If Any Man Sin

UNDER COVER OF NIGHT

When Dick left Nance at the cabin door and walked slowly down to the river, his heart was in a tumult of happiness such as he had never before experienced. He could hear the sounds of laughing, talking, and shouting among the miners, late though it was. He suspected that some of the men had been drinking, and were accordingly in a mood of riotous mirth. He did not wish to join them just now. What connection had he with their revelry? He contrasted the quietness of Martin's cabin with the confusion over the river. On the one side there was Nance, beautiful and pure; on the other, men destined for noble purposes and yet willing to degrade themselves at the least opportunity. What could he do to make those men see and realise something of the joy of a life in which the evil passions were subdued, and the higher virtues were predominate? Was it not his duty as a missionary in the Great Master's Cause to stem the tide of evil which was about to set in, and, if possible, to check the moral depravity which, like in other mining camps, always abounded? But what could one man do against so many? He could speak strong words of denunciation, rebuke, and exhort. But he knew such efforts would be of little avail. The men might listen but they would not heed. Some issue of a practical nature, he was well aware, was needed to cause such men to side with right against wrong. But what was this issue to be which would appeal to natures such as theirs? Not a campaign against liquor and its attending evils, he was sure of that.

Dick seated himself upon a log at the foot of a large tree, and gave himself up to serious meditation. Martin's canoe was nearby, so he could cross the river and in a few minutes reach his own tent. But he had no desire to sleep, as his mind was too active for that. He thought of Nance, her words, and the charm of her face. But a cloud arose to darken the light. The miners came into his mind, and he could not get clear of the idea that something was to happen, and that the one he loved was in real danger. He felt that his duty was of a twofold nature now: he must protect Nance, and also help the men who would not help themselves. But how was he to do this?

He was aroused from his reverie by the sound of a canoe grating upon the shore. Looking quickly up he was able to discern by the light of the moon two dark forms stepping from a little craft some distance below Martin's cabin. That they were there for no good purpose he felt quite sure, and his attention became instantly riveted upon their movements. He saw them leave the edge of the water and glide toward the house.

Rising to his feet, he stood irresolute for a few heart-beats, wondering what course he should pursue. It would not do for him to follow them in the open, as his form could easily be seen. Glancing to the right he saw the forest, sweeping in a black curve around the back of the house and not far away. With him to think was to act, so moving at once a short distance up stream, he reached the border of the clearing until he gained the shelter of the sombre trees. Then travelling as rapidly as caution would permit, he skirted the edge of the forest, keeping well within the black shadows.

Reaching at length a position just back of the cabin, he peered cautiously forth. The bright light of the moon made every object visible in the clearing beyond, so that any one approaching the house could easily be seen, although his countenance could not be discerned. Observing no one in sight, he moved forward a few paces and again stopped. This time his efforts were rewarded, for out in the open he saw the two men moving hurriedly to and fro. Several times they encircled the cabin. They seemed to have no design upon the building itself, but contented themselves by keeping a certain distance away. Dick racked his brain in an effort to solve the purpose of their strange actions. Ere long he heard the faint sounds of blows, and observed one of the men driving something into the ground. He then moved some distance away, when more blows followed. This was repeated several times, and the concealed watcher closely observed each spot where this process was performed.

Suddenly the meaning of it all flashed into Dick's mind. They were staking claims upon the very ground where the cabin was situated. The thought of this cowardly act sent the blood coursing rapidly through his veins, and a desire came upon him to rush forth, confront them, and frustrate their evil designs. This, however, he realised would be of little use. He well knew that Martin had not staked the spot upon which he was living. In a way it was his by right of possession, but how that would hold in mining law he had not the least idea. He cared little, anyway, for the legal right, as it was the sense of justice which over-shadowed everything else. Did the men desire the cabin? he wondered, and had they taken this under-handed method of procuring it? or did they have some other motive in view of which he was ignorant?

Dick watched the men until they had finished their task, and made their way back to the river. He was tempted to go over, pull up the stakes they had driven down, and throw them away among the trees. But this he knew would not do. It might lead to complications. He determined, nevertheless, to have a hand in this affair, and that at once.

Quickly making his way back over the route he had recently travelled, he came close to the river. Here he remained until he was sure that the two men had reached the opposite shore. He then walked cautiously toward Martin's canoe, pushed it off, and paddled as silently as possible across the stream. It did not take him long to reach his own tent, and when once inside he sat down upon his bunk, and gave himself over to anxious thought. He longed for some trusty person with whom he could discuss the whole affair, and his mind turned naturally to Tom, who was up at the new diggings. At first he was inclined to wait until morning to see what would happen. This idea he soon banished, however, and he determined to set off at once for assistance.

Silence brooded over the encampment as he started forth upon his journey. The numerous tents gleamed white in the light of the moon, and Dick paused for a moment to gaze upon the scene. Nature was making everything beautiful, and a holy hush reigned over mountains, river, and lake. But what a change would take place on this spot in a few days, nay even when the new day dawned fresh and bright. In a few weeks Quaska would be a typical mining camp, where licentiousness would run riot, unless in some way it could be checked. He looked across the river to the house nestling on the slope of the opposite bank, and thought of Nance sleeping so peacefully, with no idea of the lone man who on this night was so alert and watchful. With a wordless prayer that she might be kept safe from harm, he moved rapidly along the trail leading up stream. He knew that by keeping close to the river, even though he could not always follow the trail, he would in time come upon the miners.

It was still very early when Dick came in sight of the first tents close to the bank of the creek. Soon others appeared to view, but no living being could be seen. Not wishing to disturb any one, and not knowing which was Tom's cabin, he strolled along the shore to observe how much work the men had been doing. Coming to a large tree he sat down upon the ground, and leaned back against the bole. Little did he know that years before, under that same fir, Martin and Nance had stopped to rest, and that the maiden had played in the sand nearby. Had he known of this, how precious would the spot have been to him. He thought of Nance, nevertheless, as he reclined there. In truth she was seldom out of his mind. Presently he saw her standing before him. The same sweet smile was upon her face, and her hands were stretched out toward him. He noted how small and brown they were, and he reached out to take them in his own. At that instant the vision faded, and he opened his eyes with a start, to see Tom standing before him, holding a tin pail in his hand.

"Sorry I've disturbed ye," and the prospector chuckled. "Ye sure looked like a sleepin' beauty."

"Asleep, all right, but not a beauty," Dick laughed, as he sprang to his feet. "It was stupid of me to go to sleep."

"Why didn't ye come to my shack, pard?" Tom asked, as he placed his pail upon the ground.

"I didn't know which was yours, Tom, and I did not care to disturb the camp hunting around."

"H'm! What on earth brought ye out here at sich an unearthly hour? Tell me that."

"Business, Tom."

"Must be mighty special business."

"That's for you to judge."

"Nothin' wrong down yon among the men, I hope?"

"Nothing special. They were asleep when I left, or most of them, at any rate."

"It isn't the lassie, is it?" and Tom looked keenly into the young man's face.

"Yes; it concerns her and her father."

Tom at once picked up his pail, and soon returned with it full to the brim.

"Come with me, pard," he quietly remarked. "We'd better talk it out under cover."

When once within the tent Tom placed the pail of water upon the ground, and turned to his companion.

"Sit down, pard, an' let's have yer story. Speak low, as it's better not to let every ninny hear what ye've got to say."

Quickly and briefly Dick related his experiences during the past night, to all of which Tom listened with much interest. When the story was ended the prospector sat for a while thinking deeply. He scratched his head in a characteristic manner. At length he rose, and reached for his frying-pan.

"We'll have some breakfast, pard, eh?" he began. "Ye surely must need some grub by this time. I brought down a fine sheep out on the hills yesterday, an' a nice juicy piece 'ill do ye much good, I'm thinkin', fer ye look about tuckered out."

"I've hardly thought about eating," Dick replied with a laugh, "so worked up have I been over this affair."

"An' good reason, pard. I'm jist at a loss to express my feelin's at present, so must do somethin' with my hands. It'll all come back soon, an' then I'll tell ye jist what I think about them skunks."

"But I'm much puzzled," Dick mused.

"Over what, pard?"

"I've been wondering if we can do anything. Martin hasn't staked the claim on which his house is situated, and The Twins have. Now, legally, to whom does that land belong?"

Tom tossed several pieces of meat savagely into the frying-pan, and watched them for a while as they crackled and sizzled.

"Legally! Legally!" he roared. "What is the meanin' of the word? tell me that. I don't care a damn what has been recorded in any law-book, or what decision wise old owls of judges have come to. Sich things don't cut any ice here. That man owns the land on which his cabin is built accordin' to the law of this country. In a frontier sich as this we make our own laws, an' I guess the one we make concernin' this affair won't be fer wrong. There'll be no red-tape about it, either, mark my word. Legally! Legally! h'm!" and Tom gave a grunt of deep disgust as he thrust the knife under the meat to turn it over.

"Good for you, Tom!" Dick exclaimed. "I knew where to come for help, didn't I? You voice my feelings exactly. But we must not lose any time. I don't want Martin, and especially Nance, to get word of this matter. It would worry them, I believe, very much."

"Oh, they shan't be bothered a mite, pard. As soon as I've had a snack to eat, I'll slip out an' have a talk with old Dad, an' a few others I kin trust. It's always well to have several at yer back in an affair like this. Talkin' does mighty little good with some chaps unless ye have plenty of power back of yer words. I've found that out time an' time agin. So as soon as we're through with breakfast you turn in to yon bunk, while I stroll around a bit. A few winks won't do ye any harm."

When Tom had left the cabin Dick stretched himself out upon the one bunk the place contained. He did not believe that he could sleep, but felt that a little rest would do him good, and refresh him for the tramp back to the lake. He wished to return as soon as possible, and he hoped that Tom would go with him. He was anxious about Nance and Martin, for he did not know what tricks The Twins might be already planning.

Thinking thus he slept, and when he opened his eyes an hour later Tom was standing by his side.

"Feelin' rested, pard?" was the prospector's cheery greeting.

"Yes," and Dick sprang out of the bunk as he spoke. "I am surprised at myself, for I didn't believe that I could sleep."

"Ye were pretty well tuckered out, lad, so the nap 'ill do ye a world of good. But I think we'd better be away now. Several of the boys are more'n willin' to go with us. They're certainly roused up over what ye say The Twins did last night."

Outside Dick found Dad Seddon, and three other men, all strong, powerfully built fellows. Tom had made a wise choice in asking these men to accompany him down stream. They were not given to many words, which was partly natural, and partly acquired through long years in the silent wilderness. But they were men in whose eyes lurked not the slightest semblance of fear. They were friends worth having, but enemies to be dreaded.

Dick never forgot that rapid march down to the lake. Very little was said as they strode forward, and it was still early morning when Klutana's surface at length appeared to view. The miners were astir, and the confusion and bustle of a new day had already begun. But the five men headed by Tom did not pause until they had reached a tent of moderate size, situated on somewhat higher ground. Here the various claims were all recorded, and the Recorder was eating his breakfast, which was spread out upon an overturned empty soap box. He looked up with interest as the men appeared before him at the entrance of his tent.

"Mornin', Tom," was his salutation. "Struck somethin' good, eh?"

"Should say not," and Tom spoke in a low voice. "Have ye recorded any claims this mornin', Bill?"

"Sure thing. But why do ye ask?"

"Was it The Twins?"

The Recorder's eyes opened wide in amazement, and he looked curiously at the rest of the men standing silently and grimly outside.

"Have The Twins been here this mornin'?" Tom again asked.

"Yes. They routed me up at a most unearthly hour."

"Did they record claims over on yon bank?" and the prospector waved his hand toward the right.

"Yes; over the Quaska. Said they had rich ground there."

"D'ye know the locality?"

"Not exactly. This whole region is so new to me that I hardly know one spot from another."

"Bill," and Tom's voice sank to a deep hoarse whisper, "I believe that The Twins have staked Martin's place over the river."

The Recorder gave vent to an exclamation of surprise. He reached over to a small rude shelf, and brought forth the book in which the various claims were recorded. This he studied for a few seconds, and then read off what he had written there that morning.

"That's it, an' no mistake!" Tom cried. "The skunks! D'ye know where they are now, Bill?"

"They left here some time ago, and seemed to be in high fettle. I didn't savvey their game, and so paid no attention to their movements."

"Come, boys," and Tom turned suddenly to his companions, "I really believe that those devils are over the river now. Let's follow them, an' see what tricks they're up to. Thank ye, Bill, fer the information. We'll report to ye later."

THE WAY OF A WOMAN

"Daddy, what do girls do in the great outside world when they grow up?"

Nance and Martin had just finished their breakfast. It was early, and the morning sun, streaming in through the window, fell athwart the table. Pete, the invalid, was still asleep, for the movements in the room had not disturbed him in the least. Martin looked curiously at Nance as she asked the question. He pushed back the bench upon which he was sitting, and began to fill his pipe. Nance sat with her elbows upon the table, her hands supporting her chin, watching him thoughtfully.

"Young women generally get married," Martin at length replied. "That is about all they think of."

"But suppose they don't get married, daddy?"

"Then they stay at home and help their mothers."

"But suppose they have no mothers, what then?"

"Oh, they get out and shift for themselves."

"And what do they do to make a living?"

"Some become servants, others are clerks in stores, dressmakers, school teachers, and so on."

"And some become nurses, do they not?"

"Certainly; I forgot all about them."

"Well, that is what I want to be, daddy."

Martin looked up quickly into the flushed face of the young woman before him.

"Who put such a notion as that into your head?" he quietly remarked. "Was it that young man?"

"No, not altogether. I have been thinking about it for some time. Ever since I read the story of Florence Nightingale in one of my books I have longed to be a nurse. I am practising every day upon Pete, and I know I should like the work so much. I want to be of some use in the world, daddy."

"But you are of some use, little one, of great use to me, at least. What would I do without you? You would go away, and I should be left alone."

"But I am not of much use to you now," and there was a note of sadness in Nance's voice. "You are away all day long out on the hills, so we only see each other morning and evening. Once we were together all the time."

Martin lowered the pipe from his mouth, and his eyes dropped. He knew how true were the words he had just heard, and his heart reproached him. Yes, he had spent most of his time on the hills since the arrival of the miners, and he had left Nance alone. He had almost forgotten her, in fact, so engrossed had he been with his own thoughts, and the perplexing questions which were always disturbing his peace of mind. But of these he could not speak to Nance. He had to bear his burden alone, and not even to the one who was so dear to him could he confide. He looked at her now longingly, and a great fear came over him lest in any way she should learn something about his past life. That she had perfect confidence in him he was well aware. How terrible it would be if she should hear what kind of a man he really was.

"Are you not happy here, Nance?" and his voice was somewhat hoarse as he asked the question. "Would you like to go away? If so, we shall start at once. There will yet be time to cross the mountains, and catch the steamer on her return from the north. Then, when once outside, if you so desire, you can train to be a nurse."

"No, no, daddy, I don't want to go away," Nance hastened to reply. "And, besides, there is no need of it, as I can be just as happy here. Some one will be needed to care for the miners, and why cannot I help?"

"You are talking somewhat wildly, are you not?" Martin replied a little sharply. "Though you have cared for Pete, and have done it well, yet you know hardly anything about nursing. A very thorough training is necessary to make one proficient."

"But I may learn here, daddy. Dick," and at the mention of the name the flush upon her face became more apparent—"told me that he expects a trained nurse in soon on one of the steamers."

"Did he! Well that's news to me. Where is she to stay, pray?"

"At the hospital, which is to be built."

"H'm. Is that so?"

"Yes. And Dick told me something about the woman he expects will be sent in to take charge of the hospital. She is known only as Nurse Marion. She has been working along the Yukon River for years, and she has done so much for the miners. They love her just like the soldiers loved Florence Nightingale. Dick thinks that she will come, for it is always she who goes into new places, and starts the hospital work. I do hope that Nurse Marion will come, for I long to see her. I never saw a white woman, except my mother, and I was too young when she died to know anything about her."

"She was very beautiful, Nance," Martin replied, "and you look just like her."

"Do I, daddy? I didn't know that I am beautiful. But if I look like my mother used to then I must be. You have often told me about Beryl, how beautiful she is, and I have often wished to look just like her. Dick says that Nurse Marion is beautiful, that she has a sweet face, wonderful eyes, and can sing better than any one he ever heard. He said that it is fine to hear her sing by the side of sick people. Her voice is so comforting, and she always seems to know exactly how the patient feels and so sings accordingly. Dick said that she had some great trouble in her life which turned her mind to nursing that she might help others who suffer. Oh, I think her life must be so grand. I know that I shall like her, and I hope that she will let me help her in the hospital. So you see, daddy, I will be of some use in the world, and be right near you at the same time."

Martin made no reply to these words, for his mind was strangely disturbed. The description Nance had given of Nurse Marion made him think of Beryl. Yes, she, too, was beautiful, had a sweet face, wonderful eyes, a rich voice, and her life had been a troubled one. Tom had said that she had become a trained nurse after she had recovered from her illness. There was such a strong resemblance between Nurse Marion and Beryl that Martin felt that they must be one and the same person. Only the name puzzled him somewhat. But perhaps she had changed it when she entered the nursing profession as she had changed the whole manner of her life. And was it possible that she was coming, the only woman in the whole world whom he longed to see, and yet the only woman he dreaded to meet face to face? Yes, he knew something about those wonderful eyes of which Nance had spoken. With what a loathing scorn would they be turned upon him if he should ever see her again. But, then, that must never be. If the nurse proved to be Beryl she must not know that he lived at Quaska. A sudden impulse seized him to leave the place, such as had come over him when Dick Russell and the miners had arrived. Then it was for Nance's sake he had remained. Now this sudden longing to flee was restrained by a strong desire to behold once more the face of the woman who, during all the years of his voluntary exile, had been so much in his mind. He wondered if she had changed much since he last saw her at the church in the city years before. Would she recognise him if she met him now? he mused. It was hardly likely, for she would not associate a rough bearded man with the trim Martin Rutland she had known so long ago. But one thing was certain: she must never be allowed to cross the threshold of his house. If she did come to Quaska, and Nance should become acquainted with her it was only natural that Nance should wish to bring her home. No, such a thing must not happen.

"Nance," and Martin lifted his eyes to the place where she had been sitting. He was surprised to find that she was not there.

"What is it, daddy?" was her cheery response, as she came to his side. "I am looking after Pete, getting his breakfast."

"Why, I didn't know that you had moved. I did not hear a sound."

"And didn't you hear Pete and me talking?"

"No, not a word," at which remark both Pete and Nance laughed heartily. Martin also smiled at what he called his own foolishness.

"Nance, come close, I want to speak to you," he commanded. "Promise me," and here his voice dropped to a whisper, "that if any white woman comes to Quaska you will never invite her to this house without speaking to me first."

Seeing the surprised look upon Nance's face, he caught both of her hands in his, and held them firm.

"Promise me," he ordered.

"I promise, daddy," was the somewhat faltering reply.

"There, that will do," and Martin released her hands. "You have never told me a falsehood, nor disobeyed me, so I know that I can trust you."

Nance was deeply puzzled over Martin's words and manner. Never before had he spoken to her so sternly and mysteriously. She was disappointed as well, for she had been revolving in her mind of late what a great pleasure it would be to have Nurse Marion come over to their house very often. They would be such friends, so she had planned. And now she must always ask her father's permission, and even then he might not grant her request.

A form bulking large in the doorway caused her to cease her meditation, and look keenly at a thickset man standing there. Without knocking he entered, followed by another man. The night prowlers had arrived to take formal possession of the claims they had staked.

Martin rose to meet them, and looked inquiringly into their faces. They were strangers to him, and he thought that perhaps they had come to see the invalid.

"Are you looking for Pete?" he asked. "He's over there," and he pointed toward the bunk.

"Naw. We've come to see you," Dave replied. "We wish to inform you that you're settled upon our claims, an' we're here to give you notice to quit."

Martin looked first at the one and then at the other, uncertain whether they were in earnest or only joking. But the expression upon their faces, and the look in their eyes told him that they meant business.

"I don't understand you," he at length replied. "What do you mean by 'claims,' and 'notice to quit'?"

"Ye don't? Well, ye damn soon will," was the gruff response. "We've staked our claims upon the ground where your shanty is pitched. The land is ours, so you get out at once. See?"

At these words Martin straightened himself up with a sudden jerk.

"Don't you know that I own this place?" he asked. "I cleared this land, and built this house years and years ago. I hold it by possession. Why should you wish to take it from me? There is all the land on this side of the river unstaked. Can you not let me live here in peace? Why do you need my small piece of ground?"

"That's nothin' to do with it," Sam retorted. "We've staked this spot, an' we want it, so that's all there is about it."

"But suppose I am not willing to give it up, what then?"

"Oh, we'll soon settle that," and the men laughed as they clapped their hands to their hip-pockets. "We've something here which speaks pretty loud, an' to the point."

"But is this legal?" Martin insisted. "I have the land surely by possession, so it is mine by right of ownership."

"Might is right in this country," and Dave spat contemptuously upon the floor. "That is the only law we know here, or pay any attention to."

"Is that so?"

These three brief words caused The Twins to look quickly to the right, and at once their faces underwent a marvellous change. Nance was standing there, with her lithe figure as straight as a reed. She was looking quietly along the barrel of Martin's rifle, and the slight forefinger of her right hand was gently pressing the trigger. The visitors had paid no attention to her before, so engrossed had they been with Martin. But now they suddenly realised that here was a new force to be reckoned with upon which they had not counted. Nance stood before them transformed. Her face was very pale, but her eyes glowed with the light of determination, which the two baffled men were not slow to notice.

"I will shoot the first one of you that moves a hand," Nance warningly remarked.

"Fer God's sake ye wouldn't, Miss," Dave faltered. "Ye don't mean it, surely?"

"Indeed she does," Martin replied. "Don't fool with her if you value your lives. She's a dead shot, as many a grizzly has found out to his cost."

In the silence which followed these words it was almost possible to hear the heart-beats of the two confounded men.

"Are you going to leave this place?" Nance asked slowly and deliberately. "Will you promise never to come here to bother us again?"

No response coming to this request, Nance continued:

"I am going to count ten, and while I am doing it you can think over what I have said. That is all the time I shall give you. One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine——"

"Hold, hold, Miss," Sam interrupted. "I'll leave. I'm not going to have my brains blown out."

"So will I," Dave assented.

"And you will never trouble us again?"

"No, no," came simultaneously from both men.

"Wait a minute," Nance commanded. "I am not through with you yet. Might is right, so you say. Just put your hands above your heads. There, that's better. Now, daddy, please take those weapons out of their pockets; they are not safe things for such men to carry."

Never before had The Twins been in such a fix. It was bad enough to be held up, but to be held up by a woman was gall and wormwood to their reckless natures. Yet they had great respect for the blank frowning muzzle of that rifle, and the determined figure holding it so confidently in her hands. They did not dare to lower their arms, and they were forced to submit to the ignominy of having their revolvers removed from their hip-pockets.

"Nice weapons these," Martin calmly remarked, as he held the two revolvers in his hands. "Suppose we keep them, Nance, as souvenirs. They might come in handy some other time. And perhaps they'll be useful now," he continued, after a pause. "You say that you staked claims here last night, eh?"

"Yes," was Dave's surly response.

"Well, then, you can just go out and pull them up. Nance, keep the rifle upon them until they finish the job, and I'll bring these weapons along, too, in case they are needed."

"Yes, daddy," Nance replied. "I am not going to lower this rifle until the stakes are all up, and these men have cleared out."

The feelings of the two scoundrels were by no means enviable as they were ordered out of the house, and then commanded to undo their work of the past night. Not only were their hearts bursting with rage, but they felt very deeply the humiliation of their position. To be driven by a woman from stake to stake like slaves before a taskmaster upon whom they could not wreak their revenge was something they had never before experienced. Then, while in the midst of their work, the arrival of Dick, Tom, and the rest of the band, filled their cup of shame to overflowing.

The miners took the whole situation in at a glance, and derisive shouts of laughter burst from their lips.

"Hard at it, boys?" Tom shouted. "It's rather early, isn't it, to be workin' so hard?"

"When did ye make up yer minds to obey a woman?" Dad asked. "Ye've changed yer tune since last winter about being bossed by any female, ha, ha!"

"Got yer claims all worked?" sneered another. "Yer pullin' up yer stakes mighty soon. Where's yer clean-up?"

To all of these jibes the two wretched men made no response. They hurried from stake to stake, and when the last had been torn out and thrown savagely upon the ground, they turned and faced their fair young captor.

"Now, will ye let us go?" Sam snarled. He longed to express his feelings in more vehement words, but his courage was not equal to the occasion.

"Yes, you may go now," Nance replied, as she dropped the butt of the rifle upon the ground. "My! that tired my arms."

The Twins were about to scuttle away, when Tom stopped them.

"Hold on a minute," he commanded. "I want a word with ye. Ye may consider yerselves mighty lucky to git clear of this job with whole skins. The lassie an' her dad have been mighty good to ye. Mebbe it wouldn't have been the same if we'd happened along a little sooner. Ye might as well know first as last, Dave Pelchie, and Sam Purvis, that if ye interfere with this property agin ye won't git off as easy as ye have this time. So git out of this as quick as ye kin, fer the sight of yer measly faces makes me sick."

The miners watched for a while two defeated and crestfallen men as they skulked down to the river. Then, with Tom leading, they all shook hands with the heroine of the day.

"We're proud of ye, Miss, that's what we are," Tom exclaimed.

"Hear, hear!" agreed his companions.

But Dick, as he took her hand, held it a little longer than the rest. Their eyes met, and though no word fell from their lips, a language which the others could not understand passed between them—the language of the heart.

HEART SEARCHINGS

Dad Seddon was delighted with the part Nance had taken in the drama which had just been enacted. His eyes beamed with admiration, and the somewhat surly expression vanished entirely from his face.

"By the horns of a moose!" he exclaimed, turning toward the young woman, "I did feel mighty sore that first night ye beat me at chess. It was a great come-down, so I thought, to be licked by a woman. But I fergive ye now, fer ye've done a deed this mornin' which makes us all proud of ye."

"How would you like another game?" Nance laughingly replied. "We haven't had one for some time."

"What! this mornin'?"

"Certainly. Right away."

"It's a go. I'm there every time. Bring on the weapons of war, an' we'll have a royal battle."

Tom and the rest smiled good naturedly at the old prospector's enthusiasm. They stayed for a while watching the two facing each other across the little deal table. Then, after a few words with Pete, they swung away from the cabin toward the river.

"We've important business over yon," Tom had explained. "We may be needed there jist at present."

All through the day Martin's mind was much concerned about the incident of the morning. He tried to reason out why The Twins should wish to take possession of his property when there was so much unclaimed land lying all around on that side of the river. He thought of the gold buried behind the house, and wondered if in any way the secret had become known. But who was there to tell the white men? he asked himself. Nance had not done so, he was quite sure of that. Then the Indians suddenly flashed into his mind. Perhaps they had been questioned as to the old diggings up the Quaska. The natives, no doubt, well remembered how he had dug there years ago. He at once thought of Taku. This Indian had been down the river among the miners at the time of the great stampede, and he might have told them something.

Acting upon the impulse of the moment, he seized his hat and hurried over to the Indian encampment, straight toward Taku's house. He found the native and his wife at work upon the fish they had recently taken from the lake.

"Doing a good business, Taku, eh?" Martin asked, sitting down upon a stone nearby.

"Ah, ah," was the reply.

"White men take all you catch, eh?"

"Ah, ah."

"Did the white men pay you well for your trip down the Heena this spring?" Martin further questioned.

"Ah, ah. Good. Tobac, tea, gun, coat."

"You were there when they got back from the Quaska?"

"Ah, ah. Beeg tam."

"What did they say about the gold, Taku?"

The native paused at his work, and mused for a while.

"Talk moche," he at length slowly replied. "No savvey beeg hole."

"What hole?"

"Up Quaska."

"They asked you, did they? You told them?"

"Ah, ah."

"That I made the holes?"

"Ah, ah."

"And did you tell them where I put the gold?"

"Ah, ah. Me tell two," and the Indian held up the fore and middle fingers of his left hand.

"Oh, I see!" Martin responded, more to himself than to the native.

He now comprehended everything, and how The Twins had learned about the hidden treasure. But how could he blame Taku? The Indian had not been told to keep the matter a secret. In fact, it had been of little importance to him then, as at that time he had no idea of the value of the gold the white man had unearthed.

Leaving the encampment, Martin walked slowly back to his own house. He now understood the purpose of the two men who had staked their claims upon his land. It was the gold they wanted and nothing else. He was surprised, too, for he had often heard of the code of honour among miners and prospectors. Gold was seldom meddled with, and cabins were always left unlocked. A sneak-thief was looked upon with contempt, and considered the very essence of abomination.

Martin stayed close around the house all day. He discussed with Nance what he had learned from Taku.

"I do not feel safe, little one," he said. "Our house will be watched day and night."

"Never fear, daddy," Nance replied. "Those two men will hardly venture back again. Most likely when the other miners hear of it they will drive them out of the place."

It was only when Dick came over in the evening that they first learned what had happened in the mining town. The young man was much animated this evening, and told in an amusing way the whole story.

"Tom is really a brick," he declared. "I knew that he was all gold, as the miners say, but it takes something out of the ordinary to stir him up. Then when he is once aroused it will be well for his opponents to be on their guard."

"What has he been doing now?" Nance queried, unable to restrain her eagerness to hear about what had taken place over the river.

"Well, as soon as we had left here this morning Tom got busy, and gathered most of the men together, and told them in his own quaint way about what had happened to The Twins."

"Were they present?" Martin asked.

"Indeed they were not. They kept pretty close to themselves all through the day, and didn't show their mean faces in public once. Tom was the orator, and the impression that he left upon his hearers was wonderful. He told in a most graphic manner how The Twins had pulled up the stakes at the point of a rifle, and how back of the rifle was a woman. You should have heard the miners laugh and jeer. Some were for stringing The Twins up to the nearest tree; while others wished to drive them out of the place at once. But Tom thought it best for all to agree to ask The Twins whenever they met them about the claims they had staked, and when they intended to begin work upon them. He suggested that they might mention as well about the beautiful moonlight nights, what shy creatures women are, and so on. He certainly did set it off in glowing colours, and the men were wildly excited over the idea. They agreed that it would be greater fun for themselves, and a severer punishment for the two rascals than driving them away from Quaska."

"But will it be safe, do you think?" Nance asked. "The Twins might be so angry that they might do some harm."

"Where are their revolvers?" and Dick's eyes twinkled.

"Oh, they are safe," Martin laughed.

"No; they won't shoot," Dick continued; "they are too cowardly for that. They are not only cowards but idiots as well to do what they did last night. Now, if some men had been in their place I doubt whether you would have got off as easily as you did. They would have done some mischief. But The Twins were too much afraid of their skins after you got the rifle levelled upon them."

"Where did they stay while the meeting was going on?" Nance asked.

"In their own tents. They must have known that something was astir, and that it was better for them to keep close."

"And they didn't venture out for the rest of the day?"

"No; stuck close at home. When the meeting was over several of the miners strolled by their tent and made some pretty pointed remarks, which The Twins must have heard and understood. It is evident that they can't stay hidden all the time, and they will certainly receive a bombardment when they do come out."

"Has Tom gone back up river?" Martin asked.

"Yes; on special business."

"Special business? Of what nature?"

"It concerns the building of a hospital. It will mean quite a cost in money and labour, and Tom and I have had several long serious talks over it of late. Before the miners dispersed this morning Tom sprang a surprise upon them as well as upon me. He told in a few plain words how very necessary it is that there should be a hospital built at Quaska for the sick and injured men. He referred to what you have been doing over here, and at that the miners gave a rousing cheer. I wish you could have heard them, it would have done you good. All agreed that Tom's suggestion was an excellent one, and they at once volunteered to help with the hospital as much as they could."

Dick did not tell Martin and Nance of the little speech he had made, in which he had promised to give his services free, and how a nurse was expected on one of the incoming steamers. All this appealed strongly to the miners, and they had expressed their approval in no uncertain manner.

Martin listened to all that Dick had to say about the hospital which was to be built, and his plans for the future. He noted the animated look upon the young man's face, and the old longing came back into his own heart to be up and doing at a similar undertaking. The missionary had much to live for, and the love which he had for his work was great. But what was there for him to do? he asked himself. Always a voice whispered in his ear, "Thou shalt not!" There was a barrier which separated him from that field of sacred work to which he had pledged himself years before.

As the days passed this longing instead of subsiding increased. The fire of anger and rebellion, which for years had burned so fiercely in Martin's heart, died down. No longer did he look upon the Church as his great enemy, and all clergymen as bound menials. He saw things in a different light, and realised as never before that the beam was in his own eyes which had distorted his vision. In the past he had the spirit of pride and anger to sustain him. These were the crutches upon which he had depended. Though wounded, he had held up his head and stood upon his feet. The Church then was the overbearing monster, and there was a certain grim satisfaction in the thought that he had cast it off forever, and that it could affect him no longer. But now that these props had been removed, upon what could he depend? If at times during the past years of his exile he had suffered, it was as nothing to what he now endured. He fled to the hills under the pretence of hunting the mountain-sheep, and there he wrestled with the spectres of his shame and despair, which were his constant companions. At night he would return to his home, creeping along the trail with head bent, and face drawn and haggard. But as he neared his house his form would always straighten, his step quicken, and his eyes brighten as Nance came forth to greet him. In her presence he always tried to be cheerful. But at times he would forget himself, and while at supper he would slip back into the old mood which had held him in thrall throughout the day. Then as he crouched there with the wan dejected look upon his face Nance would watch him with apprehension, and sometimes would speak to him, asking if he felt ill. This would always startle Martin from his reverie, and with an effort he would make some excuse for his strange behaviour. Although Nance pretended not to see anything amiss with her father, she was, nevertheless, much concerned. Why did he leave her so often? she asked herself, and why those strange spells of absent-mindedness, and the haggard expression upon his face?

After supper Martin would sit quietly by himself listening to the story of the hospital, for Dick came every evening, and he always had much to tell about his work during the day. Nance's eyes beamed with interest as he told of the cutting of the logs, floating them down the Quaska, and the struggle they had in dragging them up the bank to the right spot near the river where they were to erect the building.

Dick worked as hard, if not harder, in fact, than any one else. He not only chopped, hewed, tugged and lifted all day, but he did all the planning as well, besides encouraging his co-workers. The miners took turns at the work, and every day there were several new volunteers. How full of thankfulness was the missionary's heart when at length the exterior of the building was almost completed. Of course there was much work still ahead of him. There were the walls to be chinked with moss and mudded; there were doors and windows to be made; the floor to be built; partitions to be put up; cots, tables, shelves, and other things to be constructed, which would take weeks of steady work. All this he expected to do himself, except for the occasional assistance he was sure to receive from Tom, Dad, and a few others.

But what pleased the missionary more than anything else was the good will of the miners, and the hearty spirit in which they assisted him. He had been brought into close contact with a number of them, and they had all voted him a real good fellow.

As Dick talked each night of the work done throughout the day, and what he hoped to do on the morrow, Nance would listen with the deepest interest. Martin would sit and smoke without saying a word. It was impossible for him not to like the young man, who was so thoroughly in love with his work. But the more Martin heard of the progress of the hospital, the deeper the iron entered into his soul. He did not actually envy the missionary, but how he longed to be full of such enthusiasm, and to be doing a work of a like nature. But this he knew could never be. Not for him could there be a return through that door which had closed to him forever. And as he watched the two happy ones before him he felt like a monster of deception. He presented to them the life of trust and honour, but they could not remove the veil and behold that other old life, which was ever grinning horribly upon him, giving him no rest day or night. How long could he keep this up? he asked himself. Would some one unmask him, or would he be forced to do it himself, that he might find the peace of mind which he so ardently desired?

THE MEETING

Every evening the missionary brought the news over the river as to the progress he was making upon the hospital. One room he had reserved for the nurse who should come, so he said, and he was fitting it up as comfortably as he could. This would be her home, and Nance when alone often wondered what it was like, and how it would look when the stranger arrived.

"How are The Twins getting along?" Martin asked, as they sat one evening outside the door.

"Oh, they left several days ago," Dick replied. "The place got too hot for them."

"In what way? Did the miners threaten them with bodily injury?"

"No, not a bit of it. They simply carried out the suggestion which Tom made at the meeting. On all sides, and at every opportunity The Twins were assailed with questions about the claims they had staked, when they intended to work them, and if they expected to get good results. To these they would either reply with oaths, or remain silent and slink away. If they happened to be present at the saloon, or where several men were gathered, the conversation was always sure to drift off to revolvers, and whether a woman could handle a rifle. Then some one was certain to ask The Twins for their opinion. I cannot tell you exactly how the whole thing was managed, but there was really nothing The Twins could do, though they were always boiling over with rage. The miners would talk of nothing else while they were present. Then one night the two scoundrels vanished, where to no one knows. The place is well rid of them. It will teach others to leave you alone after this."

"I am so glad," Nance replied, "but I cannot help feeling sorry for those men. They did look so funny, though, pulling up the stakes, while Tom and the rest were making all kinds of remarks."

"You have been a heroine among the miners ever since," Dick returned. "There is nothing that they would not do for you now. You are under their special protection, and they have vowed to lynch the first man who ever interferes with you or this place again."

A blush suffused Nance's cheeks at these words, while Martin gave a sigh of relief. He had been worried and annoyed over the affray, but now he felt thankful that they were to be left undisturbed in the future.

One morning, just a week after this conversation, Martin and Nance were aroused by several raucous blasts of a steamer. Rushing outside, they saw the Northern Light ploughing across the lake, straight toward the new mining town. Her decks were black with people, and as the two watchers hurried to the shore they could see a number of women among the passengers. There was considerable excitement on board, and much cheering as well both on the steamer and on land, where the miners had gathered on the bank. There was no wharf, but the boat curved gracefully around, and as the water was deep, she was able to swing close to the shore. When tied up, and the gang-planks run out a great scramble took place, while the hum of voices fell strangely upon the ears of the two silent ones over the river. Nance was all excitement now. Never before had she beheld the forms of white women in the Quaska region, and she was most anxious for a closer inspection.

"Oh, daddy!" she exclaimed, "those women must be nurses. Dick didn't expect so many, I am sure. Isn't it too bad that he is up at the diggings with Tom? Suppose we go over and tell them where he is?"

But Martin laid a heavy hand upon her shoulder, which caused her to look up into his face in surprise. He surmised only too well who the women were, and the object of their visit into the country. But how should he tell Nance? How could he explain?

"They are not nurses, little one," he at length answered, and then remained silent, uncertain how to proceed.

"Not nurses! Then who are they?" and Nance looked her astonishment.

"They are bad women who flock into every camp such as this. They drink, gamble, and—lead men astray."

"Oh! I thought that all women were good, daddy."

"Unfortunately not all. And look, Nance, you are not to have anything to do with those women, see?"

"Yes, daddy," but a note of disappointment was apparent in Nance's voice. "But there may be nurses among them," and her face brightened at the thought.

"Not likely. They would hardly have time to get the message from the Northern Packet, and return on this boat."

Nance made no reply to these words, but stood silently watching the anxious crowd near the steamer. She was sorely grieved that she could not go over to the place, for she longed to look upon the white women, hear them talk, and to see how they were dressed.

"When the nurse comes may I see her, and talk with her, daddy?" she presently asked.

"Ye-s," was the somewhat reluctant assent. "I have no objection to your meeting with good respectable women, but not with such as have come on that steamer to-day."

Nothing more was said about the matter then, and ere long they both went back to the house. But Nance was more restless than usual. The outside world of which she had so often dreamed was being brought to their very door, and her blood was being stirred as never before. She wanted to see, hear, and learn how people, and especially women, acted who had lived in the great world of civilisation. She wished to know of things of which she had been ignorant so long.

About the middle of the afternoon Nance picked up her violin, and strolled over to the Indian encampment. She could express her feelings better upon the violin than in any other way, and Quabee was always so pleased to listen to her. She found the Indian woman near the shore, and received a hearty welcome. Quabee was squatting with several other native women upon the ground, watching with much interest the steamer lying against the opposite bank.

"Come in canoe on water?" she asked, as Nance drew near.

"What, over there?" and the latter pointed to the farther side of the lake.

"Ah, ah. Go by beeg canoe, eh?"

Nance was quite ready for the trip, as she would thus be able to go quite close to the steamer, and obtain a better view of the women.

In a few moments the canoe was skimming over the surface of the lake, straight toward the steamer. Nance as well as Quabee wielded a paddle, and a pretty sight she presented, seated well astern, and guiding the craft as wilfully as she pleased. She saw several women standing near the bow of the Northern Light, and heard one exclaim: "Oh, look at the Indians in the canoe! How pretty!"

During the brief space of time in which they were passing Nance was able to get a fairly good view of the women, and nothing escaped her eyes. They were young, good-looking, and their shapely figures were clad in neatly-fitting dresses, such as she had never seen before. She glanced at her own rough clothes, and for the first time realised how mean and humble they were. What must Dick think of her? she mused. Surely he had often compared her poor dresses with the handsome ones he had seen outside. She was now glad that her father had not consented to go over to the steamer that morning. What would the women have thought of her? She would have caused them no end of amusement.

Nance was as eager to get away from the steamer as a few minutes before she had been anxious to be near it. Heading the canoe diagonally across the lake, she drove her paddle into the water with a sudden swish. In a short time she ran the craft around a sharp point into a little cove where the trees came close to the water's edge. Laying her paddle by her side she let Quabee run the canoe gently ashore, and then looked back over the route they had just traversed. The steamer was hidden from view, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

A new mood was now upon her such as she had never experienced before. She longed to get away and hide from everybody, except her father and the Indians. She did not even wish to see Dick, for she could not bear for him to look upon her dressed in such humble clothes. Her heart beat fast as she thought of the many times they had been together, and she did not know that she was dressed differently from other white women.

Nance, in fact, was wrong in thinking that her clothes made her look ridiculous. The material was rough, but the dress she wore was neat, and fitted to perfection her lithe figure. Had she only known that her simply-made garments seemed to Dick's eyes most becoming, she would not have felt so badly. There was nothing artificial or bizarre about them such as he had often seen upon women of her age. In fact, anything that she wore would have appeared appropriate to him, for she herself added the charm which was all essential.

Knowing nothing of this, and considering herself a disgraceful and ungainly creature, Nance sat for some time in the canoe lost in thought. Quabee wondered at her unusual silence, and at length, turning, she pointed to the violin.

"Mak' music, eh?" she nodded.

Almost mechanically Nance picked up the instrument, tuned it, and began to play. After a few moments the old-time spirit came upon her. The music acted like a tonic. The heavy mood of depression disappeared, and her natural buoyant self reasserted itself. Tune after tune she played, and the sweet strains sounded out over the water.

Presently Quabee touched Nance upon the arm, and motioned her to look to the right. Coming toward them was a canoe, containing a woman, and a white woman at that. Nance laid her violin carefully in the bottom of the canoe, and then fixed her gaze upon the approaching stranger. Her eyes grew large with wonder as the woman drew near. Never before had she beheld such a person. This must be one of the women who had come on the Northern Light, she thought. And yet she did not look bad. Surely her father must have been somewhat mistaken. That face with the large, expressive, pathetic eyes and sweet mouth could have no connection with evil. She noted the noble poise of her head, the erectness of her body, and the skilful manner in which she handled the craft. A sunny smile illumined the stranger's face, as she drew in the paddle and laid it across the canoe.

"Pardon me," she began, noting the looks of astonishment upon the faces of the two women before her. "I heard the music floating across the water, and thought that there must be fairies hidden in this cove, and now I have found that I was right."

Then an expression of sadness came into her eyes as she looked keenly upon Nance. She believed that this was one of the women who had come in on the Northern Light.

"I didn't hear you playing on the steamer," she continued after a brief pause. "Where did you keep yourself and your violin hidden all the way up the river?"

Then Nance knew that this stranger had mistaken her for one of the bad women of whom her father had spoken. At once her face flushed with resentment. No doubt this is one of them, she considered, and so she must not speak to her. She turned away her eyes and spoke to Quabee in the Indian tongue. The latter roused herself, seized her paddle and dipped it into the water. The stranger saw that in some way she had offended the young white woman, and she hastened to rectify her mistake.

"Forgive me!" she cried. "I am afraid that I have made a foolish blunder. Let us introduce ourselves, and then perhaps we shall be able to understand each other better. I am Nurse Marion, and have come to this place to take charge of the new hospital. But the lake is so calm this afternoon that I could not resist the temptation of a ride over its glassy surface in this canoe which I borrowed from an Indian."

Nance's face cleared instantly, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Then you are not one of those women over there?" and she motioned toward the steamer.

"No, no!" was the emphatic reply.

"And neither am I. This is my home, and my name is Nance. This is Quabee, my Indian friend from childhood."

"And have you really lived in this country all your life!" the stranger exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, ever since I was a little child. I live over there with my father," and she pointed to the right. "You cannot see the house as that point hides it from view."

Nurse Marion was not slow in noting the correctness of Nance's speech, the beauty of her face, as well as her quiet dignity and natural refinement of manner. She was much impressed, and longed to know more about her.

"Is your mother living here, too?" she asked. "I should like to meet her. I am so pleased that I shall have such nice neighbours."

"My father and mother are both dead," Nance replied. "They were drowned when I was very little."

"Oh! But you said that you lived with your father."

"He is not my real father, though he has been one to me all my life, and I have known no other. He took me from the Indians after my parents were drowned, and we have lived here ever since."

"And how did you learn to play the violin so well?"

"My father taught me. He plays much better than I do. If you once heard him you would not wish to listen to me."

"I should certainly like to hear him," the nurse returned, "and I hope to do so shortly, that is, if I may visit your home sometime. But how lonely you must have been in this country before the miners arrived."

"Why no, I didn't mind it one bit. The Indians have always been very good friends to us, and Quabee here is almost like a mother to me. Then, there are so many beautiful things everywhere, the trees, birds, flowers, mountains, and this lake. I love them all."

"But didn't you get lonely during the long winters, especially in the evenings?"

"Not at all. We had our violins, and it was so nice to sit and play before the bright open fire. We had our books, too, and often a game of chess."

"Books!" the nurse exclaimed in surprise. "Do you mean that you read them yourself?"

"Certainly," and Nance laughed at the other's astonishment.

"But how did you learn to read?"

"My father taught me, as he taught me everything else."

"He must be a remarkable man, and I should like to meet him."

"Indeed he is, and he has always been so good to me."

"You haven't told me his name yet, have you?"

"It is Martin."

"Martin what?"

"Rutland—Martin Rutland."

At these words Nurse Marion gave a slight start, but recovered herself immediately. Her cheeks, flushed by the exercise of paddling, became very white, while her eyes looked straight before her among the trees on the shore. That name brought back memories which she believed had long since been buried. Her brain throbbed as she endeavoured to piece together the things she had just heard. But for the name it would all have passed as a matter of general interest only. Now, however, it was different. She pictured to herself Martin Rutland as she had known him years ago. The last time they had been together he had played for her upon his violin. Then came the terrible blow, and she had not heard one word from him since. Could it be possible, she asked herself, that this was he? Had he fled away into the wilderness, and lived ever since among the Indians, caring for this orphan girl? She longed to ask more questions, but could not trust herself to do so just now. But she was determined to find out the whole truth, and Nance was the one who could help her. And suppose it really was Martin! Her heart beat wildly as she thought of it, and a sudden weakness came upon her. Had the people at the mission station down river been able at this moment to look upon Nurse Marion, who always was so calm and self-possessed, they would have been greatly surprised. But Nance and Quabee saw nothing unusual, so delighted were they in having this wonderful white woman near them.

"Would you like to come with me to the hospital?" the nurse at length asked.

"Oh, may I?" Nance replied. "It would be so nice."

"We will go at once, then. Perhaps you would like to help me to fix up my room."

The look in Nance's eyes told their own story of joy, as she dropped her paddle into the water, swung the canoe about, and headed it for the opposite shore.