was a cold night, and his breath pouring forth in clouds smote with a hissing sound upon the frosty air. He heeded it not. His parka hood was backward thrown to enable him to hear the better.
Presently dark forms loomed up out of the night, straight before him. "I was afraid of it," he muttered. "The rumor I heard was only too true, and they are here! May God help us!"
The objects which he beheld were log cabins, which he soon reached. No lights shone from the buildings, and the place seemed deserted. Passing among the houses he crossed an open space of ground, climbed a hill, and approached a long, low structure. He opened the door and entered. The place was in darkness, but quite warm. Soon he emerged, and looked around much puzzled. The Indian camps lay stretched out before him along the brink of the hill. These he visited one by one, but no sound greeted him except the occasional snarl or bark of a dog. What did it all mean? He placed his hand to his forehead, and tried to think. Where were the miners? What had happened to the Indians? Why was the place deserted?
As he stood before one of the lodges, uncertain what to do, a cry fell upon his ear. Again it came, this time much lower. Keith peered through the darkness. He hurried down the hill. He saw a faint glimmer of light, and found it came from a log building directly before him. The clamour of voices, cries of rage and confusion, could be distinctly heard, as with fast beating heart he bounded forward. He guessed the truth, and knew there was no time to lose. He reached the door, and, scarcely waiting to lift the latch, he drove it open with one push of his powerful shoulder, and gazed upon the scene within.
CHAPTER IV
"WHERE IS MY FLOCK?"
For long years the Indian village of Klassan had lain snugly ensconsed between the sheltering arms of two towering mountains. Once, beyond the memory of the oldest native, the lodges had stood close to the small river Kaslo, which poured its icy waters into the mighty Yukon. But one mild spring night an ice jam in a deep, narrow gorge, pressed by the tremendous weight of water, gave way, and, rushing down, carried destruction to the little Indian town, and to a number of the inhabitants. Since then the village stood further back at a higher elevation, secure from the devastating floods which occurred at frequent intervals. Here the Indians were living their wild life, sunk in degradation and superstition, when found by Keith Steadman, medical missionary from Eastern Canada. At the command of his veteran Bishop of the Mackenzie River, he had forced his way over the Rocky Mountains, sought out these wandering sheep of the wilderness, and for ten long years lived in their midst.
It was uphill work to root out old ideas, to plant new seeds, and to overcome the jealousy of the Medicine Men. Often his life was in great danger, but in the end he conquered and won the confidence of the natives.
With his own hands he assisted in erecting a log church and school room, decorating the interior of the former with beautiful designs and mottoes, much to the Indians' delight. In addition, there was the little bell, which arrived some years later, and swung in the small belfry, constructed of four long poles, by the side of the church. Since then its sweet tones had called the natives together at the appointed hour of seven. No matter how busily engaged they might be, all work was suspended, and they hastened to the sanctuary to offer up their devotions to the Great Father on high. At times Keith, returning from visits to outlying bands of Indians, hearing the sound of the bell some distance off, would know that all was well at the village.
During the summer of his tenth year at Klassan, he was summoned to the Mackenzie River, to attend a Conference of missionaries which was to be held there. It was a long journey, and he dreaded to leave his post for such a length of time. Before departing, however, he called the band together, committed them to care of the trusty native catechist, Amos, and received their promises of true allegiance.
Keith had been absent but a few weeks, when a crowd of miners struck Klassan. Prospectors had been roaming the land for years, and at length made several good discoveries along the Kaslo.
The white men came, fifty strong, from the Lower Yukon, built their cabins at Klassan close to the river, and began operations. The work of mining progressed rapidly, and much gold was secured. During the long winter evenings little could be done, so the men gathered at Jim Perdue's place, which was store and saloon combined, to gamble and to drink bad whiskey.
The latter was a strange concoction, manufactured on the spot, to take the place of the limited supply of whiskey which had been brought in from the outside. It was known generally as "hootch," though some called it "Forty-rod whiskey," from its supposed power of killing at that distance. It was formed of a large quantity of sugar of molasses, with a small percentage of dried fruit for flavouring, while ordinary sourdough was used for fermentation. When ready for use it was poured into an empty kerosene tin, and served hot or cold according to the taste of the customer.
This nearness of the miners was a severe test of the Indians' loyalty. At first they kept much aloof from the newcomers, and remained firm to their absent teacher and pastor. But at length several weakened and were enticed into the saloon, where ere-long they were imitating the pernicious ways of the white men. Most of them, however, held their ground, especially the older ones, who stood faithfully by Amos in the time of trial.
The catechist was much grieved to see the young men drifting into such evil habits. He pleaded earnestly with them and induced a number to leave for their winter hunting grounds. But with others he had no influence; he had lost his control entirely.
Every night, however, at the appointed hour the mission bell rang out its full, clear summons, and the faithful few never failed to meet together in the little church. Then Amos would read the prayers in the rhythmical Indian dialect, and give a brief address of exhortation.
One night, before closing his remarks, he said to them, "To-morrow, I go to visit my traps, and to track a moose which I know is near. I may be a little late in getting back, so I ask Paul Nitsi to build the fire, ring the bell, and have everything ready when I come."
This was received with nods of approval, and after a few more words they separated.
That same night a very different scene was being enacted in Perdue's store. Cards and drinks formed the order of the evening.
"Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Ding, dong," sounded out the little bell.
"D—n that bell!" cried Bill Pritchen, a stranger, bringing his fist down upon the table with a bang. "I wonder you men stand it."
"How can we stop it?" asked Tim Murphy, cutting a wad from a plug of tobacco.
"Stop it? Why, I'd stop it d—n soon," returned Pritchen.
"Anyway, what good would it do?" continued Tim, who was fond of an argument. "The Indians are quiet and honest, mind their own affairs, and enjoy their little service."
"You'll see how honest they are, Tim Murphy. I never saw an honest Injun yet. Only dead Injuns are honest. Then look at their d—n superstition. Such psalm singing would be stopped in some camps as quick as h—l."
To this conversation Jim Perdue, the saloon-keeper, was the most interested listener. He hated Amos and the loyal members of the band, who kept aloof from his store and filthy poison. He determined, therefore, to use Pritchen as an instrument to further his evil designs upon the natives.
"So you think you can stop that bell from ringing, do you?" he asked. "Well, then, I'll bet a drink all around that you can't do it."
"I'll do it for one night," answered Pritchen guardedly.
"Oh, ye might fix the bell so it wouldn't ring fer one night, that'd be no trouble. But ye can't make them leave their service, and come here fer a drink. If ye kin I'll supply the stuff free."
"Free poison," laughed one of the men. "Say, Jim, ye'd better go easy. The ground's too mighty tough, and we don't want to spend a month digging graves."