerous. Yes,
it must be Kynox, and the sooner he got there the better.

He was staring straight before him as he thus made up his mind. His
eyes were fixed upon the rough whip-sawn planks which formed the floor.
But he did not see anything in particular there. His thoughts were
far away, so the cabin and all that it contained were for the time
forgotten.

At length he became partially aware of a peculiar glitter upon the
floor. The sun shining through the little window struck for a few
minutes upon the spot where his eyes were resting. Gradually his
interest became aroused. Something was there which caused that intense
sparkle. Perhaps it was only a portion of a broken dish which had
caught the sun’s ray. But, no, it could not be. A piece of ordinary
cup, saucer, or plate could not throw such a wonderful light. It was a
sparkle such as he had once seen flashing from a jewelled finger of a
woman of great wealth. He had never beheld the like since until now.
Only one thing he knew could produce such a radiant effect.

Slipping from the bunk, he stepped quickly forward, dropped upon his
knees, and peered keenly down. What he saw there caused him to reach
swiftly out, seize and draw forth something wedged in a narrow crack
between two of the floor planks. As he clutched this with the fingers
of his trembling right hand, an exclamation of surprise burst from his
lips.

It was a woman’s diamond ring!




CHAPTER 2

A Night Vision


For several minutes Hugo knelt there holding the ring in his right
hand. It was a delicate circlet, a fragile wisp of gold to contain such
an exquisite gem. What fair finger had it adorned? What eyes, looking
down upon it, had rivalled its sparkling beauty? What comely cheeks had
flushed in the joy of its possession? He felt sure that Mrs. Haines
had not worn it. What use would such an ornament have been to her in
that rude cabin? At any rate, he had never seen it upon her finger. Her
hands, he had noted, were rough and toil-worn. But had she once worn
it? Was it a precious keepsake, a memento of other and happier days?
Had it in any way figured in the terrible tragedy which had so recently
taken place? Why was it wedged in the crack between those two planks?
Why had it not been broken and crushed in the terrible struggle that
had ensued?

These were some of the thoughts which surged through Hugo’s mind as he
stared hard at the ring. The value of the diamond he did not know. That
it was no ordinary stone he felt certain. How it gleamed and sparkled
as he held it to the sun. He turned it over and over in his fingers. He
was gradually becoming its slave. Its beauty was fascinating him; its
radiance was dazzling him.

A sound from the bunk startled him. He glanced quickly and guiltily
around like one caught in a criminal deed. But it was only the child,
chuckling as it tried to grasp a narrow beam of sunshine which fell
athwart the blankets. With lightning rapidity Hugo thrust the ring
into an inside pocket of his jacket and sprang to his feet. He stepped
swiftly to the side of the bunk and glared down upon the child. Then a
harsh, mirthless laugh burst from his lips. The perspiration stood out
in beads upon his forehead.

“Hugo, you’re a fool,” he growled. “What has come over you, anyway? No
more such nonsense.”

He went to the door, opened it and looked out. The air cooled his hot
brow. He felt better, and more like himself. He was anxious now to
get away from that cabin. It was not good for him to be there--with
the ring and the child. The place was polluted. Innocent blood had
been shed in that room, and who could tell what might happen should he
stay much longer? He had always scoffed at the idea of ghosts. But he
did not wish to remain in that building overnight. He had a peculiar
creeping sensation whenever he thought of it. He was not afraid of
travellers who might call in passing. But he did have great respect
for the Mounted Police, the redoubtable guardians of the north, the
sleuth-hounds of the trails. Should they suddenly appear, he might find
the situation most embarrassing. Alone with the child, and with the
marks of a tragedy so evident, he might have difficulty in convincing
them of his innocency in the affair. And should the ring be discovered
upon his person, his position would be far from enviable.

Hugo’s greatest fear, however, was of himself. He could not explain
the reason, but so long as he remained in that cabin he could not feel
responsible for his acts. A subtle influence seemed to pervade the
place which exerted upon him a magic effect. He had never experienced
the like before. He must get away at once. Out upon the trail, battling
against stern nature, he would surely regain his former self-mastery.

Hugo was not long in getting ready for his departure. He wrapped up the
baby in a big fur-lined coat he found hanging on the wall. He hesitated
when he realised that it was necessary to cast aside the lynx to make
room for the lad upon the small toboggan. The pelt of the animal was
valuable, but he could not afford to take the time to remove it. In
fact, the lynx was of more use to him than the child. One he could sell
for good money, while the other--well, he would be fortunate if he
could give him away.

He thought of this as he tucked in the wee fellow, placing extra
blankets about him to make sure that he would not be cold. According
to the law of the country he was entitled to all the rights and
privileges of the British Constitution. To take his life would be an
indictable offense, and the punishment death if found out. But he could
not be sold for money, and who would want him? Outside, someone might
adopt him, or he could be placed in an Orphans’ Home. But here on
the frontier of civilisation who would wish to be bothered with such
a helpless waif? The life of the lynx, on the other hand, was worth
nothing in the eyes of the law. Any one could take it with impunity.
But the animal could be sold for a fair price. What a paradox! A dead
lynx worth more than a priceless child!

Hugo sighed as he picked up his rifle and drew the cord of the toboggan
over his shoulder. It was a problem too profound for him to solve.
Others would have to attend to that, if they so desired, while he
looked after the baby. Closing the cabin door, and turning his back
upon the river, he headed for the uplands. Although he had no watch,
yet he knew that it was past midday. The afternoon would be all too
short, so he must make the most of it. Kynox was over thirty miles
away, and a hard trail lay between. Under ordinary circumstances he
could make the journey by a long day’s march. But now he would be
forced to travel slower and more carefully, and to halt at times to
feed the child.

Hugo made his way along the trail down which he had sped a few hours
before. Reaching the brow of the hill, he paused and looked back upon
the cabin. It had a new meaning to him now. How grim and desolate it
seemed. It was a building stained with human blood. Never again would
it breathe forth its warm and inviting welcome to weary travellers.
Soon word of the tragedy would be noised abroad. It would pass from man
to man. In towns and villages, in miners’ shacks, in Indian lodges, in
wood-cutters’ cabins, and in most remote recesses it would penetrate,
to be discussed with burning indignation and heart-thrilling interest.
The Mounted Police would arouse to swift and terrible action. They
would throw out their nets; they would scour the trails; they would
compass the world, if necessary, to bring the criminals to justice.
They had done it before; they would do it again. No one yet had escaped
their long and overwhelming grip.

And what of the little cabin? It would be shunned, looked upon with
dread, a haunted abode. Oh, yes, Hugo was well aware how it would be.
He knew of several such places scattered over the country, once the
centres of life and activity, but now abandoned by the foot of man,
white and Indian alike.

As he stood and rested, thinking of these things, something upon the
river attracted his attention. At first it appeared as a mere speck,
but it was moving. With breathless interest he strained his eyes
across the snowy waste. He knew what it was--a dog-team! Was it the
Police patrol? He shrank instinctively back, and unconsciously raised
his right hand as if to ward off some impending danger. A low growl,
almost like a curse, rumbled in his throat, as he turned and once more
continued his journey.

His course now led inland, and in a few minutes the river was lost to
view. The trail for a time wound through a forest of young firs and
jack-pines, whose slender branches reached out like welcoming hands. He
felt at home here and breathed more freely. Then the way sloped to a
valley, and up a long wild meadow.

It was a magnificent region through which he was travelling. To the
right rose great mountains, terrace above terrace, and terminating
in majestic summits far beyond the timber-line. These, however, were
surpassed by one towering peak far away in the distance. For years it
had been his special guide. Others might be lost to view, but not the
Golden Horn. It formed the subject of considerable speculation among
miners, prospectors, and trappers. Its summit had never been reached.
But daring adventurers who had scaled beyond the timber-line, solemnly
affirmed that it was the real Mount Ararat. Embedded in everlasting
snow and ice they had seen the timbers of a vessel of huge size and
marvellous design, which they declared to be the ruins of Noah’s ark.

Others believed that in that massive pile would be found a great
mother-lode of precious gold. Its commanding peak, which from certain
points of view resembled a gigantic horn, caught and reflected the
brief winter sun in a glow of golden glory. To eager eyes and hopeful
hearts this was surely an outward sign of vast treasures within. But so
far it had only served as a landmark, a gleaming guide to hardy rovers
of the trails.

With the Golden Horn ever before him, Hugo pressed steadily onward. At
times he glanced anxiously back, especially after he had crossed a lake
or a wild meadow where the view of the trail was unobstructed. Seeing
no one following, he always breathed a sigh of relief, and hurried on
his way.

Darkness had already settled over the land when Hugo drew up at a
little shack crouching in a dense thicket of firs and pines. This was
one of his stopping-places in the large circle of his trapping region.
The single room contained a bunk, a sheet-iron heater, a rough table, a
block of wood for a seat, and a few traps. This abode was far from the
main line of travel, and no head but the owner’s had ever bent to pass
its low portal.

Hugo paid careful attention to the child, looking after its welfare
to the best of his knowledge. It had been remarkably good during the
afternoon, and before it fell asleep upon the bunk it showed its
friendliness to its rescuer by chuckling gleefully, holding out its
hands, and kicking its feet in a lively manner.

For the first time in years Hugo’s stern face relaxed. His eyes,
hard and defiant, assumed a softer expression. All unconsciously the
helpless child was exerting upon him a subtle influence; it was casting
about him a magic spell, and breathing into the coldness of his heart a
warm, stimulating glow.

And when the little lad at length slept, Hugo sat by its side, gazing
straight before him, silent and unseeing. Occasionally he aroused to
replenish the fire, to snuff the single candle, to open the door to
peer into the night, and to listen for sounds which did not come. He
would then return to the bunk, to continue his watch and meditation.

About midnight he wrapped himself up in a thick blanket, stretched
himself upon the floor near the heater, and in a few minutes was fast
asleep. He awoke with a start, and sat bolt upright. He looked toward
the bunk, and something there held him spellbound. The child, gently
whimpering, was surrounded by a soft, peculiar light such as he had
never seen before. Hugo wondered at this, for the candle was out and it
was not yet daylight. As he stared, striving to comprehend the meaning,
he saw the dim form of a woman bending tenderly over the child, her
hands touching the little face. An involuntary gasp of surprise escaped
his lips, and he rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was not dreaming.
When he looked again all was in darkness. The vision had disappeared.

Rising quickly to his feet, Hugo struck a match and lighted the candle.
His hands trembled as he did so, and his knees seemed unusually weak.
He glanced furtively around the room as if expecting to see someone
standing near. Then he went to the bunk and looked down upon the child.
It was asleep! This was a surprise, for Hugo was certain that he had
heard its whimper but a couple of minutes before. What did it all
mean? Was it a dream from which he had been suddenly aroused: or had
the mother really been bending over her child, and for a few fleeting
seconds was revealed to mortal eyes? He had heard of such apparitions,
but had always considered them as mere delusions, the fanciful
imagination of overwrought brains. Now, however, it was different. He
had seen with his own eyes that form bending over the bunk, surrounded
by a halo of no earthly light. Was it the child’s mother? But perhaps
it was an angel! At once there flashed into his mind the words of the
Master over which he had often meditated.

“Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones, for I say unto
you that in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father
which is in heaven.”

Little children, then, had angel guardians, so, perhaps, he had
unwittingly surprised one this night in its ministry of love. Hugo was
deeply impressed. A feeling such as he had not known for years stole
into his heart. The room seemed suddenly transfigured. It was no longer
a humble abode, but the dwelling-place of a celestial messenger. And
the child was the cause of it all. For its sake the courts of heaven
had been stirred, and swifter than light an angel had winged its way
to that lone shack in the heart of the northern wilderness. It may
have been hovering around that cabin near the river at the time of
the tragedy. What part had it taken in protecting the child? It was
wonderful, and Hugo’s heart beat fast as these thoughts swept through
his mind. Had the angel guided his steps to that smokeless cabin? He
recalled how he had been on the point of taking another route that
morning, but had suddenly changed his mind and gone to the river
instead. Why he did so he could not tell, as he had never done the like
before. But now he understood. It was the angel which had altered his
course!

Hugo’s mind dwelt continually upon this as he stirred up the fire and
prepared his breakfast. He made the tea exceptionally strong to soothe
his nerves. After he had eaten his meagre meal, he filled and lighted
his pipe. He then smoked and watched as the slow-footed hours dragged
wearily by. He was anxious to be away upon his journey, but he did not
wish to awaken the child.

Once he thrust his right hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and
brought forth the ring. The diamond still fascinated him, though not as
formerly. He was master of himself now, and could examine the precious
gem more calmly. Its possession gave him a thrill of pleasure, even
though he knew that it was not his. What would he do with it? An idea
flashed into his mind, which caused him to glance toward the child.

“No, not now,” he mused. “I must wait. It might get into wrong hands.”

This decision seemed to satisfy him, so he replaced the ring, and
continued his watch.

The dawn of a new day was stealing slowly over the land as Hugo resumed
his journey. At noon he halted to feed the child, and to eat his own
meal. Then up and on again through the short afternoon. He thought much
of what had occurred during the night, and the vision he had beheld
inspired him. His step was firmer and more decided than on the previous
day. The coldness did not seem so intense, and the Golden Horn appeared
to take on a brighter glow. When darkness enshrouded the land he again
halted to feed the baby. This took but a short time, and once more he
sped forward. Kynox was not far away, and he wished to make it that
night.

Hour after hour he moved onward, though slower now, for the trail
was heavy and he was becoming very weary. No longer did the Golden
Horn direct his course. But he had the north star to guide him. The
Northern Lights were throwing out their long glittering streamers. They
appeared like vast battalions marching and countermarching across the
Arctic sky. Their banners rose, faded, vanished; to reappear, writhing,
twisting, curling, and flashing forth in matchless beauty all the
colors of the rainbow. Yellow and green, green and yellow, ruby-red and
greenish-white, chasing one another, vying with one another as the
great, silent army incessantly retreated and advanced.

Hugo saw all this, and it never failed to arouse in him a feeling of
wonder and awe. He watched the stars, too. For years they had been
his steady companions on many a weary trail, and he read them like an
open book. He saw the belted Orion swinging in its usual place, and
the Great Bear dipping close to the horizon. He knew the time by the
figures on that vast dial overhead. He peered keenly forward now, and
at length he was rewarded by several faint lights glimmering through
the darkness. Kynox was just beyond. In a few minutes the outlines of
a number of buildings could be dimly discerned. These increased in
clearness as he advanced. Ere long one larger than the others loomed up
before him. He knew it well, and toward it he eagerly made his way.




CHAPTER 3

The Tell-Tale Lock


The hour of midnight had just struck as Marion Brisbane opened a side
door of the Kynox Hospital and entered. Her cheeks were flushed, and
her eyes shone with animation. It was her night off duty, and she had
enjoyed herself at Mrs. Beck’s, the wife of the mining recorder. A
few congenial friends had been invited, and most of the evening had
been spent at bridge-whist. While refreshments were being served, Miss
Risteen, the new teacher of the little school, had asked Marion why she
had come so far north.

“For adventure, I suppose,” had been the smiling and evasive reply.

“Have you found it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What! in a small hospital?”

“Certainly. It is there that we see so much of the tragedy of this
country. Numerous trails lead into Kynox from various mining camps. You
have no idea how many patients we receive during the year, though now
we have only a few.”

“But I mean adventure in the open,” Miss Risteen had explained.

“Not much yet. But I have gone several times to outlying creeks to
administer first-aid to injured men during the doctor’s absence. He
has been away for a week now, so I never know when an urgent call may
come.”

“Do you always go yourself?”

“Yes, always.”

Marion had then abruptly changed the subject, as she did not wish to be
questioned further. Her friends had more than once remonstrated with
her about her readiness and eagerness to go whenever a call came. They
had urged her to let the other nurses bear their share of the hardships
which such trips involved. But Marion had merely smiled, saying that
she was selfish and enjoyed going to the camps. Not even to her nearest
friends would she reveal the deep secret of her heart.

That which gave her the greatest pleasure, however, was a letter which
Mr. Beck had handed to her during the evening. It had been given to
him by a miner that afternoon who had come in from the outer trails to
record a claim. At the first glance Marion knew whom it was from, and
it was this which caused the flush upon her face and the light of joy
in her eyes as she entered the hospital. She was anxious to reach her
own room where she could read the letter to her heart’s content.

She had just closed and locked the door, when the night nurses appeared.

“Oh, Miss Brisbane,” the latter began, “we have had a lively time since
you left.”

“Nothing wrong, Miss Wade, I hope,” Marion somewhat anxiously replied.

“That remains to be seen. About ten o’clock an old man, with a great
flowing beard, brought in a little child.”

“Sick?”

“No, nothing the matter with it.”

“Why did he bring it here, then?”

“For us to keep. He has given it to us.”

“Given it to us!” Marion stared at the nurse in surprise.

“That is what he said,” and Miss Wade smiled. “Why, he made himself at
home here, and took possession at once.”

“Do you mean to tell me that he is here now?” Marion demanded.

“He certainly is, and with all of his belongings. He has taken up his
abode in the kitchen, and is asleep on the floor, wrapped up in his
blankets. He has his toboggan there, too. Just think of that!”

“But why didn’t you send him away?”

“He wouldn’t go. I told him we couldn’t keep him; that this was a
hospital, and not a hotel. But it didn’t make any difference. He said
that this was good enough for him.”

“What impudence! Why didn’t you send for me? Mr. Beck and the other men
would have come over and put the man out.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to bother you. And besides, he seemed so harmless.
He just wanted the kitchen, so I couldn’t very well object.”

“Where is the baby?” Marion asked.

“Asleep in my room. I gave it a bath, which it certainly needed, and
something to eat. He is a dear little fellow, and I am fond of him
already.”

“Who is the man, anyway? Did he tell you anything about himself, or
where he came from?”

“He only said that he found the child in a cabin along the river about
a mile from the C. D. Cut-Off. He would tell me nothing more.”

“Then the baby is not his,” Marion said. “It is strange that he should
bring it here. I wonder why he didn’t take it to Swift Stream.”

“I asked him that,” Miss Wade replied, “but he told me he wasn’t
travelling that way. He is certainly an odd man, a giant in stature,
and with wonderful eyes which seem to look right through one. He kept
his cap on all the time, pulled down over his ears, even though the
kitchen was very warm. I believe he went to sleep with it on. Suppose
you have a look at him.”

“Very well,” Marion agreed. “I am somewhat anxious to see our strange
guest.”

Together they passed out of the room into the hallway, and made their
way to the door leading into the kitchen. This was closed, but Miss
Wade softly opened it and peeked in.

“There he is,” she whispered. “He’s sound asleep.”

A lamp, partly turned down, emitted sufficient light for Marion to see
the covered form lying upon the floor, with the toboggan nearby.

“He’s got his cap on, all right,” Miss Wade again whispered,
suppressing with difficulty a giggle of amusement. “Isn’t it funny? He
must use it for a night-cap.”

Marion motioned her to be silent, as she closed the door and led the
way back along the hallway. She, too, saw the humor of the situation,
although as matron she had to maintain the dignity of her position.

After she had taken a look at the baby which was sleeping soundly, she
went to her own room. Here she opened the letter she had been carrying
in her hand, and ran her eyes rapidly over the contents.

“Dear Miss Brisbane,” it began.

“I am on my way to Lone Creek to bring in Scotty Ferguson, who met
with an accident. Please have a room ready for him. Constable Rolfe is
with me. We should reach Kynox at the end of this week. I am sending
this note by Joe Dart, who is going to town to record a claim.

                         “Hoping to see you soon,
                                       “Very sincerely yours,
                                                      “JOHN NORTH,
                                               “_Sergeant, R. N. M. P._”

That was all the letter contained in mere words, yet to Marion it meant
a great deal more. She saw the writer, the strong, manly sergeant, who
had made such a deep impression upon her. She recalled the last time he
had been at Kynox when he had brought in a sick miner from an outlying
creek. She had heard much about John North, the great trailsman and
the fearless defender of law and order. Many were the tales told of
his prowess to which Marion always listened with keen interest and a
quickening of the heart. To her he was the very embodiment of the ideal
hero, and one with King Arthur’s Knights of the Table Round. He was
ever moving from place to place, bringing relief to the afflicted and
redressing human wrongs. What a difference between this man and many
of the men she had met. He was not in the country for gain, but in the
noble service of his King and country. Her mind suddenly turned to the
strange, long-bearded man asleep on the kitchen floor. What a contrast
between him and John North. Who was he? she wondered, and where had he
found the child? She thought, too, of his oddity in wearing his cap all
the time. Was there some reason for this? Did it cover some scar or
other disfigurement?

As she asked herself these questions, an idea flashed into her mind
which caused the blood to fade from her cheeks and her hands to
tremble. She tried to banish the notion as she replaced the letter into
its envelope and laid it upon a small table by her bed. But the idea
would persist in returning until she could no longer resist its appeal.

For the space of a half-hour she debated with herself as to what she
should do. Perhaps it would be better to wait until morning before
seeing the man again. This, however, did not satisfy her. Several times
she started to open the door, but each time drew back, uncertain and
agitated. She was no coward, yet the thought of what might be revealed
unnerved her. Nevertheless, she knew that the ordeal must be faced
sooner or later. For that she had come north, and with one object in
view she had visited numerous creeks and mining camps. But never before
had such a nameless dread overwhelmed her. She had searched eagerly,
and hopefully, studying with the closest scrutiny the one face which
would reward all her efforts.

At length feeling that she could delay no longer, she left her room,
and sped along the hallway. She felt guilty, almost like a thief, as
she pushed open the kitchen door and looked in. The man was evidently
sound asleep, for he was lying in the same position as when she first
saw him. Creeping close to his side, she stooped and listened. Yes,
he was asleep and breathing heavily. Reaching swiftly out, she lifted
the peak of his cap, and at once the white lock of hair was exposed to
view. Marion had seen enough. She turned and fled out of the kitchen,
along the hall, and back to the shelter of her room. Here she stood,
wide-eyed and panting like a hunted creature. She had reached the end
of her quest. That for which she had been seeking she had found. But
what a bitter disappointment! How she had looked forward to such a
moment. It had arrived, passed, and she was left helpless, bewildered.

Sinking down upon the only chair the room contained, she endeavored to
compose her mind that she might view the affair in as clear a light
as possible. That the man lying in the kitchen was her father she had
not the slightest doubt. That white lock of hair betrayed him, if
nothing else. It was a family characteristic, and she alone of several
generations had escaped the distinctive mark. How proud the Brisbanes
had always been of their peculiar feature, and when no trace of it
appeared in Marion’s luxuriant hair they had been greatly disappointed.
The “Brisbane lock” was a common expression. It had its origin, so it
was believed, in a great battle. A Brisbane in defending his King had
received a sword cut on his forehead which left a gaping wound. When
this healed, instead of an unsightly scar, the hair came out as white
as snow. For years after that lock was a sign of royal favor, and a
white lock formed the important feature of the family coat-of-arms.
“Remember the Brisbane lock,” parents had admonished their children
through many generations. It had always been to them a standard, a sign
of almost divine favor. They had tried to live up to the ideal set by
their worthy ancestor on the field of battle. Through all the years
only one Brisbane had brought reproach upon the name and the lock. And
that man had fled from home and justice, a wretched outcast.

Marion was but a girl of twelve at that time, and she loved her father
with all the ardor of her passionate nature. Nothing could make her
believe the charge of forgery which was preferred against him. There
had been some mistake, she was certain, and he had been basely wronged.
Some day he would be proven innocent, the guilty ones exposed, and the
Brisbane name cleared of infamy. Her mother believed the same, and
thus through the years the two waited in patient hope. But they waited
in vain. The exile did not return, so his deed remained a part of the
history of the little town, and a blot upon the family escutcheon.

Ten years passed and no word from the absent one reached the mother
and daughter. They knew, however, that he must be alive, for regularly
twice a year money reached them through a local bank. It was a
liberal amount, deposited to their credit, although the circumstances
surrounding it were not divulged. But they were certain who sent it,
and it was a steady reminder to them that he was in the land of the
living and might one day return. Mrs. Brisbane cherished this hope
until the last, and ere she died she expressed the wish that Marion
should search diligently for her father. This the girl willingly agreed
to do, for the idea had been lodging in her own mind for some time.

In order to carry out her design, Marion became a nurse. The west
called to her, for she firmly believed that there her father had
gone. After practising for two years in a city on the Pacific coast,
she responded to an appeal from the far north. The new hospital at
Kynox was in need of nurses, and she was at once placed in charge. It
was a position of considerable responsibility, but she fulfilled her
duties in a highly creditable manner. Her charming disposition, and
her readiness to sacrifice herself for others, won all hearts. Old
miners and prospectors, especially, appealed to her, for she was always
hopeful that among them she would find her father. How eagerly her eyes
searched every new face she met, and sought for the tell-tale lock. Men
noted this earnest look, and often commented upon it among themselves.
To them Nurse Marion was an angel of mercy, and even the roughest among
them always spoke of her with the greatest respect.

Marion enjoyed her work and life in the northland. But never for a
moment did she lose sight of her great quest. At times she almost
despaired of ever finding her father. It was a vast land, and she was
able to meet but a few of the miners and prospectors. How could she
ever find the one for whom she was so eagerly seeking?

The image that Marion had kept in her mind of her father was a
beautiful one. She remembered him as a man of fine appearance, of more
than ordinary stature, with a strong, noble face. How proud she had
always, been when walking by his side, for then Thomas Brisbane was the
leading citizen of Garthroy. She expected to find him the same years
later. She was, therefore, totally unprepared to see her father in the
long-bearded, and unkempt creature, content with the kitchen floor for
his bed. What would her two assistant nurses think should she divulge
the secret? And the people of Kynox--for there was a social clique even
in this wilderness town--what would they say?

Hour after hour Marion battled with her doubts and fears. The night
seemed unbearably long, and yet she dreaded for morning to come.
Something then would have to be done. Should she let her father go
without telling him who she was? And if she did tell, how would he
receive the news? Would he rejoice in meeting his daughter again? or
would he flee from her presence? Her brain was in a whirl, and she
walked up and down her little room, torn by conflicting emotions.

Toward morning a desire came to her to go to her father and speak
to him. If there should be an embarrassing scene it would be better
to be with him alone than to have other nurses around. Her courage
almost failed her as she left her room and hurried once more along the
hallway. She was glad that the night nurse was nowhere in sight, as
she did not wish to meet her just then. Reaching the kitchen door, she
pushed it open and looked in. She started and glanced around the room.
There was no one there. Her father was gone!




CHAPTER 4

To Be Continued


For two days Marion Brisbane lived in a world of doubt and uncertainty.
She was in a quandary. She had found her father, only to lose him
again. Should she go in search of him? But where would she go? How
could she find him? To whom could she turn for advice and help? How
could she explain the reason of her search without telling who the man
really was? And this she did not wish to do, for the present, at least.
This problem agitated her mind as she went mechanically about her work.
The child had been taken by a man and his wife who had no children of
their own, and were strongly drawn to the little waif of the night.

When the story of the old man’s visit to the hospital and his sudden
disappearance leaked out, it caused much comment in Kynox. Several
surmised that it was Hugo, the wanderer of the trails, the peculiar
trapper about whom they had heard much, although few had ever seen him.
From the earliest days mystery has always delighted the human mind.
Strange characters, noted for their peculiar ways, and endowed with
great strength, have ever made special appeal. They give a spice, a
thrill to life, and remove some of its monotonous drabness. No race, no
age, has ever lacked some mysterious being about whom many legendary
tales gather. This was true in a way of Hugo, the trapper. Where
he had come from no one knew. He had no settled abode, being in one
place to-day and miles away on the morrow. He had been known to appear
suddenly at some mining camp with an injured prospector and vanish
again into the wilderness. He was as elusive as a shadow, and just as
intangible. He was terrible in a fight, so it was asserted, and he was
the only creature of which the grizzlies, the dread of the trails,
were afraid. His latest act in bringing in the little child stirred up
afresh the numerous stories concerning his mysterious life.

Marion had heard some of these tales before, but had taken no special
interest in them until now. She had concluded that the trapper was
some great uncouth creature, half man and half beast by nature, who
had lived most of his life in the wilderness. But never for an instant
had he meant anything to her. That such a being could be the one for
whom she was so anxiously seeking was beyond the bounds of her wildest
imagination. Now she knew, and she listened with fast-beating heart to
every scrap of information concerning the trapper. She concealed her
feelings as much as possible, although when alone in her own room she
would pace excitedly to and fro, her mind rent by wild, conflicting
emotions. That she must see him again was the burden of her thoughts.
To find him she had come north, and she must not give up until she had
accomplished her purpose.

The second evening after Hugo’s arrival a startling story drifted into
Kynox from Swift Stream. It told of the murder of Bill Haines, his
wife, and little child near the C. D. Cut-Off. Two miners on their way
down river had stopped at the cabin, found signs of a fierce struggle,
and marks of blood leading to the river. They had reported the affair
to the Mounted Police at the first station they reached, so the news
was at once flashed to headquarters at Swift Stream, over the single
wire running from Ashcroft to Dawson.

This was most disturbing news to the people of Kynox, and their
thoughts naturally turned to the little child which had been brought to
the hospital by Hugo, the trapper. Did the latter know anything about
the murder? they asked one another. What was he doing with the child?
and why had he left so mysteriously in the night? It was very strange
and suspicious, they reasoned, that he had reported nothing, and had
given no word of explanation. It was surely the Haines’ child he had
brought to Kynox, so he must know something about the terrible affair
near the Cut-Off.

Marion was now more disturbed than ever. Outwardly she was very calm
as she answered the numerous questions about the night visitors. She
merely related what the night nurse had told her, and made no mention
of her own first secret visit to the kitchen. She was determined not to
divulge that. But fearful thoughts would persist in forcing themselves
into her mind. Had her father committed that terrible deed? Anyway, if
he knew anything about it why had he not reported at once? Her father
a murderer! The idea was almost unbearable. She could not believe it.
No Brisbane would ever descend to such depths. But her father would
be suspected. The Police would hear about his visit to the hospital
with the child, and of his sudden departure in the night. They would
track him, find him, and bring him to trial. Would he be able to clear
himself? to prove that he was innocent?

Marion thought of all this and a great deal more during the rest of
the week. She found it difficult to sleep, for she would awake in
the middle of the night overwhelmed with a presentiment of impending
disaster. Saturday came, and also Sergeant John North. He and Rolfe
brought the injured miner to the hospital, and when the constable
had left, North remained. Marion thought that he had never looked so
handsome as when he stood before her that afternoon, clad just as he
had come from the trail. He was a noble specimen of a man, well-built,
and over six feet in height. His face, bronzed and weather-beaten, was
strong, and his mouth and chin firm. His face was smooth-shaven, for
Sergeant North was careful of his personal appearance, particularly so
whenever he visited Kynox. His eyes, grey and steady, were never known
to flinch from danger. When they glowed with anger or indignation, as
they did on special occasions, their owner was a man to be feared. But
now they shone with a tender expression as they rested upon Marion
Brisbane’s slightly flushed face.

Sergeant North was a reserved man, and little accustomed to the company
of women. Years on the frontiers of civilization had brought him into
contact with many stern realities of life. Surrounded by the ruggedness
and the grandeur of nature in every possible form, he had gradually
and unconsciously become moulded by its mystic influence. The ways of
polite society were to him a closed book, and the petty social chatter
made no appeal. He loved the open, the great spaces, and the winding
trails. The iron of the land had entered into his being, and the
silent, mysterious alchemy of the north affected his soul like magic.
Combined with all these subtle influences was the law of the Force he
served. It was Duty first and last. “Maintien le Droit” was the motto
of this wonderful body of men, and the code written in the little red
manual was stern and stripped of all useless verbiage. It told without
a shadow of a doubt what was expected, and the instructions were to be
followed to the letter. This suited Sergeant North. He loved the life,
and never once had he swerved one hair’s breadth from the strict line
of duty.

His was not an impressionable nature, and he was always shy in the
presence of women. But when Marion Brisbane crossed his path it was
altogether different. She inspired him with confidence, his shyness
vanished, and he could talk freely. Out upon the trails a vision of
her was ever before him, and he always counted the days until he could
see her again. So standing before her this afternoon in the hospital,
he feasted his soul upon her face, lips, eyes, and hair. He did not
want to talk; it was heaven enough to be near her, and to revel in
her beauty. Whatever Sergeant North did it was with his whole might.
He threw himself unreservedly into every undertaking. He was a hard
trailsman, a stern fighter, when fighting was necessary, and now for
the first time in his life he was a great lover.

Marion’s eyes dropped beneath North’s ardent gaze, and she became
somewhat embarrassed. Neither spoke, and for a few seconds intense
silence reigned. Then they both smiled and the tension was broken.

“Forgive me for keeping you standing,” Marion apologized. “It is very
stupid of me. Come in here,” and she opened a door on her right.

“I have not long to stay,” North explained, as he followed her into the
little sitting-room, and seated himself in a comfortable chair which
Marion offered. “There is very serious business ahead. You know to what
I refer.”

“You mean the murder near the C. D. Cut-Off, I suppose,” Marion replied
as she seated herself near the window. “I have heard of it.”

“And you had a visit from Hugo, the trapper, I understand.”

“Oh, yes. He brought a little child here one night.”

“Where is the child now?”

“With Mr. and Mrs. Parker. They have taken it as their own, and are
very fond of it.”

Sergeant North gazed thoughtfully out of the window for a few seconds.
He was really looking at the peak of the Golden Horn far away in the
distance, although he saw it not. His mind was upon more important
things.

“Are you certain that it was Hugo, the trapper, who brought that child
here?” he asked.

“No, I am not,” Marion emphatically replied, “but it is the general
opinion in Kynox that he is the man.”

“Did he wear his cap while he was in the hospital?”

“Yes, even when he was asleep on the kitchen floor.”

“Then it was Hugo, all right; I never saw him without his cap.”

“Why does he always wear it?”

“I do not know.”

Marion’s hands were clasped upon her lap, and although her eyes were
downcast she knew that the sergeant was looking intently upon her face.
The next instant he had reached out and caught both of her hands in
his. With a slight cry of surprise, Marion tried to free her hands, but
the sergeant held them firm.

“Don’t, don’t,” she gasped as she struggled to her feet. “You must not
do that; it isn’t right.”

“Love makes it right,” North replied, as he also rose. “Marion, I love
you, and I want you to know it. I am a man of few words, and not used
to love-making language. But I must tell you. I cannot restrain myself
any longer.”

He ceased, drew her to him, and his lips met hers. No longer did Marion
contend, for a happiness such as she had never known swept over her.
She felt North’s strong arms about her, holding her close. Neither
spoke. It was enough that they were together, so words were unnecessary.

Gently at length Marion freed herself from her lover’s embrace, and
stood before him with flaming cheeks.

“I never imagined that you loved me so much,” she murmured. “It seems
like a wonderful dream.”

“It is no dream,” North assured, “it is the glorious reality. I was
afraid that you didn’t love me, but I had to tell you to-day, for I
might not see you again for some time.”

“What! are you going away?”

“Yes, in a short time, just as soon as the dogs get rested a little.
There is serious work ahead, and I must not delay.”

“In connection with the murder?”

“Yes. Hugo is the man I want. He is either the murderer, or he has
information which I need. But he is a nasty man to face, and there may
be trouble.”

“Oh! do you think so?” The color faded somewhat from Marion’s cheeks.
She had to think of two now. How terrible it would be if her father and
her lover should meet in a deadly encounter! She longed to tell North
of the discovery she had made. If he knew that Hugo was her father,
would he let him escape for her sake? But how could she tell him? What
would he think of her for trying to divert him from the strict line of
duty which she understood he had always followed?

These thoughts flashed through her mind with lightning rapidity as
she stood there. North noted the troubled expression in her eyes, and
attributed it to her interest on his behalf.

“You must not worry about me,” he told her. “I am well able to take
care of myself.”

“But I am thinking about the trapper,” Marion truthfully explained. “I
do not believe that he is the murderer. Why should he have brought that
little child here if he had murdered its parents? Would he not have
killed it, too, and fled to the wilderness? Have you thought of that?”

“Indeed I have,” was the emphatic reply, “and it is that which puzzles
me. But Hugo is a strange character, and always does just the opposite
from what one would expect. He may have brought the child here in order
to deceive us.”

“But no one would have suspected him,” Marion insisted. “He could have
murdered the parents and child and thrown their bodies into the river.
What reason did he have for saving the child and bringing it here?
Would you have suspected him of the deed?”

“Not at first, perhaps, but eventually we would have suspected him. It
is utterly impossible for any man to escape in a country such as this.
So far, every criminal has been brought to justice, no matter to what
part of the world he fled. But, there, let us forget Hugo at present.
I shall have enough of him before long. It is of you alone I want to
think, Marion. Your love means more to me than anything else. And you
do love me, don’t you? The assurance from your lips will send me forth
upon my quest with renewed energy. I shall hasten the task, knowing
that the sooner it is accomplished, the sooner I shall return to you.”

The sergeant was about to reach out his arms once more to draw Marion
toward him, when a step along the hallway caused him to hesitate. He
retreated a couple of steps, and thus the two were standing facing each
other in a most formal manner as a nurse appeared at the door.

“Excuse me, Miss Brisbane,” she began, “but a man has just arrived from
Big Chance for the doctor. A miner has been seriously injured, and
needs medical aid.”

“Where is the man who brought the news?” Marion questioned, now all
attention.

“He has gone to look after his dogs,” was the reply. “I told him the
doctor was away, but that we are expecting him back soon. He asked if
one of the nurses could go, as the case is very urgent. He said that
he could not take his own dogs out again, as they are almost exhausted
with travelling day and night. I wonder what can be done.”

“I must get a team and go at once,” Marion emphatically declared. “I
have gone before, so can do it again. Tell Miss Wade to prepare my
outfit, as she knows what I shall need. I know where I can get a good
team of dogs, so shall look after that myself.”

When the nurse had gone, Marion turned to the sergeant. Her eyes shone
with animation and her face expressed determination.

“You will have to excuse me,” she simply said. “‘Duty first’ is the
law here as well as in the Force. I must get ready at once.”

“Suppose you travel with me,” North suggested. “I am bound for Big
Chance, and nothing on earth would please me better than to have you
along. I shall order Rolfe to have the dogs ready in an hour’s time.
They are a great team, and can make the trip faster than any dogs you
can get in Kynox. I am sure we shall enjoy the run together. Rolfe,
too, will be delighted to have a woman along. He will regale you with
poetry of which his head is full. He is an excellent fellow, for all
that, and as true as steel.”

“I think it will be splendid to go with you,” Marion emphatically
replied. “It will not take me long to get ready. As for poetry, Mr.
Rolfe can quote to his heart’s content. I shall enjoy it, I am sure.”

“But what about the important matter we were discussing when the nurse
arrived? I am hungry for your answer. You surely have it ready.”

“Oh, that’s to be continued, like they say about a story,” Marion
smilingly replied.

“On the trail?”

“Perhaps so.”

“And the conclusion?”

Marion paused as she was about to leave the room. Her thoughts flashed
to the murder, and her suspected father. The troubled expression
returned to her eyes as she turned them upon her lover’s face.

“The conclusion can only come after several more chapters have been
written,” she quietly replied. “All depends upon the nature of those
chapters. You must be patient and wait.”




CHAPTER 5

Face to Face


A leaden sky and a wind increasing in intensity presaged a coming
storm. It had been threatening since morning, and although Sergeant
North knew that he could not outstrip it, yet he hoped to reach Big
Chance before the trail became too heavy. The dogs were in fine
trim, better than he had ever seen them. They seemed to realize the
importance of the mission upon which they were bent, and the special
need for haste. They sped along the narrow, winding trail, through
forests, across inland lakes, up dreary stretches of wild meadows,
and over desolate tracts, where trees withered by fire stood stark
and bare. Pedro, a noble Malamute, long and lithe as a wolf, was the
leader. Five of his companions were full-blooded huskies, of the
Mackenzie River breed, surly and treacherous, but great workers. John,
the wheel-dog, was the only mongrel, lazy, but of enduring strength
and speed when forced by the stinging lash. For such a team of seven
able and hardened brutes the load they drew retarded them but little.
At times the sergeant, who guided the sled, and the constable, who
followed after, found it all they could do to keep pace with the fleet
animals.

Seated upon the sled, and well wrapped in robes and blankets, Marion
Brisbane thoroughly enjoyed the trip through the wilderness. Never
before had she been drawn by such a noble team of dogs, and she never
wearied watching them as they loped forward. Added to this, was the
presence of the man who had avowed his love the day before. Although
she could not see his face, she could feel his presence as he towered
above her at his watchful task of directing the sled. His right hand
held the whip, but only when the wheel-dog lagged would the lash split
the air like a pistol shot. There was little chance for conversation.
The lovers were happy, so words did not signify.

They had made good progress the previous afternoon, and had reached
the little road-house at the Forks, about twenty miles from Kynox,
several hours after dark. Here they had spent the night, and were up
and on their way early in the morning. From here to Big Chance the only
stopping-place was a police patrol-house. This was free to prospectors,
miners, and other travellers, with the distinct understanding that
no damage was to be done, and if they were forced to use any of the
provisions stored there they were to report it to the police as soon as
possible. This was a strict law, and it was always obeyed to the letter.

At first Sergeant North hoped to make Big Chance without stopping at
the patrol-house. He could not afford the delay if they were to reach
their destination that night. But when the storm came upon them just
after they had eaten their frugal meal in the shelter of a little clump
of trees, he was forced to give up the idea of gaining the mining camp
that night. They would do well to reach the patrol-house.

They were passing through a wooded region when the snow began to fall,
and it dropped gently and harmlessly upon their bodies. The flakes
were small, easily brushed aside, and in no wise interfered with their
progress. But the roaring of the wind overhead and the swaying of the
tree-tops told of the tempest that was raging outside.

“Suppose we camp here,” Rolfe suggested. “It’s a nasty storm, and we’ll
hit a bad trail ahead over the burnt land.”

“But we can make it, all right,” North replied. “We don’t want to spend
the afternoon and night here. We’re travelling light, remember, with
very little grub for ourselves, and none for the dogs. There’s plenty
at the patrol-house ahead, so we must make that. This storm may last
for a couple of days.”

Rolfe saw the wisdom of the sergeant’s words, and lapsed into silence
as he plodded steadily on. Ere long the trail led out of the woods into
the open on a small lake. Here the wind showed some of its force, and
swirled the light snow about their forms. But it was only after they
had passed through another grove of trees and reached the burnt land
did they feel the full sweep of the storm. Here thousands of rampikes
stood gaunt and naked. Among these the snow was driving like millions
of lances of the great unseen legions of the northland. The dogs
flinched and whined as the tempest struck them. Even North and Rolfe
were compelled to turn their faces from the stinging fury of the icy
darts, while Marion was forced to cover her head completely with the
fur rug.

“Can we make it?” Rolfe gaspingly asked. “This is terrible!”

“We must,” North replied. “We can’t stay here, and we can’t go back.
Get out the snow-shoes, for the trail’s already full.”

With the snow-shoes donned, North spoke to the crouching dogs. But
for the first time in their lives they refused to obey their master’s
command.

“Mush on,” the sergeant roared as the long lash snapped and sizzled
around their ears and flanks.

Howls of pain rent the air as the dogs struggled to their feet and
strained at the traces. With bent heads and lolling tongues they moved
slowly forward. It was Pedro who bore the main brunt of the storm, as
he nosed his way onward. At length the wheel-dog lagged, surged back
and dropped in his tracks. He refused to move, buried his nose in the
snow and seemed to pay no heed to the whining lash. There was no time
for delay, so he was unhitched, thrust rudely aside, and replaced by
the dog ahead. Then on again they pressed, the snow becoming deeper,
and the wind fiercer. Several times Marion begged to be allowed to
walk. But North only laughed, reminding her that she had no snow-shoes.

Even Pedro at length stopped, squatted in the snow, and turned
appealing eyes upon his master’s face.

“Played out, old boy?” North queried. “You’ve certainly done well.” He
then turned to the constable. “Take my place, Rolfe, I’m going to help
the dogs.”

From the front of the sled he procured a rope, both ends of which he
attached to Pedro’s harness. With the loop thus formed placed over his
shoulders he went ahead, broke down the trail, making it easier for the
team to follow. In this manner they were able to make better progress,
and they were just in sight of thick woods beyond when the huskies
dropped and refused to go a step farther. They, too, were cast adrift,
and the sergeant and Pedro, assisted now by the constable, tried to
draw the sled. They went but a short distance when they were forced to
give up in despair.

“It’s no use,” North panted, “we can’t make it. I guess you’ll have to
walk, after all, Marion, unless you have wings. Rolfe, you go ahead
and beat down the trail.”

Marion was only too glad to be on her feet. She was cold and
uncomfortable from her cramped position. The sergeant looked at her
in admiration as she smilingly threw aside the robes and stepped upon
the trail. The parka she was wearing could not conceal her sparkling
eyes, animated face, and several tresses of dark-brown hair waving
over cheeks and forehead. How he longed to pick her up in his arms and
carry her to the house. He knew that he could do it, for she seemed so
fragile as she stood there buffeted by the storm. Marion noticed his
look, and surmised its meaning.

“I am quite able to walk,” she said. “You have no idea how strong I am.”

“I know you are, and, in a way, I am sorry. I would really like to
carry you. I dare you to let me.”

“Nonsense,” Marion chided. “I am going to show you what I can do.”

“Very well, then,” the sergeant sighed, “follow on my heels, as
Shakespeare says, and we shall soon reach the woods.”

The trail thus beaten down by two pairs of snow-shoes was not hard to
follow, and in a short time the heavy timber was reached. Here the
wind could not touch them, and they both breathed more freely as they
stopped to rest.

“The patrol-house is only a few rods ahead,” North explained, “so we
should be able to make it now without much trouble. Are you tired?”

“Not much,” was the reply. “You won’t have to carry me, after all, will
you?”

“I am afraid not. But, hello! here’s Rolfe back again.”

“I beat the way almost to the house,” the constable explained, “so I’m
going after the dogs. I expect to have trouble.”

“Do the best you can,” North replied, “and I shall hurry back to help
you.”

It did not take the sergeant and Marion long to come in sight of the
patrol-house. It was a small building, situated a few yards from the
trail. As they approached, they could see smoke issuing from the stove
pipe stuck up through the roof.

“Somebody’s ahead of us, I see,” North remarked. “The place will be
warm at any rate.”

In another minute they were at the door, which the sergeant at once
unlatched and pushed open. They were accosted by the growl of a dog,
but Marion paid little attention to the animal, for her eyes were fixed
at once upon the man standing in the middle of the room. She knew
him at once, and her heart almost stopped its beating. The sergeant,
however, stepped forward as one who had a right to the place. If he
recognized Hugo, the trapper, he gave no sign.

“Bad storm,” he remarked. “I’m glad you’ve got a good fire. I hope you
won’t mind visitors.”

“Make yourself at home,” Hugo replied, mistaking him for a miner or a
prospector. “All are welcome here.”

The sergeant then turned to Marion and noted how she was staring at the
trapper.

“You stay here,” he said, “while I go and give a hand with the dogs. I
won’t be any longer than I can help.”

Turning, he passed out into the storm, and Marion was left alone with
her father. He was watching her somewhat curiously, his cap pulled well
down over his ears. The light from the little window in the south side
of the building made it possible for her to see him quite plainly. What
should she say? Did he have any idea who she was? Should she warn him
of his danger? Would that be fair to North? And yet he was her father,
even though he had deserted her and her mother for so long.

And while she thus stood in doubt there came into her mind his loving
care when she was but a child. How he had played with her, fondled her,
and she had always looked forward to his coming home at night. It all
rushed upon her now in a moment. Forgotten was everything else. What
would her mother say if she did not stand by him in his time of need?

And all the while Hugo was watching her. What was there in her face
that caused that peculiar expression to appear in his eyes? Why did he
at length step quickly forward and lay his right hand upon her arm?

“Take off your hood,” he ordered in a voice filled with emotion.

As Marion at once obeyed, he looked upon her tossed hair, and again
studied her face most intently. He seemed like a man trying to recall
something which he had long since forgotten. Marion noted this and her
heart beat wildly. The pathetic expression upon his face moved her
deeply. She could endure the strain no longer. Hugo had turned away,
and was about to go over to the little stove.

“Father! Father!” she cried, “don’t you know me? I am Marion, your own
daughter.”

With a roar the trapper wheeled and again faced the girl. The doubt was
now gone from his face, and in its stead there was an expression of
bewildered joy.

“You my daughter?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “You Marion Brisbane?”

“Yes, I am,” was the faint response. “Didn’t you know me?”

Hugo’s only reply was to reach out and gather her in his great arms.
The tension of long years was broken. The man of iron, the terror of
interferers, and the enigma of the trails was at last subdued. His head
rested upon his daughter’s shoulder, while great sobs shook his mighty
frame. At length he stepped back and held her at arm’s length.

“Yes, I can see your mother’s looks,” he mused as if to himself. “I
thought I couldn’t be mistaken. Tell me, is she alive?”

“No, she has been dead for some time.”

“Ah!” Hugo’s hands dropped, and he stood staring off into space. The
past was sweeping upon him like a flood, and overwhelming him. He
turned and sat down heavily upon a rough block of wood which served as
a seat. With back bowed and head bent he remained very still. Marion
went to his side and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

“But you have me, father,” she began. “I have been searching for you a
long time.”

“You have!” Hugo looked at her in surprise. “How did you know me?”

“By your white lock.”

“When did you see that?”

“At the hospital when you were asleep on the kitchen floor.”

“But my cap was on.”

“I know it was. But I crept in and lifted it.”

“So you followed me here?”

“Oh, no. I had no idea where you had gone. I am on my way to Big Chance
to attend an injured miner. The storm caused us to take refuge here.”

“Who is travelling with you?”

“Sergeant North, and----”

Before Marion could finish, Hugo was on his feet. The old expression
of hate and fear had returned to his eyes, and in an instant he was
completely transformed. With a bound he was across the room. In another
instant he had seized his snow-shoes, rifle, and a bundle lying upon
the floor. Then with a swift glance toward his daughter, he rushed to
the door, tore it open, called to his dog, and plunged out into the
storm.

All this happened so quickly that Marion was amazed and dumbfounded.
But when her father had left she hurried to the door and looked out.
But no sign of him could she see. He had vanished in the forest and the
storm. A terrible dread now swept upon her. Only one meaning could she
take from her father’s peculiar action. He must be fleeing from the
Police! But why unless he had committed some crime? She thought of the
murder near the C. D. Cut-Off. Did her father commit that?

Forgotten was the storm as she stood in the doorway, staring out among
the trees. She thought nothing of the cold, neither did she notice the
sergeant until he was but a few yards away.

“Marion! Marion! what is the matter?” he asked in astonishment,
noticing the strained look upon her face. “Has anything happened?”

Marion gave a nervous laugh as she stepped back into the room, closely
followed by the sergeant.

“I am lonely, that’s all,” she evaded. “The man you left with me has
gone.”

“H’m that’s good,” North replied. “He didn’t like a woman around, I
suppose. One comes across queer characters up here. Some of them have
lived so long alone that they hardly know how to behave in the presence
of a female. But, there, we need not worry about that fellow. If he
doesn’t like your company, there’s someone else who does.” Stooping, he
kissed her upon the lips. “There, little girl, you know who likes your
company, so you needn’t be lonely any more.”

Just then Rolfe was heard outside shouting to the dogs. Marion started
and drew back, her face flushed a deep crimson.

“Does he know?” she whispered.

“Who? Rolfe?”

“Yes.”

“Sure. Do you think I could keep the good news from him?”




CHAPTER 6

Zell


In a rude log shack in the little mining camp of Big Chance a young man
lay on a rough bunk. By his side sat Marion Brisbane. She had done all
in her power on his behalf, but she was fully aware that greater skill
than she possessed was needed. Only a doctor could probe for the bullet
which was lodged in his side. She felt her own helplessness as she sat
there with the still form so near.

Marion had several things to worry her this night. She thought of
the journey from the patrol-house to the mining camp. She knew that
Sergeant North loved her with all the intensity of his strong nature.
And she loved him. But was she true to him? She had not told him that
the man who had fled from the patrol-house out into the storm was Hugo,
the trapper, and her father. He would find it out some day, and what
would he then think of her? Should she have told him? she asked herself
over and over again. But it was too late now. He had been gone from Big
Chance for over an hour, and who could tell what might happen ere his
return? Perhaps he would never come back. He had gone in search of a
man who would not lightly be captured. And in the struggle which she
felt sure would ensue what terrible things might happen. Her father
would fight to the last, she was certain, and so would John North. He
had never been known to turn from the face of man, so she had heard,
and so far he had never come back from a quest empty-handed.

And while she sat and meditated, the door was pushed gently open and
a girl entered. She came at once over to the bunk, stooped and looked
earnestly upon the unconscious man. She then dropped upon her knees
by his side, took his left hand in hers and pressed it to her lips.
Not a word did she utter, and seemed to pay no heed to the nurse.
But Marion did not need any explanation. She understood the meaning
of the girl’s action, and her heart went out to her in sympathy. She
believed that the two were lovers, and that because of their love a
tragedy had been enacted there in that little mining camp. The girl
impressed her by her remarkable beauty and strange abandon. Her clothes
were of the roughest, but so graceful was her form, that they fitted
her perfectly. Her hair, black as a raven’s wing, fell in two long
braids to her waist. The color of her face betrayed Indian blood in her
veins, causing Marion to surmise that she was a half-breed. She had met
several before, but none as graceful and charming as the one before
her. She longed to know her history, and the story of her love for the
white man upon the bunk.

At length the girl raised her head and looked up at the nurse.

“Will he get better?” she asked in a voice with a pronounced English
accent.

“Let us hope so,” Marion replied. “But he needs a doctor at once. He is
the only one who can do anything for him now.”

“When will he be here?”

“I cannot tell. But I left word for him to come as soon as possible.
He was away from Kynox when I left.”

“And you can do nothing for him?” the girl asked.

“Nothing, I am sorry to say.”

“Then he must have the missionary. He will come, I know.”

“The missionary? Where is he?”

“At ‘The Gap.’ I shall go for him. He will come for me. He is a good
doctor, and he will pray and make him well.”

The girl rose to her feet as if to hurry away. But Marion caught her by
the arm and told her to sit down.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Zell.”

“What else? What is your father’s name?”

“Sam Rixton, but people always call him ‘Sam, the Siwash.’ My mother is
an Indian. Her name is Susie.”

“And have you lived here all your life?”

“Oh, no. I was put in the Mission school at The Gap when very young,
and left only a year ago.”

“So that is where you learned to speak English so well, I suppose.”

“Yes, the missionary and his wife were good to me. I guess they thought
more of me than of all the others. They wanted to keep me and take me
back to England. They came from there, you see.”

“But you preferred to stay here?”

“I wanted to go until I met Tim,” was the low reply. “After that
nothing could drag me away from the North. Oh, we were so happy until
that trouble came.” The girl gave a deep sigh as she looked longingly
upon the face of the man before her.

“Where did you first meet him?” Marion asked.

“At The Gap. I was at school then and met Tim when he was prospecting
in the hills. He used to come to church every Sunday, and I saw him as
we all marched in and out. Then for a time we managed to get letters to
each other, and one night after all had gone to bed I slipped out of
the house and met Tim by a big tree. He told me how much he loved me,
and asked me to leave school and go back to my father and mother so he
could see me often.”

The girl paused and a troubled expression overspread her face. Then
with tear-dimmed eyes she turned impulsively to the nurse.

“That was the beginning of all my trouble,” she confessed. “I was
found out and ordered not to meet Tim again. The missionary and his
wife talked to me. They did not scold me, but said if I would not obey
I would have to leave the school. I promised that I would be good.
But, oh, Miss, as the weeks went by I did so long to see Tim just
once again. I couldn’t live without him. I met him again by the tree,
and--and,” her voice was very low now, “I was sent from the school in
disgrace, and came to my parents.”

“Have you seen the missionary and his wife since?” Marion asked.

“No. Mrs. Norris died not long after I left. I did want to go to
her funeral, but it was a long way, and I was afraid to meet the
missionary. I believe she died because I left, for she thought so much
of me. I couldn’t bear the thought of the missionary seeing me. I knew
he wouldn’t scold, for he never did that, but he would look at me with
those wonderful eyes of his, and, oh, Miss, if you could see them you
would know just what I mean.”

“Is the missionary still living at The Gap?”

“Yes, he is there, but he has no school now. Nearly all of the Indians
have deserted him. Bad white men did it. They took in rum, made fun of
the missionary and his school, and got the Indians to leave the place.
They are all scattered now, some here, and some in other camps, always
hanging around for rum. They will do anything for hootch, and the women
are just as bad as the men.”

“Why does the missionary stay at The Gap when the Indians have gone?”
Marion enquired.

“He is waiting for them to come back, so I have been told. He prays and
prays for them. He has service in the church every night, and most of
the time he is the only one there. But he rings the little bell just as
he used to do, and then goes on with the service.”

“He must be a good man,” Marion remarked.

“Oh, he is very good. But he is getting old and feeble now, so maybe he
won’t be there much longer. But if he were only here I am sure he would
help Tim. His prayers, I guess, would do more for him than anything
else.”

“You haven’t forgotten what you learned at the school, I see. You still
believe in prayers, even though you have gone astray.”

“I haven’t gone astray in the way you mean,” the girl declared as she
gave her head a slight toss. “I was sent from the school, I know, but
I have done nothing really wrong. I always remember what I was taught,
and say my prayers night and morning. Tim is a good man and he always
told me to do what was right.”

“But he was willing for you to disobey orders, and get dismissed from
the school,” Marion reminded.

“Oh, that was different, Miss. You see, we loved each other so much
that we couldn’t bear to be kept apart. Nothing must stand in the way
of love, so Tim said.”

Marion was tempted to smile at the simplicity and candor of the girl.
To her, whatever Tim said was right. She longed to know more about the
young man who had won the heart of this beautiful half-breed.

“Were you and Tim planning to get married soon?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. He said he was going to take me outside next summer, and we
would then be married. But now this trouble has come, and Tim may die.”

“How did it happen, Zell? You don’t mind telling me, do you?”

“I don’t mind, Miss. But I am afraid all the time. Bill did that to
Tim, and he might do worse to me. He is a bad, bad man.”

“Who is Bill?”

“The man who shot Tim. He hates him because he wants me. Oh, I am
afraid of him! He follows me around. He is called ‘Bill, the Slugger’
because he hits so hard.”

“So he wants to marry you, does he?” Marion queried, for the first time
beginning to understand a little of the situation.

“Yes, he does. But I hate him, and have told him so over and over
again. I slapped him in the face once, and he swore awful, called me a
‘she-devil,’ and said that he would pay me back. And that is the way he
has done it.” She motioned to the man on the bunk. “I am afraid to go
home, for I know Bill will be waiting for me.”

“But how did he come to shoot Tim?” Marion asked. “Was it for revenge?”

The girl looked anxiously toward the door and then at the nurse.

“Bend your head so I can whisper in your ear,” she ordered. “There,
that’s better. I don’t want anybody to hear. Bill might be listening at
the door. It was partly for revenge and partly for fear that he shot
Tim.”

“Fear of what?”

“He was afraid that Tim knew too much, so he wanted to get him out of
the way. Bill picked a quarrel with him, so Tim got mad and hit him.
Oh, I found out all about it.”

“But what was it about which Tim knew too much?” Marion questioned.

“Can’t you guess?” the girl asked. “I don’t like to tell you because I
am afraid even to speak of it.”

“I have no idea what it can be,” Marion replied. “You see, I know very
little about what goes on here.”

“But it wasn’t here, Miss, that it happened. It was far away, near the
C. D. Cut-Off.”

“Oh!” It was all that Marion said, for a new light was beginning to
dawn upon her mind. The C. D. Cut-Off! It was near there that the
terrible murder had been committed, of which her father was suspected.
Was it possible that this girl knew something about that affair? It did
seem likely, and the thought filled her with a new hope. “Was it Bill
who did that?” she asked in a very low voice.

Zell started, and again glanced toward the door.

“I didn’t say that, Miss,” she whispered in reply. “I don’t dare to. He
would kill me if I did.”

“You needn’t be afraid,” Marion soothed. “The Police will not let any
one harm you. Sergeant North must know about this.”

At these words the girl sprang to her feet, her eyes dilated with fear.
She was trembling violently, and unconsciously she stooped and caught
the nurse’s hands in hers.

“Don’t, don’t tell him!” she begged. “Bill will know who told, and he
will kill me. I’m not afraid to die, but I want to live a while longer
to help Tim. I must go for the missionary. I shall go just as soon as
Bill leaves Big Chance.”

“Where is Bill going?” Marion asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but I think he is planning to go outside. Just
after the Police left, he began to get ready for a trip. He was packing
up when I came here. He has been almost frightened out of his wits ever
since the Police came.”

“How do you know all this, Zell?”

“Oh, I have ways of finding out. I have kept my eyes on Bill ever since
he shot Tim. He didn’t know I was watching him.”

“So you think he is going to leave this country?”

“I am sure of it.”

“How will he go?”

“By way of The Gap and across the mountains.”

“But the Police have gone in that direction,” Marion reminded. “Why
should he go where they are?”

“Bill has a reason,” was the low reply.

“What reason?”

“Can’t you guess? A bad man will stop at nothing.”

“But the Police can stop him.”

“Can they? You don’t know Bill, I guess. He’s a devil.”

“But he is afraid of the Police, so you say.”

“That is so. He is so afraid that he hates them. The missionary used
to tell us what the Bible said about the devil going around like a
roaring lion seeking whom he may devour; that he hates good people, and
tries to harm them. So that is the way with Bill. He has tried over and
over again to harm me, but I was too sharp for him. Look what he did to
Tim. And he will try to hurt the Police.”

“What! Sergeant North?” Marion had a new interest now in Bill, the
Slugger. “Will he dare to do anything to a member of the Force?”

Zell was quick to detect the note of anxiety in Marion’s voice, and at
once she suspected something. It drew her closer to the beautiful white
woman.

“Do you love Sergeant North?” she frankly asked.

Marion started and flushed at the unexpected question. But so sincere
was the girl, that she decided to throw aside all reserve and pretense.

“Yes, I love him,” she candidly acknowledged.

“Ah, that’s good. And does he love you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, Miss, you can understand how I feel about Tim. You
wouldn’t want that to happen to the one you love, would you?”

“No! No!” Marion fervently declared. “It would be terrible!”

“It would, so you and I must see that it doesn’t happen.”

“How can we do that?”

“Go with me to The Gap and warn the Sergeant. If we cannot overtake
him, we can go to the Police house which is not far from the school.
The Sergeant will be sure to stop there.”

“But what about Tim?” Marion asked. “We can’t leave him here alone
until the doctor comes.”

“My mother will stay, Miss. She is a good woman, and can do more than
I can. My father has a fine team of dogs which I know he will let me
have. He will do anything for me when he knows that I am doing what is
right. He likes Tim, and he will be glad to have the missionary come
and pray for him. Will you go?”

“When?”

“To-night, before Bill starts. We must get ahead of him.”

For a few minutes Marion sat lost in deep thought. At length she arose,
and seized the girl’s hands in hers.

“Yes, I shall go,” she firmly said. “I trust you, Zell, to lead the
way, and may God help us both.”




CHAPTER 7

Terrors of the Night


It was upon the impulse of the moment that Marion had agreed to go
to The Gap with the half-breed girl. Half an hour later she almost
repented of her hasty decision. She knew very little about Zell, and
she wondered whether she could trust to her guidance. This feeling of
doubt, however, vanished as they pulled out from Big Chance on the
first lap of their long run. It was near midnight, and the full moon
was just rounding the massive northeast shoulder of the Golden Horn.
The little mining camp was shrouded in deep shadow. Silence reigned
in each log cabin, and not a living creature was to be seen. Zell’s
father, Siwash Sam, had made speedy preparations for the trip, and had
given his daughter implicit directions, telling her which trail to
follow to shorten the journey by several miles; to be on the lookout
for storms on the mountain; and to be careful when rounding the rocky
spur of the high ridge leading to The Gap.

“Do you think that Zell can manage, all right?” Marion asked as she
took her place upon the little toboggan.

“Sure,” Sam replied. “Zell kin handle them dogs better than anyone
else. She’s a holy terror when she hits the trail. Ye needn’t have any
fear about her, Miss. Mebbe you’ll be as good as she is before ye git
back.”

It did not take Marion long to find how true were the man’s words. No
sooner were they beyond the limits of Big Chance than Zell’s entire
nature seemed to change. No longer was she the quiet, timid girl
she had known in the cabin watching by Tim’s side. Instead, she was
transformed into a strong, confident guide, resourceful, alert, and
full of abounding energy. The spirit of the wild seemed to possess her.
She raced behind the toboggan, urging on the dogs, her whip cracking at
times like pistol shots.

For miles the trail led through a sparsely wooded region where the
trees cast long sombre shadows upon the light snow. The dogs settled
into a steady jog where the ground was level, but raced like the wind
down every hill. Then Zell would jump upon the tail of the toboggan and
whoop aloud with glee to the speeding animals. They seemed to imbibe
much of the enthusiasm of their young mistress, and upon reaching
the valley below they would glance quickly around as if for a word
of approval, which was never lacking. They were four noble brutes,
huskies, of the Mackenzie River breed, accustomed to great hardships,
and possessed of marvellous endurance. Savage they were to all except
their owners. To Zell they were harmless. They obeyed her slightest
wish, and she could handle them even when her father and mother failed.
A word or a lifted hand from her had more effect than a shower of blows.

Marion had plenty of time to think as she sat upon the toboggan,
comfortably wrapped in a big wolf-skin robe. She was glad now that
she had undertaken the journey. There was much at stake, she was well
aware, and she often wondered how it would all end. What she should
do upon reaching The Gap, she had no idea. But somewhere beyond was
her father, fleeing from place to place, with that expression of a
hunted creature in his grey eyes. She had seen it for a few seconds as
he bounded from the cabin that night into the heart of the storm. She
had thought about it much since, and it had puzzled her. And following
her father was John North, the man who had avowed his love for her.
Would they meet somewhere in that desolate wilderness? What would be
the outcome? And then there was Bill, the Slugger. Had he already
started forth upon his diabolical quest? Perhaps he would creep upon
the sergeant and the constable asleep around their camp-fire at night.
The thought was terrible. Such a thing had taken place before, she well
knew, and it might happen again. In vain she racked her brain in an
effort to devise some plan to avert a tragedy, and perhaps two.

For several hours they continued on their way, and at last when the
summit of an extra heavy hill had been reached, Zell called a halt.
The dogs were glad to stop, so flopping down upon the trail they
began to clear particles of snow and ice from their feet with their
teeth. Nearby was a clump of fir trees, several of which were dead and
afforded excellent fuel. It did not take Zell long to prepare a fire,
over which she placed a kettle filled with snow. While this latter was
melting, she unpacked her supply of provisions and laid them out near
the fire. Marion, standing watching, was pleased at the girl’s deftness
and neatness. She knew exactly what to do, and when the meal was ready,
she served the simple repast with an admirable grace.

“I suppose you were taught to cook at the mission school,” Marion
remarked, helping herself to a piece of moose steak which Zell had
just fried. “You certainly learned your lessons well.”

The girl smiled, while an expression of pleasure shone in her eyes.

“Mrs. Norris always taught us,” she explained. “We took turns cooking
at the school. I won several prizes for baking bread, and making cake.
Tim was very fond of my cooking.”

“You were able to teach your mother many things, I suppose, when you
went back home?”

“Not much. My mother, you see, was from the Coast, and the women there
are good cooks. She was a Chilcat Indian, and her mother taught her.
I have heard my father say that he married her because she was such a
good cook. I guess, though, he was just in fun.”

“Does the missionary at The Gap do his own cooking now?” Marion asked.

“I suppose he does, Miss. But I don’t believe he eats much, anyway.
He didn’t when we were at the school, as he was always thinking and
writing so much. And now that he is alone maybe he eats less, for he
must be working a great deal.”

“What does he write about?”

“He makes books for the Indians. He writes hymns, prayers, and the
Bible in their own language. He has taught many of them to read.”

“Do the Indians use the books?”

“Oh, yes. They carry them with them to their hunting-grounds, and sing
the hymns around their campfires at night.”

“But you told me that the Indians have left the mission.”

“In a way they have, but they like to read the Bible and sing the
hymns when out in the hills. I was with my father and mother last
winter when we came to a band of Indians a long way off. That night
they sang, men, women, and children. It was great to hear them.”

“Does the missionary know of this?”

“I believe he does, and it makes him hope that they have not forgotten
what he has taught them, and that some day they will go back to The
Gap.”

For a while they thus sat and talked, Marion asking many questions, to
which the girl readily replied. They were about to resume their journey
when Zell gave a slight start, and looked anxiously back over the
trail. She listened intently, her body tense and alert.

“What is it?” Marion somewhat anxiously asked.

“I thought I heard a noise, Miss. It sounded like the crack of a
driver’s whip or a rifle shot. But I guess I was mistaken. One can hear
a long way up here in the hills when the air is so clear.”

“Perhaps there is someone on the trail behind us,” Marion suggested.
“Indians travel this way, do they not?”

“Yes, this is one of their favorite trails. But there are no Indians
coming from Big Chance to-day.”

Nothing more was said about the matter as they continued on their way.
But Marion noticed that Zell was more quiet, and indulged in no loud
cracking of the whip. Whenever they had reached the top of a hill or
had crossed an inland lake, or a stretch of wild meadow, she noticed
that the girl would stop, and look keenly back over the way they had
just come. This happened so often that she became uneasy. The intense
silence of the land was affecting her, causing her to become nervous.
A feeling of impending calamity stole into her soul, which try as she
might she could not banish. It was with her all through the short
winter day. She tried to throw it off by running with Zell behind the
sled. This helped some, but the feeling still remained.

It was a bright day, and the dogs made excellent progress. They loped
forward, anxious for camping time when they would receive their food.
Marion was fascinated with the scenery of the country. Off in the
distance rose great snow-enshrouded mountains, aglow with the light of
the sun. Above, towered the dazzling peak of the Golden Horn, which
seemed so near, yet she knew it was leagues away. At times the trail
led along the side of the mountain where they could look down upon the
pointed tops of the trees in the valley below, resembling countless
spears poised heavenward.

Only once did they halt to rest, eat a frugal meal, and then on and
up again. Marion was becoming weary, although Zell seemed as fresh as
ever. Slowly the sun sank westward, and at length disappeared below
a far-off peak. Ere long darkness stole over the land, and night
approached with rapid strides. Soon it would be camping time, and Zell
was watching for a good place to pass the night when a sound fell upon
their ears, which caused Marion to give a gasp of fright, and turn
impulsively to her companion.

“What is that?” she asked, her body trembling.

“A wolf,” was the quiet reply. “We must make camp at once, and build a
big fire. Ah, here is a good place with plenty of wood.”

In a few minutes the dogs were unharnessed, the fire built, and the
blazing flames leaping high into the air.

From time to time came that long-drawn, blood-curdling howl, the cry
of the leader to the pack. It seemed nearer now, and Marion shuddered
with apprehension. Even Zell’s face expressed her concern. From a
pocket in her dress she brought forth a revolver, and examined it
carefully. Marion had no idea that the girl carried such a weapon, and
it surprised her.

“Do you often have use for that?” she asked.

“It is handy sometimes,” was the reply. “One never knows what might
happen. There are two-legged wolves in this country, and I fear them
more than I do the four-legged ones. A girl has to protect herself, you
know.”

Marion was beginning to realize something of the undercurrent of life
in the North. Hitherto, she had known only the surface. There were
deeps which she had not sounded, but of which her companion seemed
fully aware. She said nothing, however, but assisted in building the
little lean-to which would be their abode for the night. When this had
been erected, fir boughs laid down, and the blankets and the wolf-skin
robe laid out, she was glad to rest. No longer did the howl of the
wolves sound upon their ears. The fire was bright, and the snug abode
comfortable.

After they had eaten their supper and the dogs were fed, they wrapped
themselves up for the night. Both were tired, so it was not long before
they were sound asleep. The dogs curled themselves up near the fire and
enjoyed the genial heat. Silence reigned, save for the crackling of
the burning sticks, or the occasional snapping of a frost-stung tree.
The night was cold, although not a breath of wind stirred the trees.
The great vault of heaven was thickly studded with stars, for the moon
had not risen to pale their glory. The Northern Lights sent out their
wavering streamers as they marched and countermarched in silent,
mysterious battalions.

And while the tired ones slept, gaunt, hairy forms, with fiery lolling
tongues, and blazing eyes, loped along the upper ridge, and approached
the camp. The wolves were hungry, for food was scarce. Only in an
extreme emergency did these somewhat cowardly creatures venture near
human abodes. It was the dogs which attracted them now. They were in
desperate straits, as no deer, moose, or any living thing had crossed
their path for days. Only when starving would they unite, for strength
and safety lay in numbers. There were but twelve of them thus banded
together, but mad with hunger, they were a pack to be dreaded.

The dogs scented them, and their savage growls and whines of fear
aroused the sleeping women. Zell was first awake, and in an instant
realized what was the matter. The fire was burning low, so seizing
several dry sticks she threw them upon the hot coals. In another minute
Marion was on her feet, looking fearfully to the right among the trees
where the wolves were gathered. As the fire increased in strength,
and the bright flames illumined the camping grounds for several rods
around, she was enabled to detect dim, slinking forms not far away.

“Will they attack us?” she asked, laying a nervous hand upon Zell’s arm.

“Not likely now,” was the reply. “They are after the dogs, but this
fire will keep them back. Look at that big, bold brute there,” and she
pointed to a large wolf which had ventured threateningly near. “I’m
going to try a shot at him.”

Drawing forth her revolver, she took a quick steady aim, and fired. A
yell of pain split the night, as the brute leaped into the air, and
vanished into the darkness.

“I hit him,” Zell exulted, while a smile wreathed her face. “I wish I
had my rifle, then I could easily settle the whole pack.”

“Do you suppose you killed him?” Marion asked.

“Oh, no, he was too far away. If I had killed him, the rest of the
wolves would be eating him up by now. I must not waste any more
cartridges upon them at that distance, as I shall need them if they
come too close.”

For some time, which seemed to Marion very long, they watched and
waited for the next move on the part of the lurking brutes. The dogs
huddled together close to the little lean-to, either whining with
fear, or growling with anger. Their implacable enemies were just
beyond that fire-lit circle, and they knew only too well the object
of their visit. The dogs were ever ready and willing to fight with
one another, for there was always a chance to win. But against those
gaunt, savage, and famine-stricken fiends of the wilderness they would
be helpless. Whenever the wolves approached nearer, they shrank closer
to the women for protection. Bolder now became the enemy, and although
Zell fired two more shots into their midst, it only deterred them
for a few minutes. They circled the encampment several times, always
drawing nearer, especially back of the lean-to. The situation was
becoming critical, for at any minute they might hurl themselves upon
the helpless ones crouching near the fire. Zell kept her revolver in
readiness, although she was well aware how little she could do should a
rush ensue.




CHAPTER 8

Hugo to the Rescue


Hugo, the trapper, was late, and he was speeding along with great
swinging strides. He was alone, for he had left his dog fastened in his
little cabin up on the mountain side. He had a reason for this, as his
mission that day had been of extreme importance, and complete silence
had to be maintained. He was in no enviable frame of mind as he strode
through the night, and any enemy, whether man or beast, attempting to
interfere with him would have found in him a desperate opponent. He had
been watching another trail that day and what he had seen filled his
heart with a burning rage, mingled with a nameless fear. He felt as
he did that night when he had bounded from the cabin into the storm.
Notwithstanding his strength and astuteness, he always shrank from the
Police, considering them his bitterest enemies. So that day as he had
watched forms speeding along behind their dogs, he knew who they were,
and surmised the mission upon which they were bent.

He had swung up from the valley and was about to cross the trail, known
as the “Cut-Off,” between Big Chance and The Gap, when a shot arrested
his attention, causing him to stop abruptly. The report came from
the left, and keenly he peered in that direction. Seeing and hearing
nothing more, he moved cautiously forward. Not a sound did he make as
he glided among the trees, keeping a short distance from the trail
above. Ere long he again stopped, for a glimmer of light fell upon
his eyes. Then he heard the snarling of dogs, and at once realised
that trouble of some kind was just ahead. Slowly advancing, the light
became brighter, and a few more steps showed him the women crouching
near the lean-to with the dogs huddled at their feet. In an instant he
grasped the meaning of the situation. His rifle, already in his hands,
he gripped more firmly, and waited. He could not see the wolves but he
knew that they were there. When, however, Zell fired the second and the
third shots, he caught a glimpse of the brutes as they fell back with
yelps and angry snarls.

Who the women were Hugo could not tell, not being able to see their
faces, which were partly hidden by the lean-to. He surmised, however,
that they were Indians, and he wondered what had become of the men.
Noticing that the wolves were becoming bolder, and evidently preparing
for an attack, he moved a little nearer, stepping somewhat to the right
for a better sight. As he did so he gave a start, for at once Marion’s
face was exposed to view. In an instant he recognized her, and the form
of his countenance changed. The defiant light faded from his eyes and
was replaced by an expression of deep concern. For a few seconds he
stood there as still as the trees around him. What he saw stirred his
inmost depths, and brought back memories of other days. She was his own
child, yet he must not go to her. All he could do was to protect her
from those brutes of the forest.

He was aroused by a cry of fear. Glancing to the right he saw a great
wolf advancing within the ring of light, flanked to the right and left
by the rest of the pack. Zell fired another shot, but missed. The
leader drew back with a savage snarl, and was about to spring forward
when Hugo brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired. With a wild
yell the wolf leaped into the air, and dropped upon the ground. Taken
aback, his followers hesitated and one by one they fell before the
unerring shots of the unseen marksman. Not until five had fallen did
the rest retreat, and then slowly and wrathfully they drew away among
the darkness of the forest. But Hugo’s blood was now up and he feared
the wolves as if they were so many kittens. He stepped quickly toward
them, refilling the magazine of his rifle as he did so. He could see
their slinking forms now, and again into their midst he poured messages
of death. Yells of pain and baffled rage followed each shot. The few
remaining wolves faced the trapper, but ere they could spring, they,
too, were rolling in the snow. It was a veritable carnage of death from
which only one brute escaped by leaping aside and dashing off pell-mell
among the trees.

When the fight was over, a grim smile overspread Hugo’s face. Then he
turned toward the surprised and staring women.

He was upon the point of stepping forward and calming their fears by
telling them that the danger was past. He changed his mind, however,
drew back a few paces among the trees, and stood with his eyes fixed
intently upon Marion’s face. A great longing was tugging at his heart
such as he had not known for years. He recalled the days he had played
with her in his old happy home. She had changed since then, but she was
his child. How often he had thought of her during his wanderings and
long lonely night vigils. In fact, she had been seldom out of his mind.
His affection for her had saved him from developing into a brute,
causing him to perform numerous deeds of humanity, the surprise of
many people. So standing there, hidden by the trees and the night, he
feasted his eyes upon her face. After a while he turned away, reached
the trail, and sped rapidly along in the direction of The Gap. At
length he turned aside, plunged through a heavy thicket of firs and
jack-pines, crossed a narrow strip of wild meadow, and climbed a steep
hill until he came to a small cabin tucked away amidst the trees. He
opened the door and entered. He then lighted a couple of candles,
and built a fire in the little sheet-iron camping-stove. The dog was
most profuse in its welcome, leaping upon him, and giving expression
to yelps of delight. Hugo fondled the animal, his eyes beaming with
pleasure.

“Good old Pedro,” he said. “You missed me, eh? And I missed you. But
strange things are afoot these days, old boy, so we must be careful.”

When supper was over and the dog fed, Hugo lighted his pipe, stretched
himself upon the bunk near the fire, and gave himself up to anxious
thought. He reviewed the events of the day, especially his recent
encounter with the wolves. What were the women doing there? he asked
himself over and over again. And where were they going? What could
bring Marion so far into the wilderness? It must be of more than
ordinary importance, for he had never known a white woman to venture
such a distance from Kynox, especially in the dead of winter. The more
he thought about it, the more disturbed he became. Had it been any
other woman it would not have mattered so much to him. But she was his
own daughter, and his heart was deeply stirred.

For over an hour Hugo lay there wrapt in thought. He then rose to his
feet and paced up and down the small room. Several times he went to
the door and looked out in the direction where the women were camped.
An uneasy feeling was tugging at his heart which he could not banish.
He called himself a fool, blew out the candles, and threw himself down
again upon the bunk. But he could not sleep. His thoughts were ever
down the trail as he pictured those two women alone in the night.
Perhaps more wolves had returned, for he knew that several packs were
on the move of late. And if not wolves, there were creatures more to
be feared where helpless women were concerned. It was most unlikely
that men would be prowling around, he reasoned. But who could tell? The
absence of those women must surely be known at Big Chance, and there
were men there capable of any deed of villainy.

At length he sprang to his feet, pulled on his heavy outer jacket
and cap, seized his snow-shoes, and ordering the dog to stay behind,
he left the cabin, and hurried down the trail. It took him but a
few minutes to come near the camping-ground, where he moved most
cautiously, peering keenly ahead. Although he approached most silently,
the dogs scented his presence. They leaped to their feet and growled
ferociously. Hugo paid little heed to the brutes, his attention being
centred upon a lone figure huddled before the fire. Instinctively he
realised that something was the matter, so stepping into the circle of
light he rapidly approached. Marion saw him coming, recognized him at
once, and with a cry of joy sprang to her feet. So overcome was she
that she tottered and would have fallen had not Hugo leaped forward
and caught her in his arms. Just for a few luxurious seconds he held
her close, and then laid her tenderly upon the wolf-skin robe. Marion
was deadly pale, and she was trembling violently. The strain of the
night had unnerved her, and this sudden and unexpected meeting with her
father was more than she could endure. As she lay there, she kept her
eyes fixed upon his face. Then her lips moved as if she would speak.
This Hugo noted, and he bent toward her.

“What is the matter?” he asked. “Why are you alone? Where is that girl?
You seem almost frightened to death.”

“And so I am,” was the low reply. “Oh, this has been a terrible night!
We were attacked by wolves, and when they were about to spring upon us,
somebody shot them, and saved us.”

“I know all about that,” and Hugo nodded his head. “I happened along
just at the right moment.”

“Was it really you?” Marion asked in surprise, drawing herself up with
an effort to a sitting position. “And have you seen Zell? Do you know
where she is?”

“The girl who was with you?” Hugo asked. “Where did she go?”

“She went just a short distance over there after some dry wood,” Marion
explained, motioning to the right. “But she hasn’t come back, and I am
afraid that something has happened to her. Perhaps the wolves caught
her.”

“Didn’t you hear any noise?”

“Not a sound.”

“Did you call to her?”

“Oh, yes. I called to her for a long time, but could get no answer.”

“Four-legged wolves didn’t get her,” Hugo emphatically declared, while
a fierce expression leaped into his eyes. “She would have given a cry
of distress if they had.”

“Why, what could have happened to her, then?”

“That remains to be seen. There are worse creatures than four-legged
wolves prowling around at times, especially where attractive women are
concerned.”

Marion understood the meaning of these words, and her thoughts flashed
at once to Bill, the Slugger. Could it be possible that he had been
following them, and had seized the half-breed girl and carried her
off ere she could give a cry of warning? She recalled what Zell had
told her about Bill, and his hatred to Tim. She felt weaker and more
helpless than ever as she thought of these things.

“What are we to do?” she asked in a despairing voice. Then in a few
words she confessed her fears to her father.

“And it was Bill who shot Tim, you say?” he asked.

“That is what Zell told me. Out of revenge, so I understand.”

“Was there any other reason?”

“I believe so.”

Hugo remained silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. Marion watched
him closely, and tried to see in his face the resemblance she had known
and loved years before. She thought of all that he had meant to her and
to her mother, and how he had provided for them through the years. And
how he must have suffered the long separation from those so dear to
him. What mental agony must have been his. And suppose he had done what
was wrong, he was her father. A sudden rush of affection swept upon her
as she gazed upon that stern, sad face. The deep wrinkles upon his brow
told their own silent tale. No matter what he had done, he had surely
paid the price over and over again.

“Father,” she cried, impetuously reaching out her arms. “I want you as
I used to want you as a child.”

For an instant only did Hugo hesitate. He then stooped and allowed
Marion to encircle his neck with her arms, and impress a kiss upon his
forehead. His great form trembled and his eyes were misty. In another
minute he freed himself, stepped back, and stood erect before his
daughter.

“You should not do that,” he told her.

“Do what?”

“Kiss me. Am I not an outcast? Have I not been hounded from place to
place? Are not the Police always watching to seize me?”

“But you are my father,” Marion reminded, “and no matter what you have
done I can never forget that.”

Hugo was about to reply, but words seemed suddenly to fail him. He
stood staring off into the blackness of the forest as if he beheld
something there.

“Won’t you come with me?” Marion asked, wondering at his silence. “We
can leave this country, go outside, and you can begin life all over
again.”

“No, no!” Hugo fiercely replied. Then his manner changed. “You are
tired, worn out. Come with me to my little cabin, and when you have
rested we will talk about this. I have kept you here too long already.”

“But what about Zell?” Marion asked. “She might come back.”

“Not likely,” was the reply. “Anyway, we can’t help her just now.”




CHAPTER 9

Stains on the Snow


Marion was glad to leave the lean-to and follow her father. She
started aside and gave voice to a slight cry of fear as the toe of her
moccasined foot touched the body of a wolf stiffening upon the snow.
The forest seemed filled with horrible things, dead and alive. And
somewhere in their secret depths was Zell, the beautiful girl to whom
she had become so deeply attached. Was she alive? or was she, too,
lying upon the cold snow like the wolves around her? But perhaps she
was alive, and longing to die. The thought was terrible. Why were base
men allowed to roam at large, to prey upon helpless and innocent women
and girls? She knew that it was permitted in towns and cities, so could
it be otherwise on the ragged edge of civilisation? How she longed for
the strength of a man, her father’s, for instance, that she might go
about redressing human wrongs.

She thought of these things as she struggled bravely along the trail.
She had no snow-shoes, and she could have made very little progress
without her father’s strong supporting arm. She did not wish to give
up, but ere long she felt that she could go no farther. A great
weakness swept upon her, which forced her to sink down upon the snow
with a weary gasp. For a second Hugo hardly knew what to do. Then
without a word he stooped, picked her up boldly and bore her speedily
forward. Like a tired child she lay in those strong encircling arms.
How often he had carried her when she was a child, and she had often
admired his strength then. But now he seemed a veritable giant as he
strode among the trees, crossed the wild meadow, and ascended the hill
to the cabin.

In a few minutes Marion was lying upon the bunk. How good it was to
be there, and how restful. She felt that she could sleep forever. It
did not take Hugo long to stir up the few live coals in the stove,
boil some water, and prepare a cup of tea. This, together with some
ptarmigan broth he also warmed, proved most refreshing. The heat of the
room was conducive to sleep, and before long she was in a sound slumber.

An expression of satisfaction shone upon Hugo’s face as he watched
his sleeping daughter. He filled and lighted his pipe, and sat down
upon a block of wood and leaned back against the wall on the opposite
side of the stove. He could not see the girl’s face, as the one candle
which was burning gave but a feeble flickering light. But he kept his
eyes fixed in her direction, and his thoughts were deep. He was really
happier than he had been for years. His own daughter was with him, the
one for whom his heart had been crying out in all his lonely wanderings.

Throughout the rest of the night Hugo kept watch. He prepared and ate
his frugal breakfast, and fed the dog. As daylight was stealing over
the land, he left the cabin and made his way back to the encampment.
The dogs were still there, huddled upon the robes in the lean-to. The
wolves were lying just where they had fallen. Hugo glanced at the gaunt
brutes as if appraising their worth.

“If I had time,” he mused, “I would take you to the cabin and strip
off your pelts. But I’ve got other matters of more importance now.” He
then touched the nearest wolf with his foot. “You didn’t expect this,
I reckon, when you made the attack last night. It was mighty lucky I
happened to come along when I did. It’s a pity I wasn’t on hand when
that two-legged devil was around. There may have been more than one,
though, but that wouldn’t have made any difference. I guess I could
have settled the whole bunch. I hope to goodness I’ll run across them
before long.”

The dogs snarled as he approached the lean-to. But he drove them back,
and gathered up the robe and blankets. He left them there and began to
examine the environs of the camping-place, especially in the direction
the half-breed girl had gone after the dry wood. The wolves had beaten
down the snow so it was difficult for him to find any clue. Several
times he encompassed the place, moving in a wider circle each time
until he came to the edge of the untrampled snow. He had almost reached
the trail when his attention was arrested by several dry sticks which
had evidently been dropped in a hurry.

And right here he saw moccasined footprints, large and small. Close
by, the snow was trampled down, as if a struggle had taken place. This
spot he examined most carefully, hoping to obtain some clue to aid
him in his search for the missing girl. He was about to abandon his
search when his right foot upturned a piece of cloth which had been
hidden by the snow. Eagerly he seized this and inspected it closely.
It was merely a small fragment, and as near as he could make out it
had belonged to the flap of a man’s cap for the protection of his
ears. To Hugo it had a world of meaning. He pictured the half-breed
girl struggling furiously in the arms of her assailant, tearing at
the man’s face and head, and ripping away a portion of his cap in her
desperation. A growl of rage rumbled up in Hugo’s throat as he thought
of the foul attack upon a helpless girl. Suppose it had been his own
daughter! What if Marion were now in the clutches of that inhuman
brute, whoever he might be! He turned and looked off toward the right.
Placing the piece of cloth carefully in a pocket of his jacket, he
walked slowly toward the trail, keeping his eyes fixed intently upon
the footprints, which here were only a man’s size. Reaching the trail,
he saw that the steps led in the direction of Big Chance. How far had
the villain gone? he asked himself. No doubt he had a team of dogs
near, and by now he was far away with his captive. It was most unlikely
that he would take the girl back to the little mining camp where
her father was living. He knew Siwash Sam, a man who minded his own
business, but when once aroused his wrath was terrible. Only a devil or
a madman would think of interfering with his only daughter, the pride
of his life. But Bill, the Slugger, was both, he was well aware. He
was a devil in badness, and his passion for the beautiful half-breed
girl had turned his brain. Hugo knew of other deeds of infamy he had
committed, and had so cleverly covered up his trail as to escape the
far-reaching hands of the Police. But now he should not escape, was
the trapper’s determination. He himself would be the avenger of the
innocent if the Law did not get him first.

The thought of the Law caused Hugo to look quickly around. Then he gave
a sarcastic grunt as he hurried along the trail.

“Hugo, you fool,” he muttered, “you better look after your own skin.
If you’re not careful something may happen to you.”

His mind turned to his daughter and an anxious expression overspread
his face. What was he to do with her? He longed to have her with him,
but under the circumstances that was out of the question. He thought
of the missionary at The Gap. If he could get there, perhaps she could
live in the mission house for a time, at least. He was sure he could
make it worth while for the missionary to look after his daughter. He
raised his right hand and pressed it against his breast. Yes, the ring
was safe, and it would help him if necessary. He recalled the day he
had found it in the crack of the floor in that cabin on the bank of the
river. How differently matters had turned out from what he had planned.

Thinking thus as he hurried forward, he ere long came to a heavy clump
of trees. He had gone part way through when he came upon the site of
an abandoned camping-place. He felt the ashes, and found them cold.
He next examined the beaten-down snow and saw where the dogs had been
lying. He studied a number of moccasined footprints, and saw again
several small impressions, together with large ones. He was certain
now that they were made by the half-breed girl, and that her captor
had camped with her here. His eyes suddenly rested upon the peculiar
marks upon the packed-down snow a few feet from the fire. Stooping,
he saw that it was blood. A chip lying near was also stained with
frozen drops. Was it human blood? he asked himself, or was it from the
bleeding feet of the dogs? He banished this latter idea, however, after
he had looked carefully around where the dogs had been lying. There
were no signs of blood there, so he knew that the stains near the fire
were made by the blood of human beings. What had happened? he wondered.
Had a tragedy been enacted there in the night? What had become of the
campers?

For a while Hugo remained there, searching for some further clue.
But nothing could he find to aid him in his search. Silence reigned
around him. Far off the peaks of the great mountains were aglow with
the morning sun. Above him the Golden Horn was agleam with surpassing
glory. The entire landscape seemed fresh and joyous after its bath
of night. But Hugo noticed none of these wonders. His thoughts dwelt
upon more serious things. He was thinking deeply, and his brow knit
with perplexity. There was a certain course he wished to pursue, yet
he felt unable to carry it out. A restraining influence overshadowed
him, pressing hard upon his very soul. It was no new battle he was
fighting, as he had been contending fiercely for long years. It was a
struggle between the brute nature within him, and the call to higher
things. At times the former had seemed to sway his entire being, and
on such occasions he had been a terror to man and beast. But alone
in the silence of the great wilderness the nobleness within him had
always risen to battle with the demon that would drag him down. And now
another element in the person of his daughter had come to strengthen
his manhood and his desire for a new mode of life. Would it not be
better to leave the trails, he reasoned, face the world boldly, and
if punishment according to the legal code were necessary, to bear it
without a murmur?

As he thus stood there battling with these conflicting emotions, his
keen ears caught a disturbing sound up the trail. He listened intently,
his entire body now fully alert. That it was a dog-team, he soon
became certain, and it was rapidly approaching. Forgotten in an instant
was Hugo’s half-formed resolve to face the world boldly, and begin
life anew. The habits of years had taken too firm a grip upon him to
be shuffled off at will like a suit of clothes. Like a subtle poison
the spirit of determined antagonism had permeated his entire being,
affecting his every thought and action.

With an angry growl he sprang from the trail, crashed through the
trees, and made his way to the base of the hill not far away. Here he
paused and looked back. Not being able to see anything owing to the
intervening trees, he ascended the hill until he came to a large rock
behind which he crouched. From this place of concealment he could see
fairly well all that took place on the trail below. Neither did he have
long to wait, for in a few minutes a dog-team hove in sight, and pulled
up near the abandoned camping-place. The two men who accompanied the
dogs he at once recognized as Sergeant North and Constable Rolfe. He
shrank back a little more behind the great rock, fearful lest he should
be observed. His respect for the Police was now greater than ever.
The day before he had watched them as they sped along the main trail
between Big Chance and The Gap. He had smiled grimly then, satisfied
that they were on the wrong scent. Now, however, they were right before
him, and but for his keenness of hearing and quickness of action they
would have been upon him before he could escape. To accomplish that
journey they must have travelled all night. But why had they changed
their course? That thought filled him with an intense uneasiness. His
heart throbbed with hatred as he watched them. How easily he could
pick them off. Only two shots would be necessary, for he knew that
he could not miss. He clutched hard his rifle, and the forefinger of
his mittenless right hand toyed with the trigger. One firm pressure,
then the snick of the breech-bolt, a second reverberating report and
all would be over. It was a tempting situation. But Hugo hesitated. He
might kill those two men, but what would be gained? There were others
to take their place, for back of them was the entire Force, together
with the strength of the whole British Empire if necessary. He thought,
too, of Marion. Why should he bring more disgrace upon her? If he had
only himself to consider it would be different. It did not matter much
what happened to himself. He felt that he was of little use in the
world, anyway.

Slowly his grasp lessened upon the rifle, and he replaced the mitten
upon his uncovered hand. Then fearful lest the Police should notice his
tracks and follow him, he moved cautiously from the rock, slipped among
the thicket of jack-pines, and sped rapidly away.




CHAPTER 10

Lost


Zell had stooped and was picking up the dry wood she had gathered that
evening, when she was suddenly seized and a mittened hand placed firmly
over her mouth. Almost maddened with fright, she struggled desperately
to free herself, and to cry for help. But she was powerless in the
strong arms which held her fast. As she was being borne off, she fought
like a wildcat, tearing at her captor’s face and cap, and clawing at
his throat. But her efforts were all in vain, for she was carried
rapidly away, and only when a camping-place was reached by the side of
the trail was that pressing hand released from her mouth. Then by the
light of the fire she saw that her captor was none other than Bill,
the Slugger. Panting, she lay upon the bed of fir boughs where he had
placed her. A triumphant light shone upon the man’s face as he stepped
back to view the girl.

“Well, what d’ye think of that for a job? Neat, wasn’t it?”

Zell’s fear had now given place to anger, and her eyes blazed as she
sprang to her feet and faced the villain.

“You coward!” she cried. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“H’m, I’m not worryin’ about that, since I’ve got you. If I couldn’t
git ye one way, I had to try some other plan.”

“You wouldn’t talk so big if my father were here.”

“Mebbe I wouldn’t, me love. But he ain’t here, so he don’t matter. But,
say, Zell, why can’t ye like me? I’m crazy about you, an’ if ye’ll
only let me, I’ll do well by ye. I’ll take ye outside an’ show ye the
wonderful sights, an’ buy ye no end of purty dresses, an’ sich things
as women like. I swear I will.”

He stepped toward her as if to clasp her in his arms. But Zell drew
back and stood on the defensive.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned. “I hate you, Bill, and you know it. If
you love me, why did you shoot Tim?”

“’Cause I love ye, of course. I couldn’t bear to see anyone else have
ye. That’s why.”

“Well, if you thought you could get me by shooting Tim, then you were
mistaken. I love Tim as much as I hate you, so there.”

“Ain’t ye afraid to say sich a thing, Zell?” the man asked, while an
ugly light leaped into his eyes. “Can’t ye see that yer at my mercy
now, an’ that I kin do what I like with ye?”

“Can you?” The girl asked the question boldly, but her heart was
beating wildly. She realised only too well how true were the man’s
words. Then she suddenly thought of something tucked away in a little
pocket in the bosom of her dress. It gave her new encouragement. Yes,
she would shoot him if necessary, although she did not wish to commit
murder. She knew that he always carried a revolver, and could use it
with lightning rapidity. She must act with extreme caution.

“Zell, I don’t want to use force,” the man said, “an’ so I ask ye
once more if ye’ll be mine. If ye will, then we’ll go an’ git the
missionary at The Gap to hitch us up.”

“Never!” The girl’s voice rang out clear and defiant upon the still
night air. She knew the man standing before her, and was fully aware
that he was not sincere in his promises. He wanted her just to satisfy
his passion, and then he would throw her aside as he had done a number
of Indian girls he had deceived. She must stand her ground, and not
give in to him.

As Zell uttered her stern refusal, the man calmly folded his arms
and watched her. His greedy eyes took in her beauty, and the varying
expressions upon her face, and the firm, lithe outlines of her tense
body. He smiled, feeling certain that nothing now could come between
him and the object of his desire.

“So that’s final, is it?” he at length asked.

“It is,” was the firm reply.

“Well, then you’ll have to put up with the result. You are mine, and by
G--, nothing can keep you from me.”

He sprang suddenly forward as if to seize her. But Zell was watching,
and quick as a cat she leaped aside, eluded his grasp, and sprang out
upon the trail. With an angry oath, the man dashed after her. At times
Zell glanced fearfully back, and noted that her pursuer was steadily
gaining upon her. At length, seeing that she could not escape by
flight, she suddenly stopped, wheeled, tore the revolver from her bosom
and fired. With a yell of pain the man dropped upon the trail. In an
instant he was on his knees, his revolver in his hand, blazing madly
and wildly at the girl, once more fleeing for her life. Only when the
firing ceased, and Zell was certain that she was at a safe distance,
did she venture to stop and look back. She could see Bill on the
trail, upon his hands and knees, creeping, so it seemed to her, back to
the fire. She breathed a sigh of relief, and tucked the revolver away
in the bosom of her dress. A smile of triumph overspread her face as
she thought of Bill’s defeat, and the unexpected outcome of his plans.
She was glad, though, that she had not killed him. But she must have
wounded him severely to cause him to cry out as he did, and give up the
pursuit.

The smile of triumph, however, passed swiftly from her face as she
realised the difficult position in which she was placed. She must
get back to the white woman as soon as possible. But she did not
dare to return by the trail, for that would mean passing close to
the man she had defied and wounded. He would make short work of her,
she was certain, should she come within range of his revolver. The
only plan left was to leave the trail, and circle around toward her
own camping-place. She believed that she could do this without great
difficulty, for most of the time she could travel among the big trees
where the snow would not be so deep. If she only had her snow-shoes it
would be an easy matter. She knew how anxious the nurse must be about
her, so she was anxious to get back as soon as possible.

With another glance to make sure that Bill was not following her, she
left the trail, plunged through the snow, and headed for the big trees
beyond. It took her some time to do this, for the snow was deep and at
times she was forced to stop and rest. But when she at last reached the
heavy timber she breathed a sigh of relief. She felt safer now, being
certain that it would not take her long to make her way to the camp.
The walking was much easier here, and she sped on her way, gliding
noiselessly among the great trees. Her only fear now was of wolves, and
she shuddered whenever she thought of the brutes which had attacked
them that night. She wondered who had shot them, and why he had not
made himself known. It could not have been Bill, as he would have said
something about it. No, it must have been someone else, and she racked
her brain in an effort to solve the mystery.

Although Zell was well accustomed to the trails, she knew very little
about travelling through a trackless forest. Her years of training at
the mission school had not prepared her for this phase of life. It was
one thing to bound behind a team of dogs along a well-beaten trail, but
it was an altogether different matter to find her way without a single
guiding mark. She did not realise this, however, as she sped forward,
expecting every minute to come in sight of the camp. She pictured the
joy upon the nurse’s face when she saw her, and what a story she would
have to tell.

After she had travelled for some time and the camping-place had not
been reached, she became somewhat anxious. She passed out of the
heavy timber and came to the side of a hill where the trees were
small and scarce. Here the snow was much deeper, making her progress
difficult. The moon was shining big and bright, so she could see for
some distance. Ahead, off to the left, was a thick wood, and there, so
she believed, she would find the nurse. When she reached the place she
was very weary, and could just drag herself out of the deep snow to
the foot of a large pine. After she had rested a while, she continued
on her way, moving slowly among the trees. Here there was little
light, for the moon was not able to brighten those sombre depths.
More anxious now than ever, she strained her eyes for sight of the
blazing fire, as she felt sure that the nurse would not allow it to go
out. How interminable seemed that forest. The cold was intense, and
notwithstanding her vigorous exercise, she shivered. She longed to lie
down and rest, but such a thing she did not dare to do, knowing full
well what that would mean.

At length, however, she was forced to sit down upon the root of a tree.
She knew now that she was lost, and the thought filled her heart with
terror. She had heard her father tell of men who had been lost in the
forest and had never been heard of again. Would the same thing happen
to her? she asked herself. No, it must not be. She would not die there
alone. She would struggle on, and fight her way out.

But she soon found what it really meant to carry out such a resolve. It
was a vast, desolate wilderness in which she was wandering, and she was
but a speck creeping among the crowding trees. An hour passed and still
Zell dragged forward her weary body. No longer was she the keen, active
girl who had left Big Chance but a short time before. Instead, she was
a pathetic creature, reaching out appealing arms, calling, ever calling
for aid which did not come. Once she had dropped upon her knees in the
snow and prayed earnestly for deliverance. She remembered that the
missionary had often told the girls at the school that God would hear
their prayers. She had prayed rather indifferently of late, but she now
prayed as she had never prayed in her life. It brought her some comfort
as she rose from her knees and staggered onward. But she could not make
much progress. She was completely bewildered. She knew that she could
follow her trail back, but she had not the strength. Ere long she
forgot even this as she floundered around in the snow. Strange noises
sounded in her ears. She was sure that she heard the howling of wolves,
and she shivered with fear. At times she was fighting with an imaginary
enemy, and again shouting at the top of her voice. All sense of time
and place was blotted out for her now as she stood knee-deep in the
snow. She did not heed the merciless cold, nor the desolation of her
surroundings. She was in another world of strange fancies. Sometimes
she was with Tim, calling him endearing names, or pleading with him to
come to her. Then she was at the mission school, talking and laughing
with her companions.

But this excitement only tended to weaken her already tired body. Ere
long her knees gave way beneath her. She sank upon the snow, and made
no effort to rise. And there she lay, babbling of other days, while the
pitiless cold struck deeper and deeper into her chilled body.




CHAPTER 11

Where Strength Counts


When Hugo left the rock and fled from the presence of his enemies, he
wished to get as far away as possible. But before doing so, he was
determined to see Marion. He could not leave her alone in the cabin,
so if she agreed he would endeavor to take her to The Gap. He would be
running a great risk, he was well aware, but he could not do otherwise.
How he longed to go to her, speed with her to Swift Stream and thence
outside. But he knew that would have to be postponed for a while, and
perhaps for all time.

He thought of this as he hurried on his way beneath the brow of the
high hill, taking special care to keep out of sight of the Police. When
he was sure that he would not be observed, he cautiously approached the
trail, sped across it, and plunged into the thick woods on the lower
side. Had he gone a couple of hundred yards farther on he would have
come across the straggling trail made by the half-breed girl when she,
too, had sought the shelter of those friendly trees. Of this Hugo was
totally unaware as he moved rapidly forward. At times he was but a few
rods from where Zell had travelled. Had Hugo swung a little more to the
right, and the girl somewhat more to the left, their trails would have
met, and how much that would have meant to one, at least.

  “Oh, the little more, and how much it is!
   And the little less, and what worlds away.”

To Hugo the trackless wilds were as an open book, and he was as sure
of his course as if on a well-beaten trail. Years of experience had
developed his sense of direction, and he pressed steadily onward
without the slightest hesitation. It was only when he came near his
cabin did he slacken his speed and peer cautiously forward and around.
Silence reigned everywhere as he stepped from his snow-shoes, pushed
gently open the door and entered. The dog bounded to meet him, but Hugo
motioning him to be still, looked toward the bunk. Marion was lying
where he had left her, but she was now awake. She smiled as she saw her
father standing there. Then she sat quickly up, an anxious expression
showing in her eyes.

“Did you find Zell?” she asked. “Oh, I know you didn’t,” she added.
“She is not with you.”

“I didn’t find her,” Hugo replied. “I have proof, though, that she was
carried off by someone.”

“Oh!” It was all that Marion said, as she waited for further
information.

In a few words Hugo told her what he had discovered, the signs
of struggle in the snow, and the blood marks by the ashes of the
camping-place.

“Oh, what can we do?” Marion asked, slipping from the bunk and standing
before her father. “Can we not follow her, and rescue her from her
captors?”

Before Hugo could reply, a bark from the dog, which had gone outside,
startled him, causing him to bound to the door. For a second he
listened intently, and when he turned around Marion was surprised at
the fierce look in his eyes.

“The Police!” he growled. “They’re coming up the trail! I must be off
at once. They’ll look after you.”

“Oh, don’t go,” Marion pleaded. “I don’t want to lose you. Why are you
so afraid of the Police?”

Hugo made no reply. He left the room, stepped into his snow-shoes,
and ordering the dog to remain behind, plunged into a thicket of firs
and jack-pines on the upper side of the cabin. His heart was filled
with bitterness and hatred as he moved forward. For years he had been
fleeing from the Police, ever hounded from place to place. Formerly
it had not mattered so much, as he had refuges to which he could go.
But now it was different. He wanted to stay with Marion and give up
his endless wandering life. But it could not be. The Police were
everywhere, tireless and alert.

Ascending the hill which stretched along back of the cabin, he at
length stopped at a spot where he could obtain a fairly good view of
what was taking place down below. He saw the Police come to the trail
leading to the cabin, where they paused to investigate. He could see
Sergeant North advancing alone, so he knew that he would soon be with
Marion. That she meant anything to him Hugo had not the least idea. Had
he known of their love for each other, his troubles would have been
greatly increased. Would Marion tell the sergeant of his whereabouts?
What reason would she have for keeping silent?

He thought of all this as he crouched there. Then, knowing that to
remain longer would be of no avail, he slipped away, sped along the
side of the hill, and crossed the main trail half a mile or more
farther on. Far away beyond the valley he had another cabin, and there
he decided to go for food and rest.

Shaping his course by a distant mountain peak, he strode rapidly
onward. Anger and disappointment raged in his bosom, as with great
swinging strides he plowed through the snow down toward the valley
below. He did not mind the cold, neither did the sombre forest have any
terror for him. In fact, he would have welcomed another encounter with
a pack of wolves. He was in a fighting mood and would have proven a
stern antagonist to any living creature attempting to oppose him.

Passing through a heavy tract of timber he came out into a region where
the trees were small and scattered. Here the snow was deep and in
places it had been whipped by the wind in long drifts. Part way across
this desolate stretch he came suddenly upon a straggling trail which
caused him to stop and examine it with the greatest attention. He could
easily tell that it was made by a human being floundering wildly along.
He looked first to the right and then to the left, wondering which way
the traveller had gone.

“What in time could anyone be doing here without snow-shoes?” he asked
himself. “Why, the fellow must be crazy!”

Then an illuminating idea flashed through his mind. It must be the
half-breed girl! She had no doubt escaped from her captor, and in
trying to get back to her camping-place had lost her way. But where was
Bill? Why had he not followed her? Then he thought of the blood he had
seen upon the snow by the cold ashes. Had the girl in some way wounded
him? Perhaps she was armed, and had disabled the villain.

Thinking thus, he decided that the girl had gone up the valley, and
could not be very far away, judging by the depth of the snow, and the
crookedness of her trail. Forgotten were his own troubles as he thought
of the girl’s desperate situation. He must follow after and do what he
could for her welfare, providing she were still alive.

It did not take Hugo long to speed across the snowy waste, and reach
a thicket of trees beyond. But at every stride his eyes were upon the
marks in the snow. At times he saw where the girl had circled to the
right and then to the left, showing plainly the bewildered state of her
mind. He could not tell how long before she had passed that way. If but
a few minutes, he might be able to save her. But if an hour, or even
less, had elapsed, he feared he might be too late. But with feverish
haste he pressed onward, entered the thicket, passed through and came
out shortly on the opposite side. Here he halted and looked around. It
was a region over which a fire had swept the year before, and forms of
trees stood gaunt and bare. His eyes searched keenly for some moving
object in the midst of the mass of upturned roots and fallen trees. But
no sign of life could he see.

He was about to continue his journey when a peculiar sound fell upon
his ears. Listening intently, he found that it came from the left. It
was like a human voice, yet he could not distinguish what was being
said. He knew that it must be the girl, and his heart leaped with hope
as he hurried forward. It took him only a few minutes to reach the
place where Zell was lying upon the snow, still babbling and crooning
about other days.

“Hello, girl, what are you doing here?” Hugo demanded.

But Zell gave no sign of recognition. She kept on talking, all the
time clawing at the snow with her mittened hands. In an instant
Hugo knew what was the trouble. The girl’s mind was affected by the
experience through which she had recently passed. He stood for a few
seconds looking upon her, while an overwhelming rage welled up in his
heart against the villain responsible for her sad condition. He longed
to track him, and bestow upon him the punishment he rightly deserved.
But he had no time to think about such things now, as the girl demanded
his immediate attention. He must do something for her welfare. But what
could he do? He thought of his cabin on the hillside which he had left
but a short time before. That was the place where he should take the
girl, for Marion was there to attend to her. But to go back was out
of the question. The Police were there. No, he must take the girl to
his cabin beyond the valley toward which he was headed. It would be a
difficult task, he was well aware, to carry the girl all that distance.
But he knew that he could do it, for she was slight while he was very
strong.

He was about to stoop and lift her from the snow, when Zell tottered to
her feet, and looked wildly around. Her eyes were wide with terror, and
she pressed fearfully back from some imaginary foe.

“Keep back! Keep back!” she shrieked. “Oh! Oh!”

“Hush,” Hugo ordered, laying his hand upon her shoulder. “I won’t let
anything harm you.”

But the girl shrank aside at his touch, and beat the air with her hands.

“The wolves! The wolves!” she cried. “They are upon me! Don’t let them
get me!”

To attempt to reason with the girl Hugo knew would be useless. He must
get her to the cabin as speedily as possible. Stooping, he lifted
her from the snow, and with her in his arms he started forward. For a
few minutes Zell struggled and screamed so furiously that Hugo found
it difficult to make much progress. But at length she quieted down,
and lay panting in his arms. At first he did not mind her weight, but
after he had travelled some distance he was forced to lay her down in
the snow to relieve his aching arms. Then up and on again over that
desolate waste.

The dawn of a new day found Hugo about half a mile from his cabin.
He was walking slowly now, for he was greatly exhausted. His coat he
had taken off and wrapped it carefully around the girl. Even then he
feared lest she should freeze, for the night was very cold. He even
wondered at himself as he bore his burden up hills, across valleys, and
through thick forests. He could not account for his sympathy for this
poor demented half-breed girl. It was a feeling similar to that which
had animated his soul when he had journeyed with the little child from
the river to the hospital. Time and time again he had rescued sick
and injured miners and prospectors, and had taken them to the nearest
mining camp. He had done it because there was nothing else to do, and
he could not leave them to perish. He had felt a certain degree of pity
for them, but his heart had never been stirred in such a manner as
when caring for the child and especially the girl. She had been deeply
wronged, so perhaps that was the reason, for Hugo was ever the champion
of the ill-treated.

Slowly the moon faded off in the west as the weary man plodded onward.
The sun rose above the mountain peaks, and skimmed low along the
eastern horizon. Ere long Hugo could see the spot where nestled his
little cabin, and with a great sigh of relief he climbed the hill,
reached the door, pushed it open and entered. Upon a rude bunk on one
side of the room he laid the helpless girl. Tired though he was, he at
once started a fire in the little camping-stove, and prepared some food
from a supply he always kept on hand. In a short time he had heated
some stewed moose meat left from his last meal there, and forced a few
spoonfuls between the girl’s firm-set teeth. It was all that he could
do except cover her with two thick gray four-point blankets. He stood
watching her as she lay there, now asleep, worn out with the fatigue
of the night. What was he to do with her? he wondered. Where could he
take her? That she needed more attention than he could give her, he was
certain. But where could he go for assistance?

Hugo thought of these things as he ate his supper, and afterwards
sat smoking near the stove. It felt good to be back once more in the
shelter of his own cabin, and but for his worry about the girl he would
have felt quite happy. He mused upon the events of the day and wondered
how Marion was getting along. He was quite sure that she would go away
with the Police, but just where he had no idea. He did not feel so
bitter now about being driven forth into the night. If he had remained
there with Marion the half-breed girl would surely have perished.
During his long sojourn in the wilderness Hugo had often puzzled over
the mystery of life. Notwithstanding his spirit of rebellion for
man-made law, deep down in his heart there was a profound respect for
the unchanging law of Nature. As he journeyed along the trails; as he
watched the western sky burnished with the glory of the setting sun; as
he faced the furious storms of winter, or stood in some great silent
valley, he had learned over and over again that there was no effect
without some corresponding cause. He never could believe that things
happened according to blind chance. Several times he had tried to force
himself to that way of thinking, but all in vain. The great book spread
out before him was so unmistakably clear that he could never remain in
doubt for any length of time.

So sitting now in the silent cabin he thought of the events which had
led him to the side of that lost girl. At first appearance it seemed
as if those two guardians of the North were the cause. But the more
he thought about it, the more convinced he became that they were but
instruments in the hands of a greater force, a Divine power overruling
all things. What had led them so unerringly that night from the distant
trail where he had seen them the day before? What had changed their
course? He could arrive at only one conclusion, and it filled his soul
with awe. It thrilled him, too, making him feel that he was surrounded
by a sustaining influence working on his behalf. He suddenly thought of
the night he had spent in the shack with the sleeping child, and the
wonderful vision he had there beheld of the mysterious light, and the
strange presence hovering over the little one.

For some time Hugo sat there, thinking of these things. The
transformation which had been going on in his soul of late was
steadily gaining in strength. A new vision had come to him, and with
the vision was a new desire. He felt that he was no longer merely
Hugo, the trapper, the outcast, but an instrument in the hands of an
unseen power. He looked toward the sleeping girl, and felt that in
some way she was being used as an important instrument in the shaping
of his life. And as he watched her, his future line of action became
strangely clear, and a new sense of power possessed his entire being.

Rising suddenly from his seat, he passed out of the cabin and laid
his hands upon a small toboggan half-buried in the snow. This he
carried into the room, and placed it near the stove. When it was well
thawed out and dry, he began to repair the broken parts. With strong
moose-hide thongs he deftly repaired the damages wrought by many a hard
trail. He then laid the toboggan aside, stepped across the room and
examined his scanty supply of provisions upon a rough shelf fastened to
the wall.




CHAPTER 12

Confession


After Hugo had left the cabin on the hillside in such an abrupt manner,
Marion stood for a few seconds greatly concerned over his strange
action. Then she hurried to the little window and tried to look out.
But the frost was so thick upon the small panes of glass that she
could see nothing. She listened intently, and in a few seconds heard
the jingle of bells mingled with the short sharp yelps of dogs. Her
father had spoken of the Police, but she had no idea that any members
of the Force were anywhere near. Could it be possible that the one for
whom she so earnestly longed had happened that way? Had he tracked her
father to the little cabin? If so, what should she do? Would it be
right for her to tell the sergeant that he had just left her?

Marion had little time, however, to think of such things, for soon the
door was pushed open and Sergeant North looked cautiously in. In his
right hand he held a revolver as if expecting opposition. As he stood
waiting for the owner of the cabin to approach, Marion stepped from the
window and confronted him. So great was the sergeant’s surprise that he
moved quickly back as if he had beheld a ghost. Then seeing who it was,
he thrust his weapon into its holster, and springing forward, caught
Marion in his arms. Their lips met and for a few heart-beats neither
spoke.

“My! this is a surprise,” North exclaimed as he drew back his head and
looked into her beaming eyes. “I was expecting something altogether
different from this.”

“You were looking for trouble, from all appearances,” Marion laughingly
replied. “I’m glad you have put that nasty thing away. I don’t like it.”

“I was looking for trouble,” North confessed, “although, for once I’m
glad I didn’t find it.”

“But perhaps you have found it,” Marion bantered. “You have found me,
and I’m certain that I’m going to be the greatest trouble of all.”

“I’ll like you all the better, then,” and again North kissed her. “You
cannot frighten me that way, remember. Facing trouble has been my lot
for years, and I’ve not had too much of it yet.”

“But this is a different kind, John. You are thinking only about men.
Just wait and see what trouble one woman can make.”

“Oh, I’m not worrying about that, darling,” the sergeant assured her
with a hearty laugh. “It will be a change, anyway.”

Rolfe’s voice outside speaking sharply to the dogs brought a serious
expression to North’s face. Love for the moment had interfered with
duty, and that was contrary to the strict code to which he was bound.

“Where is the man who owns this cabin?” he suddenly asked.

“I do not know,” Marion truthfully replied.

“But he was here a short time ago, was he not?”

“Yes.”

“And he brought you here?”

“He did. But for him I do not know what I should have done. Tell me,
have you seen Zell?”

“Zell! Zell who?”

“The half-breed girl who was travelling with me. We were camping by the
side of the trail, and after the wolves had been shot, she went for
some wood. But she never came back, and I am afraid she is either lost
or something has carried her off.”

“And did those wolves now lying dead down there attack you?” North
asked in surprise.

“They did. Oh, it was terrible!”

“Who shot them?”

“Hugo, the trapper. The wolves surrounded us, coming closer and closer
all the time, and when they were about to spring upon us, some one
began shooting at them. We could not see who it was, although I know
now that it was the trapper. He carried me part way here.”

“He did!” There was a peculiar expression in the sergeant’s eyes as he
kept them fixed upon Marion’s face.

“So it was Hugo,” he mused. “It’s too bad I wasn’t on hand sooner.”

“Why, what would you have done, John?” Marion asked.

“Rescued you, of course.”

“Anything else?”

“And captured Hugo.”

“Why?”

“I want him. He’s the man I’m after, and I shall never give up until I
get him.”

“Why are you chasing him? What has he done?”

“That’s what I want to find out. He is needed in connection with that
murder near the C. D. Cut-Off.”

“I don’t believe he did that,” Marion defended. “He may be rough, but
he would never do such a terrible thing.”

“Why has he acted in such a strange manner, then? Why didn’t he report
the murder when he brought the child to the hospital? And why is he now
running away?”

“Hasn’t he been keeping away from the Police for years, long before
that murder was committed? I often heard at Kynox that he dreaded the
sight of a member of the Force. Haven’t you been after him for a long
time?”

“Why, no,” the sergeant denied. “We had no orders to capture him. We
always looked upon him as a strange man, rough, and terrible in a
fight, but otherwise perfectly harmless.”

“You have orders to capture him now, though?”

“In a way I have. He may be innocent, but he must tell what he knows
about that murder.”

“And you intend to follow him?”

“I certainly do. But we cannot go just now, for the dogs are about
played out. We travelled hard all last night, without rest or food. But
here comes Tom. He’s almost starved, and so am I.”

The constable was surprised and pleased to see Marion. He was very
tired, and the presence of this woman gave a touch of home life to
the cabin. Marion insisted upon preparing breakfast with some of the
provisions the men had brought with them. There was no table in the
room, so North and Rolfe squatted upon the floor, each holding his tin
plate on his lap which Marion had filled with hot canned pork and beans.

“There is not much style about this,” she laughingly remarked.

“Style!” the constable exclaimed. “To have a woman serve us is all the
style I want. Why, I’ve been cooking for months, and am heartily sick
of it. I would give almost anything to be back in my own home, to see
my mother working around the kitchen, and to hear her say, ‘Tom, will
you have another piece of pie?’ I never fully appreciated her and her
cooking until I came to this canned-food country.”

Both Marion and the sergeant laughed heartily at the doleful expression
upon Rolfe’s face.

“Tom never wearies of telling about his mother’s wonderful cooking,”
the sergeant explained. “I wish to goodness he had taken a few lessons
from her before he left home.”

“You eat all I cook, though,” the constable retorted.

“I have to or starve. You won’t let me do any cooking, although I am in
command.”

“Self-preservation is a strong feature in my make-up, Miss Brisbane.
The sergeant is teachable for all that, so with little tact you may be
able to train him properly.”

There was a fine spirit of comradeship between these two men, who
spent so much time together on the long trails. They knew each other
thoroughly, and their light banter was merely an offset to the
difficulty and seriousness of their tasks. The commanding officer who
had sent them forth together had made no mistake in his knowledge of
men. Rolfe’s bright and buoyant disposition was an excellent balance to
North’s stern and somewhat taciturn nature.

When breakfast was over, Rolfe insisted upon washing the few dishes. He
then spread out his blankets in one corner of the room, and stretched
out his tired body. Marion and North sat near the stove side by side.
For a while they were silent, rejoicing in each other’s presence, for
silence is often more eloquent than many words. When at length Rolfe’s
heavy breathing told them that he was asleep, North reached out, took
Marion’s right hand in his, and pressed it firmly.

“It is great to be here so near you,” he began. “You have been so much
in my mind, and I was wondering how you were making out at Big Chance.
Never for an instant did I picture you away out here. Tell me all about
it.”

“There really isn’t much to tell other than what you already know,”
Marion replied. “I am so worried about that poor girl. I am sure that
something has happened to her. And she was so anxious about her injured
lover, Tim, and wanted to get to the missionary at The Gap for help as
fast as possible.”

“And so you came with her for company? Is that it?”

“Oh, no,” Marion replied in a low voice. “I heard something at Big
Chance which worried me, so I came along hoping to find you and to warn
you.”

“To warn me!” North exclaimed in surprise. “What for?”

“Yes, to warn you against danger. I heard something about Bill, the
Slugger. From what Zell told me, I fear that he intends to do you some
harm. At first the girl hesitated about telling me anything. She was
terribly afraid of Bill, and begged me not to say a word to you lest he
should kill her.”

The sergeant was all attention now, eager to hear more. He believed
that the half-breed girl knew something which was most important for
him to know.

“Did she say anything about that murder near the C. D. Cut-Off?” he
questioned.

“Not directly. But when I asked her if Bill did it, she gave a start,
and glanced anxiously toward the door. ‘I don’t dare to tell,’ she
said. ‘Bill would kill me if I did.’”

“Ah!” The sergeant was looking straight before him, and his eyes were
merely two narrow slits. He was thinking rapidly, comprehending things
which he had never suspected.

“What else did the girl say?” he presently asked.

“She begged me not to tell you for fear of what Bill might do. She
said he was getting ready for a trip, and was almost frightened out of
his wits while you were at Big Chance. Zell, it seems, was secretly
watching him.”

“Had she any idea where he was going?”

“Yes. She was certain that he was planning to leave the country by way
of The Gap, and cross the mountains.”

“I see, I see,” North mused. “Yes, a most likely thing for him to do.
My, this is important news to me, you have helped me wonderfully.”

“And you will follow him?” There was a quiver in Marion’s voice. “Oh,
do be careful! Zell said that Bill was such a bad man that he would
stop at nothing, and would even shoot a member of the Force if he
opposed him.”

“And so you started out to warn me, eh?” North queried. “Did you
realise the risks you were running? Did you stop to think what a trip
to The Gap would mean at this time of the year? Why, it almost unnerves
me to think of what might have happened to you. It is mighty lucky that
you have come off so well.”

“I am afraid that I didn’t think much about the risk, but acted merely
upon the impulse of the moment when I agreed to come with Zell.”

“And so you did all this for my sake?” North asked, pressing Marion’s
hand a little firmer. “I am sure that no one else in the world would do
such a thing for me.”

“Love nerves the most timid, John, and transforms weakness into
strength. But I have a confession to make now which no doubt will
surprise you.”

“Make all the confession you like, little one,” was the quiet reply.
“What confession can you make that will interfere with our great love?”

“I hope it won’t, anyway,” and Marion gave a deep sigh. North noted
this and looked somewhat anxiously into her face.

“Is it as serious as all that?” he asked. “Is it troubling you much?”

“It is, and has been worrying me for days. How would you like to be
told that you do not share all my love?”

“Why, Marion, what do you mean?” North demanded. “Or are you only
joking?”

“No, I am not. I am deadly in earnest. I came out here not only for
your sake but for the sake of another man as well.”

“You did!” It was all that North could say as he dropped Marion’s hand
and stared at her in amazement. “For God’s sake, who is it? Tell me
quick.”

“It is the man who brought me to this cabin.”

“What! Hugo, the trapper?”

“Yes, he is the man. I came to warn you not only against Bill, the
Slugger, but to keep you and the trapper from harming each other. I did
it because I love you both.”

“Marion! Marion! What do you mean?” North demanded, rising to his feet
in his agitation. “You love Hugo, the trapper, you say?”

“I do, and I have a right to because he is my father.”

At this confession, made in a low voice, North’s tense body relaxed.
His eyes brightened, and a smile illumined his face. Sitting down again
by Marion’s side, he tenderly placed his arm about her and drew her
close.

“So that was your trouble, darling, was it?” he asked. “Well, now that
your confession is made, don’t worry any more. It is startling, I
admit, and I know you will explain everything to me. I am so glad it
was your father and not somebody else.”

“Oh, I feel so relieved,” Marion replied, letting her head rest against
her lover’s shoulder. There were tears in her eyes, and her body was
trembling slightly. “I know it won’t make any difference to you in
carrying out your orders, but it will help us to work together, will it
not?”

“Indeed it will,” was the emphatic reply. “Knowing what I do now about
Bill, the Slugger, and also who Hugo is, certain difficulties have been
removed. I see quite a clear trail ahead of me, thanks to your love and
help.”




CHAPTER 13

The Rush of Doom


The gigantic mass of the Golden Horn was a deceptive monster. From
all quarters it formed an unerring guide to travellers on the trails.
Its towering peak when touched by the sun was the admiration of all
who beheld it. From a distance it often seemed like a fairy land,
especially when sun and wavering clouds became entangled in a mesh
of surpassing glory. But to veterans of the north, both Indians and
whites, it was a demon to be feared when the snows of numerous winter
storms lay thick upon its sides. Huge banks, steadily increasing,
would cling for weeks, and sometimes months, in deep crevices. When
at last the weight became so tremendous that the mass could hold no
longer, it would slip from its place with the roar of thunder, and
tear down the mountain side. At times it would start without any
apparent reason, even in the finest of weather, carrying destruction
to all before it. In former days the Indians looked upon the Golden
Horn as the special abode of the Great Spirit. When he smiled in the
glory of the sun-crowned summit they were happy, knowing that the god
was pleased. But when he raged in the furious tempests, and hurled
forth his avalanches of death-dealing snow, then he was angry, and
they offered to him gifts of meat, furs, and blankets. As a rule they
shunned in winter the mountain route between the Great River and The
Gap, preferring the longer way beyond the valley. But some hardy
souls, especially among the whites, made use of the dangerous trail,
and laughed at the fears of others.

The day of Marion’s confession in the little cabin the Golden Horn
never looked more beautiful or benign. It seemed to smile its
benediction on all sides, especially upon the lovers as they stood
before the cabin ready to depart for The Gap, whither they had decided
to go. All, excepting the sergeant, were rested, dinner had been eaten,
and the dogs harnessed, with Zell’s four added to the team. With Marion
on the sled surrounded by blankets, small bags of food, and a few
cooking utensils, the command “mush on” was given, the whip in North’s
hand snapped like a pistol shot, and they were off. How the dogs did
race over the snow. They seemed to be conscious of the burden they
bore, and the need for haste. Notwithstanding the sense of security
with the strong men following, Marion’s heart was heavy. She was ever
thinking of Zell, and her unbounded animation the day they had pulled
out from Big Chance. Where was the girl now? she wondered. Was she
lying somewhere upon the snow, silent in death? Perhaps she had fallen
among wolves, or worse still into the hands of Bill, the Slugger. The
sergeant had told her about that other camping-place he had found by
the side of the trail, which had not been there the evening she and
Zell passed that way. It could not have been made by her father, she
was certain, because his own little cabin was so near. No, some one
must have been following them, and had made off with the half-breed
girl.

North’s thoughts, too, were of a serious nature. He had many things
to think about since his conversation with Marion in the cabin. What
connection had her father with that murder? Why did he fear the Police
if he were innocent? But he had been fleeing from them for years, so it
seemed. And where was Bill, the Slugger? He strongly suspected him now
in connection with that murder. It was most likely that he would try to
escape by way of The Gap, for to try any other easterly route to reach
the outside in the winter time would be madness. It was important,
therefore, that he should reach The Gap ahead of the villain. And where
was the half-breed girl? He needed her, for she evidently knew a great
deal. Perhaps Bill would have her with him, and if so, he could take
both together. For the present he would abandon his pursuit of Hugo,
the trapper. He could get him later to tell what he knew after he had
rounded up Bill and the girl.

Steadily the dogs raced the low sun out of the heavens that short
winter afternoon. Twilight tarried for a space, and then night
enshrouded the land. And with the darkness came a halt, a camping-place
was selected, and preparations made for the night. Soon, in a snug
lean-to, Marion sat upon a robe spread over a bed of fir boughs. Rolfe
attended to the cooking of the supper, and ere long the appetizing odor
of frying moose-meat steak pervaded the air. He refused to allow Marion
to assist, contending that he was going to prove to her the falseness
of the sergeant’s charge.

“He says I can’t cook,” he remarked as he turned the meat in the
frying-pan. “But I’m going to let you judge for yourself, Miss
Brisbane. That will be the best answer I can make.”

“Oh, Tom is putting on his best frills now,” North retorted,
straightening himself from his work of building another lean-to on the
opposite side of the fire. “When he has a woman to cook for, he is
mighty particular.”

“It’s well that I am along, then,” Marion smilingly replied. “But you
don’t look starved,” she reminded, glancing admiringly at the stalwart,
handsome man before her.

When Rolfe had the meat browned to his satisfaction, the “sourdough”
potatoes fried, and the tea made, he called aloud, “Dinner all ready on
the dining-car. That’s what an Indian guide I once had always used to
say,” he explained. “If you can’t have certain things, it is often good
to imagine that you have them. That was the way with my Indian.”

After supper was over, the dogs were fed, and the constable gathered
a supply of wood for the night. Then around the bright fire the three
sat and talked for some time. It was not of the North they talked, but
of bygone days in their old homes. It was a comfort to turn for a time
from the cruel trail and the hardships of a desolate, snow-bound region
to other scenes, glorified and made beautiful by the sacred fire of
memory.

At length they slept, Marion in her little lean-to, and the men in the
other. Silence reigned over the land, broken only by the crackling of
the fire or the snapping of a frost-stung tree. The dogs made no sound
as they slept curled up close to the fire. Not a breath of wind stirred
the most sensitive topmost points of the firs and jack-pines. The sky
was cloudless, and the Northern Lights streamed and wavered in the
heavens. Above towered the Golden Horn, silent and unseen.

As the night wore on, the fire died down, until only a few glowing
ashes remained. Sergeant North stirred in his sleep and drew his
blanket closer around his body. Then he woke with a start, and sat bolt
upright. What was that peculiar sound away to the left? He listened
with straining ears, and in an instant he understood its meaning. It
was a snow-slide, sweeping down upon them with a roar of thunder! With
a yell that brought Rolfe to his feet, startled and dazed, North leaped
across the dying embers, caught Marion in his arms, sprang back again,
and staggered with his burden out upon the trail. No time had he to
explain to the frightened woman the meaning of his strange action, for
the roar of the onrushing avalanche was becoming louder every instant.
He could hear the great trees above him crashing before the weight of
the mighty demon. Could he escape with his precious burden? On and on
he sped, a wild desperation adding strength to his efforts. Then in
a twinkling he was hurled off his feet, and engulfed in a blinding,
smothering mass of whirling snow. Away he was carried, clutching
frantically the form in his arms. He was helpless to raise a hand of
defense. He felt like a man carried onward by a mighty current, now
sucking him down, then whirling him to the surface. The weight pressing
upon him was terrible. It was crushing the life out of him. At times he
could not breathe, and his brain reeled in his mad tumultuous rush. But
still he clutched Marion’s body, fearful lest she should be torn from
his arms. Then he felt a sudden freedom. The pressing weight relaxed,
and the invigorating air filled his lungs. One more blinding swish and
swirl, and he was hurled into something soft, where he lay half-dazed
and panting.

A low moan aroused him, and with an effort he struggled to his knees,
and groped around. His hands touched Marion’s body. He had not lost
her, but what had happened to her during that wild catapulting down the
hillside? Perhaps she was badly injured. Weak though he was, he caught
her in his arms, and lifted her partly from the snow which entangled
her.

“Marion! Marion! are you hurt?” he asked.

Receiving no reply, a great fear swept over him. Was she dead! He put
his ear close to her face and listened. She was breathing, but so low
that he could hardly detect it. Then he straightened up, and looked
anxiously around. What was he to do? How far had they been swept in
the wild rush? The moon had already risen, so he could dimly see the
great scar left by the snow-slide. It had plowed its way down through
the forest, and broken trees lined the path the monster had taken. He
shuddered as he thought of their narrow escape. But where was Rolfe?
Had he been carried down to destruction? The idea was terrible. But
he had no time now to spend upon vain lamentations. Marion needed
assistance, and at once. It was no use, he well knew, to go back to
the trail. Their camp had gone, so he might as well stay where he was.
Looking around, he saw several dead trees. From these he broke off a
number of dry branches, and brushing away the snow from the roots of a
big fir, he lighted a fire. Scraping back more snow, he cut some boughs
with his big pocket-knife, and then spread them near the cheerful
blaze. Here he carried Marion and laid her tenderly down. He could
see her face plainly now, and it was very white. How still she was!
Again he stooped and listened. Then he kissed her, calling to her, and
begging her to speak to him.

In a few minutes he had his reward, for with a weary sigh, Marion
opened her eyes and looked absently into his face.

“Marion! Marion!” he cried. “Don’t you know me? It is your own John.
Speak to me, and tell me if you are hurt.”

Slowly the girl’s senses returned. Seeing who it was bending over her,
a slight smile overspread her face, and her lips moved, although she
uttered no sound.

Leaving her, North piled more sticks upon the fire. He next cut down an
extra supply of boughs, with which he fashioned a cozy little lean-to
about his loved one. For a while she paid no heed to what he was doing.
Her eyes, however, followed his movements, and at last she called
faintly to him. With a bound the sergeant was at her side, kneeling
upon the robe and bending tenderly over her.

“Where am I?” Marion asked.

“Right here with me,” North replied. “You are safe.”

“What happened, John? I thought the world had come to an end.”

“It was a snow-slide. But we were wonderfully delivered, just how I do
not know now. Are you hurt, dear?”

“No, I guess not. I am only very weak. But where is the constable?”

Then seeing the anxious expression which swept over the sergeant’s
face, she quickly continued: “Oh, I know. He was carried away. Isn’t it
terrible!”

“It certainly is, Marion. I am afraid the poor fellow was swept down
in that wild rush. It was almost a miracle that we escaped as we did.
Another second and it would have been too late.”

For a few heart-beats there was silence, their minds filled with such
thoughts which only come to people who have stood face to face with
death.

“What are we to do, John?” Marion at length asked. “I suppose the dogs
were lost, too, as well as the camping outfit.”

“Everything is gone, no doubt,” was the quiet reply. “In all my
experience on the trails I have never run up against anything like
this. Snow-slides are common on the mountain side, but hitherto I have
always managed to escape them.”

“And to think that I should be with you, John, to add to your trouble.”

“Don’t, don’t say that, darling,” North pleaded, as he kissed her upon
the lips, and was pleased to see the color flood her cheeks. “You will
be a help to me instead of a hindrance. We shall get out of this, all
right.”

Notwithstanding the sergeant’s words of encouragement, he fully
realised the seriousness of their situation. Twenty miles from The
Gap, with no food and no dogs, and with a woman unaccustomed to the
trail made their plight appalling. How helpless they were, mere pigmies
in that vast wilderness of forest, snow, and stinging cold. Then, in
addition to all these, should a storm sweep upon them, their case would
be hopeless.




CHAPTER 14

Life for Life


The sergeant picked up a piece of wood and was about to throw it on
the fire, when a shout in the direction of the trail arrested his
attention. He dropped the stick, stared in amazement, his heart beating
fast. At first he thought he must have been mistaken, but when the
shout was repeated he answered with a whoop that echoed through the
forest’s silent reaches. Ere long he heard the sound of someone plowing
his way through the snow, straight toward him. In a few minutes Rolfe
appeared, his face very white, except one cheek which was streaked with
blood, and his clothes torn. For an instant he stared first at the
sergeant and then at Marion, who had risen to a sitting position. Then
overcome by weakness and excitement, he dropped upon the snow near the
fire. His hands clawed the air, as if warding off some invisible foe.
His eyes were big with terror. North stepped to his side and laid a
firm hand upon his shoulder.

“Come, buck up, old man,” he ordered. “You’re all right.”

That touch and the friendly word of cheer brought Rolfe to his senses.
The wild expression left his eyes, and his uplifted hands dropped.

“Lord, it was awful!” he moaned. “It was hell let loose.”

Then he looked over at Marion.

“Excuse me, Miss Brisbane,” he apologized. “But I am hardly myself
after what I have just gone through. I am mighty glad, though, to find
you and the sergeant safe. How in the world did you escape? I was sure
that you were buried down there in the valley.”

“We do not know how we escaped,” Marion replied, while a tremor shook
her body. “The Lord must have been with us, I guess. But we got off
better than you did. Something has happened to you. There is blood upon
your face.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, I assure you, Miss Brisbane. Something hit me a
glancing blow, a broken limb of a tree, I think, as I was struggling
out of the clutch of that monster. I was only a few steps behind you,
and how I got clear I have no idea. It was a terrible fight, and I was
nearly smothered. Then the first thing I knew I was wedged up against
a tree till I thought every bone in my body was being crushed. I lost
consciousness and when I came to everything was still, and I was lying
at the foot of a big fir with snow all around me. I was sure that you
two were gone and that I alone was saved.”

“Why did you shout if you thought we were lost?” North asked.

“I hardly know why, except that I was half crazy and just whooped.
I guess I was just like an infant crying in the night, and with no
language but a cry. I must have done it unconsciously.”

“It was mighty lucky you did, Rolfe, for I never thought of looking for
you up there. But I don’t think you can help us out any. We’re in a bad
fix, with not a scrap of food.”

“I know it,” the constable replied. “One of us will have to foot it, I
guess, to The Gap for grub. There’s nothing here. We might get a few
rabbits or ptarmigan. Now, if I had my rifle, I might get a moose, for
they’re quite thick down there in the valley along that wild meadow.
But what can one do with a revolver, for that’s all I have left.”

“Same here,” North replied. “I was afraid I had lost mine but it’s all
right. Now, look, something’s got to be done at once if we’re going to
have any breakfast. You stay here with Marion and keep the fire going.
I’m anxious to see what pranks that snow-slide has cut up where it
stopped. I have heard men tell queer stories about such things, but
always believed they were lying. I hope to goodness they weren’t.”

“Will you be gone long, John?” Marion anxiously asked. “Don’t run any
risk.”

“There is no danger,” North assured. “It should not take me many
minutes. I hope to get something for breakfast.”

The sergeant made his way to the great scar caused by the snow-slide,
and found easy walking here. It did not take him long to descend the
steep hill, the big moon making the night almost as bright as day. He
was astonished at the havoc which had been wrought by the descending
monster. Large trees had been snapped like pipe stems before the
terrific impact of thousands of tons of snow and ice, and hurled in a
confused and gigantic mass down into the valley. He followed the course
until he came to the level where the avalanche had been stayed. When he
could proceed no farther on the clean-swept way, he plunged into the
snow to the right and began to circle the heaped-up mass. He kept a
sharp lookout, hoping to find some portion of the camping outfit. But
nothing could he see. Dogs, food, sleds and provisions had evidently
been buried far out of sight.

After he had gone some distance, surprised at the width of the slide,
he decided to return. The snow was deep and the travelling difficult.
There was nothing that he could see except snow and tangled masses
of trees. He stopped and looked keenly in every direction, but not
a sign of bird or animal could he see. He knew that farther away he
might come across something, but he had not the strength to battle for
any distance through such deep snow. Sergeant North was not easily
discouraged, but a hopeless feeling now smote his heart. What was he
to do? How could he or Rolfe ever reach The Gap without snow-shoes?
It would take days to go and return with food, but if overtaken by
a storm, the journey would be impossible. Marion could not make the
journey, he was well aware, for if a strong man accustomed to the
trails would find the task an Herculean one, what could a frail woman
do? There was Hugo’s cabin to which they might return. But that, too,
was a long way back, and they would be but little better off when they
got there, as far as food was concerned.

He thought, too, of the valuable time he was losing. Bill, the Slugger,
would reach The Gap and escape to the mountains far beyond the strong
arm of the law. What would his commanding officer think of him? He knew
the stern code of the Force and what was expected of every member, and
here he was tricked by circumstances over which he had no control.

He was about to retrace his steps when a slight noise just ahead
arrested his attention. He whipped his revolver from its holster, and
peered forward, keenly alert. For a few seconds he could see nothing.
Then he noticed a slight movement in the snow near a mass of tangled
trees. Cautiously advancing, he ere long saw something which thrilled
his whole being. It was a moose, entrapped in the very forefront of
the avalanche, and feebly threshing its great antlers in its death
struggle. Drawing nearer, North saw that the animal’s hinder parts were
caught and crushed beneath a heavy tree while the rest of its body
was free. He knew now that what he had been told was no fiction, that
moose, bear, deer, and lesser animals were sometimes overwhelmed as
they sped before the terror of the mountains. This animal had evidently
been caught off guard near where the snow-slide had stopped. That the
brute had made a desperate fight was most apparent, and as North stood
watching its now feeble efforts a feeling of pity welled up in his
heart for this unfortunate creature. But what was death to one was life
to others, so drawing forth his sheath-knife, he at once put the animal
out of misery.

This sudden and unexpected incident filled North with renewed hope.
There before him was food to last for several days. And the skin, which
could be cut into long strips, what possibilities lay in that! He did
not attempt to remove the tree from the body, knowing how useless that
would be. But after the moose had bled freely, with his sharp knife
he laid back a portion of the skin and cut off several slices of the
warm, quivering flesh. This took him but a few minutes, and he then
made his way back to his companions, his heart overflowing with joy and
thankfulness.

This unexpected help in time of extremity seemed to Marion nothing else
than providential.

“I was always interested in that story of Elijah in the wilderness,”
she remarked as she watched the sergeant broiling the meat over
several hot coals. “Although I never really doubted that the Lord sent
those ravens to feed him, yet in some way it always appeared to me like
a fairy tale. But now I know that He does care, and will supply our
needs.”

“I guess you’re right, Miss Brisbane,” Rolfe agreed, as he squatted
before the fire. “From the way we have been helped it does look
reasonable. Now, if ravens, or some other birds would come along and
leave us a little salt to season that meat, and a few loaves of bread,
it would add a great finishing touch to the whole affair.”

“You are too moderate in your wish,” Marion smilingly replied. “Why
don’t you wish for a roast turkey, with all the fixings, and a big
plum-pudding while you are about it?”

“Yes, and oranges, pears, cigars, and such things,” North retorted.
“That’s the trouble with you, Tom, you’re never satisfied. Anyway,
there’s nothing but this meat for breakfast without any fixings, so
you’ve got to make the most of it.”

An hour later the three of them started to bring in a supply of moose
meat. Marion, who was now fully recovered, was determined to go, too,
and she enjoyed the tramp. When she saw the huge mass of snow and
tangled trees she gave a cry of amazement. But when she beheld the body
of the moose, her face became very pale.

“Isn’t it terrible!” she gasped. “I thought I was accustomed to
horrible sights, seeing so many in the hospitals, but this is somehow
different. How that poor animal must have struggled to free itself.
Nature can be so gentle and beautiful at times, and again so stern and
merciless.”

“I hate it all,” North replied as he drew forth his knife, and set to
work upon the moose. “Nature, as you call it, is always upsetting one’s
plans. Look what a mess it has got us into here.”

“Master Tennyson said,” Rolfe reminded,

  “‘I curse not nature, no, nor death,
    For nothing is that errs from law.’”

“Poetry again!” the sergeant growled. “I thought you were completely
cured. Well, I guess Master Tennyson would have done some cursing if he
had lived in a country such as this. Here, hold back this leg while I
strip off the hide.”

Marion watched the men until their task was completed. They then
returned to their camping-place, carrying with them the skin of the
moose, and large pieces of meat. The fire was replenished, and the
three sat down to rest.

“We must get to The Gap as soon as possible,” the sergeant began. “And
to do so, we need snow-shoes. Tom, you get to work and cut up that skin
into long strips as narrow as you can. I am going to look for some
suitable wood. We shall have to manufacture our own outfit.”

“What! make snow-shoes?” the constable asked in surprise.

“Certainly. They will be clumsy affairs, I admit, but they will serve
our purpose. Haven’t I told you how I made a pair years ago when my
dogs made a meal of the sinews?”

“But you had the frames left, sergeant.”

“That’s true. But as I haven’t frames now, I am going to make them.
I wish to goodness I had an axe. It is difficult to do anything with
nothing but a knife. Anyway, it can’t be helped, so I must make the
best of it.”

The sergeant was gone for over half an hour, and when he returned he
was carrying with him a bundle of stout withes, consisting of alders
and birch limbs. These he threw down near the fire and held his hands
close to the genial heat. He looked at Marion, who was sitting upon
the fir boughs, holding one end of a strip of the moose hide which
the constable was carefully slicing. She was interested in her work,
glad to be of some use. North thought that he never saw her look more
beautiful, and when she lifted her head and saw the expression of
admiration in the sergeant’s eyes, her cheeks took on a richer hue.

“This life certainly agrees with you,” he remarked. “You don’t seem to
mind the cold.”

“Not while I have something to do,” was the reply. “I am glad to be
able to help a little.”

North lost no time, but began at once making the frames for the
snow-shoes. He worked with feverish haste, for every minute was
precious. When Marion was not busy helping with the cutting of the
skin, she sat watching him as he peeled the sticks, bent each into the
proper shape, fastened the two ends together, set in the cross-bars,
and lashed them securely to the frame. The weaving of the web was a
more difficult task, but the sergeant showed Marion how it should be
done, and she proved an apt pupil.

“You are to weave your own,” he informed her, “while Tom and I do ours.
Let us see who will be done first.”

Then the friendly rivalry began, which was only interrupted as they
rested, prepared, and ate some more broiled moose meat. This simple
repast ended, they continued their work. Marion was the first to
finish, and triumphantly she held up her snow-shoes for inspection.
They were but poor clumsy affairs, yet they were to serve as means of
deliverance.

Although contending with many difficulties, there was never one word
of complaint uttered. The cold was intense, which even the fire could
not overcome. Huddled as close as possible to the heat, their faces
would be hot while their backs were chilled. No blankets had they to
wrap about their bodies. Fir boughs were their only protection, and
an abundance of these the men banked up around Marion, and then made
a shelter for themselves on the opposite side of the fire. That night
while the sergeant worked constructing a little rude toboggan out of a
number of sticks and a portion of the frozen moose skin, Rolfe repeated
numerous poems, to which Marion listened with much interest. Piece
after piece he recited, grave, stirring and gay.

“Poetry has always been my reserve power,” he explained. “When I get
downhearted, or in a tight place, a noble poem stirs me like martial
music. There are two, especially, which have never failed me yet. The
first is Newbolt’s ‘Play up, play up, and play the game.’ The other
is Henley’s masterpiece, ‘The Captain.’ No doubt you know it, Miss
Brisbane, but just listen to these words:

  “‘Out of the night that covers me,
    Black as the pit from pole to pole,
    I thank whatever gods there be
    For my unconquerable soul.

    In the fell clutch of circumstance,
    I have not winced nor cried aloud,
    Beneath the bludgeonings of fate,
    My head is bloody, but unbowed.’”

“Now, wouldn’t that stir the most discouraged? Doesn’t it arouse one,
make him stand up, face defeat, fight, and win? That is what it has
done to me over and over again. Now, just listen to this last verse:

  “‘It matters not how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishment the scroll,
    I am the master of my fate,
    I am the Captain of my soul.’”

Upon Rolfe’s face was an expression of great determination as he ended,
and his glowing eyes were looking straight before him. To him the words
were wonderfully real and effective. Marion, too, felt their spell, and
even the heart of the matter-of-fact sergeant experienced a strange
thrill.

“Tom, I never appreciated your poetry before,” the latter candidly
confessed. “To me it was all doggerel, but I see it in a different
light now. I am really glad to see that you have broken out again after
your unusually long silence.”

The constable’s face beamed with pleasure, and he gave a sigh of relief.

“Good for you, sergeant!” he replied. “Now you can understand why
General Wolfe recited Gray’s ‘Elegy in a Country Churchyard’ as he
moved up the river to attack Quebec. We have often argued about that,
and you always contended it was all nonsense. I am glad that you see
light at last.”




CHAPTER 15

The Truce of the Storm


Under the most favourable circumstances a northern trail in the
dead winter is a test of endurance. There is the stinging cold, the
weary tread hour after hour, up hill and down, with no prospect
of a hot supper waiting at the end of the day’s march. It is hard
and discouraging enough then, but how much more difficult when the
snow-shoes are merely rough, heavy makeshifts, the webs too loose to
support the feet in a proper manner, and the frames occasionally giving
way beneath the strain. In addition to all this and the weariness, to
have little to eat, and no comfortable resting place at night.

Such were the conditions under which the three wayfarers plodded slowly
onward the next day. North and Rolfe found it hard, but Marion a great
deal harder. The snow-shoes which had caused her so much pride seemed
like great clogs to her feet. She longed to throw them aside, but
that was out of the question. So wearily she struggled forward, doing
her best to keep up with the men, who were even then travelling at a
snail’s pace for her sake. The sergeant longed to help her, but as they
were moving in Indian file he could do little to assist. Several times
he tried to walk by her side, holding her arm and letting her lean on
him for support. But the snow was too deep, and each time he floundered
around on his wretched snow-shoes, and was always glad to get back on
the trail again.

That day they were able to make only a few miles, and camped early,
greatly fatigued. Once more little brush shelters were made, their meat
supper eaten, after which they gathered close to the fire for warmth.
The sergeant was anxious about Marion. She looked more weary than he
had ever seen her before. But she assured him that she was feeling
fine, only tired, that was all. In the morning she would be once more
ready for the trail.

“I have been trying Mr. Rolfe’s plan all day,” she said, “and have been
repeating verses which I learned years ago, especially old familiar
hymns. It was certainly a great help. I thought of what the Bishop of
the Yukon once told me. You remember how he and another man nearly lost
their lives in crossing the mountains from Fort McPherson. When they
were in terrible straits, not knowing where they were, worn to shadows,
and forced to eat their muck-lucks to keep life in their bodies, the
Bishop was greatly encouraged by the words of the hymn ‘Go labour on,
spend and be spent.’ You can add the Bishop’s testimony and mine, Mr.
Rolfe, to support your claim of the influence of poetry.”

“Indeed I shall, Miss Brisbane,” the constable declared. “When I go
outside, if I ever live to get there, I am going to give a lecture on
the influence of poetry. As examples, I shall relate the experiences of
you, the Bishop, and General Wolfe, as well as my own.”

“What about you, John?” Marion asked, turning to the sergeant, who was
seated by her side. “Haven’t you something to add to such imposing
witnesses?”

“I am afraid not,” was the quiet reply. “The only poetry I ever
learned was ‘God save the King,’ and but one verse of that.”

“Ugh! that isn’t poetry, sergeant,” Rolfe retorted. “That’s nothing but
doggerel.”

“It may be as you say, Tom, but there’s something in it, for all that,
which stirs the heart. The singing of that kept the spirit of loyalty
alive in this country, and sent hundreds of thousands of men overseas
during the Great War. It sent me, anyway, and brought me back again to
the north to serve the King when the war was over. You may read and
quote poetry all you like, Tom, but the finest poetry, to my way of
thinking, is found in worthy deeds of service. I can’t sing a note of
the National Anthem, and yet, perhaps, my work up here in trying to
carry out true British justice is worth something. I hope so, at any
rate.”

The constable was surprised at this outburst, for the sergeant was a
man of few words. He made no comment, however, but rose to his feet
and piled more wood upon the fire. What his thoughts were, he kept
to himself as he sat and watched the leaping flames and the sparks
dancing and circling up into the darkness. Marion and North sat upon
the opposite side near each other. Occasionally he glanced toward
them as they conversed together in low tones. A longing was entering
his own heart for the love and confidence of such a woman as Marion
Brisbane. Hitherto, he had thought little about it, being content with
his wandering life. But now he felt indescribably lonely. He seized a
stick and stirred the fire, which did not at all need stirring. Then
his pent-up feelings had to be given expression. He again rose to his
feet, and looking over at his companions began:

  “’Tis sweet to hear the watch-dogs’ honest bark
   Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home,
   ’Tis sweet to know an eye will mark our coming,
   And grow brighter when we come.”

“Getting sentimental, Tom, eh?” the sergeant queried.

“Why shouldn’t I?” was the retort. “It’s catching, I guess.”

The night was a hard one. The men took turns keeping the fire going,
but they slept little, owing to the cold. Marion determined to take her
share in watching, and the men did not oppose her wish. But when at
last, through extreme weariness, she did fall asleep, North and Rolfe
took off their short heavy coats, and laid them over her body, the same
as they had done the night before. Upon waking, she had chided them for
doing such a thing, and told them that they must not again run any risk
for her sake. The men had merely smiled, and remained silent.

In the morning Marion felt very stiff and sore from the unaccustomed
exertions of the previous day. She said nothing, however, as they
started once more upon the trail. But she could not deceive the
sergeant, and he felt greatly worried. He knew that she could not
travel far that day, only a few miles at the most. Something had to be
done, and he turned over in his mind the best course to pursue. For a
time he could not decide, but when Rolfe began to limp painfully, owing
to an attack of snow-shoe cramp, he hesitated no longer.

“Look here,” he began, “we shall never reach The Gap at the pace we are
going, and now that Tom is knocked out, matters are worse than ever.
You two must camp here while I go for assistance. I can reach The Gap
before night, round up a team of dogs and come back early to-morrow.”

Marion’s face turned pale at the suggestion, although she said nothing.
Rolfe knew that the sergeant was right, although he felt badly at being
forced to give up.

“‘Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!’” he quoted.

“‘This is the state of man----’”

“Never mind about your greatness,” the sergeant interrupted. “We know
all about that, and also your state at the present time. Get to work
at once and build as good a shelter as you can. There’s a fine clump
of trees right over there,” and he motioned to the left. “I’m sorry I
can’t help you.”

He then turned to Marion, who was standing silently near.

“Tom will look after you,” he told her. “Except for his poetry, he is
all right. He needs to be brought back to earth occasionally, that’s
all.”

He then stooped and kissed her. For a few seconds she clung to him, and
there were tears in her eyes.

“Take care of yourself, John,” she said, “I am sorry to give you so
much trouble. But for me, you both would be at The Gap by this time.
But, there, I must not detain you any longer.”

Hour after hour North moved on his way, up hill and down, through
thick woods and across barren regions. He was greatly hampered by his
miserable snow-shoes. They lacked the spring and buoyancy of the ones
he had lost. Often they clogged with snow, and he could not tell at
what minute they might go to pieces. He was forced to use the greatest
care as he well knew how much depended upon his getting to The Gap
for assistance. Should anything happen to him, then Marion and the
constable would both perish.

For some time he had been anxiously watching the sky, which was a dull
leaden color. He knew that a storm was not far away, and already the
wind was wailing among the trees. He hoped to outrace it, and if he
could cross a bad desolate tract of burnt land which he knew was ahead
before the tempest burst, he would feel quite secure. A storm in the
mountains was a thing to be dreaded. The weather had been fine of late,
exceptionally so, but he knew that it could not continue. The storm was
overdue, and when it did come, it was likely to be a most furious one.

Ere long fine particles of snow filled the air, and flecked his body.
They soon grew thicker, and by the time he had reached the edge of the
burnt region the storm was most menacing. He looked anxiously out into
the open where the snow, driven by the now unimpeded wind, resembled
the levelled lances of thousands of mystic legions of the north. To
go back he must not. His only course was forward, with the hope that
he might reach the opposite side before the trail became completely
obliterated.

Removing a mass of snow from his snow-shoes, and drawing his cap more
firmly about his face, North left the shelter of the forest and plunged
out into the driving storm. With head bent, and eyes fixed upon the
rapidly disappearing trail, he pressed steadily forward. It was a
hard struggle, and the cold was intense, piercing his body. At length
his progress became slower. His feet would slip provokingly off the
snow-shoes, and at times he found himself floundering around in the
deep snow, and only regaining the trail with considerable difficulty.
Often, too, he was forced to pause for breath, and to beat his hands
together in order to get some warmth into his numbed fingers. He
realised the seriousness of his situation, but he was determined not to
give up. He must reach the forest beyond. Marion’s life depended upon
his efforts, and he must not fail her. Again he struggled back upon the
trail from which he had wandered. Once more he peered keenly ahead,
hoping to catch sight of the friendly trees. But everything was blotted
from view, and his eyes ached from the lashing of the cruel snow.

At length he felt that he could go no farther. He was becoming
bewildered. The roar of the wind sounded like a demon hurling itself
upon him. He groped for the trail like a blind man. He was almost
waist-deep in the snow, and the snow-shoes were off his feet. His
body was becoming numb. But he would not give up. He would fight the
monster, and win out. With another frantic effort he threw himself
forward, his hands reaching out. Then he lifted up his voice in one
great cry of despair, the first that had ever come from his lips in all
his years of service in the Force.

And as he stood there, his face turned appealingly toward the forest,
the form of a man bending to the wind suddenly hove in sight. So
unexpected was this appearance that the sergeant gave a gasp of
surprise. The man seemed more than human as he advanced with long
strides. The storm whipping his great body appeared not to impede him
in the least. He was about to pass when North hailed him.

“Help! help!” he cried.

The traveller stopped short, swung quickly around, rubbed the snow from
his eyes, and peered keenly in the direction from which the sound had
come. Instantly North recognised Hugo, the trapper, and unconsciously
his numbed right hand groped for his revolver. Hugo, too, recognised
the sergeant, and noticing the movement of his hand, he gave a roar of
warning.

“Drop that,” he ordered. “Heavens! man, are you crazy? This is no time
or place to pull a gun. What could you do against me? I guess you’d
better wait. What’s wrong, anyway?”

“I’m all in,” was the reply.

“H’m, you look it,” Hugo growled, as he stepped closer. “All in but
your spirit, eh? Man, I like your pluck. Here, take my hand, and I’ll
lift you out of that hole.”

In another minute North was standing upon the trail, and then the two
men faced each other. The wind swirled the snow in furious gusts about
their bodies, at times almost hiding each other from view. North was
the first to speak.

“You are my prisoner,” he said. “I order you to surrender.”

Hugo’s only reply was to throw back his head, and emit a roar of
laughter.

“Do you think I am joking?” the sergeant sternly asked. “I am on duty,
remember, so your best plan is to obey.”

“Surrender! what am I to surrender, man? I’m here, but what are you
going to do with me? From all appearances you had better surrender to
me, and let me get you out of this. Let us stop this fooling and settle
down to business.”

“And you won’t fight?” North asked in surprise.

Hugo reached out, laid a heavy hand upon the sergeant’s shoulder, and
shook him.

“Wake up,” he ordered. “What’s the matter with you? Do you realize
where you are? Fight! I’m not going to fight a half-crazed man.”

The rough shake and the plain words brought North to his senses. He
looked around for an instant, and then his eyes sought his rescuer’s
face.

“Forgive me,” he said. “But I guess I have been a little off my base.
And no wonder. I’ve been in hell.”

“True to your orders, for all that, eh?” Hugo queried. “Lost, half
frozen, daft, and yet hanging on like a bulldog. Lord! is it any wonder
that the Force is what it is when it contains men like you? But tell
me, where is my daughter?”

“Marion?”

“Yes.”

“Back there with Constable Rolfe. I was on my way to The Gap for aid
when this storm knocked me out. Will you help me?”

“Is it a truce, then?” Hugo asked.

“A truce to what?”

“To our enmity. We are enemies, so it seems. But we must be friends for
a time to save my daughter.”

“Yes, and to save the girl I love, and who has promised to be my wife,”
the sergeant replied.

Hugo’s face darkened and a terrible temptation smote his heart. It was
only for an instant, however, and then reaching out, he seized North’s
mittened hand.

“It is well,” he simply said. “Let it be the truce of the storm.”




CHAPTER 16

The Man of the Gap


“The gap” is a natural opening between the Yukon River region on the
east and the great mountains on the west. In fact, it is the one
door through which people pass, Indians and whites alike, on mining,
trading, or any other business. In former days native warriors passed
this way to wage war upon some distant tribe. It was a regular
Thermopylæe where a few men could hold an entire army at bay. Two
huge shoulders of rocks, devoid of any vegetation, oppose each other.
Through The Gap flows a little stream, draining a lake miles away.
By the side of this runs the trail, worn deep by the tread of many
feet, not only of human beings, but of moose, deer, bear, and other
animals of the north. Just within The Gap on the Eastward side is a
remarkable valley, several acres in extent, scooped, so it seems, out
of the mountains. This is completely sheltered from every wind which
blows, and had always formed a favorite camping-ground for Indians. It
is a most desirable place, for apart from the shelter it affords from
storms and enemies, mountain sheep and other game are abundant, while
the little stream and various lakes teem with fish, especially the King
Salmon.

It was, therefore, but natural that Charles Norris, a clergyman sent
out by a great English Missionary Society, should choose this spot as
the strategic point in his work among the Indians. For long years he
and his faithful wife laboured among the tribes of the wandering foot.
They won them from heathen ways, and the influence of the Medicine Men.
A log church was built, and in due time a school for the children. A
linguist of no mean ability, Mr. Norris learned the native tongue, and
gave the Indians hymns, prayers, and portions of Scripture in their
own language. It was a happy community, uncontaminated by any of the
degenerating influences of so-called civilisation. When the Indians
returned from the hills, the church and mission house were always
filled with earnest seekers after the truth, and the hearts of the
missionaries overflowed with thankfulness to Him who had wrought such
wonders through their humble efforts.

Often they would look upon the great mountains, and in their majesty
and surrounding strength they would see the encompassing arms of the
Almighty. To them The Gap Mission was what Jerusalem was to the people
of Hebrew days. Their eyes would kindle and their hearts thrill as they
dwelt upon the words of the ancient poet:

  “As the mountains are about Jerusalem,
   So the Lord is round about His people.”

Hardly a morning passed that Charles Norris did not stand at the door
of his house and say, either silently or aloud:

  “‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
    From whence cometh my help.’”

It was a great day for the missionaries and Indians alike when the
first copies containing hymns, prayers, and portions of Scripture
reached them from England. Already there were leaders trained to
read, and these small books were carried by the natives to their
hunting-grounds. There night after night, where the two or three
gathered together, the leader would read the wonderful words contained
in the little manual. He would then repeat a number of prayers, and
all would join in singing some favourite hymn. To the missionaries it
seemed as if the Pentecostal fire had really come down upon those lost
sheep of the Rocky Mountains.

But alas! great changes ere long took place. This happy state of
affairs was not destined to endure. As the serpent entered the Garden
of Eden and destroyed its peaceful repose, so it was at The Gap. With
the discovery of gold, thousands of men poured into the country. They
traversed every trail, followed up every valley in their mad rush for
wealth. Although many of the newcomers were good men, who respected the
law of God and man, there were others, the scum of civilisation, who
polluted everything and place they touched. Little by little they led
away the Indians from their allegiance to what they had been taught.
For a time the natives resisted, but their thirst for hootch, and the
temptations the white men set before them, proved too strong. Sadly
Charles Norris and his wife saw their influence wane, and their work
of years brought to ruin. They pleaded, they prayed, but all in vain.
At last the day came when only two were left--an old leader, Tom, and
his faithful wife, Kate. Nothing could divert their loyalty to the
missionaries, and they, too, grieved over the defection of the members
of their tribe.

It was a trying time when the mission school had to be given up.
The children slipped away, one by one, a number of the girls being
led astray by white men. The loss of Zell affected them keenly. They
had hoped much from this girl, who was brighter than the others, and
possessed of nobler qualities. They had made much of her, and she was
to them almost like a daughter.

But the greatest blow of all to Charles Norris was when his wife
sickened and died. For a time he was completely bewildered. He laid her
to rest in the little Indian burying place nearby, and once again took
up his weary and lonely task. Nothing could induce him to leave his
post of duty. His Bishop came, pleaded, and reasoned with him, but to
no purpose.

“My place is here,” he had quietly replied. “The Indians may come back,
and when they do, I must be waiting to receive them. I have no other
home, and the interests of the outside world are nothing to me.”

And so he remained, living alone in his house, attended by Kate, the
Indian woman. She washed and cooked for him, and did what she could for
his welfare. His wants were few, his mind now being entirely occupied
with earnest prayers on behalf of his wandering flock, and preparing a
larger manual of worship for the natives.

“They may need it some day,” he had told his Bishop. “I have spent many
years in studying the language, and it may be a help to others when I
am gone. I feel sure that the Lord will not let all my work come to
naught.”

So great were his hope and faith, that every evening, both summer and
winter, he held the simple service in the log church. Exactly at seven
o’clock he would ring the little bell, which was fastened to a rude
frame near the door. When the sound had ceased he would look up the
valley, and listen intently for the music of hurrying feet which no
longer came as in the past. Only Tom and Kate would come, shuffling
along, to take their places near the chancel steps. The missionary
would then enter the little vestry, don his robes, and read the
service, never forgetting to pray for the absent ones.

One cold night after service the missionary returned to his lonely
house. Lighting a candle, he stirred up the fire in the sheet-iron
heater, and added a couple of sticks. He then sat down at the rough
deal table nearby which contained a number of books, several sheets
of paper, pen, and ink. His eyes rested upon his translation of
the beautiful benediction of St. Paul in his second letter to the
Church at Corinth. “Nyiwhet Kekwadhut Jesus Kreist vit chekoorzi ako
Vittekwichanchyo chettigwinidhun, ako Chunkyo Rsotitinyoo nichya sheg
Myiwhot tutthug zyunkoli. Amen.” Carefully he compared this with the
English, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and
the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with you all. Amen.” For some
time he sat there pondering over these words. He had no doubt about
their truth, but somehow it did seem as if they were not applicable to
him and his scattered flock. Grace had been strangely withheld of late,
love had grown cold, and the bond of fellowship broken. The enemies of
righteousness had triumphed, and truth had been trampled under foot.
He and his two faithful Indians were alone left to uphold the standard
of the Lord in that desolate wilderness. Was it really any use for him
to strive longer? Perhaps it might be better for him to go elsewhere.
Surely there was other work for him to do. Was he only wasting his
time by remaining at The Gap?

Suddenly there flashed into his mind the lament of the Lord, “I sought
for a man that should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before
me for the land, and I found none.” These words startled him, and he
quickly turned to the twenty-second chapter of the prophet Ezekiel. He
read them with kindling eyes, and his heart beating a little faster.
Why had they come to him just then? Was it a message from on high? A
warning for him not to leave his post of duty? Did the Lord mean for
him to remain there? Was there something yet for him to do? Yes, he
would stay, and when the time came that a man was specially needed, he,
Charles Norris, would be found standing in The Gap. This resolve gave
him considerable comfort, so once more he picked up his pen and went on
with his work.

For perhaps an hour he sat there, lost in his self-imposed task of
translating the clear brief English words into the long, forbidding
ones of the native language. He was at length aroused by a loud knock
upon the door. He started, and looked around. At once the door opened
and a man entered, who stood gazing for a few seconds at the scene
before him.

“I want shelter for the night,” he roughly said. “An’ grub, too. I’m
starving.”

He then moved toward the stove, and the missionary noticed that he
limped painfully.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, rising from his seat and stepping forward.

The visitor was about to make a savage reply, when he suddenly stopped.
Something about the old man restrained him. He could not tell what it
was, but Bill, the Slugger, for once was abashed. He put up his right
hand as if to keep the missionary back. The latter interpreted this
motion as a sign of faintness.

“Come, come, sit right down here,” he said, drawing up a chair to the
fire. “I shall give you something to eat at once, and make you a cup of
strong tea.”

With a groan Bill slumped into the chair, and when food was brought,
he ate ravenously. He gulped down the tea, and handed back his cup for
more.

“Say, ye don’t happen to have somethin’ with a kick in it, do ye?” he
asked.

“You mean hootch, I suppose,” and a sad expression overspread the
missionary’s face. “No, I have no use for the stuff.”

“It’s good enough, though, when it has the right kick,” the visitor
mournfully replied.

“It had the wrong kick among my flock, and ruined my work here.”

“Did it? That’s too bad.” Bill was feeling in a better humour now.

“An’ so ye lost ’em all, eh?”

“All but two; old Tom and his wife.”

“Religion doesn’t take much hold on Injuns, so I’ve heard. Ye’ll give
up yer job now, I s’pose. Much in it, eh?”

“In what way?”

“Oh, in money. D’ye git much fer hangin’ out here? It’s a wonder ye
don’t leave.”

“All I have in this world is here,” was the quiet reply. “My total
earthly possessions are under this roof, and out among the trees, a
short distance from the building.”

“What! a cache?”

“No--my wife’s grave.”

This unexpected reply startled Bill, and he gasped, knowing not what
to say. His movement caused him to groan with pain, and only with
difficulty he smothered an angry oath.

“Is there anything I can do for your leg?” the missionary asked. “I am
quite a doctor, so might be able to help you.”

“Yes, it’s bad,” Bill acknowledged. “Hurt it on the trail. Look.” When
the left bare leg was exposed, Norris beheld a nasty swelling, just
above the ankle.

“It looks like a sprain,” the missionary remarked, examining it
closely. “Hot applications and iodine will give you relief.”

The visitor made no comment but let the missionary wait upon him. Hot
cloths were then applied, after which the swollen part was well painted
with iodine.

“There, I guess that will do for the present,” Norris said, as he rose
from his knees, corked the bottle and placed it upon a shelf.

“A rest will do you good. You may sleep in that little room over there.
You will find it quite warm.”

“I’d rather sit here fer a while,” Bill replied. “Ye don’t mind if I
smoke, do ye?”

“Not in the least. The Indians always smoked when they came to see me.
Have you any tobacco?”

“No, I haven’t. Say, ye don’t happen to have any, do ye?”

“Yes, there is part of a plug which old Tom left the other day. He
won’t mind you having it.”

Bill eagerly seized the tobacco, quickly whittled off several slices,
and filled his blackened pipe. With a sigh of contentment, he leaned
back in the chair.

“My! that’s good,” he said. “I’ve been sufferin’ fer days fer a smoke.”

“Well, enjoy yourself, then, while I do some work,” Norris replied. “We
can talk later.”

Seated once more at the table, the missionary was soon engrossed in
his work. The visitor watched him curiously as he sent big wreathes
of smoke into the air. And truly it was a scene worthy of a great
artist--the venerable, white-haired man, with the long flowing beard,
noble forehead, and eyes expressive of sympathy and devotion. The
lighted candle, and the humble surroundings seemed to enhance the face
and form of the man, bestowing upon him a patriarchal dignity, and the
glorifying of the commonplace.

Of all this, however, the silent man near the stove thought nothing.
His mind was dwelling upon more material things, such as the amount of
money the missionary might have on his person or concealed about the
house, and whether it would be worth the trouble and the risk to knock
him on the head in order to find out. He wondered if he would fight
if ordered to produce anything of value. He believed that he could
handle him all right, and that he would easily submit when threatened
by a revolver. But of the old man’s eyes he was not so sure. There was
something about them that made him afraid, and awed even his reckless
and villainous nature. No respect for the self-denying and gentle man
of God entered his calloused heart. And gratitude for favors received,
which even the dumb brutes possess, was to him a thing unknown.

At length the missionary laid down his pen and looked over at his
visitor.

“You must be very tired,” he said. “It is my bedtime, so if you will
excuse me, I shall retire. Make yourself perfectly at home here, and if
you need any help in the night with your ankle, call me. But, as is
always my custom, I shall have a few prayers.”

At once the old man kneeled down and offered up his humble petitions.
He prayed especially for the wandering flock, not forgetting to ask a
blessing upon the stranger under his roof. Thanking God for all His
past mercies, and committing himself and his visitor to the Divine
protection, he rose from his knees and picked up his candle.

When the missionary began to pray, a cynical and a mocking expression
overspread Bill’s face. With unbent head he watched the “daft old
man,” as he considered him. But as the praying continued, some chord
of memory was touched, and for the first time in years he recalled the
little prayer he had learned at his mother’s knees. It was merely a
passing emotion, however, but it brought a softer expression into his
eyes.

“Are there any Injuns near here?” he asked, as the missionary was about
to leave the room.

“Yes, several bands are out in the hills, so I understand.”

“Where?”

“Due west, straight up the valley. Good night, and may you rest well.”




CHAPTER 17

The Trapper Arrives


Charles Norris was an early riser, and it was his custom to be at work
hours before the sun stole down into the valley. But the next morning
he departed from this habit of years, and remained in bed longer than
usual. He did not wish to disturb his guest, for, judging by what he
had heard in the night, he believed that his rest had been broken owing
to the pain in his leg, and so was forced to move around a great deal.
Once he had asked if he could do anything for him, and had been told
that nothing could be done. After that the missionary had gone to sleep
again, and did not awake until his usual time.

When at length he did get up and dress, he walked softly out into the
other room. He made as little noise as possible in placing several
sticks in the stove, and even postponed his breakfast. He sat down at
the table and busied himself for a while with his translation work. At
last he arose and went over to the corner of the room where he kept his
supply of food. Finding nothing there, he was surprised. He went back
for his candle and made a thorough examination of the corner. But not a
scrap of meat, bread, or flour, was left. All was gone. Somewhat dazed,
the missionary wondered what could have happened to his provisions.
Then an idea came to his mind which caused him some uneasiness. Walking
rapidly to the room where he believed his guest had slept, he held the
candle above his head and looked in. But no sign of the visitor could
he see. In fact, the bed had not been slept in at all. Then he knew for
a certainty that the man had gone, and taken with him the scanty supply
of food the house contained.

“My, oh, my! I am surprised!” the missionary murmured. “He need not
have stolen that food, as I would gladly have given it to him. Why did
he commit that sin?”

Charles Norris was of such a trustful disposition that it was hard
for him to see evil in anyone. So gentle was he that his gentleness
became a weakness when dealing with the stern facts of life. Had his
nature been moulded along more rugged lines he would have succeeded
better with his Indians. They considered his gentleness and patience
as a weakness in his make-up, and always imposed upon him, even when
most amenable to his teaching. Perhaps if he had been more severe,
and mingled with his gentleness some of the manly fibre of the Great
Master, it might have been better. But that he could not do. He would
win through gentle love alone, and in no other way, forgetting in his
holy enthusiasm that the truest love is at times closely linked with
the chastening rod. He knew that there was much evil in the world, but
he believed that the overmastering weapon to conquer it was love. He
trusted his unknown visitor that night, and when he found that he had
wilfully deceived him it was a severe shock.

Returning to the table, he sat down, and remained for some time lost in
thought. At length he turned and looked toward a little box upon the
shelf where a small clock was ticking. He rose to his feet, went over,
took down the box, opened it and peered in. It was empty! He had not
left much money there, but it was all that he had.

“So he took that!” he exclaimed. “I can understand his stealing food.
But my money! The Indians, even when most uncouth, never stole anything
from this house. And to think that a white man, and one I trusted,
should be the first to steal from me!”

The missionary was standing near the shelf, when a gentle tap sounded
upon the door, and old Tom at once entered.

“Good morning, Gikhi,” he accosted in the native tongue. “You are
alone, I see.”

“And why shouldn’t I be, Tom?” the missionary asked. “Am I not
generally alone?”

“Yes, but not last night. Where is the stranger?”

“Did you see him?”

“Tom saw him. Does Gikhi know who he is, and where he came from?”

“No; I never asked him.”

“Bad white man, ugh!”

“How do you know that, Tom?”

“Tom old man now. Tom knows much. Tom sees here,” and he touched his
eyes with the fingers of his right hand. He then placed his hand to
his forehead. “Tom sees more here,” he added, while a quaint smile
overspread his face. “White man steal grub, eh?” and he looked over
toward the corner of the room.

“Why, yes! How did you know that?”

“Tom get Gikhi grub now,” was the native’s reply.

“I can’t pay you, Tom. The white man took my money.”

“Tom doesn’t want pay. Tom glad to give grub. Gikhi good man.”

“Thank you, Tom. You are a true friend. I shall not forget this.”

When Tom had gone the missionary returned to his seat by the table. He
did not pick up his pen as usual, but sat staring straight before him.
Tom’s presence had brought back memories of other days when morning by
morning Indians had come to his house on various missions, and they had
always received a hearty welcome. They needed him then, but he needed
them now. This was a new and startling idea. He wondered why he had
never thought of it before. Had he done too much for the Indians, and
had not allowed them to do enough for him? “Service for others” had
always been his motto, and he had given of himself without stint. And
the sense of responsibility, and of giving without receiving, had been
an unspeakable joy. But had he thus taught the natives? Sadly he was
forced to confess to himself that he had not. He had presented to them
a distorted view of the life and teaching of the Great Master. Their
characters, accordingly, had not been developed, and in the time of
temptation they had fallen away.

“Forgive me, Lord! forgive me!” he murmured. “I did it unwittingly.
I am not worthy to be called Thy servant. But now my eyes are opened
and I see. Lord, give me another chance. Cast me not away in my old
age, until I show to Thy wandering ones the true glory of loving and
unselfish service.”

He ceased, and his grey eyes glowed anew with the light of a great
resolve. Charles Norris, the missionary, had made a wonderful
discovery. It came to him in a moment of time, but it had taken long
years of toil and hardship, of sorrow and failure, to bring it to pass.

He was aroused from his reverie by a heavy knock upon the door. Ere he
could rise, the door was thrust open, and Hugo, the trapper, entered,
bearing in his arms the limp form of Zell, the half-breed girl. Hugo
staggered as he started to cross the floor, and he would have dropped
the girl had not the missionary stepped quickly forward and caught her
in his arms. He then carried her over and laid her upon a little cot
near the stove. Hugo followed him, and looked down anxiously upon the
unconscious one.

“I made it!” he gasped. “Lord! I thought I’d never do it!”

“Who is the girl?” the missionary asked. “What has happened to her?”

Hugo made no reply, but sat down wearily upon the nearest seat,
which was nothing but a rough bench. His face was drawn and haggard,
expressing more plainly than words the great struggle he had made. The
missionary wisely forbore questioning further, but turned at once and
prepared a cup of tea.

“This is all I have to offer you, now,” he apologised, handing Hugo
a steaming cup. “I had a visitor last night, and he took nearly
everything but this.”

Hugo drank the tea, and giving back the cup, stretched out his hands
toward the stove.

“My! that heat feels good,” he said. “That poor girl must be chilled
through; I kept her as warm as I could, but it was a hard job.”

Going at once into his bedroom, the missionary brought out a thick
blanket and laid it carefully over the girl’s body.

“What is the matter with her?” he asked, turning to the trapper.

“She’s crazy, that’s what’s wrong. I found her wandering around in the
snow, singing and making queer noises, and so I brought her here.”

“But what happened to her? How did she come to be wandering about
alone?”

“It was due to a devil who calls himself a man,” Hugo savagely replied.
“I’m just longing to get my hands on that skunk, and I’ll----”

Hugo paused without finishing his sentence, and the doubled-up first
of his right hand shot straight before him. There was no doubt about
what he would do should he come across the man responsible for Zell’s
condition.

Just then Tom entered, and laid a supply of food upon the table. He
looked first at Hugo, whom he well knew, and then at the covered form
on the cot. Indian like, he made no comment, but drew the missionary’s
attention to the food.

“Never mind that now, Tom,” Mr. Norris replied. “Go and bring Kate here
at once. I want her to look after the girl over there. I don’t know
what to do for her. She should have a woman’s care, anyway.”

“Is the white girl very sick, Gikhi?”

“I am afraid so. She has had a hard time on the trail, and her head is
queer.”

Tom at once left the building, and in a remarkably short time he was
back again with his wife close at his heels. The latter, a stout,
motherly-looking woman, went at once to the side of the cot. She turned
back the blanket, and when she had drawn aside the hood which almost
concealed the girl’s face, she uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“What’s the matter, Kate?” the missionary asked, hurrying to her side.

The Indian woman made no reply, but pointed excitedly at the girl.
Owing to the dimness of the room, and failing sight, Mr. Norris bent
down over the cot and peered at the girl’s face. Then a great cry of
concern broke from his lips, and dropping upon his knees he reached out
trembling hands.

“It’s Zell; it’s Zell!” he exclaimed. “It’s our own lost child come
back again! Quick, Kate, remove her hood and let me have a good look at
her. Light the candle, Tom, and bring it here.”

When his orders had been speedily obeyed, he took the candle in his
left hand, and held it so that the light would shine upon the girl’s
face. Catching one of Zell’s limp, cold hands in his, he felt her pulse.

“No, she is not dead, thank God. But she needs help at once. You will
take good care of her, Kate.”

“Ah, ah, Gikhi, Kate will look well after the girl,” was the quiet
reply. “Tom will carry her to our cabin.”

“No, no, she must stay here,” the missionary insisted. “She has come
back home, and this is the place for her. My wife, were she alive,
would want our child to remain here.”

“She is not with us now, Gikhi, remember,” Tom replied. “Kate knows
what to do for Zell better than white men.”

“You are right, Tom,” the missionary agreed. “Zell shall go with Kate.
She is the proper one to look after her.”

“Good, good,” Tom replied, as he stooped and lifted the girl in his
arms. In another minute he was out of the house, with Kate following
close at his heels.

The missionary stood watching them until they passed within their own
abode. He then closed the door and came over to Hugo’s side.

“You are tired,” he said. “Let me get you something to eat, and after
that you must have a good sleep.”

The trapper looked up wearily into the old man’s face. The missionary’s
interest and sympathy touched him deeply. For the time, he was no
longer the great strong Hugo of the trail, a modern Esau, with his
heart against every man, except the unfortunate. He was as a child,
tired out, ready to rest.

After Hugo had eaten the simple meal, the missionary conducted him to
the room where he had taken Bill, the Slugger, the night before.

“There is a good bed,” he told him. “It has not been slept on for some
time. The man who stayed here last night was suffering too much to
sleep. He left before I was up.”

“Who was that?” Hugo asked.

“I do not know his name. But he had a bad leg, which he said he injured
on the trail. I did what I could for him, but it gave him no relief.
Anyway, he was able to travel and carry with him my entire stock of
provisions, and all the money I had.”

“What! did he steal them?” Hugo asked in surprise.

“Yes, but, then, perhaps, he needed them more than I did. If he had
only asked me, I would gladly have given him food, and money, too, for
that matter.”

Hugo was about to question further, but refrained, and stretched
himself out upon the bed. Carefully and almost tenderly the missionary
covered him with thick blankets, closed the door and went back to his
table and writing.

All through the day the trapper slept, and was only aroused by the
sound of the bell outside. Wondering what it could mean, he quickly
rose, went to the door and looked out. Then he understood, so closing
the door he walked over to the little church. The bell was silent now,
for the ringer had already gone into the building. Hugo also entered
and sat down on a seat near the door. Old Tom was alone, sitting in
his accustomed place. Presently the missionary came from the vestry
and began the service. Although Hugo could not understand a word that
was being said, he was much impressed. The church was cold, and dimly
lighted by two candles. The missionary’s voice was intensely earnest,
and a feeling of great respect came into the trapper’s heart as he
listened. What wonderful faith the man must have, he mused. How other
men would have given up long ago.

And as he watched, he gave a sudden start. A strange light seemed to
surround the two worshippers. He rubbed his eyes, thinking that he was
mistaken. But, no, the light was there, wonderfully soft, and yet much
stronger than that of the candles. It resembled the light which had
surrounded the sleeping child that night on the trail. He strained his
eyes, half expecting to behold some angel visitants. And as he looked,
the light gradually faded, and by the time the service was ended it had
disappeared altogether.

Hugo slipped out of the church, and when the missionary returned to his
house he found him sitting near the stove.

“Did you have a nice service?” the trapper asked.

“A remarkable one to-night,” was the quiet reply.

“But did you have any congregation? Are not most of the natives away?”

“You are quite right. Tom was the only Indian present, as Kate
could not leave Zell. But I was wonderfully inspired at the service
to-night. The church seemed to be filled with a great light, and I am
certain that I saw angelic forms filling all the seats, and crowding
the building. It may have been an hallucination, though to me it
was very real and heartening. But I suppose you will say it is all
nonsense. That is too often the way with people of the world who cannot
understand such things.”

Hugo made no reply just then, but that night as he sat smoking, he
turned abruptly to the missionary, busy at his writing.

“How is the girl?” he asked. “Have you seen her to-day?”

“Oh, yes, I have been over several times. There is no change as yet,
although Kate thinks that she will recover.”

Hugo smoked in silence for a few minutes. At length he rose to his
feet, and bent over the table.

“Will you do me a favor?” he asked.

“I shall be only too glad to do so if it is within my power,” was the
reply.

The trapper at once thrust his right hand into an inside pocket,
brought forth the diamond ring, and held it in the palm of his hand.
Seeing the look of wonder in the old man’s eyes, he smiled.

“It is no wonder that you are surprised, Mr. Norris, for one doesn’t
come across such as this every day. But I found it in a cabin and I
want to give it to you.”

“Give it to me!” the missionary exclaimed. “Why what in the world would
I do with such a thing as that? I have no use for so valuable a ring as
I take that to be.”

“Yes, I believe it is valuable. You can sell it some day, and it will
repay you a little for your care of that girl.”

“But I don’t want any pay for that.”

“So you won’t take it, then?” There was a note of disappointment in the
trapper’s voice.

“No, I could not think of doing such a thing.”

“Will you keep it, then, until I come back? I am going to leave early
in the morning, and may not return for several days. I am afraid of
losing it on the trail.”

“I don’t mind doing that,” the missionary agreed. “It should be safe
here, for I have few visitors, and the one I had last night is not
likely to come again.”

He took the ring in his hand and examined it closely. He noted the
flashing lustre of the diamond when the light of the candle fell upon
it.

“I wonder what fair finger this once encircled,” he mused, as if to
himself. “It’s a symbol of that life of which I was once so fond. It
brings back old memories which I thought I had forever forgotten. But I
left all those things behind when I enlisted beneath the Banner of the
Cross.”

“Are you happier now than you were then?” Hugo asked.

“I have never really thought about it in that way,” was the reply. “But
I know I am, for I am in possession of a Great Treasure which gives me
peace in times of storm, and joy in the midst of tribulation. A man who
once has that need never worry about losing the things of the world.”

“I believe you are right,” Hugo fervently replied, as he returned to
his seat by the fire, and continued his smoke.




CHAPTER 18

A Cowardly Deed


When Charles Norris awoke the next morning he found that Hugo had gone.
The previous evening he had shared with him some of the food which old
Tom had brought to the house. He had asked the trapper no questions
and was unaware of the errand which caused him to leave so early. This
was but natural in a country where men as a rule are reticent about
their movements. The missionary, who for years had known this strange
wanderer of the trails, was pleased at the apparent change which had
come over him. He had met him several times out in the hills, and had
heard numerous stories from the Indians and others about his great
strength and fierceness of manner. He had, accordingly, considered
him as an untamable being who for some special reason had fled from
civilisation and had buried himself in the northern wilderness. His
sympathy in caring for the half-breed girl, and his gentleness while
in the house, came somewhat as a surprise to the missionary. He was
pleased, too, that the trapper had not scoffed when he told him about
the vision he had seen during the service. There must be some good in
the fellow, after all, he thought.

After he had prepared and eaten his breakfast, the missionary left
the house and went over to his cache, situated several feet from the
ground between four big trees. Here his extra supply of provisions was
safe from prowling animals. He carried with him a small ladder which
he placed against one of the trees, mounted it and brought down such
things as he needed. These he at once took over to Tom’s cabin and laid
them on the floor.

“I bring these to pay you back for what you gave me,” he explained.
“You will find some tea there, too. How is Zell?”

“Better this morning, Gikhi,” the Indian replied. “Her eyes see, and
her tongue speaks straight.”

“Ah, that is good, Tom. You and Kate have done well.”

He walked over to the bed on the floor where the girl was lying,
stooped down and looked into her face. Then he took one of her hands in
his, and gave it a slight pressure.

“Do you know me, dear?” he asked.

For a few seconds Zell stared straight at him, as if trying to recall
something. Then a slight expression of understanding dawned in her
eyes, and her brow wrinkled. This was followed immediately by a look of
fear as she raised her right hand and struck feebly at the missionary.

“Go away, go away!” she cried. “Don’t, Bill, don’t! Oh, let me go!”

“Hush, hush,” Norris soothed. “You are safe here with friends. Don’t
you know me, Zell? It is your own Gikhi who has come to you.”

“Gikhi! Gikhi!” the girl repeated. “Not Bill?”

“No, no. Bill is not here. Just Gikhi, Tom, and Kate.”

With a sigh Zell closed her eyes and remained very still. The
missionary watched her for a few minutes until he was certain that
she was asleep. He then knelt upon the floor by her side, and remained
a long time in silent prayer. Tom and Kate sat upon the floor, and
with bowed heads waited for the missionary to rise. When he did so, he
turned to the faithful natives, and in a low voice told them to summon
him when Zell awoke. He then left the building with the intention of
going to his own house. But Tom followed close behind, and when the
door had been closed, he touched the missionary reverently upon the arm.

“Will Zell get well, Gikhi?” he asked in the Indian tongue.

“Let us hope so,” Norris replied, stopping and looking at the native.
“I have asked the Good Lord to make her well, so we must leave
everything in His hands now. He will do what is best, never doubt.”

“But the Good Lord didn’t make her that way, Gikhi. He had nothing to
do with it.”

“I suppose not, but He can cure her, nevertheless.”

“Did you hear her speak about Bill, Gikhi?”

“I did. She seemed to be very much afraid of him.”

“He is a bad man, Gikhi. Will the Good Lord punish him?”

“Most likely He will. The Judge of all the earth will do right.”

“But doesn’t the good Lord often leave us to judge and punish, Gikhi?”

“He often does, Tom, when it is necessary. But in this case there is
nothing we can do. We do not know who Bill is, so how can we punish
him? If the Police knew what he did they might track him down.”

“But doesn’t Gikhi know? It was Bill who stole his grub and money.”

At this information the missionary started and his eyes opened wide
with surprise.

“Are you telling me the truth?” he asked. “Was it really that man who
injured our little girl?”

“It was, Gikhi. I am telling you the truth. When did you know Tom to
lie?”

“Is it possible that I fed and cared for the villain who hurt Zell? If
I had known! If I had known!”

“What would you have done, Gikhi?”

“What would I have done?” The missionary stared at the Indian. He then
placed his hand to his forehead, a sure sign of his perplexity. “I
don’t know, Tom,” he at last confessed. “I am not sure what I would
have done. I must go home and think.”

He walked slowly away, leaving the Indian gazing after him. Tom turned
partly round as if to go back into the house. But he paused, and
looked far up the valley. His eyes burned with the fire of a strong
resolve, and his hands clenched hard. Years of Christian teaching could
not altogether crush out the wild impulse of his nature which he had
inherited from countless generations of warriors. Old though he was, he
felt the surge of revenge welling strong in his heart.

“Gikhi doesn’t know what he would have done to Bill,” he mused. “He
doesn’t know what he will do now. Maybe Tom knows what to do. Ah, ah,
Tom knows.”

The missionary spent most of the day within his own house, busy with
his writing. He was anxious to get his work done as soon as possible
that he might send it outside at the first opportunity, thence to be
forwarded to England for printing. He knew that it would be two years,
at least, before he could receive the first copy for revision, and then
further delay ere it would be completed. By that time the Indians
might be ready to return, so he hoped, and would be anxious for the
enlarged books of devotion.

Several times during the afternoon he went over to see how Zell was
getting along. On his last visit, just as the sun was disappearing
beyond the highest mountain peaks, he was delighted to find that the
girl recognised him, and gave a slight smile as he spoke to her. She
faintly murmured the one word “Tim,” and tried to tell him about her
lover. But she was so weak that the missionary advised her not to talk
just then, but to wait until she was stronger. He noticed that Tom was
busy mending his snow-shoes, and asked him where he was going.

“Out to the hills, mebbe,” was the evasive reply.

“After game?”

“Ah, ah. Wolf, mebbe.”

The missionary asked no further questions, although he wondered why
Tom should go hunting for a wolf. He forgot all about this incident,
however, as he once again rang the little bell and began the evening
service. His heart was full of gratitude at Zell’s speedy recovery,
which he felt was a direct answer to his prayers. He offered up special
thanks that night, and Kate, who was present instead of her husband,
was deeply impressed.

“The Good Lord has answered Gikhi’s prayer,” she told him when the
service was ended.

“There is no doubt about it,” was the reply. “He has promised to hear
us when we ask Him in faith. He never fails His people.”

“Will he bring back the Indians, Gikhi?”

“He will, He will, Kate, in His own way, and in His own good time. We
must be patient and keep on praying. He is testing us now, no doubt,
that our faith in Him may be strengthened. Perhaps we have trusted too
much to our own efforts, and not enough to Him.”

That night the missionary bent over his table, while time sped unheeded
by. He worked later than usual, for Love was the great theme which
occupied his mind. It thrilled his entire being, and drove all sleep
from his eyes.

“This is my commandment, that ye love one another, as I have loved you.
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for
his friends.”

He had translated these wonderful words of the Master, and yet he was
not satisfied. He longed to express them in such a way that the Indians
would have no doubt as to their meaning. He wanted them to know that
love was the greatest thing in the world, and that the proof of love
was service, even to the giving of one’s life, if necessary. Not in
receiving, but in giving, was to serve aright. If he could only impress
the natives with that great truth, how much might be accomplished.

So deeply engrossed was he with his task, that he did not heed the
opening of the door, which was never barred, nor the stealthy entrance
of Bill, the Slugger, into the room. He was near the table when the
missionary first became aware of his presence. He was greatly startled,
and the pen dropped from his hand. Seeing who it was, a peculiar
expression appeared in his eyes.

“Where did you come from?” he asked. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Ye wern’t, eh?” the visitor snarled. “Thought I’d gone fer sure, did
ye?”

“Certainly, after what you did to me.” The missionary was standing
now behind the table, his tall form drawn to its full height. “But I
am glad you have come back. Is there anything I can do for you? How is
your leg?”

“It hurts like hell.”

The oath annoyed the missionary, and his eyes flashed with anger. He
thought, too, of this man’s treatment of Zell. What effect would mild
words have upon such a creature? He recalled how the prophets of old
had denounced sinners, and even Christ, Himself, had spoken sternly
when it was necessary. He restrained himself, however, wishing to give
the man another chance.

“I am sorry you stole from me,” he said. “Had you asked me, I would
have given you all that food, and the money, too, for that matter. Why
did you commit that sin?”

“Say, are you a fool or bughouse?” Bill questioned. “Ye must be one or
the other to talk sich nonsense.”

“I am a fool,” was the unexpected reply. “Yes, like the apostles of
old, I am a fool for Christ’s sake, that I might win souls for Him.”

“An’ so ye’ve made a mess of the hull d-- business, eh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t yer Injuns left ye? If ye hadn’t been sich a fool, maybe they
would have thought more of ye.”

“Perhaps they would. Anyway, I did it all for the best.”

“If ye’d used a club instead of so many d-- whining prayers, they’d had
more respect fer ye. It’s the big stick that does things these days.”

“I don’t believe it.” The words leaped forth with such fiery vehemence
that Bill was surprised. The missionary’s eyes were now blazing with
indignation. His clenched hands rested upon the table as he faced his
visitor. “You may sneer all you like at prayers, but it was through
earnest prayer that the girl you so vilely injured in some way, I know
not how, is now recovering.”

For an instant Bill was caught off guard. His eyes expressed surprise,
mingled with fear. Immediately he regained his self-confidence,
however, laughed, and uttered another oath.

“Say, what are ye talkin’ about?” he asked. “I know nuthin’ about any
girl. I wish to G-- I could run across a pretty one here.”

The missionary made no reply. He stood very erect, looking full into
the face of the man before him. He was trying to read his soul, to
detect, if possible, whether he was speaking the truth. Before that
straight steady gaze, Bill’s eyes shifted, and then dropped. The
nobleness of this man of God stirred his heart with anger. He could not
withstand that silent, unwavering look. It aroused to fury the devil
within him more than biting words of reproach. His face assumed an ugly
expression, and stepping forward, he leaned across the table.

“Look here,” he roared, “d’ye think I’ve got time to waste in listenin’
to sich d-- nonsense? The girl ye speak about is nuthin’ to me. I don’t
care whether she lives or dies. But you’ve got something I want, an’
the sooner ye hand it over, the better. D’ye know what I mean?”

“Why, no,” the missionary replied, shrinking back a little from the
excited man.

“It’s the ring ye’ve got hidden somewhere. That’s what I want, so out
with it.”

“Oh!” The missionary started as if stabbed with a knife. He
comprehended now the purpose of this man’s visit. The real vileness of
his nature was fully revealed.

“What are ye waitin’ fer?” Bill demanded. “Didn’t ye hear what I said?”

“Yes, I heard, but I am waiting for you to recover your senses.”

“My senses are all right,” Bill retorted. “But you won’t have any
senses left to recover if you don’t git a hustle on. I want that ring,
and at once.”

“How do you know that I have a ring?”

“H’m, I know, all right. Didn’t I see Hugo, the trapper, give it to you
last night?”

“And were you watching?”

“Sure, I was watchin’. Ye don’t keep any blinds or curtains to yer
windows, see? Oh, I saw the ring, an’ know where it came from, too.
Hugo killed Bill Haines an’ his wife to git that. But I want it, so
hurry up.”

“What! was it the cause of murder?” the missionary asked, greatly
horrified. “Where? When?”

“Along the Yukon, near the C.D. Cut-off. Hugo killed Bill Haines an’
his wife, an’ threw their bodies into the river.”

“How do you know this?” was the unexpected question.

“Never mind how I know. It will all come out when the Police git
through with their job. But hurry up, I want that ring.”

A great suspicion now swept upon the missionary. He had not heard of
any murder, but if one had been committed, he surmised that the man
before him was the guilty one. He could not believe that Hugo would
commit such a deed. What should he do? Then he was suddenly aware
that he was looking straight into the threatening muzzle of a levelled
revolver.

“Ah, I guess that’ll bring ye to yer senses,” Bill growled. “That
carries more weight than all yer pious prayers. That’s what will touch
the heart quicker than anything I know.”

“Would you commit murder for the sake of a paltry ring?” the missionary
asked, unabashed by the danger which threatened him.

“It’s up to you to stop it, then,” was the reply. “If ye don’t want me
to commit murder, jist give up that ring.”

“But I have received it in trust. It is not mine to give.”

“That doesn’t make any difference to me. You kin explain what happened,
and Hugo will understand.”

“I won’t do such a thing,” the missionary sternly declared. “My life is
of little value as far as this world is concerned. But my honor means a
great deal. You will only get that ring over my dead body.”

Under the strain and excitement of the situation the old man suddenly
lifted his hand to give emphasis to his words. Thinking that he meant
to knock aside the weapon, Bill’s hand quickly moved, and his finger
pulled the trigger. There was a sharp report, a groan, and a heavy thud
as the missionary dropped limp and helpless upon the floor, his head
striking the table as he fell.

“Serves the old fool right,” Bill muttered, as he stepped around the
table and bent over the prostrate man. “That was the only way to stop
his d-- nonsense. Now fer the ring. I saw him put it in his pocket, an’
most likely it’s there yit.”




CHAPTER 19

Anxious Waiting


The storm which overcame Sergeant North, and wound its mystic
winding-sheet over the land, enshrouded the little brush lean-to which
Constable Rolfe had erected for Marion Brisbane. It was merely a rough
makeshift affair, and yet it served its purpose. It was sheltered from
the fierce wind by the big trees, and through their great outstretched
branches the snow sifted gently down. A generous fire radiated its
warmth and cheer, and the leaping flames melted and dissolved the
falling flakes. Rolfe was kept busy much of the time searching for dry
wood, and piling it near to serve not only for the rest of the day but
during the long night. Having no axe, this was a difficult task, and
he was forced to break off dead branches to add to his supply. Marion
longed to be of some use, but the constable jokingly told her that a
woman’s place was at home looking after the affairs of the household.

“Suppose we have a turkey for dinner to-morrow,” he said, as he was
about to start forth again on one of his wood-hunting trips. “Just
phone your order to Vancouver, and have a big fat bird sent up. Our
cook can prepare it to-night, and have it ready for the oven early in
the morning.”

“I am afraid that our phone is out of order,” Marion laughingly
replied. “Suppose you call in on your way home and order the turkey.”

In this manner the two marooned travellers passed the weary hours. As
night shut down upon them, they sang hymns and old familiar songs.
Rolfe recited poetry and read inspiring selections from his worn and
stained pocket manual.

“What a pity it is,” he said, after he had finished several short
poems, “that the ones who wrote such verses cannot know of the great
help they are to us.”

“Perhaps they do know,” Marion replied, “especially the ones we call
‘dead.’ I like to think that the departed have full knowledge of what
is taking place on earth. Perhaps even now the writers of those verses
are rejoicing because of the help they are to us. Anyway, isn’t it
great to feel that we never really die, but that our deeds live after
us.”

“It certainly is,” Rolfe acknowledged. “Tennyson has well expressed it
in two lines when he says,

  “‘Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
    And grow forever and forever.’

“Now, that is the idea. Tennyson was thinking of someone blowing a
bugle, and how the notes sounded far and wide. In a similar way his
words echo on and on, even to this desolate place.”

“Why don’t you write poetry, Mr. Rolfe?” Marion asked. “I am sure you
could do it well. Why not try?”

The constable’s face flushed, and he became much embarrassed. He rose
and placed several small sticks upon the fire. When this had been
accomplished, he turned to Marion.

“I have tried my hand at it,” he confessed, “although so far I have
accomplished very little. But when I am through with the Force, I hope
to give expression to the thoughts which arise within me. There is so
much to write about that it will take years to tell all I want to.
The sergeant thinks that it is all nonsense and waste of time. But he
doesn’t seem to understand. He is so very practical and matter-of-fact.”

The mention of the sergeant brought an anxious expression to Marion’s
face. He had seldom been out of her mind since she had bidden him
good-by, and watched him as he strode away. She knew what a difficult
journey lay ahead of him, and she feared that he could not accomplish
it on his miserable snow-shoes. Then when the storm swept down, her
fear increased. Rolfe, too, was alarmed, although he spoke hopefully.

“The sergeant is a wonderful trailsman,” he said. “Even if his
snow-shoes should give out, he can plow his way through. His endurance
is remarkable. Why, I have known him to cross a mountain range in a
howling blizzard, and come through almost as fresh as when he started.”

“But perhaps he will lose his way,” Marion suggested.

“Not a bit of it. You can’t lose him. He can follow a trail by
instinct. Say, he is a great man. I have been with him on terrible
journeys, and I wouldn’t be living to-day but for him. He carried me
several miles once when I played out. Don’t worry about him, Miss
Brisbane. He’ll get through, all right.”

Although these words cheered Marion to a certain degree, yet she could
not help feeling uneasy. As the storm increased, and the wind roared
overhead, and the trees swayed like great masts at sea, she thought
of the man she loved battling his way through the blinding snow and
the raging tempest. She also noted that as the evening wore on the
constable became unusually silent, at times, and his eyes expressed his
anxiety. She understood the meaning of this, and he could not deceive
her when occasionally he aroused himself and assumed an attitude of
cheerfulness and unconcern.

Rolfe, in fact, was playing a difficult part. He knew better than
Marion the serious situation in which they were placed. If anything
happened to the sergeant, it would go hard with them. They might fight
their way through when the storm abated. But the chance was only one in
a thousand, for now there would not be the least vestige of the trail
left, so what could they do on their wretched snow-shoes?

All through the long night Rolfe watched and kept the fire going.
Marion slept a little. She tried to keep awake, but weariness overcame
her. She would awake shivering with a fearful apprehension of impending
evil. She could not shake off this feeling, although she did not
mention it to her companion. The tired woe-begone expression upon the
constable’s face when he thought she was not noticing him smote her
heart. Then to see him smile so bravely when she spoke to him thrilled
her. She admired his courage, and the brave spirit he was maintaining
for her sake. It strengthened her, and made her determine that she
would show how a woman can suffer and be strong.

All unconsciously Marion was exerting a strong influence upon the
constable’s impressionable and poetic nature. Her beauty appealed
to him. The noble part he was performing in their present critical
situation he considered as nothing out of the ordinary. It was merely
what was expected of him as a member of the Force. In Marion Brisbane
he had at last found the type of womanhood which had been for years but
an ideal. Her brightness, courage, and sweet charm of face and manner
inspired him. It was good to be near her in time of need. His life had
been a rough one, but a great inner longing, and the energizing power
of a lofty ideal, had kept him clean and straight. He knew very little
of the society of women, so it was but natural that he should be deeply
affected by this beautiful comrade of the trail.

This feeling, however, Rolfe kept to himself. To him loyalty was as
vital as life. It flowed through every part of his being, and never
for an instant did he dream of betraying his sergeant’s trust in him.
So all the time he and Marion were together, neither by word or look
did he show that she was anything more to him than a friend for whose
welfare he was concerned.

Marion, too, did considerable thinking. Since leaving Kynox she had
been mentally comparing her two companions. She liked Rolfe for his
jovial manner, and poetic notions. He helped to pass the weary hours,
and to enliven the trail. But to her he seemed more like a boy on whom
the responsibilities of life pressed but lightly. She would at times
glance from him to the sergeant and note the difference between the
two--one gay, talkative, and dependent; the other reserved, quiet,
and self-reliant. She never associated Tom Rolfe with great deeds
of daring, but with John North it was different. To her he was the
very embodiment of a true hero. His lithe, powerful body, his strong,
clean-cut features, and steady gray eyes appealed to her. It almost
frightened her at times to think that she had won the love of such a
man, and that she loved him.

She thought of all this as she huddled there before the fire with the
tempest raging overhead. She pictured her lover out in the storm,
where, she did not know. And he was doing it for her sake, that she
might be saved. Upon himself he had taken the hardships and dangers of
the journey. That was always the way of a strong man. He had not asked
the constable to go, while he remained behind. Her heart thrilled at
the idea, and she longed to tell him how proud she was of him.

Slowly the weary hours dragged by, and when at length the dawn of a
new day dispelled the blackness of night, the storm slackened. The
wind gradually died down, and the snow ceased to fall. The constable
replenished the pile of wood while Marion prepared their meagre
breakfast. How tired they both were of moose meat, and yet there was
nothing else to keep life within their bodies.

“Meat! meat! meat!” Rolfe exclaimed, as he staggered in and threw down
an armful of dry sticks. “I shall write a poem about that some day, and
make the word rhyme with ‘beat’ and ‘feet.’ Why, I am inspired now,
listen to this:

  “Meat! meat! meat!
   It keeps me on my feet
   When I would go dead beat,
   And so I eat, eat, eat.”

Marion smiled as she handed the constable a piece of broiled steak.

“Perhaps this will inspire you to make another masterpiece,” she
bantered. “I am very thankful to be able to contribute something to the
work of a genius. Poets must eat, I suppose.”

“Right you are,” Rolfe replied. “They often wrote about eating. I
remember what Bobbie Burns said:

  “Some hae meat and canna eat,
     And some wad eat that want it;
   But we hae meat, and we can eat;
     Sae let the Lord be thankit.”

“Yes, we hae meat,” he commented, looking somewhat ruefully upon his
piece of burned steak, “but I wonder if Bobbie would say ‘Let the Lord
be thankit,’ if he had nothing but this?”

“But you have an appetite,” Marion reminded. “Didn’t the poet say that
‘Some hae meat and canna eat’? You should be thankful for that. I am,
anyway, and I find this meat very good.”

Both Marion and Rolfe were feeling more cheerful now. This little round
of levity did much to dispel the clouds of despair which overshadowed
them during the night. The passing of the storm also had its effect,
so they looked hopefully forward to a speedy relief from their trying
situation. But as the morning wore away and the afternoon was partly
sped, and the sergeant had not come, the feeling of deep concern again
oppressed them. They tried to be cheerful, and not to betray their
anxiety to each other. But their hearts were troubled, for they both
strongly felt that something had happened to the one who alone could
bring them the needed help. Rolfe had just replenished the fire for the
hundredth time during the day, and was on the point of going after more
wood for the night, when a cry of joy from Marion caused him to look
quickly around. At first he could hardly believe his eyes, for there
was Hugo, the trapper, coming toward them among the trees with great
strides. A toboggan trailed behind, containing a bundle, and a pair of
snow-shoes. His beard was thickly coated with frost, and he had the
appearance of Santa Claus on his mission of goodwill.

After her cry of joy Marion was too much overcome to utter another word
until Hugo had thrown the rope from off his shoulders, and stepped
from his snow-shoes. She then sprang to his side, and impulsively
threw her arms around his huge body, much to Rolfe’s surprise. Tears
of thankfulness were streaming down her cheeks as she looked into her
father’s face.

“Thank God, you have come!” she at length murmured. “But have you met
Sergeant North? Is he safe?”

It was well for Marion’s peace of mind that she did not notice the
expression which leaped into Hugo’s eyes as she asked that question.
She wondered, though, why her father somewhat roughly unclasped her
arms and moved closer to the fire. She mistook his meaning, thinking
that he was the bearer of bad news which he was loath to impart. Her
face turned very white.

“Has anything happened to him?” she asked in a voice that was almost a
whisper. “Surely he is not dead.”

“No, he is not dead,” Hugo replied, without looking at her. “At least,
he wasn’t the last time I saw him. But he was in a bad way when I
stumbled across him in that storm. But never mind about him now. How
are you two making out? Plenty of grub, eh?”

“Just what you see there,” Rolfe replied, pointing to the last of the
moose meat hanging from the limb of a tree. “We’ve had nothing but meat
diet for days.”

“Well, you might be worse off, young man,” Hugo reminded, looking
keenly at the constable. “But I’ve something here which will be a
change. It’s all I could scrape together, but I guess it will last
until we get out of this. We must not stay long, for the sergeant, in
whom you are so much interested, is waiting our coming several miles
away.”

This was good news to Marion and Rolfe. They asked several more
questions, but receiving no satisfactory reply, they desisted. Hugo had
brought some tea, and when this had been prepared in a small tin can
which he always carried with him, they were greatly refreshed. He had
also a supply of “sourdough” bread, and a tin of jam. To the ones who
had been living for days upon meat these proved great delicacies.

“Why, this is regular hotel fare,” Rolfe remarked, as he helped himself
to a second large slice of bread. “We only need the napkins and a few
other accessories to make it the real thing.”

Marion smiled, but Hugo seemed to take no notice of the young man’s
remarks. In fact, he had not heard him. His mind was upon more
important matters. He was tired, as well, for he had been on the
march through most of the storm, and long before dawn that day. He
did not tell of the terrible struggle he had made to reach his cabin
far beyond the valley, of his brief rest there while he packed up his
meagre supply of food, and his starting forth again before the storm
had spent its fury. It was not his way to tell of such things. He had
accomplished his purpose, and that gave him all the satisfaction he
needed.

But he was greatly disappointed. He had done it all for Marion’s sake,
and upon his arrival at the camp in the forest her first question was
about the sergeant. She had come to him from that world which he never
expected to see again. She had brought a new inspiration into his life.
She had changed him until he hardly knew himself. And yet for all
that she was not his. She belonged to another, a member of the Force
from which he had been fleeing for years. And yet he knew it was his
own fault. He had left her and her mother to face the reproach of the
world, and like a coward had fled to the wilderness. But Marion had
followed him! She had found him! Surely there must be love in her heart
for her wayward father.

All this swept through his mind during the short time he rested at
the camping-place. There were other things as well which caused him
considerable uneasiness, all of which, however, he wisely kept to
himself.




CHAPTER 20

United Forces


The sun of the short winter day was sinking below the distant mountain
peaks away to the west. It touched with its departing rays three forms
moving slowly across a vast desolate waste of snow. Hugo, the trapper,
and Tom Rolfe, the constable, were in harness, drawing the toboggan on
which Marion was seated. The men were on snow-shoes, with Hugo ahead,
with ropes across their shoulders. They were part way over the burnt
region where the sergeant had been overcome by the storm when the
sun went down. Ahead in the distance where the trees stood thick and
sombre, they planned to rest for the night. Here they hoped to find the
sergeant, and Marion’s heart beat fast at the thought of meeting him
again.

It was dark by the time they reached the edge of the forest, and a few
rods among the trees they found the sergeant standing before a cheerful
fire. His face brightened with joy as he saw them, and in another
minute he had Marion clasped in his arms. Hugo and Rolfe pretended not
to notice the meeting of the lovers, but busied themselves about the
fire.

Strange thoughts were beating through the trapper’s mind for all his
apparent unconcern. How he longed for Marion to greet him in such an
affectionate manner as she did the sergeant. He was her father, while
the other she had known but a short time. A sudden impulse swept upon
him to get off by himself, and forget forever that he had a daughter.
He would crush out every vestige of affection from his heart, and turn
his hand more strongly than ever against all mankind. He had been a
weak fool to be so easily deluded by mere sentiment.

He straightened himself up with a jerk from his bending position. Yes,
he would go at once, pretending that he had business elsewhere. But
just then Sergeant North stepped toward him, and held out his hand.

“I want to thank you for what you have done,” he began. “I can never
repay you. Let us henceforth be friends.”

Taken completely aback by this unexpected move, Hugo hesitated. It
was only for a minute, however, and then he drew his body to its full
height and looked steadily into the eyes of the man standing before him.

“How can we be friends?” he asked. “Am not I a suspected criminal? Have
you not been seeking me for years? But for a peculiar turn of events,
I would now be away in the fastness of the hills where you could never
find me. I am your prisoner now, so how can captor and captive be
friends?”

“You are no captive of mine,” the sergeant calmly replied. “You may
leave this place whenever you wish, and no hand will be raised to
restrain you. I never yet arrested a man who did what you have done for
us.”

“But how can you face your commanding officer when you meet him if you
let me go? In the eyes of the law I am a criminal. Have you forgotten
that?”

“I never knew it to forget, Hugo. Explain what you mean.”

“About that murder near the C. D. Cut-Off, of course. Am I not
suspected of that? Have you not been on my trail ever since you heard
of my visit to the Kynox hospital with the little child?”

“You are right, but only to a certain extent. Your actions naturally
aroused our suspicions, especially after you fled that night from the
cabin when we had taken shelter from the storm. But I had no orders
from Headquarters to follow you. I merely took the matter into my own
hands while on patrol from the river to The Gap. I wished to overtake
you to find out from your own lips what you knew about that murder. But
now I would no more think of suspecting you than I would Marion. You
are too noble a man to do such a diabolical deed. Do you not believe
me?”

“And you say that you never had orders to follow me and arrest me?”
Hugo asked in surprise. “Are you sure that the Force hasn’t been on
the watch for me for years? Haven’t I been looked upon as a criminal
escaped from justice?”

Into the sergeant’s mind there came all at once something which partly
explained the reason of the strange actions of the man standing
before him. He had evidently been labouring for years under a great
misapprehension. He had been obsessed with the idea that the Police
were searching for him. It was quite apparent that the man had fled
from the ways of civilisation, but to imagine that he could escape
in the northland was ridiculous. Of all places on the earth the
Yukon territory was the worst region for any criminal to flee for
refuge. Here the two Divisions of the Mounted Police spread out their
marvellous net into the most remote recesses. No miscreant had ever yet
escaped, no matter to what part of the world he had fled. Had they
wanted Hugo, the trapper, they could have taken him years ago. They
knew of his wanderings, and his peculiarities. Although the man was a
mystery, they never interfered with his manner of living. To them he
was a harmless being, one of many dwelling in the country.

“We never considered you as a criminal,” the sergeant replied. “We
never had any orders to arrest you.”

“You didn’t!” Hugo exclaimed. “Why, then, did you demand me to
surrender when I found you wallowing about in the snow, overcome by the
storm?”

“I wanted to hold you that you might give evidence in the murder case.
And, besides, I guess I must have been half crazy that day. I hardly
knew what a fool-thing I was doing.”

“H’m, you are certainly right. But it was a mighty plucky thing to do,
as I told you then. Why, I could have knocked you on the head and no
one would have been the wiser. It would have been charged to the storm.”

“Why didn’t you do it? It was your great opportunity.”

“Because I am not a brute. And, further, for my daughter’s sake. Now
you understand.”

“I do,” the sergeant replied. “And for her sake, if for nothing else,
let us be friends.”

Once more he held out his hand, which Hugo immediately grasped. For a
few seconds they faced each other without a word. Their eyes met in
a steady look, and their hearts thrilled. Thus two strong men became
friends there in the heart of the great wilderness. The bond of union
was sealed which neither would lightly break.

All this had been of intense interest to Marion. She listened to the
conversation, and studied the faces of the two men with fast-beating
heart. But when they at length clasped hands, she sprang forward and
threw her arms about her father. Her eyes were moist with tears, but
her face was radiant with joy.

“Oh, I am so glad, so glad!” she murmured. “Now we can all be happy.”

“Why, yes, so we can,” Hugo replied, his heart lighter than it had been
for years. “And something to eat will make us happier still.”

“Supper all ready on the dining-car,” was the startling and unexpected
announcement from Rolfe, who had been busy preparing the meal. His face
was beaming with satisfaction as the three turned toward him. “Seats
for two right here,” he continued, motioning to a blanket spread out
upon some fir boughs. “Please walk this way.”

“You are to be congratulated, Mr. Rolfe,” Marion smilingly told him.
“You have served a wonderful supper.”

“It certainly is, Miss Brisbane. Fried moose steak, with things we call
‘potatoes,’ bread, hardtack, biscuits, jam, and tea. Say, this is a
banquet after what we’ve been eating.”

“Poetry, eh, Tom?” the sergeant queried. “Those are the best words I’ve
heard you utter in a long time. That’s the kind of poetry which appeals
to me.”

“Oh, that’s nothing to what I can do, sergeant. Just listen to this:

  “Give me, oh, give me, just as I am,
   Potatoes and moose steak, hardtack and jam.

“Doesn’t that strike you as a masterpiece? Let me sing it for you. I
am sure you will enjoy it. I can add more lines as I go along.”

“Mercy! Mercy, Tom!” the sergeant exclaimed, taking his seat at
Marion’s side. “We’ve come through enough hardships of late. Do you
wish to inflict on us any more?”

“I only wanted to cheer you all up,” Rolfe explained. “After your most
solemncoly and dramatic spiel, I thought a little diversion wouldn’t
come amiss. However, if you don’t appreciate my efforts, I shall keep
my great thoughts to myself. The course of true genius, like love,
never did run smooth. I guess it’s something like what Crabbe, the
poet, said:

  “‘Genius! thou gift of Heav’n! thou light divine!
    Amid what dangers art thou doom’d to shine!’”

While Rolfe was thus talking, Hugo was watching him most intently. His
gray eyes shone with humor, a striking contrast to the fire of fear and
rage which had so often gleamed in those same orbs.

“Young man,” he began, “your words do me good. It’s been long years
since I have heard the light chatter of youth. Tragedy has been hanging
dark over my life. It has surrounded me on every trail, and entered
into my very soul. I have been a victim of gloom and despair. To me
the past was as a closed book, the present a period of misery, and the
future held out no hope. At times I had almost forgotten that I was
a man, and was in danger of becoming a mere brute. But a change has
taken place. The spirit of heaviness has been removed, and I see with
other eyes. Give me your hand, young man, and let us shake. I like your
buoyant spirit.”

Rolfe was much surprised at this unexpected speech, and as he seized
the trapper’s outstretched hand in a firm grip, his bronzed face
flushed with pleasure.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied. “I am pleased to know that you appreciate
my poetic chatter, and that it has done something to dispel the clouds
of darkness from your soul. I hope the rest of our discerning company
will make a note of this. It is certainly great to have such peace
and harmony reigning in our midst. This has been a regular old-time
experience meeting. I shall now call on the sergeant to lead us in
singing the ‘Doxology.’ He has a wonderful voice, which once heard can
never be forgotten.”

The truce agreed upon that night was a real one. It was a calm after
storm, peace after conflict. All were weary after the toil of the day
and for lack of sleep, and it was a great comfort to sit near the
bright fire and talk about the events of the last few days. Marion’s
face grew grave as Hugo told about finding the half-breed girl, lost,
demented, and how he had taken her to one of his cabins, and from there
to The Gap. He passed lightly over what that journey had meant to him,
and how for several miles he had been forced to carry the unconscious
girl in his arms.

“Poor Zell!” Marion said. “She was so bright and animated when we left
Big Chance. She was longing to hurry back to be once more with her
wounded young lover. She must have become lost when she went after the
wood.”

“The girl was not lost at first,” Hugo replied. “She was carried off
by that villain, Bill, the Slugger. I have proof, and when we come
face to face there will be another kind of experience meeting. The
mean, contemptible cur! Why, he even rewarded the hospitality of the
missionary at The Gap, that noble man of God, by stealing all of his
food, and lighting out some time in the night. It might be as well,
sergeant, to round up that brute and ask him a few questions about that
murder near the C. D. Cut-off.”

“I am not surprised at what you tell me,” the sergeant replied. “Bill
is a bad man, and we need him. I was hoping to be first at The Gap to
head him off. The task will be much more difficult now, so we shall
need your help.”

“And you shall have it,” Hugo emphatically declared. “I shall do
everything in my power to bring the guilty to justice.”

For a long time that night the sergeant and Hugo talked after Marion
and the constable were asleep. The trapper told all he knew about
finding the Haines child in the lonely cabin, and the blood-stains
leading to the river. But of the finding of the diamond ring he said
nothing. He would explain about that when he received it from the
missionary, and handed it over to the sergeant.

“I never expected to tell you all this,” he said in conclusion. “I
looked upon the Force as my deadly enemy, for reasons which you already
partly know. What led me to flee to this country I do not wish to
explain now. That can wait. But I see things in a new light, and I am
glad. I have been living long enough in hell, but have at last escaped.
There, now, I think we have talked enough. We need rest, for a hard
journey lies ahead of us to-morrow.”




CHAPTER 21

Helping Hands


Indian Tom had made special preparations for his trip to the hills. He
kept his plans to himself, merely telling Kate that he hoped to bring
back a fat mountain sheep. Old though he was, it was nothing out of the
ordinary for him to go a short distance from The Gap and return with
fresh meat. Kate, with her keen intuition, surmised that her husband
had something more important in his mind, and that he intended going
farther than usual. She made no comment, however, for Tom was master
of his own affairs, and possessed of a strong will. Kate, like other
Indian women, had been trained from childhood to be silent and to wait.

With everything in readiness, Tom planned to start early the next
morning. With his pack of food strapped across his shoulders, moccasins
on his feet, and rifle in hand, he slipped forth from his cabin and
made his way to the mission house. He wished to see the Gikhi, to tell
him that he would be away for several days, and to ask him to look
after the welfare of his wife and Zell. He knew that the missionary was
an early riser, and expected to find him seated at the table busy with
his writing. He had often visited the house early in the morning and
had always seen the light shining through the little window.

As he drew near the mission house he was surprised to find it wrapped
in darkness. The Gikhi must have overslept himself, he thought, and at
first he hesitated about awaking him. But as his business was of urgent
importance, he tapped upon the door, and then pushed it gently open.
All was dark within and the room was cold. A fear that something was
wrong suddenly entered his mind. He took a few steps forward, and then
stopped to listen. But not a sound could he hear.

“Gikhi!” he called.

Receiving no reply, he felt certain that something had happened to
his beloved missionary. Laying aside his rifle, he brought forth from
a pocket of his jacket a small candle. This he lighted, and when the
flame was large enough, he looked carefully around. At first he could
see nothing, but as he advanced to examine the bedroom, his eyes
rested upon the form of the missionary lying upon the floor near the
table. With a gurgle of consternation, Tom stooped and looked upon the
prostrate man. He felt his face, and found that it was strangely cold.
Quickly placing the candle upon the table, he lifted the missionary
in his arms, carried him over and laid him down upon the cot on the
other side of the stove. Going back for the candle, he looked keenly
around. But nothing could he see to give him any clue to the cause of
the trouble. He then went over to the cot, and again felt the still,
cold face. He placed his ear close to the missionary’s mouth, but could
detect no sign of life.

Forgotten now was his visit to the hills. His only thought was for
his beloved missionary. He needed help, and the only one who could be
of any assistance was his wife. Leaving the house, he hurried to his
own cabin, told Kate in a few words what he had found, and ordered
her to come at once. Zell was sleeping quietly, so following her
husband, Kate was soon at the mission house. She rushed at once to the
missionary’s side, and looking upon him lying there so still and white,
a great cry of grief broke from her lips.

“Gikhi! Gikhi!” she called.

But for the first time no response came to her earnest appeal. The man
who had led her out of darkness of heathenism was deaf to her voice.
Wildly she looked around, and then up into Tom’s face.

“Is he dead?” she asked. “Has someone killed him?”

“It looks like it,” Tom replied, placing the forefinger of his right
hand close to the side of the missionary’s head. “See! See! Blood!
Gikhi has been shot! Bad! Ugh!”

Then a wild rage filled his heart. The spirit of revenge, inherited
from countless generations of warriors, possessed him. The Gikhi, the
man who meant so much to him, had been shot by an enemy! He surmised
who it was, for no one but Bill, the Slugger, was in the neighbourhood.
Swiftly he turned and spoke a few rapid words to his wife. He next set
to work and built a fire in the stove. In a short time the genial heat
was pervading the room. He then started to work upon the body of the
missionary, rubbing the cold form and applying hot cloths.

Night passed, and morning dawned, but still Tom remained at his task.
Could he ever bring life into that still form? But at length he was
rewarded, for slowly a warmth returned to the body, and the beating of
the heart could be detected. Kate went back to her own cabin to see how
Zell was getting along, and returned ere long with a cup containing a
little Indian medicine, concocted the previous summer from various
roots and herbs. Between the missionary’s firm-set teeth some of
this was pressed, and in a short time the faithful natives had the
satisfaction of seeing the Gikhi give a sigh and open his eyes. He then
closed them again, and remained as motionless as before.

All through the morning the Indians did what they could for the
missionary. They knew, however, that their efforts were but temporary,
and that the white doctor at Kynox was urgently needed. But who could
go for him? There was not an Indian runner anywhere near, and the
hospital was far away.

Several times during the morning Kate went over to see how Zell was
getting along. The girl, who was now greatly improved, wondered at
the Indian woman’s excited manner, and why she was in such a hurry to
return to the mission house. She questioned her, but received only an
evasive answer. Zell had now reached the stage of recovery when she was
restless and impatient to be doing something. Although still weak from
the terrible experiences through which she had passed, she was anxious
to go back to Tim, and to take the Gikhi with her. How they would go,
she had no definite idea. But her faith in the missionary was so great
that she believed he could do the impossible. She had not spoken to him
as yet about her injured lover at Big Chance. She wanted to see him
alone, when Tom and Kate were not present. She was greatly worried,
too, about the white woman she had left by the camp-fire that night of
the terrible happenings. She had spoken of her to Tom and Kate, but
they knew nothing. Her mind was still confused and it was difficult for
her to think very clearly. But Tim and the white woman were ever before
her. They were in need, so she must go to them. The Gikhi alone was
the one who could help her.

All through the morning Zell worried and wondered. She dragged her
weak body to the little window facing the mission house and watched
through a small clear space in the frost-bedecked panes. It was a
lonely vigil she kept, for Kate was a long time in coming. What could
be keeping her and Tom so long with the Gikhi? She looked westward and
the great towering mountains met her eyes. The Golden Horn, robed in
its snowy mantle, caught the bright beams of the winter sun, and smiled
its benediction over the stark and silent land. Far away in a little
crouching creek at its base was Big Chance, where lay the one she loved
most on earth. And she could not go to him. She did not know whether
he was dead or alive. Tears came to her eyes and flowed down her
cheeks. Her face was wan and pale, a striking contrast to her animated
countenance of a few days before.

At last she felt that she could endure the suspense no more. Kate had
been away longer than usual, and she was sure that something was wrong
with Gikhi. Picking up a blanket and wrapping it about her head and
shoulders in Indian fashion, she left the cabin, and slowly made her
way along the path leading to the mission house. Several times she
tottered, so weak was she, but at length reaching the door, she leaned
against the building and listened. Hearing no sound from within, she
softly pushed open the door and entered. The sight which met her eyes
caused her to pause and her heart to beat fast. She saw the Gikhi lying
upon the cot, with Kate kneeling by his side, and Tom standing a few
feet away. With a cry which caused Kate to leap to her feet, the girl
rushed forward. She reached the cot, and exhausted by the exertion,
she dropped upon her knees and threw her arms over the still form lying
there. Not a word did she utter, but sobbed as if her heart would break.

Kate and Tom looked upon the weeping girl with surprise, and spoke
low to each other. Then the woman laid her right hand upon the girl’s
shoulder and gently shook her.

“You should not be here,” she reproved. “This is no place for you.”

But Zell made no reply. If she heard what was said she gave no sign,
but with outstretched arms and bent head continued her sobbing.

Kate spoke more sharply to her now, and tried to draw her away. This
aroused the girl, and she turned fiercely upon the woman.

“Leave me alone,” she cried. “I have the right to be here. Gikhi was
good to me, and now he is dead!”

Again she bowed her head and remained perfectly motionless, Kate and
Tom watching her, not knowing what to do. The girl puzzled them. They
knew that she had run away from the mission school, which had been a
great grief to the missionary and his wife. Now she had come back, and
avowed her love for the Gikhi.

They were still standing there when a noise outside arrested their
attention. Then a knock sounded upon the door. As no one entered, Tom
crossed the room, opened the door and looked out. Standing before him
were four weary-looking people, three of whom he at once recognised.
But the white woman he did not know.

“Is the missionary at home?” Sergeant North asked, surprised to see the
Indian.

Tom, however, made no reply, but stared intently at the sergeant.

“Is anything wrong with the missionary?” the sergeant asked. “Is he
sick?”

“Ah, ah, Gikhi much seek,” Tom replied. “Gikhi all sam’ dead.”

With a bound the sergeant was in the room, closely followed by his
companions. Hearing the strange voices, Zell lifted her head and looked
around. Seeing Marion, she staggered to her feet, and with a pathetic
cry of joy and surprise started to go to her. But the recent excitement
had been too much for her. She tottered and would have fallen had not
Hugo sprang forward and caught her in his arms.

“What is the meaning of all this?” he asked, looking sternly at Kate.
“What has happened to the missionary?”

“Bad white man shoot Gikhi,” the Indian woman explained. “Here,”
and she placed her hand to her head. “Put Zell in room,” she added,
pointing to the bedroom on the left.

Hugo did as he was ordered, carried the unconscious girl into the
little room, and laid her gently upon the bed. Marion followed, and
bent over the girl. Then she went to the door and spoke to Kate.

“Bring me some cold water,” she ordered. “Quick.”

When this was brought, she bathed Zell’s face, and ere long had the
satisfaction of seeing the girl open her eyes. For an instant she
stared at Marion, and then the light of recognition dawned in her eyes,
and her lips parted in a smile.

“Are you feeling better now?” Marion asked.

“Yes, better. But how did you come here? Where have you been? I thought
you were lost.”

“I am safe, Zell,” was the reply. “But never mind about that now. I
shall tell you later.”

Marion was about to leave to go back into the other room, when Zell
caught her by the hand.

“Save the Gikhi’s life,” she pleaded. “Don’t let him die. I want him to
speak to me again, to tell me that he forgives me.”

“I shall do what I can for him,” Marion assured. “But if he has been
shot, he will need more aid than I can give.”

“The doctor, you mean?”

“Yes. I wish Dr. Rainsford could come. He might be able to find the
bullet and save the missionary’s life.”

“Can’t some one go for him?” Zell asked. “Oh, if I were only strong,
I would go myself. Perhaps he is at Big Chance now. You said he would
come to see Tim, didn’t you, Miss?”

“I left word at Kynox for him to come as soon as he arrived. But that
seems a long time ago now, and he may have made the trip and returned
to Kynox.”

“But perhaps he has remained to look after Tim,” Zell eagerly
suggested. “Something tells me that he is at Big Chance now. Wouldn’t
he come like the wind if he knew the Gikhi needed him?”

“I believe he would,” Marion agreed. “The doctor is a remarkable man,
and always willing to make any sacrifice in order to help others.”

“But how can we get word to him? Who will make the long, hard journey?”

“I will.”

Marion gave a sudden start, and looked quickly round at these words.
Just behind her stood her father, bulking large in the doorway.

“The girl is right,” he said. “I happened to overhear what she said.
The doctor may be at Big Chance. Anyway, if he isn’t there he will be
somewhere.”

“And you will go--father!” Marion exclaimed in surprise.

“If I don’t, who will? The missionary is too good a man to let die
without making an effort to save his life.”

“But suppose you are overtaken by a storm, a snow-slide, a pack of
wolves, or some other terrible thing? That trail over which we came
lies right in the very shadow of death.”

Hugo merely smiled at his daughter’s anxiety. How could he explain
that dangers meant nothing to him? The wilderness was his home, and
a journey which might appal others was as life to his being. He also
kept to himself another reason why he wished to go for the doctor. He
believed that the diamond ring which he had intrusted to the missionary
was the cause of the shooting. He had made a brief search for it, but
could not find it. There was but one explanation, according to his way
of thinking. Someone must have been watching through the window that
night he had given the ring to Charles Norris. Only one man in the
vicinity, he felt certain, would commit such a deed. Hugo, accordingly,
felt somewhat responsible for what had happened to the missionary, and
it was necessary for him to do all in his power to help him.

Leaving the bedroom, Marion went to the side of the unconscious man.
She looked upon his pale face and long beard. How noble he seemed lying
there, like a warrior at rest, so she thought. He was breathing, but so
low that only with difficulty could it be detected. The sergeant was
standing near, while the constable was at the stove preparing something
for supper. Tom and Kate were nowhere to be seen. They had slipped out
of the room and had gone to their own cabin shortly after the arrival
of the white people.

“What are we to do, Marion?” the sergeant asked. “This is a bad job,
and the man responsible for this deed must be brought to justice. But
in the meantime what are we going to do with this man?”

“Suppose we move him from here,” Marion suggested. “Isn’t that his
bedroom over there?” and she looked toward a door on the left. “You men
can carry him in while I go and prepare the bed.”

In a few minutes this was done. The missionary was laid gently upon
his own bed, and for a time he was left alone. A little later Rolfe
summoned them to supper, and while they were eating they discussed
their plans for the future. Marion agreed to remain with the missionary.

“Zell will be with me,” she explained, “and I know that the Indian
woman who was here when we came will do what she can. I hope that you
all will be back soon without any mishap.”

“I am sorry to leave you,” the sergeant replied, “but there is nothing
else to do. It is our duty, you see, and that must come first.”

“Oh, I hope nothing will happen to you out there. The mountains beyond
here are very dangerous places, so I have heard. Will you follow right
after that wretched man?”

“Yes, until we find him dead or alive. But I don’t believe he will be
very far away, owing to the injury to his foot. You remember what Hugo
told us.”

“But he can shoot, though. He can hide and watch you coming, and can
shoot you both down.”

“We shall have to take that risk, Marion. But I guess we are too old
hands to be caught napping, are we not, Tom?”

“I guess you’re right, sergeant,” Rolfe replied. “Why, we’re going to
do wonders out there. Some day I shall write a poem about it which
will beat Tennyson’s ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ all to pieces. It
will tell about Sergeant North leading a lone constable into the jaws
of death with mountain to the right of them, with mountain to the left
of them, with mountain in front of them. Such a poem should make me
famous.”

“That will be too much of a fuss about the pursuit of one man, and lame
at that,” the sergeant dryly replied. “Surely you can hit upon a more
heroic subject.”

“Oh, I’ll make it heroic enough, sergeant, never fear. I shall bring in
about a lone woman left in fear and trembling, while two heroes marched
forth to avenge the wrong done to an old man. Never you mind, I shall
fix it up in great style.”

Leaving the men to continue their talking, Marion arose and went into
the bedroom where the missionary was lying. He was just as she had
left him. Sitting down by his side, she watched him. A great respect
for this man stole into her heart. She had heard much about him, and
his wonderful devotion and self-sacrifice. Her heart thrilled at the
thought of what he had given up for a great Cause. And was this to
be the end of it all? No worldly applause, no honor, and an apparent
defeat of all his efforts. She spoke of it that night to the sergeant
as they sat talking while the rest slept.

“Is such a life wasted?” she asked. “Will there be no result of all his
labors?”

“His work can never die,” the sergeant quietly replied. “The Indians
have deserted him and his teaching for a time. But it cannot be for
long. Some day, I believe, they will see the error of their ways and
return to him again.”

“But suppose he should die?”

“Then another will reap the harvest. One sows and another reaps.”




CHAPTER 22

The Messenger


From early dawn Tom, the Indian, had been on the trail. Dusk was
settling over the land as he paused on the brow of a hill and looked
anxiously down into the valley below. His eyes were keenly alert,
his ears attentive to the least sound, and he sniffed the air for
the camp-fire scent. He was weary, and longed to rest. But he had
an important mission to fulfil, so he could not stop until that was
accomplished. He was old and unaccustomed to hard travelling. His
trips of late had been to the hills surrounding The Gap for mountain
sheep, grouse, and ptarmigan. Only a great incentive had induced
him to undertake this venture. He had his doubts as to how he would
be received by the Indians scattered over the hunting-grounds. They
had acted in a strange and rebellious mood of late, so the hope of
influencing them was not very encouraging. But the vision of a wronged
girl and the wounded Gikhi animated his soul, and inspired him with an
overmastering determination. If what had recently happened at The Gap
would not open the eyes of the Indians and give them a change of heart,
nothing else would. He felt that the time was opportune, and that he
must make the most of it.

Leaving the brow of the hill he descended into the valley, and ere long
had the satisfaction of seeing a light among the trees not far ahead.
That Indians were encamped there was certain, and in a few minutes
he came in sight of a big log lean-to where a number of natives were
gathered around a cheerful fire. Several dogs heralded his approach,
while a number of men leaped to their feet and ordered the animals to
be still. In another minute Tom was in their midst, and accorded a
hearty welcome. All were glad to see him for his sake alone, if for
nothing else. They concealed their curiosity, for they were well aware
that only a matter of extreme importance would bring the old man so far
from his home in the dead of winter.

About a dozen people, men, women, and children, were encamped here.
They were a hardy lot, well enured to the cold, and living the simple
life. This was their natural domain, and here they were free from the
vices of the frontier towns and mining camps. Could they have been
kept here, all would have been well with them. But the attractions
and temptations of lighted streets, gaily-bedecked stores, and warm
saloons, were hard to be resisted. Such things formed the principal
topic of conversation during the long winter evenings, and all looked
eagerly forward to spring when they could once more gratify their
desires.

Tom knew of all this and how hard it would be for them to be drawn away
from such allurements. He felt that he might influence the older ones,
but had little hope of doing anything with the young men and women.
He did not at first explain the purpose of his coming, but after he
had eaten the food which was set before him, he sat near the fire and
talked about many things except that which was nearest his heart. He
heard also how the Indians were getting along with their season’s hunt,
as well as bits of gossip from other encampments.

After a while, however, Tom laid aside the pipe he was smoking, and
took a little book from a pocket inside his buckskin jacket. This he
opened, and then looked around upon his companions.

“You all know what this is,” he began. “It was given to us by the
Gikhi at The Gap. Some of you remember when the Gikhi first came to
live among us. His body was strong then, his eyes bright, and his hair
black. We opposed him, and the medicine men stirred us up against him.
Several times we tried to kill him, but the Great Spirit always saved
the Gikhi. He was good to us, and when a plague came upon us, he cared
for us, nursed us when we were sick, and saved many lives. When we
were hungry he always shared with us his food. But he did more than
that. He started a school for our little ones, taught them to read and
write, and how to do many useful things. Above all, he gave us the
Great Message which changed our lives, and lifted us from the level
of the brutes. Before he came, we treated our wives like slaves, and
worse than dogs. Now it is altogether different. Our wives are our
companions, and we use them right. Before the Gikhi came, baby girls
were badly treated. Mothers often let them die rather than permit them
to grow up to lead hard lives. Now our little ones are well cared for.
Before the Gikhi came, we were always waging war upon neighbouring
tribes. We thirsted for battle and slaughter. Now we are all living
in peace. And before the Gikhi came we allowed our old Indians to die
without any care. We would abandon them on the trails, and let them
perish. That is all changed now, and our old men and women are well
looked after. Before the Gikhi came we had no knowledge of Him who came
on earth and died that we might be saved. We know now. The Gikhi did
all that for us. He gave us this book, and taught us how to read it.
Here we find the Great Message of life and Eternal Hope, hope which we
never had before. Our little ones have been taught to sing hymns, and
you all remember what wonderful services we had in the church which the
Gikhi built. We were very happy then, and all looked forward to coming
back to The Gap to hear the Message from the Gikhi’s lips.”

Tom paused, while a sad expression overspread his face. He noted how
intently all had listened to his words. He believed that he was making
some impression upon them.

“A great change came,” he continued, “which broke up the Gikhi’s work.
Gold was discovered, and the white men flocked into our country, and
you know what they did. They brought in hootch which ruined our young
men and women, and many of the older ones, too. Our girls were led
astray, and the school broken up. The influence of the Gikhi was gone,
for the Indians nearly all left him. His wife died, I believe through
grief. She loved the Indians, and she was always a friend to them. The
Gikhi was left alone, but every night he rang the little bell and held
service in the church. He always prayed that the Indians would come
back, and he said that he wanted to be there when they came. But now I
am afraid it will be too late, and that the Indians will never see the
Gikhi again.”

Again Tom paused, and for a few seconds he sat very still, his head
bent forward. That he was in deep grief, the Indians were well aware.

“Has Tom bad news to give?” one of the natives asked. “Is the Gikhi
sick?”

“Ah, ah, the Gikhi is more than sick,” Tom replied, as he lifted his
head. “An enemy came at night and shot the Gikhi.”

At these words the men sprang to their feet and a babel of voices
ensued. Tom was plied with questions, so he told all he knew, and also
about what had happened to Zell. Deep, burning indignation filled the
hearts of all present, and they vowed vengeance upon the one who had
committed the dastardly deed.

“Where is Bill now?” was asked.

“Somewhere in the mountains,” Tom explained. “The Police are after him.
They will catch him before long, and take him back to The Gap.”

“The Indians will help to catch Bill,” a stalwart hunter announced.
“They will track him down.”

“Let the Police do that,” Tom replied. “The Indians must go back to The
Gap. They must show their love for the Gikhi. They must give up their
bad ways. They have wandered too far already, but it is not too late.
Will the Indians do that?”

The critical moment had at last arrived, and Tom anxiously waited for a
reply. He knew how much these Indians had been stirred by what they had
just heard. But would it affect their actions? And while he waited, the
oldest hunter present lifted his hand for silence.

“We have just received very sad and important news,” he began. “It
is a great grief to us to learn what has happened to the Gikhi. Our
hearts are all the more sad because we have left him and neglected
his teachings. I have been thinking much this winter while out in the
mountains. I have seen our young men and women wandering into strange
trails, and leading lives far worse than before the Gikhi came into
our midst. It is not good for them, and unless a change takes place
the Indians will all be ruined. I have been reading the little book
that Gikhi gave us, and on many nights when alone by my camp-fire I
have studied the Message of the Great White Chief who came to die for
us. If we follow His trail all will be well. The Gikhi has told us what
to do, and he himself has set us the example. He did not come among
us to cheat us in trade. He did not use hard words, but was always
gentle. He did not bring hootch among us, but he brought us the Living
Message to save our souls. He became as one of us, sharing our joys
and sorrows, and healing our bodies. And what have we done in return?
We have been false to him who did so much for us. We have followed the
trails of the enemy, and now one of their number has stricken down the
Gikhi. Let us call all the Indians together, go back to The Gap, and be
once more with the Gikhi. He may die, as Tom says, but let us be there
when he starts on the Long Trail, and it may be that he will see and
understand. Around our beloved Gikhi let us gather, old and young, and
promise to be true to the teaching of the Great White Chief in Heaven.
All who agree with what I have said let them now speak.”

For a few minutes there was silence when the old Indian had finished.
At length one by one the hunters expressed their views, and all with
one consent agreed to return to The Gap, and renew their allegiance. It
was an impressive scene to behold those husky natives give voice to the
strong conviction which animated their souls. Tom’s eyes glowed with
pleasure, and when the men ceased speaking, he lifted up the book he
had been holding in his hand.

“Let this be our guide,” he said. “What it contains will do us more
good than the words of the bad white men. I am now going to read a
Message from the Great White Chief.”

Then in a clear voice he read in the rhythmical native tongue the story
which can never grow old, of the Good Shepherd seeking the sheep which
had gone astray in the wilderness until He found it. He read the words
with intense pathos, and when he had ended, he closed the book, and
lifting up his voice, he began the hymn of “Nearer My God to Thee,” of
which the Indians were very fond.

  “Ndo nyet nyakkwum Ttia
   Ndo nyet nyakkwum,
   Kwizyit nititae,
   Guselshit chi.
   Tthui sih chilig telya
   Ndo nyet nyakkwum Ttia,
   Ndo nyet nyakkwum.”

The hymn ended, Tom dropped upon his knees, his companions doing
likewise, and offered up a few simple prayers, one of which was an
earnest appeal that the Gikhi might be spared, and that the Indians
might once more return to the right way. He concluded with the Lord’s
Prayer, in which all joined. As their voices rose as one, all of Tom’s
fears were removed. He believed that these Indians would remain true,
and that never again would they be induced to go astray.




CHAPTER 23

Rejected


Early the next morning Tom left the encampment and headed eastward. He
was greatly encouraged at the reception he had received from this first
group of Indians, and he hoped that all the others would be of the
same mind. He had some doubt, however, concerning a large band about
fifteen miles away. Numerous young people were there, who more than the
rest had become completely infatuated with the ways of Belial. They,
like a certain class in modern society of white folks, looked with
contempt upon the old-fashioned ways of their parents. They scoffed at
the Gikhi and his teaching as out of date, or suitable only for women
and children. Their chief delight was to visit the nearest town, array
themselves in the finest clothes they could buy, strut up and down the
streets, displaying their cheap and gaudy jewelry. Had they stopped at
that it would not have been so bad. But they did far worse, both young
men and women alike.

Tom knew of all this, yet he hoped that out in the mountains, away from
such contaminating influences, they would more readily listen to his
message, and that their hearts would be touched by the condition of
their once beloved Gikhi. He believed that they had not wandered so far
but that they could be induced to return to the right way. Anyway, he
considered it his duty to speak to them. So much in earnest was this
old Indian, and advancing years had increased his intensity, that he
did not feel at peace while so many of his people were wandering from
the fold. So long as a little strength remained, he was determined to
do what he could.

Twice during the day he met several Indians along the trail. To them
he gave his message, telling of the willingness of the ones he had met
the night before to go back to The Gap and renew their allegiance.
These listened with great interest, and all expressed themselves ready
to join in the return to the fold. They asked many questions about
the Gikhi, and Tom told them all he knew, and also about Zell and the
miserable white man who had injured her.

Tom was thus more encouraged than ever. He was meeting with unexpected
success, and he sped on his way with renewed energy. As the afternoon
waned, and the sun went down, he became very weary. The excitement of
the day, and the toilsome journey, were telling upon him. Every hill
he faced seemed harder than the last, and his snow-shoes were becoming
very heavy. But still he struggled forward, knowing that the encampment
for which he was heading was not far away. There he would receive a
hearty welcome, and obtain the needed rest and food.

At length the sound of voices fell upon his ears, and a light winged
its way among the trees. Tom stopped abruptly, for what he heard filled
him with apprehension. It was a confused babel of voices, telling
plainly of serious trouble. Stepping quickly forward, he soon came
in sight of the encampment, and in the shelter of the trees he stood
for a few minutes and watched all that was taking place. He knew the
meaning of the disorder only too well. Hootch was the cause, and he
saw two white men mingling with the crowd. Some of the Indians were
quarrelling, others were shouting and singing, while several were
lying in a helpless condition a short distance from the fire. Old and
young were giving themselves up to this wild carousal which was making
the night hideous. The white men alone seemed to be sober, and were
exulting in the debauch for which they were responsible.

All this Tom noticed with disgust and burning indignation. At first
he was tempted to turn away and leave the miserable creatures alone.
But upon second thought he changed his mind. He needed refuge for the
night, and he might be able to quell the revel, and bring the Indians
to their senses. Surely the story he had to tell about the Gikhi would
affect them.

As Tom stepped forward, beat off several snapping dogs, and made his
way into the midst of the Indians, he was greeted with shouts of
welcome. No one seemed to be surprised at the sight of the old man. Had
they been sober, their curiosity would have been great. They crowded
around him, offering him hootch, and when he refused to drink, they
laughed and called him an old fool. Freeing himself, he entered the
lodge and squatted down upon some blankets spread over fir boughs. He
wanted to rest and to consider what he should do. But even here he was
allowed no peace. Again and again he was urged to drink, and when each
time he refused, the Indians became more insistent, and some quite
angry. The white men, too, were determined in their efforts, and it was
all that Tom could do to keep calm. He contrasted this wild confusion
with the quiet and peaceful scene of the previous evening. What a
difference, and how little chance was there for him to deliver his
great message. He knew that these excited people would not listen, and
if they did, it would be only to ridicule him and the Gikhi. This was
no place for him, so he concluded. He would leave them, build a fire
some distance away, and there spend the night. Perhaps in the morning
he would get a hearing.

Acting upon this impulse, he rose to his feet, and started to move
away. But the natives had other views. They pulled him back with shouts
of laughter. The embarrassment of the old man was affording them
considerable sport. They would not let him go until they were through
with him. But Tom’s fighting blood was now aroused. In his younger days
he had been a stern opponent, and although his body was weak through
age, his spirit was just as strong as ever. His anger flared up at the
sight of the two leering and amused white men. Why had his people been
so deluded? Why did they not drive those foreigners from their midst?

With difficulty he struggled to his feet, and impatiently thrust away
the ones who were crowding around him. His eyes were now blazing
with indignation. He drew himself to his full height, and his stern,
commanding figure somewhat awed the excited men and women. They stepped
back, ceased their noise, and listened. In fiery language Tom told them
of the days of old, and of their happy condition at The Gap before the
coming of the demoralizing hootch. He turned his wrath upon the two
white men. He told them what one of their number had done to the Gikhi
and Zell, the half-breed girl. He thought that this would bring the
Indians to their senses, and his eyes noted keenly the expressions upon
the faces of those around him. In fact, he did detect signs of sympathy
in several eyes. But it was merely a passing emotion, for the liquor
had too strong a hold upon them. Owing to the silence, he believed
that he was really exerting some influence upon these people. But the
entire effect of his oration was counteracted by a sneering laugh from
one of the white men, followed by the words, “What is the old fool
trying to say?” At this the young men burst into uproars of laughter in
which most of the women joined. Tumult again broke forth, and when Tom
tried once more to speak, he was jeered at, told to go back home and
attend to his prayers. Stung to the quick by such taunts, Tom leaped
forward and faced the nearest white man. Thinking that the Indian was
going to attack him, the villain lifted his clenched fist and struck
him a savage blow on the face.

“Take that, you d-- crazy fool and mind your own business,” he cried.

Tom staggered back, stunned by the blow, tripped over a stick and fell
heavily to the ground. He struck the side of his forehead against a
stick, and in another minute blood was streaming down his right cheek.
Picking himself up with difficulty, he wiped away the blood and gazed
around in a dazed manner. Nothing but shouts of merriment greeted his
woeful appearance, and no one came to his assistance. He was in the
midst of his own people, but they had returned to the ways of the wild
where sympathy is unknown, and where on the slightest pretext they
would have rent him asunder.

Knowing now that further efforts would be all in vain, and wishing
to be by himself, Tom moved slowly from the encampment. He was the
dignified Indian once more, walking as erect as possible, paying no
attention to the laughter and jibes which followed his departure. His
forehead was sore, but much more so was his heart. His bright hopes
had all vanished, and he was an outcast. His own people would not
listen to his message, preferring the ways of evil.

When some distance from the encampment, and beyond the sound of the
revellers, he stopped, built a fire, spread a supply of fir boughs,
and passed the night alone. No sleep came to his eyes as he squatted
there thinking of all that had taken place. He knew how useless it
would be to go back to those Indians in the morning. They would be
either asleep, or more quarrelsome than ever owing to the effects of
the liquor. They would not listen to him, anyway, so he believed. But
he must have food, and the nearest place where this could be obtained
was the police patrol-house miles away. He would go there, rest, and
then make his way to the one more Indian encampment which he knew was
beyond. Perhaps the Indians there might be willing to listen to him. He
would try, anyway, even though they should reject his message.

Long before daylight he was once more on his way. He had eaten the last
of his small supply of dried meat he had brought with him, and this
strengthened him for the journey. He hoped to reach the patrol-house
some time during the day, and there he would find rest and food. He
thought little, however, about himself. It was his own people that
worried him, and the condition of the Gikhi at The Gap.

Hour after hour he plodded steadily onward, up hill and down, through
thick forests, across lakes, and long, sweeping wild meadows. He
had travelled miles by the time the dawn of a new day dispelled the
darkness of night, and the sun rose above the tops of the pointed
trees. He followed no trail, and he needed none, for the region was
familiar to him, and he was perfectly at home in the trackless wild.
He passed places where he had often camped in former days, and where he
had set his traps. The old longing for the chase came upon him, and his
eyes kindled when he came to a spot where he had killed a lordly moose
or battled with a fierce grizzly. But he was on a greater quest now, so
he could not afford to delay.

As the morning drew on to midday, Tom’s steps began to lag. He was
growing weary, and ere long he was forced at times to stop to rest.
Lack of food and the excitement of the previous night were telling upon
him. He knew that he had only a few miles more to go, so by carefully
conserving his strength he should be able to reach the patrol-house.
His indomitable spirit stood him in good stead now, so bravely he
pressed forward.

The last mile proved the hardest of all, and his progress was
exceptionally slow as he climbed another hill and paused on the summit.
Down in the valley below was the police trail with the patrol-house
nestling in the midst of a thicket of firs and jack-pines. Toward this
he slowly moved, and at length the squat log shack appeared in sight.
To his surprise he saw smoke issuing from the pipe stuck through the
roof, telling him that there was someone ahead of him, and occupying
the place. Perhaps the Police were there, and he hoped such was the
case, as they would be of great service to him now.

Reaching at length the building, he kicked off his snow-shoes, pushed
open the door and entered. The room was warm, and for a few seconds it
seemed very dark. As he stood there, peering keenly around, a groan
arrested his attention. Then a muttering sound came from the corner
to the right of the stove. Tom stepped quickly forward, and with his
eyes now accustomed to the dimness of the room, he was enabled to see
a form huddled in a bunk, covered with a single blanket. Bending low,
he looked upon the man’s face, and as he did so, he gave a start of
surprise, and straightened himself quickly up. It was Bill, the Slugger!




CHAPTER 24

The Wages of Sin


For a few minutes Tom was at a loss as to what he should do. Two forces
contended strongly within him. One clamored for revenge, the other
for mercy. Here before him was an unscrupulous enemy, the man who had
injured the half-breed girl, who had shot the Gikhi, and who, he was
certain, had committed that terrible murder near the C. D. Cut-off.
The spirit of his savage ancestors swept upon him, and for a while
seemed to have the complete mastery. His eyes glowed, and his body
trembled with intense excitement. He looked around for some weapon
of destruction, and seeing a small axe lying on the floor, he sprang
toward it, clutched it fiercely with both hands, and turned again
toward the bunk. He had the axe raised, and in another instant it
would have fallen, when with a great cry, he suddenly desisted, and
flung the weapon with his full strength against the opposite side of
the room. He then turned, rushed from the building, and stood outside,
trembling in every limb. His brain was in a tumult, but he was slowly
regaining his senses. The horror of the terrible deed he had almost
committed possessed his soul. It was not a dread of the Law which
affected him; in fact, he never thought of that. It was a greater Law
which said “Thou shalt do no murder.” There came to him the teaching
of the missionary, and the words of the Master which he had so often
read in the little manual, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse
you, do good to them that hate you.” That was the Law he had almost
broken in deed, and that he had broken it in spirit was a great grief
to the old man. He was only an Indian, wrinkled, bent, and gray, an
object of scorn to many white men had they seen him standing there.
But the action of that native was worthy of the highest honour. He had
met temptation in its most terrible form, and had almost fallen. But
he had resisted, and won a remarkable victory. He had crushed back the
spirit of revenge which was still strong upon him, and had submitted
himself to the spirit of the Great Master. But still his grief was
great. In his agony he dropped upon his knees in the snow, and lifted
his hands above his head in an attitude of supplication. No sound did
he utter, but his moving lips were more eloquent than many words. For a
few minutes he remained in this position, silent and alone. The trees
around him were the only witnesses to the humble worshipper mutely
asking forgiveness from the Great Spirit of the universe. And to him it
seemed that his request was granted, for a peace stole into his heart,
and a weight was suddenly lifted from his mind.

At length he rose to his feet, and looked around. His eyes, which a
short time ago had glowed with vengeance, now shone with the light of
joy. His weariness was forgotten, and even his hunger as he re-entered
the building to minister to the needs of the man lying upon the bunk.
As he approached, Bill lifted his head and raised his right hand.

“What are you doing here, you devil?” he demanded. “Why don’t you kill
me an’ git through with it?”

“Tom no keel Bill,” was the quiet reply. “Tom no all sam’ wolf now. Tom
Clistin.”

A bitter, sneering laugh came from the man in the bunk.

“You say you’re a Christian, eh?” he queried. “Well, ye acted jist like
one when ye started to brain me. Why didn’t ye finish the job?”

“Gikhi an’ good book tell no keel. Tom velly mad, heart bad when he see
Bill. Something here,” and he placed his hand to his breast, “tell Tom
to keel white man. Tom almos’ do it. Den somet’ing here say ‘no keel.’
Tom feel bad. Tom kneel in snow, pray, all sam’ Gikhi.”

Instead of admiring the native’s candid confession of strength, and the
influence of Christian teaching, Bill uttered a savage oath, told the
Indian that religion was all bosh, and that the missionary at The Gap
was a fraud and a hypocrite.

“The missionary is deceiving you,” he said. “There is no heaven an’ no
hell. Religion is only fer kids, women, an’ old fools like you. It is
not meant fer big strong men.”

“Gikhi good man,” Tom defended. “Gikhi come to Gap when Injuns all bad,
fight, keel. Gikhi show Injuns right trail. Gikhi tell Injuns ’bout
Great Spirit.”

“Yes, an’ what has all his teaching amounted to? Have not the Injuns
left him? They no longer listen to his teaching, but drink, gamble, an’
strut around the streets when they go to town. The women an’ girls go
with white men, live with them, an’ have babies. Why, I know of dozens
of kids who will never know who their fathers are, an’ their mothers
don’t know, either. Bah! what good has religion done?”

“’Ligion no do dat,” Tom again stoutly maintained, while his eyes
gleamed with indignation. “Bad white man mak’ Injun all sam’ crazee.
White man tote hootch, mak’ Injun drunk. Gikhi no do dat.”

Tom paused, stepped closer to the bunk, and looked keenly into Bill’s
face.

“Bill say ’ligion no good, eh?” he asked.

“That’s what I said,” was the reply. A groan of pain suddenly burst
from his lips, followed by blood-curdling oaths.

“Stop dat,” Tom sternly ordered.

The injured man looked up in surprise, and was somewhat awed by the
Indian’s manner.

“Why should I stop?” he asked. “I can swear an’ curse if I want to.
Religion means nothing to me. I’m not afraid of hell.”

“Bill no ’fraid of hell, eh? Bill no like pain. Bill cry all sam’
babee. Bill cry more bimeby, mebbe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tom leave Bill, mebbe. Tom go ’way. Bill no want Tom. Bill die, eh?”

It was not difficult for the white man to understand the meaning of
these words. He believed that the Indian meant what he said, and the
thought of being left there alone was terrible. He recalled the past
night of suffering and despair when he had writhed in agony of body
and mind. The swelling in his foot was most menacing, and was steadily
creeping upwards until his whole leg from foot to hip was badly
inflamed. He felt that there was nothing that could relieve him, but he
did not want to be alone. It was some consolation to have some one with
him, even though it was only an Indian.

“Don’t leave me,” he cried, reaching out his right hand as if to grasp
and hold the native. “Fer God’s sake, stay here an’ don’t let me die
alone!”

Tom’s eyes brightened as he turned them intently upon the pleading man
before him. This was more than he had expected.

“Tom no leave Bill,” he replied. “Tom Clistin. Wan tam Tom no Clistin,
leave Bill to die, keel heem, mebbe. Now, Tom all sam’ Gikhi, good to
Bill.”

“Oh, shut up about yer religion,” the suffering man snapped. “I’m sick
of it. Git me something to eat. That’ll do me more good than all your
yangin’ about religion. Ye’ve gone daft over it.”

“Ah, ah, Tom geeve Bill grub,” was the quiet reply. “But Tom ask Bill
wan t’ing, eh?”

“Well, what is it? Out with it. I’m hungry.”

“Bill no say bad word. Bill no talk ’bout ’ligion. Bill keep still.”

This was more than Bill was inclined to do, so he gave expression to
his feeling in a string of oaths. Tom listened for only a few seconds,
when he suddenly turned, left the side of the bunk, and started for
the door. Seeing that he was about to leave, the injured man realised
his mistake, and yelled for him to come back. Tom hesitated before
complying with this request. He then slowly retraced his steps and once
again stood looking down upon the white man.

“Bill call, eh?” he simply asked.

“Yes, I did. Don’t go an’ I’ll hold my tongue, an’ say nuthin’ more
about religion. Hurry up an’ git me something to eat.”

“Good, good,” the Indian grunted. “Tom git grub now.”

Tom at once turned his attention to the stove. There was still some
fire in the battered sheet-iron heater, so he added a few dry sticks
lying near. He found that Bill had done some cooking, and examining
several cans near the stove he was pleased to learn that they contained
cooked rice and dried fruit, while part of a loaf of sourdough bread
was lying on a biscuit box close at hand. Tom warmed some of the rice,
cut a few slices of bread, which he spread with a liberal covering of
jam from a recently opened tin. These he carried to the white man, and
placed the plate upon the bunk.

“Eat,” he said, “Grub good, eh?”

“It’s nuthin’ but trash,” Bill growled as he took a little of the food.
“Lord! I wish I had a good swig of hootch. That would put new life into
me. But there’s not a drop anywhere in this hole.”

“Too much hootch in Injun camp,” Tom replied. “Bad white man mak’ Injun
all sam’ crazee. Tom hurt, see?” and he placed his hand to his face.

“Who did that?” Bill asked.

“Jeree, white man. Plenty hootch. Jeree mad; hit Tom.”

“Where was that?”

“Injun camp, off dere,” and Tom motioned south.

“Was there another white man with Jerry?”

“Ah, ah, no savvey name. Beeg, bad face, all sam’ wolf.”

“Where did they come from?”

“Me no savvey.”

This information excited Bill, and he became very impatient. Once he
scrambled out of the bunk, but so intense was the pain in his leg that
he groaned in agony.

“I must git away from here,” he cried when Tom urged him to lie down
again and be still. “This is too dangerous a place fer me. Git me my
snow-shoes, an’ put me up some grub. There’s a hard trail ahead, an’ I
must be off.”

In another minute, however, he was glad to be back again in the bunk.
He moaned, cursed, and lamented his hard luck. His eyes expressed a
nameless fear, and often he looked anxiously toward the door.

“Did you see the Police?” he at length asked. “Are they near?”

“Ah, ah; P’lice at Gap.”

“They are!” Bill suddenly raised himself on his right shoulder. “Are
they coming this way? Do they know where I am? Does anybody know?”

“Ah, ah, Tom savvey.”

“I know ye do, ye fool. But does anybody else?”

“Me no savvey. P’lice savvey much, eh?”

“They do,” was the savage reply. “They are devils.”

The short afternoon was rapidly wearing away as the wretched man tossed
and writhed in his hard bunk. He became consumed with a burning thirst,
and called continually for water. Tom was kept busy melting snow, and
then placing the water outside to cool. Cup after cup he carried to
the restless patient, who would seize it, drain it to the bottom, and
demand more.

When night shut down, Bill became delirious, and it was only with
difficulty that the native could keep him in the bunk. He talked and
shouted almost incessantly, and Tom was shocked at many of the things
he said. If formerly he had any doubt about this man being the one
who had committed that terrible deed at the C. D. Cut-Off, it was now
entirely removed. The man lived it all over again, as well as other
deeds of infamy. Time and time again he would start up and look wildly
around, his eyes dilated with fear.

“Keep back!” he would cry. “Let me go! Let me go! Don’t put me under
the ice! Bill Haines an’ his wife are there, an’ they’ll kill me, oh,
oh!”

He talked, too, about Tim, and how he knew too much. He raved about
Zell, the half-breed girl, and how he wanted her.

“I’ll git ye,” he shouted. “Tim won’t have ye. I’ll fix him.”

He then gave utterance to expressions which further revealed the
baseness of his nature, and which Tom found hard to endure.

Thus all through the long night the man tossed and raved. Tom was very
weary, and longed to sleep. But he did not dare to close his eyes. When
he was not forcing Bill back into the bunk, he squatted near the stove
and smoked his old blackened pipe. Although his body was tired, his
mind was very active. He wondered what he should do with the sick white
man. That it was his duty to stay by his side he was certain. But how
was he to get word to that outlying band of Indians? It was necessary
that they should be told of the condition of the Gikhi, that they might
have a chance to return with the other natives who had avowed their
loyalty. But he was helpless to do anything.

At times Tom went to the door, opened it and looked out. It was a cold
night, and the Northern Lights were making a wonderful display. The
stars, too, were exceptionally thick and bright. There was no moon, but
with such lights in the heavens the night was not dark. All was still,
save for the occasional snap of a frost-rent tree, or the distant howl
of a lone wolf.

Thus hour after hour Tom kept his weary watch, while the man in the
bunk tossed, fretted, and revealed his past life of shame.




CHAPTER 25

“Maintien le Droit”


It was evening, and Sergeant North and Constable Rolfe were travelling
fast. They had been on the way since early morning, and were anxious to
reach the next band of Indians, where they were planning to stay all
night. They were not following the regular police trail, but visiting
the various Indian camps instead, hoping in this manner to obtain some
word about Bill, the Slugger, and perhaps overtake him. They believed
that he could not travel far, judging from what they had heard about
the injury he had received. So far they had learned nothing, but
that did not discourage them. They had often followed after men and
overtaken them with far less to work upon. This undertaking appeared
easy in comparison with some they had experienced in the past.

Sergeant North was anxious to get through with the job as soon as
possible that he might hurry back to Marion. It was hard for him to
leave her at The Gap with the unconscious missionary. He wanted to
remain with her. But his duty was out in the hills, so nothing must
interfere with his loyalty to the Force. He had a reasonable excuse for
delaying a day or two, at the least. Some men who had come through such
hardships would have rested before venturing forth again. As he swung
on his way, up hill and down, with the constable close at his heels,
Marion was almost constantly in his mind. He thought of her standing
at the door of the mission house bidding them good-by. How beautiful
she looked then, although her eyes were misty, and her voice trembled
as she tried to be brave and smile a cheery farewell. He had stooped
and kissed her right before the constable, and he did not know that the
latter’s heart was strangely stirred. He, too, longed for someone to
care for him as Marion did for the sergeant. He envied North his good
fortune, but it was envy robbed of all sting and malice. But away from
The Gap his buoyant spirit once more gained the mastery, and he was
apparently as light-hearted as ever. He joked, sang snatches of songs,
and quoted poetry to his heart’s content. North, if he heard, paid no
attention to his companion, so completely wrapped up was he in his own
affairs.

The first night they encamped with the band of Indians who had given
Tom such a warm welcome. These natives had heard nothing about the
presence of any white man in the hills. They were enthusiastic over the
idea of returning to The Gap, and asked the police numerous questions
about the Gikhi. The visitors listened with much interest to the Indian
service that night, which was conducted by the oldest native present.
The constable’s face showed his approval, and his eyes sparkled with
animation. The sergeant, on the other hand, expressed no outward sign.
But he was doing considerable thinking, and his heart was stirred more
than usual. He made no comment then, but the next day while resting
and eating a cold lunch, he turned suddenly to his companion, who was
seated on a fallen log by his side.

“Say, Tom,” he began, “I’ve been thinking much to-day about that Indian
service last night.”

“Is that so? Going to put a stop to it, eh? You shouldn’t allow such
superstitious practices to be carried on. They might do harm to the
natives, you know.”

“No, I’m going to do nothing of the kind, Tom. And besides, I have not
the power. And I don’t want to stop them. I have been greatly impressed
of late by what I have seen, and am beginning to look at certain things
in a different light.”

“Experiencing a change of heart?” the constable asked, looking
quizzically at the sergeant. “Isn’t it coming to you rather late?”

“Not too late, I hope,” was the quiet reply. “I am afraid that my
judgment of things pertaining to religion has been too much biased, and
a one-sided affair. I have been going upon the idea that religion is
all right in theory, but of little use in daily life. I see now that I
was wrong.”

“What has led you to change your mind?”

“Oh, several things. The first, and perhaps the most important, was
the thought of that old missionary giving up his life on behalf of the
Indians, and standing bravely at his post of duty when deserted by
nearly all of his flock. Why, Tom, that man is a great hero, and yet
the world knows nothing about him. I could hardly keep back the tears
at something I saw upon his rough table. Marion saw it, too, and she
was deeply affected.”

“What was it, sergeant? It must have been something out of the ordinary
to move such a hardened being as you.”

“It was the last bit of writing, I believe, that he did. His Bible was
lying open on the table, with a sheet of paper right near, on which
were some words in the Indian language. I did not know what they were,
but Zell could read them, and what do you suppose they were?”

“I could never guess.”

“They were words of the Great Master Himself, and they have fairly
burned themselves into my mind and soul. I had often heard them before,
but thought little about them. But to see them there in that strange
language, written with a trembling hand, and with an old rusted pen,
stirred something within me which I can never forget.”

“What were they?” the constable asked, now deeply impressed by the
sergeant’s earnest tone.

“Wonderful words about love which the Master was imparting to his
disciples. ‘This is my commandment that ye love one another, as I have
loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his
life for his friends.’ Now, what do you think of that? The last words
penned by that old saint for his wandering flock. And he lived them,
too; that is what affected me so deeply. His love was so great that he
actually laid down his life for the Indians.”

The sergeant paused and looked off among the trees. The constable
watched him somewhat curiously, completely surprised at the change
which had come over his leader. He admired him, too, and longed to
tell him so. But before he could frame suitable words, the sergeant
continued:

“And think of the influence that missionary exerted over the natives.
They were wild savages when he first came among them, so I have been
told. He changed their entire manner of living, and until base white
men began to demoralize them they lived at peace and we had not the
slightest trouble with them. It was a sad day when those wretched
hootch peddlers began their diabolical work. I believe the natives want
to follow the teaching of their missionary, and are anxious to return
to The Gap. They are naturally religious by nature. Did you notice last
night how reverent and attentive they were during that simple service?”

“Indeed I did,” the constable emphatically declared. “I was thinking of
what Longfellow said in his ‘Hiawatha’ about Indians. Did you ever hear
it?”

“Not that I know of. More poetry, I suppose.”

“Yes, but great poetry, and it expresses fully what was in my mind.
Longfellow says:

  “‘That in even savage bosoms
    There are longings, yearnings, strivings,
    For the good they comprehend not,
    That the feeble hands and helpless,
    Groping blindly in the darkness,
    Touch God’s right hand in that darkness,
    And are lifted up and strengthened.’

“Now, isn’t that beautiful? I could quote you a great deal more from
‘Hiawatha,’ though I advise you to read it yourself when you get a
chance. I can’t understand why you have not read it already.”

“For want of the proper poetic gift, I suppose, and because the
whole of my life has been lived in the open. But I like those words,
especially about feeble hands touching God’s hand in the darkness. I
guess that applies to me as well as to the Indians. But, there, we have
delayed here too long, so must get on our way.”

This conversation took place at midday, and all through the afternoon
the two men sped rapidly forward. They had little to impede their
march, for they carried only light packs, and their revolvers. They
could turn aside whenever they wished and obtain extra food from the
patrol-house.

When about a mile from the Indian encampment they were surprised at the
sight of a man just ahead, staggering along, and moaning as if in pain.
Coming closer they saw that he was a white man, known to them as Jerry,
a squaw-man, who lived in a small shack along the river. He stopped,
straightened somewhat up and exhibited much fear at the sight of the
policemen.

“What’s the matter with you?” the sergeant asked.

“The devils are after me!” was the gasping answer. “They’ll kill me!
For God’s sake, keep them back till I git out of this!”

“Who are after you?”

“The Injuns. They’ve gone crazy. Been wild all day. Me pardner is
killed, I guess.”

“Who’s that?”

“Bob Span,” the man replied, turning his head and looking fearfully
back. “They set upon us like wolves, an’ I jist managed to git away.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” the sergeant sternly asked.

“Trappin’, of course. Happened to stay last night with them Injuns, an’
was jist leavin’ when they set upon us. Don’t let ’em git me.”

The sergeant shot a swift glance toward the constable, and then laid a
strong hand upon the frightened man.

“You’ve been selling hootch to the Indians,” he charged.

“No, no!” the man denied. “I was jist trappin’. Let me go.”

“Quit your lying,” the sergeant ordered. “Do you think I’m fool enough
to believe what you say? You will go with us, and I warn you not to
make any trouble.”

“Where are ye goin’ to take me?” the man asked.

“Back from where you came, of course.”

“No, no; not there! The Injuns will kill me like they did me pardner.”

“Oh, we’ll attend to that. Come, we haven’t any time to lose.”

Seeing that the sergeant meant business and that further words would
be useless, Jerry did as he was ordered. He was well worn out through
fear and lack of sleep, so he tottered as he groped his way along. At
last the policemen were forced to help him, each taking an arm, and
thus they moved slowly along. At times Jerry wailed and sobbed. He
vowed that the Indians would kill him as soon as they saw him. Once he
dropped upon the snow and refused to go a step farther. It was only
when North threatened to leave him there, and let the Indians come and
deal with him, that he could be induced to go on. He was well aware
that his only hope now lay with these hardy guardians he had so often
eluded.

It was dark by the time the Indian encampment was reached, and there
all was excitement and wild talking. Men, women, and children sprang to
their feet as the policemen approached, dragging along their terrified
prisoner. The natives advanced threateningly toward Jerry, but a
stern warning from North caused them to hesitate and draw back. They
recognised the sergeant and the constable as men who would stand no
nonsense. They knew of them not only by report but through personal
experience in the towns and on the trails. They had always held them
in high regard and special awe, knowing that they and all the men of
the Force would carry out their duties to the letter. Now, however, it
was different. The natives were mad and half-crazed with bad hootch,
and they were ready to cast discretion to the winds. What could two
lone men do against an overwhelming number? This was the thought that
ran through the minds of several daring young natives. They had easily
disposed of the two hootch peddlers, and this made them venturesome and
impudent. They wished to show the rest of the Indians that they were
not afraid of the policemen.

Acting upon the impulse of the moment, one of their number uttered a
few words in the native tongue, sprang forward, and laid hold upon
the cringing Jerry. He was followed by several of his companions, and
Jerry was being lifted off his feet when the sergeant took a hand.
Whipping out his revolver, he sternly ordered the Indians to drop their
burden. As they paid no heed, the next instant the revolver spoke, and
the right arm of the leader dropped to his side. With a yell of pain
and rage the man staggered back, leaving his companions to complete
the task. But they had no relish now for the undertaking, for the
sergeant was standing silently there with his finger slightly pressing
the trigger, and by his side was the constable, with drawn revolver,
ready to follow his leader’s example. Quickly the natives deposited the
terrified Jerry upon the ground and leaped back among the rest of the
Indians who were standing defiantly near.

Seeing that for a time the rebels were quelled, the sergeant thrust
back his revolver into its holster, stepped forward, and drew back
Jerry to his side. His eyes then roamed deliberately over the silent
band before him. He was well aware that he had to use extreme caution
now, as the least mistake on his part might prove fatal. But his
experience with the Indians covered a number of years, so he was no
novice in dealing with them. Had he hesitated at the outset, and shown
the least sign of fear, the entire band would have been upon him and
the constable like howling wolves.

“Let us be friends,” he at length began. “We come here to help you and
not to fight. These men who carry hootch harm you. We want to do you
good, and save you from them. You could easily kill me and my companion
here. But it would be very bad for you. Other men would take our place,
and, if necessary, they would be followed by others as many as the
trees of the forest. You could not fight them. But we do not want to
fight. Let us talk this matter over, and be at peace with one another.”

Having finished, the sergeant moved forward, and sat down calmly near
the fire. The constable followed his example, and there the two waited
to see what would happen next. Although the Indians did not understand
all the words that were said, they grasped their meaning, and at once
began to talk to one another in the most animated manner. At length
they drew back, ranged themselves in a circle around the fire, some
standing, while others squatted upon the snow.

At last the leader arose and asked the sergeant why there were two
laws in the country, one for the Indians and another for the white
people. Why were not the Indians allowed the same liberty as their
white brothers? The land belonged to the Indians, as it had been handed
down to them from their fathers. Why could they not drink hootch if
they wanted to do so? They did not think that the white man’s laws were
fair. The strangers had come into their country, were killing their
game, and driving the natives farther and farther back into the hills.
Soon there would be no place left for them.

The sergeant was well aware of these old complaints, so he was not
surprised to hear them again. He was wise enough not to attempt to
answer them directly, as it would only involve him in a lengthy
argument, for which he was not at all inclined. He merely told the
Indians that what their leader said was only too true. But the Police
were in the country to protect them from bad white men, and to save
their young men and women. If they obeyed the laws it would be for
their good, and no harm would come to them. He then drew a picture of
their happy condition at The Gap when the missionary was their teacher,
guide, and friend.

“Were you not happier then?” he asked. “Were you not all like one big
family? But what has happened? Your teacher has been shot by a bad
white man, and he may be dead now. He gave up his life for the Indians,
and his every thought was for you. He was always praying that you might
come back to him again. Let us now forget all strife and think only of
him who is lying wounded in his house at The Gap. Suppose we have a
little service here, and pray to the Lord to spare the missionary. That
will do more good than quarrelling.”

This suggestion was carefully considered by the natives. Although he
did not know what was being said, yet the sergeant could tell that
several of the young men opposed the idea. But the will of the majority
prevailed, and it was not long ere many of the natives were holding in
their hands copies of the little manual which they had unearthed from
most unlikely places.

“The white man’s words are good,” the leader said, turning toward the
sergeant. “The Indians will pray for the Gikhi. Mebbe the Lord will not
let the Gikhi die.”

Then at a word the natives all dropped upon their knees while the
leader began to pray in the native tongue. At times all joined in, and
from their earnest tones it was quite evident that they meant what they
said.

Rising at length from their knees, they began to sing an old familiar
hymn. This ended, they sang another, and still another. Their
enthusiasm was now intense. It had been months since they had held such
a service, and their hearts were all deeply stirred. When at last they
paused to rest, some were anxious to start right away that very night
for The Gap, but others advised waiting until morning before beginning
the journey.

While they were discussing this, the other hootch peddler sneaked into
their midst and stood before the fire. He was shivering with cold and
his face was scarred and bleeding. The Indians made no attempt to
molest the miserable creature, but left him to the sergeant.

“Where have you been?” the latter asked.

“Out in the woods, freezin’,” was the gasping reply. “I would have died
if you hadn’t come along. Say, these Indians are devils.”

“Who made them devils?” the sergeant sternly asked. “You did,” he
continued, receiving no reply. “You and your partner brought in your
hootch-poison, and it’s a wonder they didn’t kill you.”

“They tried to. Oh, Lord! I thought it was all up with me.”

“It’s too bad it wasn’t for the sake of others. But the Indians won’t
harm you now, and you have that noble missionary at The Gap to thank
for it.”

“Why, where does he come in on this?” the man asked in surprise. “I
thought it was yer guns, an’ the hell-fear the Police have put into the
hearts of the Injuns.”

“Oh, that had something to do with it, I suppose. But unless these
Indians had been taught the difference between right and wrong, what
could two of us have done with this bunch? No, it was mainly due to the
teaching they received, and don’t you forget that. We’ve been on your
trail for some time, and would have caught you sooner or later. We’ve
got you now, and intend to hold on to you.”

With peace thus restored, the sergeant and the constable were able to
rest. The Indians supplied them liberally with food, and gave them a
comfortable place to sleep. They were tired out after their strenuous
exertions, but thankful for what had happened. As the sergeant lay upon
the robes spread over a wealth of fir boughs, he thought of Marion and
wondered how she was making out. He went to sleep with her in his mind
and heart, and did not hear the constable repeating one of his favorite
verses:

  “‘God bless the man who first invented sleep,
    So Sancho Panza said and so say I.
    And bless him, also, that he didn’t keep
    His great discovery to himself, nor try
    To make it, as the lucky fellow might--
    A close monopoly by patent right.’”




CHAPTER 26

The Night Struggle


The Golden Horn was agleam with the rising sun as the two policemen
left the Indian encampment the next morning and headed for the
patrol-house. They were late in starting, owing to the arrangements
they had to make in connection with the two hootch peddlers. At first
it seemed as if the constable would have to conduct them to The Gap,
leaving the sergeant to obtain a native to go with him. The matter was
at length settled by several Indians agreeing to take the prisoners
all the way to Kynox. The sergeant told them that they would be well
rewarded if they delivered the two men to the police stationed at that
post.

So once more the upholders of the law and the guardians of life sped
along through the wilderness. For a while there was nothing to guide
them. Then they came upon Tom’s trail, and this they followed. They had
heard about the old Indian’s visit to the encampment, and the harsh
reception which had been meted out to him. They surmised that he had
made his way to the patrol-house for shelter and food.

“Say, sergeant,” Rolfe remarked, as they paused to rest on the summit
of a hill they had just climbed, “I wonder if the Wandering Jew had any
children.”

“I never heard that he did,” was the reply. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I have come to the conclusion that he did, and that we are
two of his descendants. We are ever wandering from place to place, and
have been doing so for years. It seems to be our fate. I am getting
more than tired of this life.”

“Longing for a change, eh?”

“It wouldn’t come amiss, let me tell you that.”

“But we’re getting plenty of change, Tom. Ever since we left Kynox
haven’t we had no end of excitement, ending up with that racket last
night?”

“Do you call that the end? It looks to me like only the beginning. But,
then, let us keep up courage; the worst is yet to come. Say, sergeant,
I’ve been thinking.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Tom. Rather unusual, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps so, but I really have. I’ve been thinking about all the people
who sing the national anthem in cities and towns.”

“Does your brain hurt from such deep thinking?”

“I wonder if they realize what our motto, ‘Maintien le Droit,’ really
means? Look at us, for instance, upholding the right, and enforcing the
King’s laws, while all they do is sing, cheer, and wave the flag. When
I get out of the Force, I’m going to write something that will open
their eyes.”

“Poetry, I suppose. Will people read it?”

“They will have to. I shall write such blazing stuff that everyone will
want to read it. It will not be the trash that is so often seen in
print.”

“I wish you good luck, old man,” North replied, as he lifted his small
pack and slung it once again over his shoulders. “But I wouldn’t be too
hopeful. People, as a rule, don’t take kindly to poetry.”

“But they will take to mine. I shall write such stuff that they won’t
be able to help themselves. Now, some poets have written about
this country who have never been on its trails. I shall write from
experience, and surely people will see the difference.”

“Let us hope so, Tom,” the sergeant replied. “But come, let us get on
our way. We have lost too much time already. If you can find any poetry
in all this, you are heartily welcome to it.”

Hour after hour they moved onward, and the sun had disappeared behind
the far-off mountain peaks as they came at last to the patrol-house.
Smoke was pouring forth from the pipe stuck up through the roof.
This did not surprise them, for they surmised that Tom, the Indian,
was making himself at home within. Kicking off their snow-shoes, the
sergeant thrust open the door and led the way into the building. He
stopped suddenly, however, at a strange and uncanny sound which came
from the opposite corner of the room. He could not see clearly, owing
to the dimness of the place, but words he heard quickened the blood in
his veins, and caused him to grip hard the constable’s arm.

“Keep back! Keep back!” wailed the terrified voice. “What are ye doin’
here, Bill Haines? How did ye git out of the river? I put you an’ yer
wife under the ice, an’ how did ye git out? Oh! oh! oh! keep yer wet
hands off my throat. Yer chokin’ me! Fer God’s sake, let me go!”

As the wretched, haunted creature paused an instant for breath, the
sergeant stepped quickly forward. Indian Tom was standing by the bunk,
and he turned around as the sergeant approached. He expressed no
surprise at the arrival of the policeman, although it was evident he
was greatly relieved.

“Bill velly seek,” he simply said. “Bill talk all sam’ crazee. Bill
tell much.”

“He certainly does,” the sergeant replied, as he again listened to the
wild words of the man before him, pleading again with Bill Haines to
keep back and not to choke him. He was certain now that the murderer he
was seeking had been found, and that the search was ended.

“How long has Bill been talking like this?” he asked.

“Long tam, all day, mebbe. Bill velly seek. Bill die bimeby, eh?”

“Most likely,” was the reply. “Anyway, he’s worse than dead now. Isn’t
it terrible to listen to him?” and he turned to the constable.

“Say, sergeant, he’s getting his hell now,” Rolfe replied. “It’s the
mind that makes the torment. It was Satan in ‘Paradise Lost’ which
said, ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a hell of
heaven.’ And who can doubt it after listening to the ravings of such a
creature as that? Why, he’s living over again all the devilish things
he has ever done. There he goes again about the murder of Bill Haines
and his wife. Did you hear him speak about a ring? Look, he’s groping
for something. What do you suppose it can be?”

“Perhaps he’s stolen one,” the sergeant suggested. “But, stay; do you
suppose a ring was the cause of that murder? If so, he may have it
somewhere about him. Give me a light, and let me examine him.”

In another minute a candle was lighted which enabled them to see
much better. The pockets of the raving man were searched, and from
one the sergeant at length brought forth the ring, and held it up
for inspection. The diamond gleamed beneath the rays of light and
fascinated the eyes of the beholders.

“Isn’t it a beauty!” the constable exclaimed. “What in the world was
Bill doing with a thing like that? It may be, as you suggest, the cause
of the murder. Did, you ever hear of the Haines having such a valuable
thing?”

“I never did. They always seemed too poor to possess anything like
that. But, then, one can never tell. Bill Haines and his wife were very
reserved people, and although friendly and hospitable to all, they kept
their own affairs to themselves. Mrs. Haines was a refined woman, and
it often struck me as strange that she should be willing to live year
after year in such a lonely place along the river. However, we shall
keep this ring; it may be the means of unravelling some mystery. The
question now for us is what to do with this crazy creature. But first
of all, get something to eat, as I am almost starved.”

While the constable was preparing supper, North sat by the side of
the bunk, watching the unhappy man lying there, and listening to his
incessant ravings. It was a sordid tale, unconsciously unfolded, and
the sergeant was enabled to piece together much of his unenviable
record. Tom, the Indian, squatted on the floor nearby, silent and
alert. At times the sergeant glanced toward him and wondered what was
passing through his mind. When the humble meal had been eaten, the
Indian filled, lighted his old blackened pipe, and smoked for a while
in silence. At last he rose to his feet and stood before the sergeant.

“Me go now,” he simply announced. “P’lice stay, eh?”

“Go where?” North asked in surprise. “Surely you are not going away
to-night!”

“Ah, ah. Tom go find Injun. Fetch Injun back to Gap. Savvey?”

“What for?”

“Gikhi velly seek; die mebbe. Tom fetch Injun.”

“But why not wait until morning? Sleep first.”

“Tom sleep bimeby. Ketch Injun first.”

“How far away are the Indians?” the sergeant asked.

“At Big Lake.”

“That’s about ten miles, isn’t it?”

“Ah, ah, ten mile, mebbe.”

For a few minutes the sergeant remained in thought. He then turned to
the constable, who was cleaning up after supper.

“Say, Tom,” he began, “we’ve got to get this crazy man back to The Gap,
and from there to Kynox. We can’t do it without a team of dogs. Those
Indians at Big Lake must supply us with an outfit. One of us should go
with this Indian and pick up a good team. Would you rather go or stay
here with Bill?”

“Go with the Indian, of course,” was the emphatic reply. “I’d soon be
crazy, too, if I had to stay here alone with that raving villain.”

“But you might obtain great material for poetry,” the sergeant
bantered. “What brilliant ideas might come to you sitting here and
listening to Bill.”

“I’d rather be excused this time, sergeant. Dante wrote wonderful
things about his imaginary visit to Hell, but I don’t think that I
could. This is too real to inspire the poetic muse. No, I prefer the
trail every time.”

“Even though you have to start right off now?”

“I would rather wait until morning, there is no doubt about that. But
if Old Tom is determined to go now, I suppose it can’t be helped. And
besides, perhaps he is right. There is no time to lose. We must get
that creature out of this as soon as possible. And you want to get
back to The Gap as soon as you can, don’t you?”

The sergeant made no reply. He was more than anxious to be with Marion
once more. He had worried a great deal about her, and wondered how she
was making out with the missionary. She was very much in his mind as he
sat near the bunk after the Indian and the constable had left. He had
plenty of time to think, as there was nothing else he could do. Marion
always brought before him a vision of purity and nobleness. He pictured
a time when his wanderings on the cruel trails would be ended, and he
would have a snug little home of his own, with Marion as the beautiful
presiding genius. What happiness that would be. No more wanderings to
and fro, with no certain abiding place.

It was but natural that he should also think of the self-sacrificing
life of Charles Norris, the missionary at The Gap, and the sad fate
which had fallen upon him. He mused upon his noble life, and the
peaceful expression upon his face as he had last seen him lying so
still in the mission house. He compared him with the wretched being
before him, and the contrast was most startling. One had lived for
loving service; the other for self. The aim of one had been to build
up, and improve; that of the other to tear down, and to destroy. In the
end both had been terribly stricken down. That the good should suffer
as well as the bad the sergeant knew was one of the great problems
of life. And yet not for an instant could he imagine the missionary
at The Gap undergoing such tortures of the condemned as he beheld in
Bill, the Slugger. In the latter he saw the brute nature, revealed
and uncontrolled, pouring forth the vile pollutions of the mind. He
realised now, as he had never done before, the gracious and refining
influence of the life and teaching of the Great Master. He had scoffed
at such things in the past, but face to face with such stern realities,
he knew that he could never do so again.

Thus hour after hour he kept watch, tended the fire, and listened to
the sounds of the man in the bunk, which were now nothing more than
senseless jabberings. Occasionally he went to the door and looked out.
The night was cold, and he thought of the constable and the Indian
speeding through the forest. He was thankful to have a warm abode, even
though his sole companion was a demented man.

Once more he took up his position near the bunk, filled and lighted
his pipe, and leaned back against the wall. When he had finished his
smoke, he laid aside his pipe and looked at Bill. He was quiet now, and
to all appearance asleep. North was glad of this, for he was becoming
very drowsy. The room was warm and as he once more resumed his seat, he
leaned his head against one of the bunk posts which was fastened to the
wall. He was tired, and although he intended to keep awake, yet in a
few minutes he was asleep.

He awoke with a start, overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. And none
too soon, for before him was the lunatic creeping toward him with a
stick of firewood raised ready to strike.

North sprang to his feet as the madman leaped forward and with a wild
cry struck. Warding the blow with his right hand, the sergeant grappled
with the raging demon. Then ensued a struggle such as North had never
before experienced. The lunatic seemed to be possessed of superhuman
strength, and several times he was on the point of gaining the mastery.
To and fro the contestants swayed and reeled. The madman’s arms were
like coils of steel as he wound them about his adversary’s body. His
eyes glowed like red-hot coals. His teeth ground together in his
insensate rage, and blood-curdling yells poured from his frothing lips.
North had at times heard of the terrible strength of crazy men and
their marvellous endurance. But he knew it now only too well. Possessed
of great strength himself, and with finely developed muscles, he was
weak compared with his raging brute antagonist. He felt his strength
weakening in the terrible grip, and a sickening feeling of helplessness
swept upon him. The thought of being overpowered by such a demon was
maddening. He could not subdue him by mere physical force, that was
quite evident, so in extremity desperate means must be used. At the
first opportunity he drew back his right arm and struck his opponent
a smashing blow on the left jaw. The effect was instantaneous. The
encircling arms relaxed, the gripping fingers loosened their strangling
hold, the tense body sagged, and then dropped in a heap upon the floor.

North staggered back weak and faint after the fray, and leaned for a
few seconds against the wall. He was well aware, however, that the
madman might speedily recover and rush again to the attack. Such a
thing must be prevented. He looked around for a rope or strap, but
seeing nothing, he seized one of the grey blankets upon the bunk and
quickly tore off a long narrow strip. Turning over the prostrate man,
he securely fastened his hands behind his back. With another strip he
also tied his feet together. This done, he threw over him a couple of
blankets, and left him upon the floor.

“Lie there, you brute,” he said. “It’s too good a place for you. I’m
not going to bother with you any more. You don’t deserve the least
consideration. You brought all this trouble upon yourself. I wish that
some of your choice companions could see you now. It might be a lesson
to them.”

Slowly the long night wore away. North was very tired, but he did not
dare to sleep. He kept the fire going and waited impatiently for the
coming of dawn. The madman at length recovered, struggled to free
himself, and yelled and raved. North left him alone, knowing that he
could do nothing for him. His one desire now was to get him back to The
Gap as soon as possible, and from there to Kynox. His responsibility
then would be ended.




CHAPTER 27

An Unfolded Record


Marion Brisbane was kept very busy for some time after the sergeant and
the constable had left. The mission house was in sad need of attention.
With the aid of the Indian woman she set to work upon the main room,
swept, dusted, and scrubbed the floor. This took all day, and at night
she was very tired. But the place looked the better for the cleaning,
and she viewed it with considerable satisfaction.

“That is the first thorough cleaning it has had for some time, it seems
to me,” she declared.

“It used to be clean,” Zell replied. “When Mrs. Norris was living she
was very particular. I often helped her, and so did the other girls. We
always liked to do it for her, as she was so good and kind.”

“She must have been a noble woman, Zell. I suppose you miss her.”

The girl rose from her seat and moved slowly across the room. She was
still weak, and walked with difficulty. She stopped before a little
table, above which were several shelves, filled with books, papers,
letters, and writing material.

“This is where she so often sat and wrote,” she said. “I can see her
now sitting here while we were at our lessons. She would read and
write, and every morning she would kneel here while the Gikhi had
prayers. I am afraid that we didn’t pay much attention to what was
being said. We were all too silly, thinking about other things. I guess
you understand, Miss, what girls of our age generally think about.”

“Did the missionary and his wife know anything about your thoughts?”
Marion asked.

“Oh, no. They never dreamed of such things. They lived too near heaven
for that. Perhaps that was where they made a mistake in thinking that
the girls were like themselves. Anyway, they were right, and we were
wrong. I see it now, when it is too late.”

Zell’s eyes were misty as she stood there, resting her left hand upon
the table for support. Marion, too, was affected, as in her mind she
saw a faithful woman, who had given up all the luxuries of life for a
great cause, seated there or kneeling in prayer. What earnest petitions
had been offered up before that rude table, and how many letters
had been written to loved ones far away. The thought of that noble
woman was an inspiration to her, and helped her to be brave. Stepping
forward, she glanced at the books upon the shelves. She examined
several, and was surprised to find them all stained as if with water.

“What happened to these?” she asked. “They look as if they had been
soaked.”

“Oh, the big flood did that,” Zell explained. “It was one spring
several years ago, when the Kluksan was jammed up in the mountains
with ice. It broke and swept down upon The Gap in a rushing torrent.
The Gikhi was sitting at his table writing, when an Indian rushed in
and gave the warning. We had only time to get out of the house and
flee to the high bank when the water was in this house, and almost
everything was ruined. The Indians’ cabins were all swept away, while
only the mission house and church were left standing. You see, Miss,
God wouldn’t let the flood hurt them. That’s what the Indians said, and
I guess they were right. But they have forgotten about it, though,” she
added with a sigh.

“Does a flood like that happen often?” Marion asked.

“It was the first one in a long time. The old Indians said there was
another many years ago, when they were little.”

“They must have had a hard time building their houses again.”

“Indeed they did. The women and children slept in the church, and the
men made lean-tos. They built new cabins on higher ground, as you can
see for yourself.”

Marion did not really hear these last words, as she was holding in
her hands another book she had taken from one of the shelves. It was
different from the others, and much of it was written with a lead
pencil. She began to read, and became so interested that for a time
she forgot everything else. It was an account of the founding of the
mission at The Gap, the coming of the missionaries to the place, their
struggles and the opposition of the Medicine Men. Although there was no
name, she was certain that it had been written by Mrs. Norris. What a
treasure it was, and what a pity that it had remained hidden for such a
length of time. She longed to read more, but she was aroused by Zell’s
voice.

“The Gikhi! The Gikhi!” she exclaimed, pointing to the bedroom. “He is
calling!”

Laying aside the book, Marion hastened across the room, pushed open the
door, which had been kept partly closed owing to the housecleaning, and
looked in. To her astonishment she saw the missionary sitting up in
bed and staring straight before him. Going swiftly to his side, she
spoke to him, and the sound of her voice attracted his attention. He
turned his eyes toward her, and reached out his right hand. This Marion
grasped, and the expression which overspread the old man’s face told of
his satisfaction.

“Where have you been, dear?” he asked. “I thought you were never
coming.”

“Just outside,” Marion replied, somewhat startled at the word of
endearment. “But come, lie down again. You must not tire yourself.”

“Have the Indians come back yet?” the man asked, unheeding her words.
“It will be Christmas soon, and we must give them a good time.”

“He thinks you are his wife,” Zell whispered, as she stood by the
nurse’s side. “He doesn’t know us. What a strange look he has in his
eyes.”

As gently as possible Marion forced the missionary to lie back upon the
pillow. But he was excited, and held her hand fast.

“That word doesn’t look right, Martha,” he said. “It seems strange.”

“What word?” Marion asked, hoping to detect some gleam of intelligence
in his wandering mind.

“No, no,” he continued, “that’s not the word I want. Where is it?
Ah, I have it!” His eyes brightened, and a smile illumined his face.
“Love--that’s it! ‘Greater love hath--’” He paused abruptly, drew his
hand quickly from Marion’s, and pointed excitedly with his forefinger
straight before him. “They’re coming!” he cried. “I see them; they’re
on the trail; they’ll be here soon! Thank God, my flock is coming back,
and Zell is with them! Don’t you see her, Martha? Little Zell, who left
us; she is coming home again!”

With a cry of grief, the half-breed girl turned and fled from the room.
A few minutes later Marion found her curled up in a corner weeping as
if her heart would break. The nurse laid a gentle hand upon the girl’s
shoulder, but she threw it off and shrank back from the touch.

“Oh, I am bad, bad!” she moaned. “Did you hear what he said? He was
longing for me all the time, and I never knew it.”

“There, there, dear; you can’t help it now,” Marion soothed. “You made
a mistake, but he will forgive you when he gets well.”

“But will he get well, Miss? Maybe he will die, and he will never know
how sorry I am.”

“Let us hope that he will get better,” Marion encouraged. “When the
doctor comes he may be able to do something for him.”

“Oh, I hope he will come soon, Miss. He will tell me how Tim is getting
along. But suppose he is dead! If he is, then I shall die too. I don’t
want to live with Tim gone.”

“Don’t worry too much about that, dear,” and Marion put her arm around
the girl as she spoke. “The doctor will do all he can, never fear, and
our Heavenly Father will do the rest. Have you prayed for your lover,
Zell?”

“I have tried to, Miss, but I guess my prayers will do no good. I have
been so bad that the Lord wouldn’t listen to me.”

“He certainly will, Zell. He has promised to hear us when we come to
Him. Did He not say, ‘Call upon Me in the time of trouble and I will
hear thee’? Isn’t that His promise? Why, then, should you doubt His
word?”

“Why, Miss, you talk just like Mrs. Norris used to. She often told us
the same thing. But she was a good woman, and her prayers were not all
answered. Why was that?”

“Are you sure they were not, Zell?”

“I am certain, Miss. She prayed for the Indians that they might all be
good. But look how they have wandered, and have nearly all left the
mission.”

“Perhaps her prayers will be answered, Zell,” Marion quietly replied.
“She prayed that you might come back, and be a good girl. And here you
are, changed, and sorry for what you have done.”

“Did she pray for me?” the girl asked in surprise. “How do you know
that? You never met Mrs. Norris, did you?”

Marion made no immediate reply. She picked up a cup and spoon from the
table, and going to the stove dipped out some soup from a steaming pot.
Then going into the bedroom, she offered a little to the missionary,
who was now lying very still.

“Take this,” she said; “it will do you good.”

As the man paid no heed to her words, she filled the spoon with soup
and held it to his lips. Like a child he opened his mouth and drank it,
the first nourishment he had taken since the shooting. In this manner
Marion was able to feed him, and she gave him all the cup contained.
This, she felt, was an encouraging sign, and she returned to the other
room with greater hope for the invalid. She found Zell just where she
had left her, with hands clasped before her, and quietly sobbing.

“Come, dear,” Marion brightly began. “I want to read something to you.
The good missionary took a little nourishment, and seems to be resting
comfortably. We can spend a cozy evening together in this nice warm
room.”

Going over to the table, she picked up the book she had so hurriedly
laid down, and opened it. She then sat down upon a rough bench, and
motioned Zell to her side. The girl obeyed, and in another minute the
two were seated side by side with the light of a nearby candle resting
upon their fair faces.

“I am going to read you something from this book,” Marion said. “It
was written years ago by Mrs. Norris. She wrote something every day,
and I feel that it will be perfectly right for us to read some of the
beautiful things she recorded here. Would you like to hear them?”

“Oh, indeed I should, Miss,” was the eager reply. “I have often
wondered what she wrote in that book. She seemed so fond of it.”

Marion passed over the part of the journal which told of the trials of
the missionaries when they first reached The Gap, until she came to an
entry which she knew would interest the girl. It was the day before
Christmas, and this the writer noted.

“‘My dear husband has just come home after an absence of nearly two
weeks. He has been visiting the Indians, and many of them have come
back with him for the treat, and the wonderful Christmas services we
are planning to have. And what a present he brought with him--a little
girl, a half-breed! She is a dear little thing, and has such sweet
ways. She is only seven years old, yet she is exceptionally bright and
smart for her age. She is a real Christmas gift, the best I ever had.
How I have always longed for a child to care for, and perhaps she may
be the first-fruit of the mission school we hope to start for the
native children. She has such a pretty name--Zell----’”

Here Marion was interrupted by a cry from the girl at her side.

“Was it really me, Miss?” she asked. “Surely Mrs. Norris didn’t write
all that about me!”

“Yes, she did, dear, and there is more. Listen: ‘The Indians have been
coming in and out of the house all the evening, and we have been so
busy. But my mind is so full of the little child that I can hardly
think of anything else. She is asleep now in a cozy place I have made
for her. My heart is overflowing with gratitude. As I sit here, with
the house at last quiet, and Charles reading his letters, which came
while he was away, I could sing for joy. But not being able to do that
for fear of waking the child, I think of that wonderful psalm, and can
understand the feeling of him who wrote it: “Praise the Lord, O my
soul, and all that is within me, praise His Holy Name.” God grant that
this little one brought so unexpectedly to my arms may grow in grace,
and in the knowledge and fear of the Lord.’”

Thus page after page Marion read, the girl listening with almost
breathless interest. The story of the forming of the Indian school was
told in detail, the number of children in attendance, their names, and
the efforts made to instruct them. Then there was the story of the
falling away of the natives, and the great changes that took place at
The Gap. Marion read only a portion of this, and when she saw what was
written about Zell’s departure, she closed the book and laid it on the
table.

“There, I think I’ve read enough this evening,” she said. “You must be
sleepy, and want to go to bed.”

“No, no; read more,” Zell insisted. “Read about where I ran away from
the school.”

“How do you know there is anything about that?”

“I am sure there must be. I want to know what Mrs. Norris thought about
what I did.”

“Perhaps it will make you very sad.”

“I do not care, Miss. I want to hear.”

Marion did as she was requested, and again opening the book, she turned
to the last few pages. Here the dates were far apart, showing that for
some time nothing had been recorded. Soiled with tears was the page
where the writing once more abruptly began.

“‘I have had no heart to write anything for several weeks’”--so ran
the scribbled words, which made the reading difficult. “‘The worst has
at last arrived, and Zell, our darling child, is gone! She left us
for a white man. Charles can hardly believe it is true, and goes from
cabin to cabin searching for her. But I know, and so do the girls in
the school. I can hardly write, so full are my eyes with tears. Our
house is very lonely now without our darling. May the good Lord keep
her safe, and lead her back to us again. I have the feeling that if she
does come I shall not be here. I sometimes wonder--’”

“That is all,” Marion quietly remarked, as she once more laid aside the
book. Her eyes were misty, while Zell’s were brimming with tears.

“Oh, why didn’t she write more?” the girl impetuously asked. “Why did
she stop just there? What was she wondering about? How I should like to
know.”

“We never shall, dear,” Marion replied. “She finished her journal just
there.”

“She couldn’t write any more, Miss; that was the reason. Her heart was
broken because I ran away. I never imagined she would feel like that.”

“Do not worry too much about it now, dear,” Marion advised. “You are
very weak yet. When you are stronger we shall talk it all over. You
must go to bed now and get a good sleep. I shall sit up for a while,
and watch until Kate comes. She said she would stay with us to-night.”

“Do you think the doctor will be here to-morrow?” Zell asked.

“Perhaps so. If he is at Big Chance, it should not take him long to
make the journey.”

“Oh, I hope he will come soon, and bring good news about Tim.
Surely the good Lord won’t let Tim die when I want him so much. You
understand, don’t you, Miss?”

“Indeed I do,” Marion replied, giving the girl an affectionate kiss.
“Lovers understand many things which are hidden from others. But,
there, you must go right to bed. I shall come presently and tuck you
in.”




CHAPTER 28

Waiting


That night Marion had a fairly good sleep, which she sorely needed. It
was the first real rest she had enjoyed since leaving Hugo’s cabin on
the overland trail. She awoke greatly refreshed, and found the Indian
woman preparing breakfast. Zell was also awake, and brighter than she
had been for days.

“Oh, Miss!” she exclaimed as Marion entered her room, “I’ve had such a
wonderful dream. Tim was standing right by my side, looking so well and
strong. I am sure it is a sign that he is all right.”

“Let us hope that your dream will come true,” Marion replied with a
smile. “I, too, had such a nice dream, and almost like yours.”

“Was it about the sergeant, Miss?”

“Yes, and he was with us here and we were all so happy. But you had
better get up now, dear, for Kate has breakfast almost ready.”

Marion then went to see how the missionary was getting along. She found
him asleep, although the Indian woman told her that he had talked a
great deal during the night, and kept saying things which she could not
at times understand.

“Gikhi talk much,” she said. “Gikhi sing some tam’, all sam’ in church.
Gikhi pray for Injun, all sam’ dis,” and she clasped her hands together
and cast her eyes upwards. “Gikhi good man, eh?”

“He certainly is, Kate. He was always good to the Indians, was he not?”

“Ah, ah, good. De Lord no let Gikhi die, eh?”

“Let us hope not, Kate. He seems better, doesn’t he?”

“Mebbe so. Doctor come bimeby. Doctor savvey.”

That day was a long one for Marion. She attended to the missionary, and
busied herself about the house. Zell was more like her former self, and
talked a great deal about the coming of the doctor. She sat much of the
time near the little window looking down The Gap in the direction of
Big Chance.

“They will come that way,” she said, “and I want to be the first to see
them. I know they will come to-day, and will bring good news about Tim.
The Golden Horn is smiling, and that is another sign that all is well.
Do you believe in signs, Miss?”

“No, I cannot truthfully say that I do. Years ago I did, but I have got
all over that.”

“But I believe in them, Miss,” Zell declared. “The Indians have all
kinds of signs, and they tell many things by them. They believe in
dreams, too. Doesn’t the Bible tell about dreams which came true? I
often think about the dream which saved the life of little Jesus. If
that dream was true, why shouldn’t it be so to-day?”

This was more than Marion was able to explain. She merely told the girl
that she hoped her dream would come true, and that she would soon have
her lover with her. Thus all through the day they waited and watched
for the absent ones. Several times the missionary aroused, asked for
his wife, and talked about the Indians, and the mission work. He took
a little nourishment, but showed no sign that he knew what was taking
place around him. It was only at the close of the day that he become
very restless, tried to get up, and talked incessantly. He was seeing
wonderful things, so it seemed to the nurse, as she sat and watched
him. His eyes glowed, and a beautiful smile would often overspread his
face.

All day long Zell sat by the window and watched down The Gap. As the
afternoon wore away, and night drew near, she became very anxious, and
asked over and over again why the travellers did not come. Then when it
became dark she crept into the room where the missionary was lying, and
crouched upon the floor with her eyes fixed intently upon the face of
the unconscious man. Marion tried to comfort her, but her words seemed
to have no effect.

“They will never come!” she moaned. “Something has happened to Tim,
and they don’t want to tell me. Or maybe they have been lost on that
terrible overland trail. A snow-slide may have swept them away.”

“You must not get discouraged, dear,” Marion replied. “It is a long
way to Big Chance and back. Perhaps the doctor was not there, and--and
Hugo had to go to Kynox. The doctor will come as fast as he can, let us
never doubt that. Let us get supper now, and be ready if they should
come this evening.”

“I don’t want anything to eat, Miss,” Zell declared, “and if Tim dies,
I never want to eat again. Do hearts sometimes break for grief, Miss? I
am sure mine is almost breaking now. I don’t believe a girl ever loved
anyone as I love Tim.”

The girl had risen from the floor and was standing erect now. Her face
was flushed, and her dark eyes were filled with tears. Marion had never
seen her look so beautiful, and she recorded a silent prayer that
the poor girl might have her lover restored to her again. There was
nothing conventional about this girl. She was one with the things of
nature, and the untamed spirit of roving natives animated her soul.
What she did, she did with tremendous intensity, and her love was as a
burning fire that cannot be quenched. Her every movement was full of
grace, and there was a remarkable refinement about her entire manner.
Never once did Marion hear her utter a wrong word, nor express an
improper wish. Her heart seemed pure, and her love a most sacred thing.
This was shown as the two sat that night near the stove.

“Is it wrong, Miss, to love as I love?” she suddenly asked.

“Why no, dear. I am certain it is right. Why do you ask such a question
as that?”

“Oh, I hardly know,” and the girl sighed as she spoke, and placed her
right hand wearily to her forehead. “But sometimes I think that my love
is so wonderful a thing that it isn’t meant for such a bad girl as I
am. Perhaps God thinks that it isn’t right for me to love Tim as I do.”

“That is all nonsense, Zell,” Marion chided. “God knows your heart, and
what a good girl you really are. You must not think that you are bad,
for you are not. I know you ran away from school, but that doesn’t mean
that you are bad. Let us call it a mistake.”

“And you don’t think God will punish me by taking Tim away when I want
him so much?”

“No dear, God will not do that to punish you, I feel certain. If Tim
should die, which we hope and pray he will not, it will not be God’s
doings, but because a bad man shot him. We must not blame God for what
others do. He wants us to live and be happy.”

“Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that,” the girl replied, her eyes
shining with gratitude. “And it is so nice to feel that God will not
punish me for what I did. I was afraid he would.”

Marion thought of the girl’s words as she sat alone that night. Zell
was asleep in the little room, and the Indian woman was lying upon
the cot near the stove. The house was very quiet, the crackling of
the sticks in the stove being the only sound which broke the silence.
Marion had been reading again the Journal, but she now let the book lie
open in her lap, her mind filled with conflicting thoughts. Strange
were the ways of life, she mused. Zell imagined that God punished
people for not being good. But what about the earnest missionaries who
had toiled so long among the Indians at The Gap? Surely there was no
injustice with God. His ways, she knew, were past finding out, although
she was certain that He did all things well, and overruled evil for
good. Again she picked up the book and began to read at random words
written with a trembling hand.

“The Indians are leaving us, being drawn away by the attractions of
white men. Only a few come to service now, and no doubt they will
soon go, too. We have no children at school now, and the house is
very lonely. We do not know what to do to counteract the mischief
which has been wrought in our flock. We cannot offer the natives the
allurements of the world which seem to appeal to them so strongly.
Charles continues his translation work and ministering to the needs of
the few Indians who remain, while I potter around the house and do a
little reading and writing. My dear husband and I had a long, serious
talk this morning, and took our troubles to Him, who has never failed
us yet, and we were greatly comforted. Charles read that beautiful
and pathetic story of the Master kneeling alone in Gethsemane, and it
cheered us.”

Farther on she came to another entry which arrested her attention.

“We were discussing to-day the advisability of giving up our work
here, as Tom and Kate are the only Indians who are now with us. We
were undecided what to do, whether to go to some other place or stay
here, when a remarkable thing happened. My husband was seated at his
table with his Bible open before him. Almost unconsciously he kept
turning the pages as we talked, and when at last we were silent for
a few minutes, each knowing that the time of decision had finally
arrived, Charles suddenly bent forward, gave a slight exclamation of
astonishment, and fixed his eyes intently upon the page open before
him. I never saw such an expression of awe upon his face. He seemed
like a man transfigured, and his eyes shone with a wonderful light.
He then began to read in a low impressive voice from Ezekiel, ‘And I
sought for a man among them, that should make up the hedge, and stand
in the gap before me for the land, that I should not destroy it; but I
found none.’ So overwhelmed was Charles by these words, that he rose to
his feet and paced rapidly up and down the room. ‘The Gap, The Gap,’
he repeated, ‘I must stand in the gap, Martha. The Lord needs me here.
This is The Gap, the place where I must remain. Wonderful, isn’t it,
that I should be led to that passage? The Lord shall not want for a man
to stand in The Gap here in the north, so long as I live.’ He urged me
to go home to England, but I would not listen to such an idea. My place
is by the side of my dear husband, for the Lord sometimes needs a
woman to stand in the gap as well as a man. We then both knelt down and
thanked God for His guidance in our time of perplexity. Our duty is now
clear, and we look forward to the future with trustful hearts.”

Marion’s eyes were dim with tears as she finished reading this
soul-stirring record of a noble woman. Those words inspired her, and
made her own troubles seem small. And Mrs. Norris had stood in the gap,
dying at her post of duty. Surely such faith and self-sacrifice would
not be in vain. With the wreck of all their work around them, two great
souls could still go forward in simple trust that all things would come
out right at last. Now one was gone, and the other was lying battling
for life in his little room. Would there ever come an answer to their
prayers? she wondered, or had they toiled in vain?

She was aroused by the missionary’s voice. It was so different from
the last few days that she was somewhat startled. Hurrying to the
bedroom, she saw the old man’s eyes fixed intently upon the door with a
wondering look. Seeing her, he smiled.

“What has happened?” he asked in a feeble but natural voice. “What am I
doing here in bed? And who are you? I never saw you before.”

“You have been very ill,” Marion explained, going to his side. “I am a
nurse, Marion Brisbane, from Kynox.”

“I have been ill, you say? That is strange. Ah, now I begin to
understand. It was that man with the revolver. Did he shoot me? Yes, I
remember. He wanted something I had. Did he get it?”

“What was it?” Marion asked.

“The ring Hugo, the trapper, gave me to keep. Oh, I hope it is safe.”

“There, now, you must not worry, Mr. Norris,” Marion replied. “Just
keep still, and I shall get you something to eat. You are very weak
yet. The doctor should be here soon.”

“What doctor?”

“Dr. Rainsford, from Kynox. He should arrive at any minute now.”

“Who went for him?”

“A friend of yours, Hugo, the trapper.”

“He did!”

Marion at length left the room and soon returned bringing some rich
broth she had in readiness. She placed the cup on a small table by the
bed.

“Drink this,” she quietly ordered. “You must be hungry.”

“I suppose I am,” the missionary replied as he complied with her
request. “It is good of you to wait upon me. I am not used to such
attention, and it seems strange.”

“You will have to get used to it, then, Mr. Norris. I am your nurse,
and am in the habit of being obeyed.”

The missionary smiled as he sipped the broth, and toyed with the spoon
in the cup. He was very weak, and the effect of speaking and moving
exhausted him. This Marion saw, and she turned to leave him, when he
touched her gently on the arm.

“Don’t go yet,” he said. “I want to ask you a question. I am weak, I
know, but tell me, have the Indians come back yet?”

“Not yet,” was the reluctant reply.

“You think they are coming, then?” There was a note of intense
eagerness in the old man’s voice.

“Let us hope so, Mr. Norris. Perhaps they will be here in time for
Christmas.” This was merely a surmise on Marion’s part, but she had to
say something of an encouraging nature.

“Yes, I believe they will be here for Christmas,” and the man’s face
brightened. “They always came then, and we had such a happy time.
Martha, my dear wife, always looked forward to this blessed season. I
feel certain that my flock will come back. I can see them trooping in
from the distant camping-places, all eager to outstrip one another.
Yes, they will surely come.”

Leaving him with his vision, Marion slipped out of the room. She knew
that he should be quiet, and she also wished to be by herself, that she
might think. She was puzzled at the missionary’s unexpected recovery.
She sat down near the stove, and leaned back against the wall, for she
felt unusually tired. Had the man been shot? she asked herself. Perhaps
the bullet had not entered his body as she had imagined. It might have
struck him a glancing blow on the head. She should have questioned
Tom, the Indian, more closely. Was it possible that after all he might
recover, and live to stand in The Gap for some time yet?

After a while she rose to her feet, moved softly to the door of the
bedroom, and looked in. What she saw gave her great hope. The invalid’s
eyes were closed, and his sleep was as that of a little child.




CHAPTER 29

Good News


Grey dawn found Marion at work preparing breakfast. There was plenty
of food, for Sergeant North had attended to that before leaving. The
missionary’s cache had been drawn upon, and the Indian woman had
brought what she could spare from her own cabin. Marion knew that Zell
would soon be awake and ready for something to eat. She wished to have
the girl well and strong for the trip back to Big Chance, which she
knew would have to be made ere long. Then the missionary needed more
nourishing food that he, too, might gain in strength. She also had the
absent ones in mind. At any minute her father and the doctor might
arrive, or the sergeant and the constable. Deep in her heart she was
more anxious about John’s return than any one else. She was not so
much concerned now about the missionary, as he seemed to be somewhat
improved. Anyway, he was being well looked after. But with John, it was
different. She knew of his great daring when in the line of duty, and
who could tell what might happen when he overtook the villain he was
pursuing? Suppose he should be shot! The thought was terrible, and her
hands trembled as she lifted a kettle from the stove.

At that instant a sound outside arrested her attention. Then she heard
the jingle of bells, and voices of men. In another minute the door
was thrust suddenly open and her father entered. Closing the door to
keep out the cold, he stood for a few seconds peering keenly before
him, accustoming his eyes to the dimness within. Marion could see him
plainly, and how big and powerful he appeared. What a tower of strength
he seemed to her just then. He was heavily hooded, and the frost hung
thick upon his beard and eyelashes. Never was she more delighted to see
anyone, and she hurried quickly toward him.

“Oh, father,” she cried, “I am so glad you have come. Is the doctor
with you?”

“Yes, he is here safe and sound. He is looking after the dogs, so will
be in presently. How is the missionary?”

“Much better, I believe. He has regained consciousness. But tell me,
how is Tim, Zell’s lover?”

“Oh, he’s getting along great, and should be well in a few weeks. The
doctor got there just in the nick of time. My, he did a clever piece of
work.”

Hugo had scarcely finished speaking when with a great cry of joy Zell
darted from her bedroom, and rushed toward the trapper. She had slept
fully dressed so as to be ready should the doctor arrive in the night.
Her eyes were shining and her face beaming with joy. Hugo looked at her
with admiration.

“Well, bless my heart!” he exclaimed. “This doesn’t look like the
little girl I left so sick but a few days ago.”

“Is Tim really better?” Zell asked, unheeding his comment. “Say it
again.”

“Yes, he is better, thanks to the Good Lord and the doctor. But he
needs something yet to make the cure complete.”

“And what is that?” Zell almost breathlessly inquired.

“A little lass who scurried away and got into no end of trouble. When
she gets back to Big Chance Tim will be all right. But, hello! what’s
the matter? What are you blushing about?”

Hugo was in great spirits, an entirely changed man from the sullen and
morose rover of the trails. He seemed like one who had escaped from
prison, and was enjoying to the full his unaccustomed freedom. Marion
watched him with wonder and secret rejoicing. He was like the father
she had known as a little girl. He had the same hearty voice and the
ringing laugh. His very presence inspired confidence and good will.

In a few minutes the doctor entered and was given a hearty greeting by
Marion and Zell. He was a splendid type of man, a great trailsman, and
beloved by miners and Indians alike. He had given up a good practice
to come to the north to assist in the medical work which was being
carried on at Kynox and other centres. No distance was too great,
and difficulties were as nothing in his work of loving mercy. The
most abject native would receive from him the same care as the most
important person in the country. To the hospital at Kynox he had been a
tower of strength, and everywhere the miners and prospectors swore by
the word and honor of Doctor Stephen Rainsford.

“This is the life I like best,” he had once said to a man who had asked
him why he was willing to bury himself in the north. “It is the kind
of service that suits my make-up. Cities and towns outside are crowded
with doctors, too many, in fact, but in a country such as this they are
very scarce.”

Dr. Rainsford examined the missionary most thoroughly. He would not
touch a bite of food until he had done so, hungry and tired though he
was.

“You are right in your conjecture, Miss Brisbane,” he at last informed
the nurse. “The bullet did not enter his body, as you at first
supposed. It evidently struck him a glancing blow on the head, judging
from the mark I find there. Then I find another mark which might have
been made when he fell, hitting, no doubt, the table as he did so. It
was certainly a narrow escape.”

“It was the Lord’s doing,” the missionary quietly replied. “Only His
intervention saved me, for the revolver was fired pointblank at my
head. He must have work for me still to do or else He would not have
spared me. It is good of you, doctor, to come here on my behalf. I have
often heard of your noble deeds. I hope you will be comfortable in this
humble abode, and make yourself perfectly at home.”

This Dr. Rainsford was well able to do. He was the life of the mission
house, and as he and Hugo ate the breakfast which Marion had prepared,
he related amusing incidents of the trip from Big Chance.

“My friend Hugo, here, set me a hard pace,” he laughingly remarked. “He
was in such a hurry that he would hardly stop to eat or to sleep.”

“You seemed to be hungry about all the time,” the trapper laughingly
replied. “You wanted to stop every hour or so for something to eat. We
were entirely out of grub when we got here.”

“Did you pass the place where we had that terrible experience with the
snow-slide?” Marion asked. “I shudder whenever I think of it.”

“We did, although the last storm covered up the great scar. I was in
fear of my life when coming along that trail. We heard a great roar
one night and I am certain it was another avalanche. We shall not go
back that way, if I have anything to say about it.”

“When do you expect to return, doctor?”

“As soon as possible. I may be needed at Kynox. I have been away for
some time.”

“Are the nurses getting on all right?”

“Very well, indeed. But they were worrying about you when I left.”

“Can’t you wait until Sergeant North and the constable return?” Marion
asked. “It would be so nice for us all to go back together.”

“When do you expect them, Miss Brisbane?”

“I do not know. It is impossible to tell how long it will take them to
capture the man they are after. You have heard about the murder near
the C. D. Cut-off, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes, it is the talk of the entire country. And, by the way, I have
something which will interest you in connection with that murder. It is
an article in a paper I received just before I left Kynox. And I have
several letters for you, too, I had forgotten all about them.”

Rising and crossing the room, he picked up a small leather bag he had
deposited on a bench, opened it, fumbled around and at last brought
forth a package.

“That’s for the sergeant,” he explained. “Letters galore. Ah, here’s
yours, Miss Brisbane,” he continued as he handed to her several letters
tied together with a string.

Eagerly Marion cut the string and examined the letters. By the
postmarks she had a fairly good idea from whom they came, friends she
had known in other days, and who had never forgotten her. What a feast
she would have reading their messages when alone by herself, if ever
that time should come.

“Yes, here’s the paper at last.” It was the doctor speaking, and
glancing up, Marion saw him unfolding a copy of the little weekly paper
published at Swift Stream. “Now, listen to this,” he continued, “and
let me know what you make of it.” He then began to read.

“‘The C. D. Cut-off Murder.

“‘A recent despatch throws new light upon the murder of William Haines
and his wife which took place a short time ago near the C. D. Cut-off.
From the description of them which has been received it seems that
they were living under an assumed name. They were two of a noted band
of thieves, but having changed their manner of living they fled to
the Yukon, buried themselves in the wilderness. Here Haines, whose
real name was Marson, cut wood for the river steamers, and rocked out
gold on the river bars during the summer. He and his wife were noted
for their hospitality to all travellers along the river. The murderer
has not yet been found, although a certain man is under suspicion.
The Police have information that may lead to his conviction should he
be found. It seems that this man knew Haines and his wife years ago,
and was himself one of the notorious band of thieves. He evidently
discovered the whereabouts of his former companions, and visited them.
What led to the fearful crime is not as yet known. It is surmised,
however, that the Haines possessed considerable money, or valuable
jewellery, and a quarrel over this may have been the cause of the
murder.’”

“That’s it, I believe,” Hugo interrupted. “There was a ring, and I
found it, a valuable one, if I am not greatly mistaken.”

“You!” the doctor exclaimed, nearly dropping his paper in his
excitement. “Why, then, didn’t you give it to the Police? What did you
do with it?”

“Kept it, of course, doctor, until I found someone I could trust. There
were several reasons why I didn’t hand it over to the Police. And,
besides, I wanted to keep it myself until I found the man who killed
Bill Haines and his wife, and then--” Hugo’s eyes flashed with the old
fire as he abruptly ended, and stood gazing straight before him.

“Have you the ring now?” Marion asked. Her voice was low, and the old
dread was upon her. Would not the possession of the ring implicate her
father in the crime? How could he clear himself?

“No, I have not the ring,” Hugo replied. “I gave it to the missionary
to keep for me. But I cannot find it anywhere. It must be hidden in a
very secure place, or else it has been stolen.”

“It has been stolen.”

These low impressive words caused all to start and look quickly around.
What they saw was almost unbelievable. There in the doorway stood the
missionary, white and haggard. His eyes were bright and filled with the
light of determination. He tottered and leaned against the door post
for support. The doctor stepped forward to assist him.

“You should not be here,” he advised. “You are not strong enough to
walk yet. Let me help you back to bed.”

“No, no, I must stay up for a while. I shall soon be all right. I have
something to tell you, and the Indians will soon be here, so I must be
ready to receive them. Help me to my chair, please.”

Seeing how thoroughly determined the old man was, the doctor did as
he was requested, and assisted him to his chair which Hugo had drawn
up close to the stove. Wearily the missionary sank down and his head
drooped forward. Marion at once brought him a drink of hot broth which
when he had taken he felt stronger.

“Thank you so much,” he murmured. “You are all very good to me. I shall
be stronger in a few minutes. I am weaker than I thought I was. Now,
about the ring. You gave it to me, Hugo, to keep. But it was stolen by
Bill, the Slugger. When I wouldn’t give it to him, he shot me. That is
all I remember. He must have taken it from my pocket.”

A cry from Zell startled them. The girl was standing before the
missionary with an expression of great fear upon her face.

“What is the matter, dear?” Marion asked, going to her side.

“It was Bill who killed Bill Haines and his wife,” she said in a hoarse
whisper. “Tim told me so. But don’t let Bill know that I told you, or
he will kill me.”

“Don’t you worry about that, girl,” Hugo replied. “Bill won’t touch
you. He’ll have all that he can attend to without meddling with you.”

Just at that moment the door suddenly opened and Kate entered. She was
unusually excited, and the expression upon her face was one of great
joy. She crossed the room and stood before the missionary.

“Injun come,” she said. “More bimeby.”

“I know it, Kate,” was the quiet reply. “The Lord told me that they
were coming. Heat the church and ring the bell at service time.”

“Church warm, Gikhi. Kate no let fire go out.”

“What! did you keep the fire going?” Mr. Norris asked in surprise.

“Ah, ah, Kate keep church warm.”

“Why? I didn’t tell you to do that.”

“Gikhi pray for Injun, eh? Gikhi pray Injun come bimeby?”

“Yes, Kate, I always prayed that the Indians might return some day.”

“Ah, ah, good,” and the woman’s face beamed with pleasure. “Kate know
Lord hear Gikhi. Kate have church warm when Injun come.”

Impulsively the missionary reached out and caught Kate’s rough hand in
his. There were tears in his eyes, and he was deeply impressed by this
woman’s remarkable faith and unswerving devotion.

“God bless you, Kate,” he murmured. “Your faith is wonderful.”

Marion’s eyes were misty as she stood silently witnessing this moving
scene. Even Hugo and the doctor were deeply affected. They turned away,
that their emotion might not be noted. But with Zell it was different.
She dropped upon her knees before the missionary, caught his disengaged
hand in hers and pressed it to her lips. She uttered no sound, but her
action was more eloquent than words, and the missionary understood and
was glad.




CHAPTER 30

His Message of Farewell


The missionary was greatly interested over the arrival of the natives.
He insisted upon sitting at the little window facing the village where
through a small clear space he could watch all that was going on
outside. Zell stood near and at times she would draw his attention to
Indians who passed on their way to their lodges.

“Look, Gikhi, there are Slim Jim and his wife. They seem to be glad to
get back. And, oh, there is Tommy Titsu with his mother! How big he is.
He has grown so much since he left the school.”

And truly it was an inspiring scene upon which their eyes rested. The
entire place had suddenly become animated as if by magic. Men, women,
and children were hurrying to and fro, and dogs innumerable were
scurrying about. But so far not one of the Indians had come to the
mission house, although all had glanced in that direction in passing.
At length Kate entered and approached the missionary. Upon her face was
an expression of deep concern.

“What is the matter, Kate?” the missionary asked.

“Tom no come,” she replied. “Tom die, mebbe.”

“Why, what makes you think so, Kate?”

“Injun say Tom lost. Injun drink hootch, drive Tom from lodge. Injun no
find Tom.”

“Where was that?”

“In hills. Bad white man bring hootch. Injun drink. Tom say ‘stop.’
Injun hit Tom on head. Tom go ’way, die, mebbe.”

“Where are the white men now, Kate?”

“P’lice ketch ’um. Injun bring white man to Gap.”

“Are they here?” Marion eagerly asked. “Have the Police come in?”

“No P’lice come,” the woman replied. “Injun bring white man.”

“Do they know where the Police are?”

“Injun no savvey. Chase Bill, mebbe.”

Although Marion was interested in the coming of the Indians, she was
greatly disappointed because the sergeant had not returned. Hugo
noticed this, and whispered a few words to the doctor, and together
they left the building. They were gone for about an hour, and when they
returned they explained where they had been.

“We’ve been interviewing those white men,” the doctor announced, “and
a queer story they relate. They told us that they were trading with
the natives when two policemen came upon them, seized them and sent
them to The Gap under a strong Indian guard. That was their yarn. But
we learned from several natives that they were hootch pedlars, and had
stirred up a large camp of natives to wild frenzy, and were making
things lively. They also cast out Tom, the Indian, when he tried to
show them the error of their ways.”

“Did they harm the sergeant and the constable?” Marion anxiously asked.

“Indeed they didn’t,” Hugo replied. “From what we gather those two men
struck terror into the hearts of the entire band by their stern and
prompt action. How I wish I had been there. Trust Sergeant North to
handle a serious situation. He has never failed yet.”

“Perhaps it will be different, though, when he meets Bill, the
Slugger,” Marion suggested. “He is a desperate man, so I have heard.”

“He may be all that, but what can he do against those two sleuth-hounds
of the trails? He won’t have even a look-in.”

“But perhaps he will see them coming, hide, and shoot them down before
they can do anything.”

Both Hugo and the doctor laughed at her fears, and told her not to
worry. But worry she did, and she imagined the sergeant lying in the
snow with no one to help him. She told herself that she was very
foolish, but she could not banish the thought. Anyway, she felt that
she must hide her fears, so she said nothing more, and went quietly
about her work.

During the afternoon a number of Indians came to the house, and to
these the missionary talked in the native tongue. Marion could not
understand anything of the conversation, but Zell knew, and she
interpreted in a whisper what was being said.

“The Gikhi is saying how pleased he is to see the Indians back,” she
explained to the nurse. “He is asking how they made out with their
trapping, and if they brought in many pelts. They are telling him that
they have done very well, but that they haven’t had as good success
as they used to when they held services every night in their lodges.
They are asking the Gikhi to forgive them, and he says he will, but
that they must ask God to forgive them. They say they will, and are now
asking for a service to-night in the church. The Gikhi tells them how
pleased he is, and that he will be there to speak to all the Indians.”

When the natives had gone, the missionary showed signs of great
weariness, so the doctor advised him to lie down and rest.

“You must be strong for the service to-night,” he informed him. “You
are weak yet, remember, and you must be in a fit condition to speak to
your flock.”

“You are quite right,” the old man agreed, as he allowed himself to
be led to his little room. “I must speak to them, for there are many
things I have to say. This has been a wonderful day, and the Lord
is bringing marvellous things to pass. I have lived to see my flock
return. Oh, if my dear wife were only here to be a sharer of my joy!”

During the remainder of the afternoon the house was kept very quiet so
as not to disturb the missionary. Hugo and the doctor both had a sleep,
which they needed. Marion and Zell sat by the window watching what
was taking place outside until darkness shrouded the land. They then
lighted several candles, and Zell poured out to the nurse the thoughts
which were uppermost in her mind, and so near her heart.

“The Gikhi will need someone to look after him, Miss, and I am going to
stay with him. Tim, I know, will come, too, and the Gikhi will marry us
and we can live right here. I want to make up for the wrong I did, and
show the Gikhi that I am a good girl.”

“That is a splendid plan, Zell,” Marion replied. “But I thought that
you were planning to go outside. You always wanted to go, didn’t you?”

“I want to do that more than anything in the world except to marry
Tim,” was the candid confession. “But it is my duty to stay here and
look after the Gikhi. I long to see the wonderful things which Tim has
told me about in the big cities outside. But while the Gikhi is alive,
I am going to stay and care for him--that is, if he will let me.”

“You are a good girl, Zell,” Marion whispered, as she placed her arm
lovingly around her companion and drew her close to her. “I wish you
could go with me when I leave this country. I shall miss you very much.”

“And will you go away, Miss?” Zell asked. “Oh, how can I get along
without you? You have been so good to me. I shall never forget you.”

Shortly before the appointed time for service, the missionary was up
and eager to reach the building. He partook of a little food, and when
well wrapped in his big fur coat, he was assisted by Hugo and the
doctor out of the house and across the open. He stepped out bravely
at first, but by the time the church was reached he was very weak.
He smiled as he entered the building, which was filled with natives,
some being forced to stand. He walked slowly up the aisle, and when
he reached the little vestry, he sank down upon a small bench against
the wall. He was determined to wear his robes, and Marion, who had
followed, assisted him with his long white surplice, which came almost
to his feet.

“My stole, my stole; don’t forget that,” he reminded. “There it is
hanging on that peg. The Indians always like to see me fully robed.”

He was trembling with excitement as he made his way out of the vestry
into the chancel. Here he knelt down, and when he had risen to his
feet, he announced a hymn, and in a quavering voice started the tune in
the native language. The Indians followed, and soon all were singing
in the heartiest manner. To Marion this was all very wonderful, and
she knew that the Indians were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Then
followed the service, after which the missionary began his address. He
leaned against the lectern for support, and it was only his excitement
which enabled him to stand at all. He spoke very impressively for some
time, his voice growing weaker every minute. Marion longed to speak to
him, and advise him to desist, but his animated face and the marvellous
light in his eyes restrained her. He seemed to her like some unearthly
being. His white hair, flowing beard, and tall form made a most
impressive scene in that dimly-lighted building. He had his message to
deliver, and it would be almost sacrilege to interrupt him.

At length he stopped, placed his hand wearily to his forehead, and then
began to speak in English.

“I wish to say a few words to you, my kind white friends,” he said.
“This service is the direct answer to my prayers. I have waited long
for this occasion, and I knew that the Lord would hear, and bring this
to pass. At times I was tempted to leave this place and go elsewhere.
But I was determined that the Lord would not be without a man to stand
in The Gap. I have stood here for long years, and the Lord has been
very good. I can say like that worthy man of old, ‘Lord, now lettest
Thou Thy servant depart in peace according to Thy word. For mine eyes
have seen Thy salvation which Thou hast prepared--’”

He suddenly stopped, his face turned deathly white, his hands groped as
if for support, and then he dropped upon the floor right at the foot
of the lectern. With a startled cry, Marion darted to his side, while
Hugo and the doctor hurried forward. The latter knelt upon the floor
and quickly examined the prostrate man. For a few minutes a complete
silence prevailed. The Indians stood as statues, awe-struck by the
scene before them. At length the doctor rose to his feet, his face
very grave. He stood as if dazed. Marion noticed this, and touched him
lightly on the arm.

“Can’t you do anything for him?” she asked.

“No, he is beyond earthly aid,” he replied in a low whisper.

“We must tell the Indians and get them out of the church.”

So absorbed was Marion with what had just taken place that she noticed
nothing else. She stood bewildered and perplexed, not even heeding
the light tread of moccasined feet up the aisle. But when a big tall
form stood by her side, she glanced quickly around, and when she saw
Sergeant North standing there it was only with difficulty that she
suppressed a cry of joy and astonishment. The next instant a strong
arm was placed around her, and silently the two stood and looked
steadfastly upon the dead man. Although greatly saddened with what
had just taken place, Marion’s heart beat fast at the thought that
John was safe and once more with her. She knew that the missionary had
served his life nobly and well, and that he had died in harness, and
in the very place where he would have wished to die, surrounded by his
returned flock for whom he had given his life. It surely was not wrong
for her to feel happy on such an occasion with her loved one with her
again.

And as they stood there, Old Tom, Kate, and Zell came slowly forward,
and stood looking upon their beloved Gikhi. Marion was impressed at
the quietness of their manner, and the expression of awe and reverence
upon their faces. At a word from the doctor, Tom turned and spoke
briefly to the Indians. In a few minutes they were out of the church
and hurrying to their own lodges.

“Perhaps you had better go back to the mission house, Miss Brisbane,”
the doctor suggested. “The sergeant might as well go with you. Hugo,
Tom, and I can do all that’s necessary now.”

The sergeant at once took a step forward, faced the missionary lying
before him, and gave the military salute.

“To a noble man,” he simply explained. He then turned, took Marion by
the arm, and together they moved down the aisle, and out of the church.




CHAPTER 31

Plans


“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Reverently the doctor
read the words to the committal of the Burial Service, while Hugo stood
near and sprinkled the earth upon the rough box which contained the
mortal remains of Charles Norris. The Indians had nearly all arrived
and were crowded about the open grave. They had lost their best earthly
friend, and their sad faces showed how fully they realised the fact.
Marion, with Zell, stood near the grave with her father on one side and
the sergeant on the other, with the constable just behind. Close by
was another grave, marked with a simple wooden cross, bearing only the
name of Martha Norris, and the date of her death. As Marion looked at
the emblem of salvation she thought of the life which the woman had led
as revealed by the Journal she had left. Soon there would be another
cross, and in years to come strangers would read the inscriptions, and
wonder, perhaps. But the Indians would remember, she felt sure, and
would pass on from generation to generation the story of those two
pioneers of the Gospel at The Gap.

John North, too, was thinking deeply. He had not spoken again of the
deep things of his heart since that day out in the mountains. Marion
knew nothing of all this, although she was surprised at his fervent
“Amen” when the doctor had finished reading the Burial Service. But as
she turned away from the grave and walked slowly back to the mission
house, he told her all. It was the confession of a man who had fought
a hard fight against his doubts, and had conquered. There was little
of the sentimental about North, but his body trembled and his voice
became somewhat husky as he talked. Among other things he told of the
impression made upon him by the sight of the missionary maintaining his
post at The Gap, and the thoughts which had come to him on the mountain
trail. He had not finished his story when they reached the mission
house and entered. Then it was that Marion threw her arms impetuously
around his neck, and in words broken with emotion told him of her joy
at the great change that had come into his life.

“It is almost too good to be true,” she said. “How I have longed and
prayed that it might come some day, but I had no idea it would be so
soon.”

“It is due in a large measure to you, sweetheart,” the sergeant
acknowledged, giving her an affectionate kiss. “It was your love which
first began to warm the coldness of my heart. I thought that such a
thing was impossible until I met you. Then all that followed were like
so many links in the wonderful chain of faith. I shall never forget
that terrible night I spent with that raving maniac in that cabin.
I comprehended then as never before the hopeless nature of unbelief
and disobedience to the higher life of the Master. I shall tell you
sometime of the wonderful thoughts that came to me as I watched by that
wretched man. They are almost too sacred to mention, but I shall reveal
them to you some day. Then when we reached The Gap in time to attend
that service, and listened to the missionary’s farewell words, and
later looked upon his face so calm in death, the last strand of doubt
was broken. What a difference between that man of God and the wretched
raving creature we have confined in the patrol-house over yonder. That
missionary standing at his post of duty, or ‘in the gap,’ as he termed
it, has had a far more reaching effect than he ever knew. His remaining
at his post, true and faithful, undaunted by failure, praying and
trusting, was an important link in saving my soul. There, I’m afraid
that I have tired you with all this. Anyway, it relieves me to have
someone to speak to.”

“Don’t think that you have tired me, John,” Marion replied. “You have
no idea how happy you have made me by telling me all this.”

No longer did they have time for further conversation, as steps sounded
outside, and Hugo and the doctor entered, with Zell following close
behind. By their quiet manner and sober faces it was easy to tell how
deeply they had been affected by the service they had just attended.

“We have done all we can,” the doctor remarked as he sat down somewhat
wearily in a chair near the stove. “I have attended many funerals in my
life, but none ever appealed to me like the one I have just witnessed.
It was the grandest of them all. As I stood there watching the Indians
fill in the grave, I thought of Stevenson’s touching words:

  “‘Under the wide and starry sky
    Dig my grave and let me lie.
    Glad did I live and gladly die,
    And I lay me down with a will.
    Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
    And the hunter is home from the hill.’”

“You can quote poetry as neatly as Rolfe,” the sergeant remarked. “You
two are well mated. He should be here to cap your verse.”

“No doubt he could do it better, sergeant, for I understand he is
filled with poetry. That piece I quoted is about all I remember, and it
seems suitable to the death of that grand old man.”

As the afternoon was now well advanced, Marion and Zell began to
prepare supper. When the meal was ready and all gathered at the table,
the constable arrived. He looked very tired and worn, but quite
cheerful.

“My, I’m glad to be out of hearing of that maniac,” he remarked, as he
removed his cap and outer coat. “He’s getting worse all the time, and
the swelling in his leg is very bad. I believe it will finish him.”

“Is he well guarded?” the sergeant asked.

“Yes. Several Indians are looking after him.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Hugo enquired.

“Take him to Kynox,” the sergeant replied. “It will be a hard and
disagreeable trip. But Rolfe will take several Indians along. You
must get away early in the morning, Tom,” he reminded, turning to the
constable. “Get everything ready to-night.”

“I have made all preparations, sergeant, and have secured a fine team
of dogs. We shall travel fast.”

“Suppose you take my team, sergeant, while I go with Tom,” the doctor
suggested. “I am in a hurry, too, and the madman might need special
attention on the way. There is little I can do, I am well aware, but
then one never knows. The rest of you can travel more leisurely.”

“Are we to close up this house, and leave it just as it is?” Marion
asked. “What a pity there is no one to take the missionary’s place and
continue his work.”

“Oh, there will be some one ready to come, never fear,” the sergeant
replied. “I shall notify the Bishop and most likely he will send a man
here. We need not worry about that just now. The Indians will remain
loyal, I feel quite certain. They have been taught a severe lesson.”

All through the day Hugo had been very quiet, speaking seldom, and
apparently wrapped in serious thought. But that night as they all
gathered around the stove, he filled, lighted his pipe, and looked upon
the little group.

“I suppose this will be the last night we shall spend together for
some time,” he began. “Zell will marry Tim and live outside, so her
lot in life will be settled. The doctor will still carry on his good
work among the needy, and will win more jewels in his crown. Rolfe will
develop into a full-fledged poet. Not likely he hears what I am saying,
as he is so busy writing--a masterpiece, no doubt. Now, that leaves
three of us, and what are we to do?”

“Two will get married as soon as they can, if I am not mistaken,” the
doctor replied with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, not for some time yet,” Marion declared. “At least, not until John
leaves the Force.”

“And when will that be?” Hugo enquired.

“Next May,” the sergeant replied. “My time will be up then, and I am
going to leave. I am getting tired of this roving life, and have been
at it too long already. I should have left years ago.”

“Next May, eh? Well, that will suit fine,” and Hugo blew a cloud of
smoke into the air. “Now, what are you going to do then?”

“I have not the least idea. Go outside, I suppose, and begin all over
again. The outlook is not very bright, I assure you.”

“And having a wife will make it all the more difficult, eh?”

“Perhaps so. But something will turn up.”

“Now, suppose something should turn up here before you go out, how
would that suit you?”

“Very well, indeed. But what do you mean?”

“How would you like to do some mining?”

“Not on your life, unless I can strike something rich. I do not feel
inclined to spend the rest of my days following the will o’ wisp of
gold. I have seen too much of it. Why, there are many men wandering
about this country hoping and hoping in vain for a rich find.”

“But suppose the gold is already found, what then?”

“That would make a big difference.”

“Certainly it would, and that’s why I have mentioned it. Now listen. I
know where there is gold, plenty of it. I struck it rich several years
ago in a creek away to the south of us, and I am the only one who knows
where it is.”

“You did!” The sergeant as well as all the others were keenly
interested now. Even Rolfe paused in his writing to listen.

“Yes, I struck it rich,” Hugo repeated, “but never intended to make use
of it. I never expected to have any need of it, and did not report my
discovery. During those years when I thought that I was being followed
by the Police I was very vindictive and gloated over the thought that
I knew where there was gold, and it was known to me alone. At times I
longed to tell some poor unfortunate devils where it was, but I knew
that others would reap the benefit, so I said nothing. Perhaps it was
just as well, otherwise we would not have it to look forward to now.”

“Where is this creek of which you speak?” the sergeant asked.

“That must remain a secret until we are ready to begin work,” Hugo
replied with a smile. “There are several of us here, and it might
unintentionally leak out. But the gold is there, and it will keep a
while longer. I have samples of it in one of my cabins which I shall
show you some day. When the time is ripe, I shall notify you all here,
even Marion and Zell, so we can all get in on the ground floor.”

“May I have a hand in it, too?” the doctor asked.

“Sure. We shall need a doctor along, and you shall have your share.
Then when we get the gold we can either do the mining ourselves, or
sell out. There will be no trouble about that.”

“Do you think you could live in any other country but this, father?”
Marion questioned.

“Just give me a chance, my dear, and you will see how soon I shall hike
outside. I have several old scores to settle there which money alone
can accomplish. I have been shamefully treated, and never wanted to
square up until recently. Oh, yes, I shall make a sensation some day in
the smug business world, and money alone can do it. But that’s another
secret which must remain with me until the right time. There, now, I
think I have told you enough for one night. Henceforth I shall be no
longer Hugo, the trapper, but ‘Hugo, the miner.’ How does that sound?”

“Very good,” the sergeant replied. “But before you go to bed you
must listen to what Rolfe has written. He has finished his poem of
inspiration and is waiting to read it. Come on, Tom, and get through
with it.”

“It isn’t much,” the constable replied, “but merely a sample of what
I shall do when I get time. These are just a few hurried thoughts I
have been turning over in my mind ever since I came to The Gap and saw
the old missionary standing bravely at his post of duty. It applies
not only to him but to others of his kind. Later I shall lick the
verses into proper shape. I have called this poem ‘Across the Marches,’
suggested by some words I read in an old paper which I happened to
pick up in this very house. It was a report of an address given by the
Archbishop of Canterbury to a number of missionaries leaving for their
distant fields of work. ‘We from across the Marches stand by you in
your great endeavours,’ he said. Those words appealed to me. This is
what I have written as my humble tribute:

  “Where the land lies dumb in winter, and the mountain trail is steep,
   Where the frost bites like hot iron, and the snow-shoes gall the
     feet;
   Where the wind rips down the valley with its deadly, hurtling sting,
   And the snow drifts like long breakers in its blinding, maddening
     fling,
   There across the great lone Marches press the Heralds of the King.”

  “Where the frontier shelves to vagueness, and the trails lead God
     knows where,
   Where the Great Lights hurl their magic through the twanging midnight
     air,
   There they grope and there they falter, sweeping plain and crested
     dome,
   Holy Ordered, sturdy cruisers, bringing light where’er they roam,
   Heartened far across the Marches by the Church of God at Home.”

  “There they lead and there they battle, there the ranks are thinned
     and wan,
   But they lift aloft the Banner, and the few still stagger on;
   On, with faces white and weary, on, the tide of night to stem;
   On, for precious soul-wrought jewels for the Master’s diadem;
   Church of Christ, across the Marches, lift your pleading prayers for
     them.”

Slowly Rolfe folded the paper when he had finished, and thrust it into
an inside pocket. There was silence for a few minutes, and then Hugo
reached out his big right hand.

“Put it there, young man,” he said. “I congratulate you for those
words. You have struck the right note, eh, sergeant, don’t you think
so?”

“I do,” was the quiet reply. “Tom, I believe you will make a poet yet
if you keep at it.”

“He is a poet now,” Marion declared. “I enjoyed that poem very much,
and you will let me have a copy of it, will you not, Mr. Rolfe?”

“Why, yes, Miss Brisbane, I shall be delighted to do so. But suppose
you wait until I publish my first book of poems. I shall dedicate it to
you if you will let me, and I shall include this poem in the volume.”

That night Marion and the sergeant sat long together after the others
had gone to rest. There were many things they talked about in low
voices, and wonderful were the plans they formed for the future. They
were seated side by side near the stove, their eyes bright and their
hearts filled with joy and contentment.

“It is very wonderful how everything has turned out all right at the
last,” Marion whispered. “This northland will always be very dear to
me. It was here I found my long-lost father, and you.”

“And wonderful things are still ahead, let us hope,” the sergeant
replied. “It seems to me that Another has been guiding and leading us
together. And may He who has guided us still continue to guide over
that long, long trail which lies beyond.”

He bent his head and his lips met hers in one ravishing kiss of
enduring love.


THE END




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.



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