The Trail of the Golden Horn/Chapter 18
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.”