The Frontiersman Part 37

In this man he thought he recognized his rescuer, one who had the power to save him from the surging horde.

"Great warrior!" he cried, addressing the stranger, "keep back the Indians! Take me to your chief. I have a message to deliver."

For a time the native maintained a dignified silence, though never for a moment did his eye leave the missionary's face. He seemed to be studying every line and expression of that bronzed countenance. The effect of this close scrutiny Keith could not tell, though he somehow felt that it meant life or death.

"Come," said the Indian at length. "Come with me."

That was all, and without a word Keith followed his deliverer, who strode on before, leaving the rest of the Indians quarrelling over the articles they had filched. He was conducted to a building rather larger than the others, composed entirely of logs. Within, several women were sitting on wolf and bear-skin rugs, who gazed with silent curiosity upon the pale-face stranger.

"Stay here," said the guide, motioning him to a place on one of the rugs. "I will be back soon."

The interior of the lodge was similar to many others Keith had seen, and interested him not. The women, he concluded, were the Indian's wives. He noticed that they were superior in appearance to the ones he had seen outside, and of a pleasing cast of countenance.

One of them was quite young, and good to look upon. Her long black hair parted in the middle exposed a n.o.ble forehead. She was busily engaged upon a pair of moccasins, weaving in a delicate pattern of bead-work. Occasionally she shot a glance at the stranger, and then Keith noted how bright were her eyes, while upon her face was an expression of sadness and weariness.

Presently his eye rested upon something which made him start. By the side of the young woman, and fastened to the wall, he beheld a prospector's pick and shovel. How had they come there? Had some poor, unfortunate man ventured into this camp, been slain by the Quelchies, while only these tools remained to tell the tale? He was about to break the silence, and question the woman, when the Indian returned and motioned him out of the building.

He was at once taken to a large lodge standing somewhat apart, which Keith concluded must belong to the chief. Nor was he mistaken, for he soon found himself in the presence of the aged patriarch of the Quelchie band. Squatting on the floor, surrounded by a motley group of women and children, he presented a weird spectacle. Coa.r.s.e gray hair flowing down over his shoulders allowed only a portion of his withered, wrinkled face to be exposed to view. His eyes, more like holes in a piece of leather than anything else, peered straight at the visitor.

Keith involuntarily shuddered as he looked upon the pitiable object before him. This, then, was the man of whom he had heard so much. How often he had listened as the Tukudhs related tales of his fierce jealousy, insane rage, and inhuman cruelty, when thwarted by friend or foe. In days gone by he had heard men dilate in glowing terms of the free, beautiful life of the Indians in their wild, uncivilized condition. They had pictured them roaming the woods and mountains, skimming along gra.s.sy lakes or gliding down the rapid streams. But of the sterner, sadder side they knew nothing, and how he longed to show those very men the difference between Kla.s.san, where the light of Christ had come, and this wretched Quelchie village in heathen darkness.

"Oh, Lord," he prayed, "help me, give me power to say the right word and to bring the Spirit into these miserable lives."

Advancing to the old chief, he bowed low, and detecting a faint sign of pleasure upon the dusky face, he felt somewhat encouraged.

"Great Quelchie chief," he began, "I am a stranger in your midst. I have come a long way over a hard trail to bear to you a message from my own Chief, whom I have served from a child. May I speak?"

"The pale-face is welcome," came the reply. "The chief of the Quelchies will listen."

The missionary's heart thrilled with joy at this opportunity to say a word for his Master. He told about the Great Father in heaven, who so loved the world that He sent His only Son to live among men and to die on the cross that all might be saved. He described the cruel lives of the Tukudhs in times past, and what a change had taken place since they became Christians; of their church, school, books they had, the hymns they sang, and the happier lives they led. For a long time he spoke, the Indians listening with rapt attention. He forgot his hunger and weariness and the danger of his position as he pictured the glories of the Christ-life. He glowed with enthusiasm. His words burned with fire as he simply told

"The old, old story Of unseen things above, Of Jesus and His glory, Of Jesus and His love."

Then he sang for them a hymn, one loved by his own flock at Kla.s.san.

It was a translation of "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," and he sang it with a full, rich voice and an intensity of expression.

All this time the stalwart Indian had stood quietly by the chief's side with his gaze fixed full upon the speaker's face. But no sign did he give to show that the words had any effect. When the address was ended, however, he turned to his chief and spoke a few brief words, bearing no connection, so Keith thought, to the burning message he had just delivered.

"The pale-face stranger is hungry," he said. "He has been a long time on the trail, and is weary. I will take him to my lodge."

The chief nodded his approval.

"Take him," he replied. "Give him food, and bring him to me to-morrow."

Once again within his guide's house, Keith was supplied with an abundance of food. Though not of the savouriest, and badly cooked, the meat tasted delicious after his long fast. Much refreshed, he turned to his host, who was observing him with a kindly expression.

"Tell me," he inquired, "why you are so kind to me. I am a stranger, and of a race hated by your people. Yet you have delivered me from the hands of the Indians, shelter me now in your lodge, and provide me with food. Is this the way you treat an enemy?"

A peculiar smile crossed the Indian's face as he listened to these words.

"I am Shrahegan," he replied, "and is there not a good reason why I should be kind to my pale-face brother?"

"What reason?" asked Keith in surprise.

"Does not my brother remember Shrahegan?"

"Remember you! Why, I never saw you before!"

Again the native smiled as he continued.

"Does not my brother remember eight snows ago when he shot the fierce grizzly in the pa.s.s beyond the mountains, and saved the life of an Indian boy?"

"Yes, oh, yes, I remember that day very well," and Keith thought of the fine bear-skin rug in the Radhurst cabin. "But what has that to do with your kindness to me?"

"Shrahegan was that boy," came the startling response, "and Shrahegan never forgets."

"What! you that boy? I can't believe it!" and Keith looked at the Indian in amazement.

"You may not believe it, but it is true. Shrahegan saw you then, and once again at Kla.s.san."

"At Kla.s.san!"

"Yes, at Kla.s.san."

"But what were you doing there?"

"Ah, Shrahegan went as a spy. The Quelchies wished to attack the Tukudhs; kill the men, and steal their women. He crossed the mountain, and crept upon the village at night. He looked through a window into a big building, and heard the Indians sing just like you sang to-day.

Then he saw there the man who had saved his life, dressed all in white, talking to the people, though he could not hear what was said. Then Shrahegan crept softly away back to his own people, and told the chief his story."

"And that was why you spared me," said Keith in astonishment.

"Yes. Shrahegan saw there the man who saved the old chief's son, and Shrahegan never forgets a kindness."

"What! are you the chief's son?"

"Yes."

"And what would have happened if I had not saved your life, or if you had not recognized me?"

"You would have been put to death. No paleface ever entered the Quelchie camp and lived to tell about it."

"So other white men have come here, then, and you cruelly killed them?"

"They came to steal our land, and to find out what you call gold."

"Ah, now I see. That is why you have the prospector's pick and shovel there. You killed the man and kept these."

"Yes, there were two men, but one got away, and the Quelchies could not catch him."