"Why, men," I cried, "what's wrong? What brings you here?"
"We want you play (pray)," answered Matthew.
I brought them into the house, and, putting on my clothes and lighting the lamp, I set about to find out the trouble. It was not easy. They were greatly excited and frightened.
"We scare. All Stickeen scare; plenty cly. We want you play God; plenty play."
By dint of much questioning I gathered at last that the whole tribe were frightened by a mysterious light waving and flickering from the top of the little mountain that overlooked Wrangell; and they wished me to pray to the white man's God and avert dire calamity.
"Some miner has camped there," I ventured.
An eager chorus protested; it was not like the light of a camp-fire in