advice and go away. If you go down-stream, you’ll fall in with
the Russians. There’s bound to be Greek priests among them, and
they’ll see you safe through to Bering Sea,–that’s where the
Yukon empties,–and from there it won’t be hard to get back to
civilization. Take my word for it and get out of here as fast as
God’ll let you.”
“He who carries the Lord in his heart and the Gospel in his hand
hath no fear of the machinations of man or devil,” the missionary
answered stoutly. “I will see this man and wrestle with him. One
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9
backslider returned to the fold is a greater victory than a
thousand heathen. He who is strong for evil can be as mighty for
good, witness Saul when he journeyed up to Damascus to bring
Christian captives to Jerusalem. And the voice of the Saviour
came to him, crying, ‘Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?’ And
therewith Paul arrayed himself on the side of the Lord, and
thereafter was most mighty in the saving of souls. And even as
thou, Paul of Tarsus, even so do I work in the vineyard of the
Lord, bearing trials and tribulations, scoffs and sneers, stripes
and punishments, for His dear sake.”
“Bring up the little bag with the tea and a kettle of water,” he
called the next instant to his boatmen; “not forgetting the haunch
of cariboo and the mixing-pan.”
When his men, converts by his own hand, had gained the bank, the
trio fell to their knees, hands and backs burdened with camp
equipage, and offered up thanks for their passage through the
wilderness and their safe arrival. Hay Stockard looked upon the
function with sneering disapproval, the romance and solemnity of
it lost to his matter-of-fact soul. Baptiste the Red, still
gazing across, recognized the familiar postures, and remembered
the girl who had shared his star-roofed couch in the hills and
forests, and the woman-child who lay somewhere by bleak Hudson’s
Bay.
III
“Confound it, Baptiste, couldn’t think of it. Not for a moment.
Grant that this man is a fool and of small use in the nature of
things, but still, you know, I can’t give him up.”
Hay Stockard paused, striving to put into speech the rude ethics
of his heart.
“He’s worried me, Baptiste, in the past and now, and caused me all
manner of troubles; but can’t you see, he’s my own breed–white–
and–and–why, I couldn’t buy my life with his, not if he was a
nigger.”
“So be it,” Baptiste the Red made answer. “I have given you grace
and choice. I shall come presently, with my priests and fighting
men, and either shall I kill you, or you deny your god. Give up
the priest to my pleasure, and you shall depart in peace.
Otherwise your trail ends here. My people are against you to the
babies. Even now have the children stolen away your canoes.” He
pointed down to the river. Naked boys had slipped down the water
from the point above, cast loose the canoes, and by then had
worked them into the current. When they had drifted out of rifle-
shot they clambered over the sides and paddled ashore.
Tales of the Klondyke
10
“Give me the priest, and you may have them back again. Come!
Speak your mind, but without haste.”
Stockard shook his head. His glance dropped to the woman of the
Teslin Country with his boy at her breast, and he would have
wavered had he not lifted his eyes to the men before him.
“I am not afraid,” Sturges Owen spoke up. “The Lord bears me in
his right hand, and alone am I ready to go into the camp of the
unbeliever. It is not too late. Faith may move mountains. Even
in the eleventh hour may I win his soul to the true
righteousness.”
“Trip the beggar up and make him fast,” Bill whispered hoarsely in
the ear of his leader, while the missionary kept the floor and
wrestled with the heathen. “Make him hostage, and bore him if
they get ugly.”
“No,” Stockard answered. “I gave him my word that he could speak
with us unmolested. Rules of warfare, Bill; rules of warfare.
He’s been on the square, given us warning, and all that, and–why,
damn it, man, I can’t break my word!”
“He’ll keep his, never fear.”
“Don’t doubt it, but I won’t let a half-breed outdo me in fair
dealing. Why not do what he wants,–give him the missionary and
be done with it?”
“N-no,” Bill hesitated doubtfully.
“Shoe pinches, eh?”
Bill flushed a little and dropped the discussion. Baptiste the
Red was still waiting the final decision. Stockard went up to
him.
“It’s this way, Baptiste. I came to your village minded to go up
the Koyukuk. I intended no wrong. My heart was clean of evil.
It is still clean. Along comes this priest, as you call him. I
didn’t bring him here. He’d have come whether I was here or not.
But now that he is here, being of my people, I’ve got to stand by
him. And I’m going to. Further, it will be no child’s play.
When you have done, your village will be silent and empty, your
people wasted as after a famine. True, we will he gone; likewise
the pick of your fighting men–”
“But those who remain shall be in peace, nor shall the word of
strange gods and the tongues of strange priests be buzzing in
their ears.”
Both men shrugged their shoulder and turned away, the half-breed
going back to his own camp. The missionary called his two men to
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11
him, and they fell into prayer. Stockard and Bill attacked the
few standing pines with their axes, felling them into convenient
breastworks. The child had fallen asleep, so the woman placed it
on a heap of furs and lent a hand in fortifying the camp. Three
sides were thus defended, the steep declivity at the rear
precluding attack from that direction. When these arrangements
had been completed, the two men stalked into the open, clearing
away, here and there, the scattered underbrush. From the opposing
camp came the booming of war-drums and the voices of the priests
stirring the people to anger.
“Worst of it is they’ll come in rushes,” Bill complained as they
walked back with shouldered axes.
“And wait till midnight, when the light gets dim for shooting.”
“Can’t start the ball a-rolling too early, then.” Bill exchanged
the axe for a rifle, and took a careful rest. One of the
medicine-men, towering above his tribesmen, stood out distinctly.
Bill drew a bead on him.
“All ready?” he asked.
Stockard opened the ammunition box, placed the woman where she
could reload in safety, and gave the word. The medicine-man
dropped. For a moment there was silence, then a wild howl went up
and a flight of bone arrows fell short.
“I’d like to take a look at the beggar,” Bill remarked, throwing a
fresh shell into place. “I’ll swear I drilled him clean between
the eyes.”
“Didn’t work.” Stockard shook his head gloomily. Baptiste had
evidently quelled the more warlike of his followers, and instead
of precipitating an attack in the bright light of day, the shot
had caused a hasty exodus, the Indians drawing out of the village
beyond the zone of fire.
In the full tide of his proselyting fervor, borne along by the
hand of God, Sturges Owen would have ventured alone into the camp
of the unbeliever, equally prepared for miracle or martyrdom; but
in the waiting which ensued, the fever of conviction died away
gradually, as the natural man asserted itself. Physical fear
replaced spiritual hope; the love of life, the love of God. It
was no new experience. He could feel his weakness coming on, and
knew it of old time. He had struggled against it and been
overcome by it before. He remembered when the other men had
driven their paddles like mad in the van of a roaring ice-flood,
how, at the critical moment, in a panic of worldly terror, he had
dropped his paddle and besought wildly with his God for pity. And
there were other times. The recollection was not pleasant. It
brought shame to him that his spirit should be so weak and his
flesh so strong. But the love of life! the love of life! He
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12
could not strip it from him. Because of it had his dim ancestors
perpetuated their line; because of it was he destined to
perpetuate his. His courage, if courage it might be called, was
bred of fanaticism. The courage of Stockard and Bill was the
adherence to deep-rooted ideals. Not that the love of life was
less, but the love of race tradition more; not that they were
unafraid to die, but that they were brave enough not to live at