The Frontiersman Part 25

She fancied him defending himself against the base charge with all the determination of his manly nature. That he would fight hard, she had no doubt, but she shuddered when she thought how little one man could do against so many. She was surprised, too, to find what an interest she took in his welfare, and how his trouble pierced her heart like a sharp sword.

As the evening wore on, and the storm howled and raged outside, and no one came near the cabin, the suspense became almost unbearable. Had the worst happened, so that even Joe did not dare to come and break the news? She had often heard how gold thieves were treated by enraged miners, and she s.h.i.+vered as the idea came to her this night.

Mechanically, she picked up a book, a small copy of Keble's "Christian Year," which Keith had left there. Opening it at random, her eyes rested upon a verse for the twenty-third Sunday after Trinity, which attracted her attention. Slowly she read:

"But first by many a stern and fiery blast The world's rude furnace must our blood refine, And many a blow of keenest woe be pa.s.sed, Till every pulse beat true to airs divine."

The book dropped upon her lap, and for some time she remained in silent thought. "Perhaps that is meant for me," she meditated. "I have been careless and indifferent to the higher things of life, living only for to-day. Is the Great Master allowing these things to happen, the loss of mother, brother, home, and now----"

She was startled by a knock upon the door, and she trembled as she laid the book upon the table and crossed the room.

Caribou Sol grasped her hand in his own strong one, and looked searchingly into her eyes.

"Bad storm," he panted, "an' a tough climb up yon hill. I ain't as young as I uster be."

Then Constance noticed how haggard was his face, while his hair and beard seemed whiter than when first she saw him. A feeling of dread entered her heart.

"Tell me, oh, tell me!" she cried, "what has happened!"

"Ye've heard somethin', then, miss?" questioned the old man.

"Yes, Joe Simkins was here this morning and told us what took place last night. But we have heard nothing about the trial."

Sol sat down upon a bench near where Mr. Radhurst was lying, and placed his head in his hands.

"My G.o.d!" he groaned, "it was awful!"

"What's awful?" demanded Constance. "Tell us quick!"

"They've fired 'im!"

"What?"

"Fired the parson! Druve 'im from Kla.s.san!"

"The brutes! The wretches!" and Constance stamped her small foot upon the floor, while her hands clinched and her eyes glowed. "Are they men or only beasts? Did no one stand up for him?"

"Only me an' Joe," replied the miner, looking with admiration upon the spirited woman before him. "We done what we could. But they're divils, miss, is them miners, when they're roused."

"Did he fight hard?"

"Fight? You should have seed 'im. I never seen anything like it. He was a match fer 'em all, but it was no use. They got turned agin 'im, an' 'ud listen to nothin'."

"What did he have to say about the gold being found in his cabin?"

asked Mr. Radhurst.

"He couldn't explain, sir. Nor could you nor me, if we'd had sich a cowardly trick played upon us. He jist stated the matter in words that rung with truth, any ninny could see that. But every wan on that committee got so excited that they jist threw questions at 'im."

"'Whar is the key,' says Pritchen.

"'Why did ye git so scart when we axed ye to open the chist?' speaks up Perdue. An' afore he could answer, some one else slung another at 'im.

It wasn't a trial, miss, it was jist a bunch of sarpents hissin' all the time."

"And did Mr. Steadman seem frightened when they wanted to open the chest?" queried Constance, in surprise.

"I heerd so."

"But why?"

"On account of the picter."

"The picture?"

"Yes. Tim Slater, he was thar, ye know, says 'twas an uncommon fine 'un, lyin' right atop the chist."

"But why should the picture frighten him?"

"He wasn't altogether frightened, miss. Ye can't frighten 'im. He only got a little white around the gills, so Tim says. Ye see, 'twas a woman's picter, all fixed up on that kind of paper them artist chaps use, an' done with a pencil. 'Twas mighty fine, so Tim says, an' I guess he knows."

Constance made no reply to these words. "A picture!" she mused, "and a woman's!" Anxious though she was to hear more about the trial, her thoughts wandered. She longed with womanly curiosity to know about that picture. Was it a young face, pretty, and whether the missionary had explained whose it was? Something, however, restrained her. She did not dare to ask, lest she should betray the note of eagerness in her voice, and she was sure her face would flush even if she mentioned it.

"But it wasn't the only charge they brung agin the parson," continued Sol. "They raked up all sorts of stuff. It was certainly wonnerful."

"What else did they say?" questioned Mr. Radhurst.

"They said, or at least Pritchen did, that he killed an Injun woman some years back."

"What!"

"Yes, that's what he said. But, my, you should have seed the parson then. He was jist like a tager, an' I never heerd a man say sich cuttin' things in all my life. He jist went fer Pritchen an' opened up a page in his history which 'ud make ye creep. He told sartin an'

clear that the villain himself was the one who killed the woman. An', says he:

"'Thar's a gal in this town who was thar as a wee child. She seed it all. She seen her mother killed afore her very eyes. Bring her here,'

says he, 'an' she'll tell yez what a liar this man is.'"

"And what did they do?" asked Constance almost breathlessly.

"Jist laughed at 'im."

"The brutes!"

"'Bring her!' he cries; 'she's in Kla.s.san. If yez are men, ye'll do what's fair. Her name is Yukon Jennie, an' she'll tell yez all."

"This appeal kinder touched some of 'em, an' they axed fer the gal, though I saw that Pritchen was mighty oneasy. So we waited till the gal was fetched."

"Did she come?" and Constance leaned eagerly forward, as the old man paused.

"No, miss. They couldn't find hair nor hide of her. She'd skipped out."