The Frontiersman Part 40

"Shrahegan," he said, as they moved on their way, "you told me once the cause of your kindness to me, but why are you different from your people? You are much n.o.bler, have deeper thoughts, and are opposed to the Medicine Man."

The Indian paused and looked earnestly into his companion's face. An eager look shone in his eye as he slowly replied.

"Shrahegan has a strange fire here," and he placed his right hand upon his breast. "Once a black bear, wolf and fox all lived here, but now they have gone, and only the fire burns all the time."

"What fire?" questioned Keith, looking wonderingly at the fine figure before him.

In reply, Shrahegan stretched out his arm and pointed toward the East, where the grand peaks of the Rocky Mountains, snow-capped and sun-crowned, were standing out clear and distinct.

"There," he said, "beyond the mountains, the land of the rising sun, where the great river flows to the home of the lights which dance in the heavens--there the fire began to burn."

"What, the Mackenzie River District?"

"Ah, ah. Shrahegan saw much there, and learned many things. He saw the big canoe, breathing smoke as black as night, flying up the river, and heard men tell of the wonderful things in the land of the pale-face. Ah, Shrahegan found much."

"And you long to see the strange things?" asked Keith.

"Ah, the fire has been here ever since. Shrahegan thinks much. His feet walk in the ways of the Quelchies, but his heart is over there.

And what have my people done?" he continued almost fiercely. "They make no change; they know nothing. They live like the moose, the bear, the wolf, and the fox. They eat, sleep, talk, fight, and die, but do nothing. As we are to-day, our fathers were the same before us, and so will our children be. And what has the Medicine Man done? Nothing.

He says he knows much, but he is wrong. Shrahegan feels the fire. He hears a strange voice which gives him no rest."

It was truly a marvellous spectacle to see this giant savage, travailing in the throes of a new birth. It reminded Keith of a picture which often came to his mind, of the beginning of civilization among his own rude ancestors. All around was a dreary land, wind-swept and cold, over which men, women and children were crawling, fighting and dying. In the midst of this pathetic scene one man had lifted his head and was listening as if to a voice from the far-off sea, while in his dull, stupid eye the gleam of a new light could be dimly discerned.

The light of G.o.d was breaking, which at last burst forth into such marvellous glory.

"Shrahegan," said Keith, when the Indian had finished, and stood looking away toward the East, "what do you want? What will give you rest?"

"To see. To know," came the slow, thoughtful reply.

"For yourself only?"

"No, no! For my people, too. Shrahegan wants them to have the fire, and to see other things."

"And do you want a teacher?"

"Ah, Shrahegan wants the pale-face teacher to live among his people, to help them. And will he come?" he questioned, looking deep into the missionary's eyes.

"Yes, he will come, or send another better," came the reply. "And while he is away Shrahegan will not forget?"

"Shrahegan will not forget. How can he when he has seen the light and felt the fire?"

When once alone, Keith's steps quickened. The King's business required haste and he must not delay. After crossing the mountain he reached the unnamed river flowing free and strong before him. Here was an opportunity which a frontiersman could not afford to overlook. The stream would speed him on his way to Kla.s.san.

With some difficulty he fashioned a small raft from the dead, broken trees on the bank, and entrusting himself to this with a prayer for guidance, was soon sweeping down with the current.

Day after day he moved onward, past islands, bars, and jutting points, guiding the craft by means of a long, stout pole by many a dangerous place. Just when he expected that one day more would bring him to Kla.s.san, he found that the speed of the current was decreasing to a considerable extent. Then he was surprised to find the ice drifting slowly in various places. The farther he advanced the slower became his progress, until at length he found the river entirely blocked with the floating ma.s.s. There was nothing to do but to abandon the craft which had done him such good service, and travel on foot along an Indian trail which wound its devious way through the wilderness.

He had hoped to reach Kla.s.san early in the afternoon, but in this he was disappointed, and night had shut down when at last he paused to rest atop the hill looking down upon the village.

It was not for rest alone that he halted and seated himself upon a jutting rock. It was to collect his thoughts, which were in a perturbed condition. How would he be received at Kla.s.san? he wondered, and what had happened since his departure? Then he was so near to her.

What was she doing down there in the darkness? Moving, perhaps, about the little cabin. Was she thinking of him, the wanderer, the outcast, with the stain upon his name? He shivered, not from apprehension alone, but from the chill, mist-laden wind rolling and roaring up the valley.

He rose to his feet and advanced a few paces, when a strange sound away to the right startled him and stayed his steps. He peered ahead through the darkness. He strained his ears and listened like a hunted creature. Presently the truth flashed upon him, terrible, intense. It was the ice-jam! It had given way and was sweeping down with irresistible force upon the village below! Would the miners know of it? Would they flee to the high banks? And what of her? Was she safe?

He threw aside his rifle and leaped forward like a greyhound. Down, down, through the darkness he sped, over rocks, beating the bushes aside, falling and stumbling, but ever on, with clothes torn, hands and face scratched and bleeding. He heeded not the wounds, he never felt them, for the awful roar of the onrushing waters was in his ears.

Would he never reach the place! How the trail had lengthened, and the obstacles, how many there were! What was that? Ah, a cabin. Thank G.o.d, she was safe! He reached the door. He stumbled. He fell. He regained his feet. He beat upon the wood with his hands. He saw a light, felt a warm rush of air, and heard a cry of astonishment.

"Run, run!" he shouted. "The water! It's coming! The jam has burst!

For G.o.d's sake, save yourselves!"

That was all, all he had time for, then out into the night, and down the trail straight to the miners' cabins. He reached the forks of the road. He sped past, and then suddenly stopped. A cry, a noise, fell upon his ears. There, yes, to the right. He rushed on. He saw dim forms of people, and into their midst he sprang like a wildcat after its prey.

He hardly knew what he said. He comprehended not the meaning of what they were doing. He only heard a yell of fright as a wild, hurried scramble for the high banks ensued, while something fell with a dull thud almost at his very feet.

He was about to follow the miners and Indians in their flight, when a groan arrested his steps. He looked down. It was a man, helpless and bound. What did it mean? What was that crowd doing there in the darkness? The thoughts surged like lightning through his brain. He reeled and almost fell. But the roar above nerved him. He called for help, but only the waters sent back their terrible response.

Desperate, determined, he seized the prostrate man in his arms and staggered with him toward the bank. Would he reach it? Would his strength hold out? Yes. No. O G.o.d, help him! for the cruel waters had reached him! They thrust out their long, icy tongues, they swept him off his feet and hurled him forward, still grasping in his arms the body of the helpless man.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SHADOWED GLEN

The night the jam gave way Constance was seated by the table engaged upon a piece of needlework. The candle by her side threw its feeble, flickering beams upon her dark hair and well-formed face. The rich tide of health was not flowing as of old, free and strong. It had fled from her cheeks, leaving them at times very white. Occasionally her busy fingers ceased and her work lay unheeded in her lap, while a far-away look stole into her dark brown eyes. The wind beat against the little window and shook the loose panes of gla.s.s; it whirled around the cabin, and rattled the rudely constructed stove pipe. Constance shivered, but not from the cold, and often unconscious sighs escaped her lips.

Her father was sitting near, reading, or pretending to read, a book Keith had loaned him. It was one of the few volumes left of the missionary's carefully chosen library. The rest had gone up in smoke.

It exemplified the truth that what we keep we lose; what we give we have. Mr. Radhurst was much improved. The haggard look had left his face; his eyes were clear and his step strong and decisive as of old.

Occasionally his gaze wandered from the page he was reading to his daughter's face. He was uneasy about her of late, and noted with apprehension the paleness of her cheeks and the absence of her cheery songs.

"Connie," he kindly said, laying aside the book, "I'm afraid this life is not agreeing with you."

"Why, father dear," she smilingly replied. "Do you think I look very sick?"

"You look far from well, my child, and you need a decided change. This is no place for a woman. You have no companion, no place to visit, nothing but the same dreary routine from morning till night, week in and week out. Then this commotion among the miners and your adventure with that rascally Pritchen are telling upon you, I can see that."

"Yes, father, I am uneasy about the miners, I must admit. We saw them with all those Indians this afternoon, but have heard nothing. Every one seems to have forsaken us."

"Connie," and Mr. Radhurst's voice was low, "I think we had better leave the North. It is no place for us. We are not accustomed to the hardships, and I am too old. It was a great mistake I made, but the fever ran in my veins, and my eyes were blinded. Now I see differently, and think it best to go back."

Had Mr. Radhurst uttered these words several months before Constance would have been filled with delight. But now they brought little joy to her heart. She had changed much. Her old life, with all its a.s.sociations, was fading, and the North was gripping her hard, as it does so many sooner or later who enter its portals. Chains had been forged which were binding her to the land, chains of hardships, sorrow, and, not the least, love. She had lost a dear and only brother here, but she had gained much in compensation. Life had become more real since Keith Steadman had crossed her path and infused into her heart and mind the longing for higher and n.o.bler things. She compared him with many she had met in days gone by, and how superior he appeared.

They were living so much for self, with their little rounds of business, pleasure and small talk. He was living for others, not a common life, but one filled with thought and activity, an unconscious hero in a stern, dreary field. Go back! back to what? That was the question which surged through her mind, causing her long lashes to droop, and her head to bend over her work, till the rich abundance of her hair almost hid her face.

Her father, noticing her embarra.s.sment, wondered. He felt there was some reason for her bent head and unusual silence, but with fatherly solicitude forebore to question her farther.

A peculiar noise outside startled them.

"What's that?" exclaimed Constance.