The Frontiersman Part 4

The missionary sprang to meet his adversary like a charger rus.h.i.+ng to battle. For an instant only they grappled, when Keith, seizing Pritchen by the throat, hurled him back over the bar with a sickening thud. The boaster was pinned as in a vise. He struggled in vain to free himself from that terrible grip. In his frantic clutches to release the hand from his throat he ripped away the coa.r.s.e s.h.i.+rt from his neck and bosom, while his face became livid. Keith's hand was lifted; he was about to strike. Suddenly he paused, his fingers relaxed, and with the words, "The Lord judge thee, thou wretched man,"

he flung Pritchen from him as if he were a viper, then turned and left the building.

CHAPTER V

"FOR MY MOTHER'S SAKE"

Among the Indians in Perdue's store none watched the proceedings more intently than Yukon Jennie, the orphan, whose home was in every camp, but with no certain abiding place. Wrapped in her old shawl, she crouched on the floor, taking no part in the rough-and-tumble fight.

Her eyes were constantly fixed upon Pritchen with a strange fascination, which seemed never to waver. Once, when he sprang at Amos, she half started from her place, moved by some sudden impulse.

But it was only for an instant, and then she shrank back to her former position.

When, however, the wild scene had ended, and the missionary had left the building, her whole being roused to activity. With the agility and stealthiness of a young tigress she glided from the room into the darkness without, and made straight for the Indian village. Reaching this, she wound her way among the various lodges till, stopping before one larger than the rest, she drew back the skin from the door and entered.

With no light to guide her she went at once to a corner of the room, and drew from a bundle of rags a small parcel. Unwrapping this, she brought forth a formidable looking knife, and with intense eagerness ran her small finger over the keen edge and sharp point. So satisfied was she at the result of this performance that a low chuckle of pleasure escaped her lips. Then, hastily concealing the weapon within the folds of her shawl, she left the lodge and started for the store.

"Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Ding, dong." The sharp sound spit the frosty air and stayed the feet of the little hurrying maid. She had never refused to obey its summons, which spoke to her like a living voice. To her childlike mind that dark thing hanging high aloft had a great meaning. It was the centre of an unseen world, and many were the strange and beautiful pictures she wove in her busy brain whenever the bell sounded out its message. But this night it was speaking directly to her in a warning sense. It seemed to understand her secret.

"Tell him. Tell him. Tell him," it was saying, over and over again.

She tried to go forward. She clutched the knife more firmly, and moved a few steps. She paused again, as a sudden thought came into her mind.

Yes, she would listen to it. She would tell him first; after that there would be time.

Turning to the left, she started toward the church. The bell had ceased before she reached the building, and all was still. Pus.h.i.+ng open the door, she entered and slipped quietly into her accustomed place in a back seat. The rows of bowed heads in front of her were unseen; the altar, with its little wooden cross, flanked by the Ten Commandments in the Indian tongue, did not interest her as on other occasions, neither did the small mission harmonium, the delight of the natives, which had cost such an effort to bring to Kla.s.san. She saw none of these. Her attention was fixed upon the kneeling form of the missionary, repeating several of the prayers of the Church.

He was dressed just as he had come from the trail. Presently he arose and began to speak. He was calm, to all outward appearance, terribly calm, with not a hint of the seething furnace within.

"I am glad to be with you again," he told the Indians. "My heart has been yearning for you all, and I have many messages from the Gikhyi-Choh (the Bishop) of the Mackenzie River. His hair is white now, and his steps feeble, so he cannot make long journeys as of old, or else he would come to see you himself. Next year, before the ground is white with snow, and the wild geese have gone south, he hopes that another Gikhyi-Choh will come and live among us on this side of the mountains. When he comes he will cheer us, so we must be strong till then. Then the white men have arrived; some, but not all, are wolves, and we must beware of their fangs. They would like to tear us to pieces, to break up our mission, and to ruin our young men and women.

But we must stand together, and the Great Father in Heaven will send His Holy Spirit to guide us. I have many things to say, but I cannot speak of them now. We will meet again and have a long talk."

The Indians understood their leader. They needed no other word, and, after the benediction had been p.r.o.nounced, they filed silently out of the building.

Jennie alone remained, almost hidden from view in the dimly candle-lighted church. She watched the missionary with her small bright eyes, saw him place his hand wearily to his forehead, and then turn to the little harmonium.

At first his playing dragged; it lacked the true fire of life. He was like one creeping foot-sore and lone over a long and darksome trail, far down in the valley. But as he played gradually he ascended from the mists below up the mountain side. The air became clearer and filled him with a new vigor. As he reached the top, and the sun shone out, his spirit leaped within him and thrilled his whole being. The heart nerved the hand and the weak, dilatory playing ceased.

Hopefulness and courage burst forth in every note. His face cleared.

He looked up, and his countenance became transfigured with a glorious light.

For a time Jennie retained her position in the back of the church. She loved music dearly, and could not resist the temptation to remain very still and listen. But at length she left her place, glided up the aisle, and stood quite near the missionary. He did not notice her, so lost in thought was he. When, however, she reached out a thin, dusky hand and touched his arm, he gave a sudden start, and, turning quickly, looked upon the girl.

"Jennie!" he exclaimed. "You here! Why, I thought every one had gone!"

"All but me," she replied. "I waited to speak to you. It told me to come."

"It? And who is It?" asked Keith in a puzzled manner.

"The bell; it spoke to me, as I was going to the store, and said to tell you."

"What were you going to the store for, Jennie, and what were you to tell me?"

The girl looked earnestly into his face. "I saw him!" she gasped. "He was there! He has been here for some time! See--" and she drew the keen knife from the folds of her shawl. "It is sharp, my mother's knife. What she tried to do I will finish. She only scarred his breast, and died for it; I will go deeper and reach his heart."

A cold chill pa.s.sed through Keith's frame as he listened to these terrible words, and observed the pa.s.sion which possessed her soul. He could hardly believe it possible that this was the same gentle Jennie, the apt scholar, of whom he had hoped so much. His mind went back to one fearful night, seven years before, when he first met her, and saved her. He saw again her dead mother, with her lifeless babe in her bosom, the result of the renegade squaw-man, the vile serpent in human guise, who now menaced his flock. Jennie was a child of eight, alone with the dead in that desolate place. He had brought her to Kla.s.san, where she had lived ever since, cared for by the Indians. They loved the maiden, but could not always understand her, with that dreamy, far-away look in her eyes. Little did they realize the deep longing in her heart, or the fire which was smouldering there, only awaiting an opportunity to burst forth. At last the time had arrived, and she stood ready with flas.h.i.+ng eyes to carry out her design.

"Jennie," said Keith, calming his voice as much as possible, "how long have you been thinking of this?"

"Ever since that night," she replied, "when I saw my poor mother and sister lying cold and dead. I said in my heart that some day I would meet him and kill him."

"And you told no one of what was in your heart, Jennie?"

"No. The Indians would only have laughed at me for thinking such a thing."

"But why did you come to me?"

"The bell told me to come, and I felt you would understand. He hates you and would like to kill you. I thought you would be glad if I killed him."

Keith placed his hand to his forehead, while a strange helplessness took possession of him. Was this, then, the result of years of prayerful instruction of the truths he had tried to instil into her childish mind? Turning to her he said:

"Jennie, Jennie. Do you know what you are saying? Do you know it is wrong to kill? It is murder. Do you know the sixth Commandment?" he continued, pointing to the right of the altar.

"Tinjih zhigotyin rsho," repeated the girl in a mechanical manner.

"Who said that, Jennie?"

"G.o.d."

"And do you think G.o.d will like it if you do not obey Him?"

"G.o.d will understand; He killed His own enemies."

"Jennie--!"

"Anyway, He doesn't mean me," hurried on the girl, when she saw the sorrow in her clergyman's face.

"Whom does He mean, then?"

"Men, only. He says so."

Well did Keith know that "Tinjih zhigtoyin rsho," to the Indian, was "Man, do not kill," but how often he had explained that tinjih, man, meant everybody, men, women, and children. But here was a child--a child in years, though a woman in thought--who through long brooding had absorbed only that which appealed to her own case. What was he to do?

"Christ said," he replied, after a pause, "that we are to forgive people who wrong us. He said '_your_ enemies,' and that includes the man who killed your mother."

"But no one ever killed Christ's mother," answered the girl.

"No, not His mother, Jennie. But cruel men killed Him, drove nails through His hands and feet, and hung Him on the cross. But He forgave them, and asked His Father to do the same."

To these words she listened intently, and a gentler look came into her face. "I like Him," she said. "He was good to little children, and loved the birds and flowers."