CHAPTER 21
Helping Hands
INDIAN TOM had made special preparations for his trip to the hills. He kept his plans to himself, merely telling Kate that he hoped to bring back a fat mountain sheep. Old though he was, it was nothing out of the ordinary for him to go a short distance from The Gap and return with fresh meat. Kate, with her keen intuition, surmised that her husband had something more important in his mind, and that he intended going farther than usual. She made no comment, however, for Tom was master of his own affairs, and possessed of a strong will. Kate, like other Indian women, had been trained from childhood to be silent and to wait.
With everything in readiness, Tom planned to start early the next morning. With his pack of food strapped across his shoulders, moccasins on his feet, and rifle in hand, he slipped forth from his cabin and made his way to the mission house. He wished to see the Gikhi, to tell him that he would be away for several days, and to ask him to look after the welfare of his wife and Zell. He knew that the missionary was an early riser, and expected to find him seated at the table busy with his writing. He had often visited the house early in the morning and had always seen the light shining through the little window.
As he drew near the mission house he was surprised to find it wrapped in darkness. The Gikhi must have overslept himself, he thought, and at first he hesitated about awaking him. But as his business was of urgent importance, he tapped upon the door, and then pushed it gently open. All was dark within and the room was cold. A fear that something was wrong suddenly entered his mind. He took a few steps forward, and then stopped to listen. But not a sound could he hear.
“Gikhi!” he called.
Receiving no reply, he felt certain that something had happened to his beloved missionary. Laying aside his rifle, he brought forth from a pocket of his jacket a small candle. This he lighted, and when the flame was large enough, he looked carefully around. At first he could see nothing, but as he advanced to examine the bedroom, his eyes rested upon the form of the missionary lying upon the floor near the table. With a gurgle of consternation, Tom stooped and looked upon the prostrate man. He felt his face, and found that it was strangely cold. Quickly placing the candle upon the table, he lifted the missionary in his arms, carried him over and laid him down upon the cot on the other side of the stove. Going back for the candle, he looked keenly around. But nothing could he see to give him any clue to the cause of the trouble. He then went over to the cot, and again felt the still, cold face. He placed his ear close to the missionary’s mouth, but could detect no sign of life.
Forgotten now was his visit to the hills. His only thought was for his beloved missionary. He needed help, and the only one who could be of any assistance was his wife. Leaving the house, he hurried to his own cabin, told Kate in a few words what he had found, and ordered her to come at once. Zell was sleeping quietly, so following her husband, Kate was soon at the mission house. She rushed at once to the missionary’s side, and looking upon him lying there so still and white, a great cry of grief broke from her lips.
“Gikhi! Gikhi!” she called.
But for the first time no response came to her earnest appeal. The man who had led her out of darkness of heathenism was deaf to her voice. Wildly she looked around, and then up into Tom’s face.
“Is he dead?” she asked. “Has someone killed him?”
“It looks like it,” Tom replied, placing the forefinger of his right hand close to the side of the missionary’s head. “See! See! Blood! Gikhi has been shot! Bad! Ugh!”
Then a wild rage filled his heart. The spirit of revenge, inherited from countless generations of warriors, possessed him. The Gikhi, the man who meant so much to him, had been shot by an enemy! He surmised who it was, for no one but Bill, the Slugger, was in the neighbourhood. Swiftly he turned and spoke a few rapid words to his wife. He next set to work and built a fire in the stove. In a short time the genial heat was pervading the room. He then started to work upon the body of the missionary, rubbing the cold form and applying hot cloths.
Night passed, and morning dawned, but still Tom remained at his task. Could he ever bring life into that still form? But at length he was rewarded, for slowly a warmth returned to the body, and the beating of the heart could be detected. Kate went back to her own cabin to see how Zell was getting along, and returned ere long with a cup containing a little Indian medicine, concocted the previous summer from various roots and herbs. Between the missionary’s firm-set teeth some of this was pressed, and in a short time the faithful natives had the satisfaction of seeing the Gikhi give a sigh and open his eyes. He then closed them again, and remained as motionless as before.
All through the morning the Indians did what they could for the missionary. They knew, however, that their efforts were but temporary, and that the white doctor at Kynox was urgently needed. But who could go for him? There was not an Indian runner anywhere near, and the hospital was far away.
Several times during the morning Kate went over to see how Zell was getting along. The girl, who was now greatly improved, wondered at the Indian woman’s excited manner, and why she was in such a hurry to return to the mission house. She questioned her, but received only an evasive answer. Zell had now reached the stage of recovery when she was restless and impatient to be doing something. Although still weak from the terrible experiences through which she had passed, she was anxious to go back to Tim, and to take the Gikhi with her. How they would go, she had no definite idea. But her faith in the missionary was so great that she believed he could do the impossible. She had not spoken to him as yet about her injured lover at Big Chance. She wanted to see him alone, when Tom and Kate were not present. She was greatly worried, too, about the white woman she had left by the camp-fire that night of the terrible happenings. She had spoken of her to Tom and Kate, but they knew nothing. Her mind was still confused and it was difficult for her to think very clearly. But Tim and the white woman were ever before her. They were in need, so she must go to them. The Gikhi alone was the one who could help her.
All through the morning Zell worried and wondered. She dragged her weak body to the little window facing the mission house and watched through a small clear space in the frost-bedecked panes. It was a lonely vigil she kept, for Kate was a long time in coming. What could be keeping her and Tom so long with the Gikhi? She looked westward and the great towering mountains met her eyes. The Golden Horn, robed in its snowy mantle, caught the bright beams of the winter sun, and smiled its benediction over the stark and silent land. Far away in a little crouching creek at its base was Big Chance, where lay the one she loved most on earth. And she could not go to him. She did not know whether he was dead or alive. Tears came to her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. Her face was wan and pale, a striking contrast to her animated countenance of a few days before.
At last she felt that she could endure the suspense no more. Kate had been away longer than usual, and she was sure that something was wrong with Gikhi. Picking up a blanket and wrapping it about her head and shoulders in Indian fashion, she left the cabin, and slowly made her way along the path leading to the mission house. Several times she tottered, so weak was she, but at length reaching the door, she leaned against the building and listened. Hearing no sound from within, she softly pushed open the door and entered. The sight which met her eyes caused her to pause and her heart to beat fast. She saw the Gikhi lying upon the cot, with Kate kneeling by his side, and Tom standing a few feet away. With a cry which caused Kate to leap to her feet, the girl rushed forward. She reached the cot, and exhausted by the exertion, she dropped upon her knees and threw her arms over the still form lying there. Not a word did she utter, but sobbed as if her heart would break.
Kate and Tom looked upon the weeping girl with surprise, and spoke low to each other. Then the woman laid her right hand upon the girl’s shoulder and gently shook her.
“You should not be here,” she reproved. “This is no place for you.”
But Zell made no reply. If she heard what was said she gave no sign, but with outstretched arms and bent head continued her sobbing.
Kate spoke more sharply to her now, and tried to draw her away. This aroused the girl, and she turned fiercely upon the woman.
“Leave me alone,” she cried. “I have the right to be here. Gikhi was good to me, and now he is dead!”
Again she bowed her head and remained perfectly motionless, Kate and Tom watching her, not knowing what to do. The girl puzzled them. They knew that she had run away from the mission school, which had been a great grief to the missionary and his wife. Now she had come back, and avowed her love for the Gikhi.
They were still standing there when a noise outside arrested their attention. Then a knock sounded upon the door. As no one entered, Tom crossed the room, opened the door and looked out. Standing before him were four weary-looking people, three of whom he at once recognised. But the white woman he did not know.
“Is the missionary at home?” Sergeant North asked, surprised to see the Indian.
Tom, however, made no reply, but stared intently at the sergeant.
“Is anything wrong with the missionary?” the sergeant asked. “Is he sick?”
“Ah, ah, Gikhi much seek,” Tom replied. “Gikhi all sam’ dead.”
With a bound the sergeant was in the room, closely followed by his companions. Hearing the strange voices, Zell lifted her head and looked around. Seeing Marion, she staggered to her feet, and with a pathetic cry of joy and surprise started to go to her. But the recent excitement had been too much for her. She tottered and would have fallen had not Hugo sprang forward and caught her in his arms.
“What is the meaning of all this?” he asked, looking sternly at Kate. “What has happened to the missionary?”
“Bad white man shoot Gikhi,” the Indian woman explained. “Here,” and she placed her hand to her head. “Put Zell in room,” she added, pointing to the bedroom on the left.
Hugo did as he was ordered, carried the unconscious girl into the little room, and laid her gently upon the bed. Marion followed, and bent over the girl. Then she went to the door and spoke to Kate.
“Bring me some cold water,” she ordered. “Quick.”
When this was brought, she bathed Zell’s face, and ere long had the satisfaction of seeing the girl open her eyes. For an instant she stared at Marion, and then the light of recognition dawned in her eyes, and her lips parted in a smile.
“Are you feeling better now?” Marion asked.
“Yes, better. But how did you come here? Where have you been? I thought you were lost.”
“I am safe, Zell,” was the reply. “But never mind about that now. I shall tell you later.”
Marion was about to leave to go back into the other room, when Zell caught her by the hand.
“Save the Gikhi’s life,” she pleaded. “Don’t let him die. I want him to speak to me again, to tell me that he forgives me.”
“I shall do what I can for him,” Marion assured. “But if he has been shot, he will need more aid than I can give.”
“The doctor, you mean?”
“Yes. I wish Dr. Rainsford could come. He might be able to find the bullet and save the missionary’s life.”
“Can’t some one go for him?” Zell asked. “Oh, if I were only strong, I would go myself. Perhaps he is at Big Chance now. You said he would come to see Tim, didn’t you, Miss?”
“I left word at Kynox for him to come as soon as he arrived. But that seems a long time ago now, and he may have made the trip and returned to Kynox.”
“But perhaps he has remained to look after Tim,” Zell eagerly suggested. “Something tells me that he is at Big Chance now. Wouldn’t he come like the wind if he knew the Gikhi needed him?”
“I believe he would,” Marion agreed. “The doctor is a remarkable man, and always willing to make any sacrifice in order to help others.”
“But how can we get word to him? Who will make the long, hard journey?”
“I will.”
Marion gave a sudden start, and looked quickly round at these words. Just behind her stood her father, bulking large in the doorway.
“The girl is right,” he said. “I happened to overhear what she said. The doctor may be at Big Chance. Anyway, if he isn’t there he will be somewhere.”
“And you will go—father!” Marion exclaimed in surprise.
“If I don’t, who will? The missionary is too good a man to let die without making an effort to save his life.”
“But suppose you are overtaken by a storm, a snow-slide, a pack of wolves, or some other terrible thing? That trail over which we came lies right in the very shadow of death.”
Hugo merely smiled at his daughter’s anxiety. How could he explain that dangers meant nothing to him? The wilderness was his home, and a journey which might appal others was as life to his being. He also kept to himself another reason why he wished to go for the doctor. He believed that the diamong ring which he had intrusted to the missionary was the cause of the shooting. He had made a brief search for it, but could not find it. There was but one explanation, according to his way of thinking. Someone must have been watching through the window that night he had given the ring to Charles Norris. Only one man in the vicinity, he felt certain, would commit such a deed. Hugo, accordingly, felt somewhat responsible for what had happened to the missionary, and it was necessary for him to do all in his power to help him.
Leaving the bedroom, Marion went to the side of the unconscious man. She looked upon his pale face and long beard. How noble he seemed lying there, like a warrior at rest, so she thought. He was breathing, but so low that only with difficulty could it be detected. The sergeant was standing near, while the constable was at the stove preparing something for supper. Tom and Kate were nowhere to be seen. They had slipped out of the room and had gone to their own cabin shortly after the arrival of the white people.
“What are we to do, Marion?” the sergeant asked. “This is a bad job, and the man responsible for this deed must be brought to justice. But in the meantime what are we going to do with this man?”
“Suppose we move him from here,” Marion suggested. “Isn’t that his bedroom over there?” and she looked toward a door on the left. “You men can carry him in while I go and prepare the bed.”
In a few minutes this was done. The missionary was laid gently upon his own bed, and for a time he was left alone. A little later Rolfe summoned them to supper, and while they were eating they discussed their plans for the future. Marion agreed to remain with the missionary.
“Zell will be with me,” she explained, “and I know that the Indian woman who was here when we came will do what she can. I hope that you all will be back soon without any mishap.”
“I am sorry to leave you,” the sergeant replied, “but there is nothing else to do. It is our duty, you see, and that must come first.”
“Oh, I hope nothing will happen to you out there. The mountains beyond here are very dangerous places, so I have heard. Will you follow right after that wretched man?”
“Yes, until we find him dead or alive. But I don’t believe he will be very far away, owing to the injury to his foot. You remember what Hugo told us.”
“But he can shoot, though. He can hide and watch you coming, and can shoot you both down.”
“We shall have to take that risk, Marion. But I guess we are too old hands to be caught napping, are we not, Tom?”
“I guess you’re right, sergeant,” Rolfe replied. “Why, we’re going to do wonders out there. Some day I shall write a poem about it which will beat Tennyson’s ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ all to pieces. It will tell about Sergeant North leading a lone constable into the jaws of death with mountain to the right of them, with mountain to the left of them, with mountain in front of them. Such a poem should make me famous.”
“That will be too much of a fuss about the pursuit of one man, and lame at that,” the sergeant dryly replied. “Surely you can hit upon a more heroic subject.”
“Oh, I’ll make it heroic enough, sergeant, never fear. I shall bring in about a lone woman left in fear and trembling, while two heroes marched forth to avenge the wrong done to an old man. Never you mind, I shall fix it up in great style.”
Leaving the men to continue their talking, Marion arose and went into the bedroom where the missionary was lying. He was just as she had left him. Sitting down by his side, she watched him. A great respect for this man stole into her heart. She had heard much about him, and his wonderful devotion and self-sacrifice. Her heart thrilled at the thought of what he had given up for a great Cause. And was this to be the end of it all? No worldly applause, no honor, and an apparent defeat of all his efforts. She spoke of it that night to the sergeant as they sat talking while the rest slept.
“Is such a life wasted?” she asked. “Will there be no result of all his labors?”
“His work can never die,” the sergeant quietly replied. “The Indians have deserted him and his teaching for a time. But it cannot be for long. Some day, I believe, they will see the error of their ways and return to him again.”
“But suppose he should die?”
“Then another will reap the harvest. One sows and another reaps.”