"What, Mr. Steadman?"

"Ah, ah."

"Look, father," and Constance crossed the room to where Mr. Radhurst was sitting, a silent witness of it all. "Mr. Steadman sent Jennie here to show us her pictures; how kind of him."

Jennie went softly across the room, and laid her hand upon the sketches.

"Calling us to order, are you, Jennie?" Constance laughed. "Come, then, show us your pictures, and tell us about them."

Eagerly the girl seized the sketch in her fingers.

"Peety," she said, holding it tenderly up before them. "F'owers, twees, water."

Constance and her father were much surprised as they examined them one by one. They were crude, of course, from an artistic point of view, but they exhibited genius in no slight degree. Trees, houses, dogs and people were all there. Presently Constance caught sight of a face which made her start. She seized it from Jennie almost rudely.

"Child!" she cried. "Who is this? Where did you see that man?"

Somewhat alarmed, Jennie shrank back without uttering a word.

"Connie, what's the matter," questioned Mr. Radhurst, astonished at his daughter's excitement.

"Look, father," and Constance handed him the sketch. "This is Kenneth's picture, there can be no mistake. The girl must have seen him somewhere, perhaps on the trail."

"There is a striking resemblance," returned her father. "But we cannot be sure that it's Kenneth's."

"No, no, father, I can't believe it's any other. It's so real. Where did you see this man?" she demanded, turning to Jennie.

"Me no see'm," replied the maiden.

"What, never saw him; never met him on the trail?"

Jennie shook her head. "Me no savvy. Me no see'm."

"Look, Jennie," said Mr. Radhurst kindly, "How you make this picture?

You see something, eh?"

Her face brightened at this, and she hastened to reply.

"Beeg chief savvy."

"What, the big chief knows?"

"Ah, ah. All same peejee."

"What, a picture like this?"

"Ah, ah. All same peejee."

Father and daughter looked at each other, and the same idea flashed into their minds.

"We need help," began Constance. "The old chief knows something which might be important."

"Mr. Steadman will help us," replied her father. "He knows the language, and has the chief's confidence."

"I shall go to him at once," and Constance reached for her cloak.

"Why not send a note by the Indian girl, and ask him to come here, Connie? It's quite dark outside, and I don't like for you to go alone.

There are too many rough men around, and, besides, I would like to talk with Mr. Steadman, too, about the matter."

"Very well, father; what you say is quite true."

Sitting down before the table, Constance drew forth a sheet of note paper from her little writing pad, and with a lead pencil wrote a few words to the clergyman. This was the first time she had ever written to him, and her face flushed as she began, "Dear Mr. Steadman."

"I have asked him to come here as soon as possible," she said to her father, as she folded the paper and placed it into an envelope.

"That will do, Connie. He will know that we need him on urgent business."

"Jennie," said Constance, "will you take this to the mission house, to Mr. Steadman?"

The maiden clutched the letter in her hand, rose, and started for the door. She felt it was something important.

"And you will go quick?"

"Jennie go quick," was the response; "all same wind," and with that she pa.s.sed out of the room.

When once outside, Jennie paused and looked across to the Indian village. There was a short cut, which would save her the longer way around. This she took, and soon drew near the mission house. By this trail she approached the building on the left side, through a small clump of trees.

She was in the act of stepping into full view, when the sight of a man approaching the cabin arrested her steps, and caused her to shrink back a few paces. Not long was she left in doubt, for her keen eyes detected the slinking form of Pritchen. That he was there on mischief bent, she had no doubt, and she determined to watch his actions.

Leaving the trail, she skirted the edges of the bunch of trees, keeping well within their shadows for some distance. Then she crossed an open s.p.a.ce, and stepped behind the very building where Pritchen had been concealed. From this position she saw the wretch peering through the window, and then enter the house.

With the speed of a deer, she hurried up the path, and, taking her stand at the corner of the building, watched the door almost breathlessly lest Pritchen should reappear. Satisfying herself that she was secure, and could run to the back of the house, or take shelter among the trees, she plucked up courage. Then she crept to the window and looked in. At first she drew suddenly back, fearing she would be seen. Finding, however, that the man did not look her way, she at length maintained her ground.

It was easy to see everything quite plainly, from the placing of the pokes into the chest, to the throwing of the key into the stove, and the destruction of the picture. What it all meant, she could not tell, and she wondered what had become of the missionary. When, however, Pritchen had finished his cowardly work, and pa.s.sed out into the night, Jennie was nowhere to be seen. She had disappeared, bearing with her the secret of the deed of darkness.

CHAPTER XIX

CARIBOU SOL

Another night had shut down over the great Yukon valley, a night of wind and storm. It had been snowing since morning on this, the most memorable day in the history of Kla.s.san.

Caribou Sol stood in front of his cabin, looking out into the darkness.

He did not mind the driving wind, laden with snow, which beat against him; in fact, he never noticed it. His face was marked with anguish as he closed the door and moved slowly along the trail leading to the Radhurst cabin. Up the hill he crept like a worn-out, weary man. He breasted the tempest with his head bent forward, while his long white beard was tossed across his breast like seaweed flung upon some surf-beaten rock. Constance was sitting by the table with a look of expectancy upon her face when Sol knocked at the door. Much had she changed since the previous evening. Her old lightness of spirit was gone, and a sadness weighed upon her soul. Tears glistened in her eyes, and the rosy colour had fled her cheeks, leaving them very white.

Joe Simkins had brought the news early that morning, and all day long the suspense had been terrible. Not for an instant did she or her father believe that Keith was guilty. There was something wrong, they felt sure of that. Constance longed to go to him, that he might know that they had not deserted him at any rate, and at times she was tempted to go to the trial, face the men, and give him a word of encouragement.