The God of His Fathers
On every hand stretched the forest primeval,--the home of noisycomedy and silent tragedy. Here the struggle for survivalcontinued to wage with all its ancient brutality. Briton andRussian were still to overlap in the Land of the Rainbow's End--and this was the very heart of it--nor had Yankee gold yetpurchased its vast domain. The wolf-pack still clung to the flankof the cariboo-herd, singling out the weak and the big with calf,and pulling them down as remorselessly as were it a thousand,thousand generations into the past. The sparse aborigines stillacknowledged the rule of their chiefs and medicine men, drove outbad spirits, burned their witches, fought their neighbors, and atetheir enemies with a relish which spoke well of their bellies.But it was at the moment when the stone age was drawing to aclose. Already, over unknown trails and chartless wildernesses,were the harbingers of the steel arriving,--fair-faced, blue-eyed,indomitable men, incarnations of the unrest of their race. Byaccident or design, single-handed and in twos and threes, theycame from no one knew whither, and fought, or died, or passed on,no one knew whence. The priests raged against them, the chiefscalled forth their fighting men, and stone clashed with steel; butto little purpose. Like water seeping from some mighty reservoir,they trickled through the dark forests and mountain passes,threading the highways in bark canoes, or with their moccasinedfeet breaking trail for the wolf-dogs. They came of a greatbreed, and their mothers were many; but the fur-clad denizens ofthe Northland had this yet to learn. So many an unsung wandererfought his last and died under the cold fire of the aurora, as didhis brothers in burning sands and reeking jungles, and as theyshall continue to do till in the fulness of time the destiny oftheir race be achieved.It was near twelve. Along the northern horizon a rosy glow,fading to the west and deepening to the east, marked the unseendip of the midnight sun. The gloaming and the dawn were socommingled that there was no night,--simply a wedding of day withday, a scarcely perceptible blending of two circles of the sun. Akildee timidly chirped good-night; the full, rich throat of arobin proclaimed good-morrow. From an island on the breast of theYukon a colony of wild fowl voiced its interminable wrongs, whilea loon laughed mockingly back across a still stretch of river.In the foreground, against the bank of a lazy eddy, birch-barkcanoes were lined two and three deep. Ivory-bladed spears, bone-barbed arrows, buckskin-thonged bows, and simple basket-woventraps bespoke the fact that in the muddy current of the river thesalmon-run was on. In the background, from the tangle of skintents and drying frames, rose the voices of the fisher folk.Bucks skylarked with bucks or flirted with the maidens, while theolder squaws, shut out from this by virtue of having fulfilled theend of their existence in reproduction, gossiped as they braidedrope from the green roots of trailing vines. At their feet theirnaked progeny played and squabbled, or rolled in the muck with thetawny wolf-dogs.To one side of the encampment, and conspicuously apart from it,stood a second camp of two tents. But it was a white man's camp.If nothing else, the choice of position at least bore convincingevidence of this. In case of offence, it commanded the Indianquarters a hundred yards away; of defence, a rise to the groundand the cleared intervening space; and last, of defeat, the swiftslope of a score of yards to the canoes below. From one of thetents came the petulant cry of a sick child and the crooning songof a mother. In the open, over the smouldering embers of a fire,two men held talk."Eh? I love the church like a good son. Bien! So great a lovethat my days have been spent in fleeing away from her, and mynights in dreaming dreams of reckoning. Look you!" The half-breed's voice rose to an angry snarl. "I am Red River born. Myfather was white--as white as you. But you are Yankee, and he wasBritish bred, and a gentleman's son. And my mother was thedaughter of a chief, and I was a man. Ay, and one had to look thesecond time to see what manner of blood ran in my veins; for Ilived with the whites, and was one of them, and my father's heartbeat in me. It happened there was a maiden--white--who looked onme with kind eyes. Her father had much land and many horses; alsohe was a big man among his people, and his blood was the blood ofthe French. He said the girl knew not her own mind, and talkedovermuch with her, and became wroth that such things should be."But she knew her mind, for we came quick before the priest. Andquicker had come her father, with lying words, false promises, Iknow not what; so that the priest stiffened his neck and would notmake us that we might live one with the other. As at thebeginning it was the church which would not bless my birth, so nowit was the church which refused me marriage and put the blood ofmen upon my hands. Bien! Thus have I cause to love the church.So I struck the priest on his woman's mouth, and we took swifthorses, the girl and I, to Fort Pierre, where was a minister ofgood heart. But hot on our trail was her father, and brothers,and other men he had gathered to him. And we fought, our horseson the run, till I emptied three saddles and the rest drew off andwent on to Fort Pierre. Then we took east, the girl and I, to thehills and forests, and we lived one with the other, and we werenot married,--the work of the good church which I love like a son."But mark you, for this is the strangeness of woman, the way ofwhich no man may understand. One of the saddles I emptied wasthat of her father's, and the hoofs of those who came behind hadpounded him into the earth. This we saw, the girl and I, and thisI had forgot had she not remembered. And in the quiet of theevening, after the day's hunt were done, it came between us, andin the silence of the night when we lay beneath the stars andshould have been one. It was there always. She never spoke, butit sat by our fire and held us ever apart. She tried to put itaside, but at such times it would rise up till I could read it inthe look of her eyes, in the very in-take of her breath."So in the end she bore me a child, a woman-child, and died. ThenI went among my mother's people, that it might nurse at a warmbreast and live. But my hands were wet with the blood of men,look you, because of the church, wet with the blood of men. Andthe Riders of the North came for me, but my mother's brother, whowas then chief in his own right, hid me and gave me horses andfood. And we went away, my woman-child and I, even to the HudsonBay Country, where white men were few and the questions they askednot many. And I worked for the company a hunter, as a guide, as adriver of dogs, till my woman-child was become a woman, tall, andslender, and fair to the eye."You know the winter, long and lonely, breeding evil thoughts andbad deeds. The Chief Factor was a hard man, and bold. And he wasnot such that a woman would delight in looking upon. But he casteyes upon my woman-child who was become a woman. Mother of God!he sent me away on a long trip with the dogs, that he might--youunderstand, he was a hard man and without heart. She was mostwhite, and her soul was white, and a good woman, and--well, shedied."It was bitter cold the night of my return, and I had been awaymonths, and the dogs were limping sore when I came to the fort.The Indians and breeds looked on me in silence, and I felt thefear of I knew not what, but I said nothing till the dogs were fedand I had eaten as a man with work before him should. Then Ispoke up, demanding the word, and they shrank from me, afraid ofmy anger and what I should do; but the story came out, the pitifulstory, word for word and act for act, and they marvelled that Ishould be so quiet."When they had done I went to the Factor's house, calmer than nowin the telling of it. He had been afraid and called upon thebreeds to help him; but they were not pleased with the deed, andhad left him to lie on the bed he had made. So he had fled to thehouse of the priest. Thither I followed. But when I was come tothat place, the priest stood in my way, and spoke soft words, andsaid a man in anger should go neither to the right nor left, butstraight to God. I asked by the right of a father's wrath that hegive me past, but he said only over his body, and besought with meto pray. Look you, it was the church, always the church; for Ipassed over his body and sent the Factor to meet my woman-childbefore his god, which is a bad god, and the god of the white men.Then was there hue and cry, for word was sent to the stationbelow, and I came away. Through the Land of the Great Slave, downthe Valley of the Mackenzie to the never-opening ice, over theWhite Rockies, past the Great Curve of the Yukon, even to thisplace did I come. And from that day to this, yours is the firstface of my father's people I have looked upon. May it be thelast! These people, which are my people, are a simple folk, and Ihave been raised to honor among them. My word is their law, andtheir priests but do my bidding, else would I not suffer them.When I speak for them I speak for myself. We ask to be let alone.We do not want your kind. If we permit you to sit by our fires,after you will come your church, your priests, and your gods. Andknow this, for each white man who comes to my village, him will Imake deny his god. You are the first, and I give you grace. Soit were well you go, and go quickly.""I am not responsible for my brothers," the second man spoke up,filling his pipe in a meditative manner. Hay Stockard was attimes as thoughtful of speech as he was wanton of action; but onlyat times."But I know your breed," responded the other. "Your brothers aremany, and it is you and yours who break the trail for them tofollow. In time they shall come to possess the land, but not inmy time. Already, have I heard, are they on the head-reaches ofthe Great River, and far away below are the Russians."Hay Stockard lifted his head with a quick start. This wasstartling geographical information. The Hudson Bay post at FortYukon had other notions concerning the course of the river,believing it to flow into the Arctic."Then the Yukon empties into Bering Sea?" he asked."I do not know, but below there are Russians, many Russians.Which is neither here nor there. You may go on and see foryourself; you may go back to your brothers; but up the Koyukuk youshall not go while the priests and fighting men do my bidding.Thus do I command, I, Baptiste the Red, whose word is law and whoam head man over this people.""And should I not go down to the Russians, or back to mybrothers?""Then shall you go swift-footed before your god, which is a badgod, and the god of the white men."The red sun shot up above the northern skyline, dripping andbloody. Baptiste the Red came to his feet, nodded curtly, andwent back to his camp amid the crimson shadows and the singing ofthe robins.Hay Stockard finished his pipe by the fire, picturing in smoke andcoal the unknown upper reaches of the Koyukuk, the strange streamwhich ended here its arctic travels and merged its waters with themuddy Yukon flood. Somewhere up there, if the dying words of aship-wrecked sailorman who had made the fearful overland journeywere to be believed, and if the vial of golden grains in his pouchattested anything,--somewhere up there, in that home of winter,stood the Treasure House of the North. And as keeper of the gate,Baptiste the Red, English half-breed and renegade, barred the way."Bah!" He kicked the embers apart and rose to his full height,arms lazily outstretched, facing the flushing north with carelesssoul.
IIHay Stockard swore, harshly, in the rugged monosyllables of hismother tongue. His wife lifted her gaze from the pots and pans,and followed his in a keen scrutiny of the river. She was a womanof the Teslin Country, wise in the ways of her husband'svernacular when it grew intensive. From the slipping of a snow-shoe thong to the forefront of sudden death, she could gaugeoccasion by the pitch and volume of his blasphemy. So she knewthe present occasion merited attention. A long canoe, withpaddles flashing back the rays of the westering sun, was crossingthe current from above and urging in for the eddy. Hay Stockardwatched it intently. Three men rose and dipped, rose and dipped,in rhythmical precision; but a red bandanna, wrapped about thehead of one, caught and held his eye."Bill!" he called. "Oh, Bill!"A shambling, loose-jointed giant rolled out of one of the tents,yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Then he sighted thestrange canoe and was wide awake on the instant."By the jumping Methuselah! That damned sky-pilot!"Hay Stockard nodded his head bitterly, half-reached for his rifle,then shrugged his shoulders."Pot-shot him," Bill suggested, "and settle the thing out of hand.He'll spoil us sure if we don't." But the other declined thisdrastic measure and turned away, at the same time bidding thewoman return to her work, and calling Bill back from the bank.The two Indians in the canoe moored it on the edge of the eddy,while its white occupant, conspicuous by his gorgeous head-gear,came up the bank."Like Paul of Tarsus, I give you greeting. Peace be unto you andgrace before the Lord."His advances were met sullenly, and without speech."To you, Hay Stockard, blasphemer and Philistine, greeting. Inyour heart is the lust of Mammon, in your mind cunning devils, inyour tent this woman whom you live with in adultery; yet of thesedivers sins, even here in the wilderness, I, Sturges Owen, apostleto the Lord, bid you to repent and cast from you your iniquities.""Save your cant! Save your cant!" Hay Stockard broke in testily."You'll need all you've got, and more, for Red Baptiste overyonder."He waved his hand toward the Indian camp, where the half-breed waslooking steadily across, striving to make out the newcomers.Sturges Owen, disseminator of light and apostle to the Lord,stepped to the edge of the steep and commanded his men to bring upthe camp outfit. Stockard followed him."Look here," he demanded, plucking the missionary by the shoulderand twirling him about. "Do you value your hide?""My life is in the Lord's keeping, and I do but work in Hisvineyard," he replied solemnly."Oh, stow that! Are you looking for a job of martyrship?""If He so wills.""Well, you'll find it right here, but I'm going to give you someadvice first. Take it or leave it. If you stop here, you'll becut off in the midst of your labors. And not you alone, but yourmen, Bill, my wife--""Who is a daughter of Belial and hearkeneth not to the trueGospel.""And myself. Not only do you bring trouble upon yourself, butupon us. I was frozen in with you last winter, as you will wellrecollect, and I know you for a good man and a fool. If you thinkit your duty to strive with the heathen, well and good; but, doexercise some wit in the way you go about it. This man, RedBaptiste, is no Indian. He comes of our common stock, is as bull-necked as I ever dared be, and as wild a fanatic the one way asyou are the other. When you two come together, hell'll be to pay,and I don't care to be mixed up in it. Understand? So take myadvice and go away. If you go down-stream, you'll fall in withthe Russians. There's bound to be Greek priests among them, andthey'll see you safe through to Bering Sea,--that's where theYukon empties,--and from there it won't be hard to get back tocivilization. Take my word for it and get out of here as fast asGod'll let you.""He who carries the Lord in his heart and the Gospel in his handhath no fear of the machinations of man or devil," the missionaryanswered stoutly. "I will see this man and wrestle with him. Onebackslider returned to the fold is a greater victory than athousand heathen. He who is strong for evil can be as mighty forgood, witness Saul when he journeyed up to Damascus to bringChristian captives to Jerusalem. And the voice of the Saviourcame to him, crying, 'Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?' Andtherewith Paul arrayed himself on the side of the Lord, andthereafter was most mighty in the saving of souls. And even asthou, Paul of Tarsus, even so do I work in the vineyard of theLord, bearing trials and tribulations, scoffs and sneers, stripesand punishments, for His dear sake.""Bring up the little bag with the tea and a kettle of water," hecalled the next instant to his boatmen; "not forgetting the haunchof cariboo and the mixing-pan."When his men, converts by his own hand, had gained the bank, thetrio fell to their knees, hands and backs burdened with campequipage, and offered up thanks for their passage through thewilderness and their safe arrival. Hay Stockard looked upon thefunction with sneering disapproval, the romance and solemnity ofit lost to his matter-of-fact soul. Baptiste the Red, stillgazing across, recognized the familiar postures, and rememberedthe girl who had shared his star-roofed couch in the hills andforests, and the woman-child who lay somewhere by bleak Hudson'sBay.
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 ofthings, but still, you know, I can't give him up."Hay Stockard paused, striving to put into speech the rude ethicsof his heart."He's worried me, Baptiste, in the past and now, and caused me allmanner 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 anigger.""So be it," Baptiste the Red made answer. "I have given you graceand choice. I shall come presently, with my priests and fightingmen, and either shall I kill you, or you deny your god. Give upthe priest to my pleasure, and you shall depart in peace.Otherwise your trail ends here. My people are against you to thebabies. Even now have the children stolen away your canoes." Hepointed down to the river. Naked boys had slipped down the waterfrom the point above, cast loose the canoes, and by then hadworked them into the current. When they had drifted out of rifle-shot they clambered over the sides and paddled ashore."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 theTeslin Country with his boy at her breast, and he would havewavered had he not lifted his eyes to the men before him."I am not afraid," Sturges Owen spoke up. "The Lord bears me inhis right hand, and alone am I ready to go into the camp of theunbeliever. It is not too late. Faith may move mountains. Evenin the eleventh hour may I win his soul to the truerighteousness.""Trip the beggar up and make him fast," Bill whispered hoarsely inthe ear of his leader, while the missionary kept the floor andwrestled with the heathen. "Make him hostage, and bore him ifthey get ugly.""No," Stockard answered. "I gave him my word that he could speakwith 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 fairdealing. Why not do what he wants,--give him the missionary andbe done with it?""N-no," Bill hesitated doubtfully."Shoe pinches, eh?"Bill flushed a little and dropped the discussion. Baptiste theRed was still waiting the final decision. Stockard went up tohim."It's this way, Baptiste. I came to your village minded to go upthe Koyukuk. I intended no wrong. My heart was clean of evil.It is still clean. Along comes this priest, as you call him. Ididn'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 byhim. And I'm going to. Further, it will be no child's play.When you have done, your village will be silent and empty, yourpeople wasted as after a famine. True, we will he gone; likewisethe pick of your fighting men--""But those who remain shall be in peace, nor shall the word ofstrange gods and the tongues of strange priests be buzzing intheir ears."Both men shrugged their shoulder and turned away, the half-breedgoing back to his own camp. The missionary called his two men tohim, and they fell into prayer. Stockard and Bill attacked thefew standing pines with their axes, felling them into convenientbreastworks. The child had fallen asleep, so the woman placed iton a heap of furs and lent a hand in fortifying the camp. Threesides were thus defended, the steep declivity at the rearprecluding attack from that direction. When these arrangementshad been completed, the two men stalked into the open, clearingaway, here and there, the scattered underbrush. From the opposingcamp came the booming of war-drums and the voices of the priestsstirring the people to anger."Worst of it is they'll come in rushes," Bill complained as theywalked 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 exchangedthe axe for a rifle, and took a careful rest. One of themedicine-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 shecould reload in safety, and gave the word. The medicine-mandropped. For a moment there was silence, then a wild howl went upand a flight of bone arrows fell short."I'd like to take a look at the beggar," Bill remarked, throwing afresh shell into place. "I'll swear I drilled him clean betweenthe eyes.""Didn't work." Stockard shook his head gloomily. Baptiste hadevidently quelled the more warlike of his followers, and insteadof precipitating an attack in the bright light of day, the shothad caused a hasty exodus, the Indians drawing out of the villagebeyond the zone of fire.In the full tide of his proselyting fervor, borne along by thehand of God, Sturges Owen would have ventured alone into the campof the unbeliever, equally prepared for miracle or martyrdom; butin the waiting which ensued, the fever of conviction died awaygradually, as the natural man asserted itself. Physical fearreplaced spiritual hope; the love of life, the love of God. Itwas no new experience. He could feel his weakness coming on, andknew it of old time. He had struggled against it and beenovercome by it before. He remembered when the other men haddriven their paddles like mad in the van of a roaring ice-flood,how, at the critical moment, in a panic of worldly terror, he haddropped his paddle and besought wildly with his God for pity. Andthere were other times. The recollection was not pleasant. Itbrought shame to him that his spirit should be so weak and hisflesh so strong. But the love of life! the love of life! Hecould not strip it from him. Because of it had his dim ancestorsperpetuated their line; because of it was he destined toperpetuate his. His courage, if courage it might be called, wasbred of fanaticism. The courage of Stockard and Bill was theadherence to deep-rooted ideals. Not that the love of life wasless, but the love of race tradition more; not that they wereunafraid to die, but that they were brave enough not to live atthe price of shame.The missionary rose, for the moment swayed by the mood ofsacrifice. He half crawled over the barricade to proceed to theother camp, but sank back, a trembling mass, wailing: "As thespirit moves! As the spirit moves! Who am I that I should setaside the judgments of God? Before the foundations of the worldwere all things written in the book of life. Worm that I am,shall I erase the page or any portion thereof? As God wills, soshall the spirit move!"Bill reached over, plucked him to his feet, and shook him,fiercely, silently. Then he dropped the bundle of quiveringnerves and turned his attention to the two converts. But theyshowed little fright and a cheerful alacrity in preparing for thecoming passage at arms.Stockard, who had been talking in undertones with the Teslinwoman, now turned to the missionary."Fetch him over here," he commanded of Bill."Now," he ordered, when Sturges Owen had been duly depositedbefore him, "make us man and wife, and be lively about it." Thenhe added apologetically to Bill: "No telling how it's to end, soI just thought I'd get my affairs straightened up."The woman obeyed the behest of her white lord. To her theceremony was meaningless. By her lights she was his wife, and hadbeen from the day they first foregathered. The converts served aswitnesses. Bill stood over the missionary, prompting him when hestumbled. Stockard put the responses in the woman's mouth, andwhen the time came, for want of better, ringed her finger withthumb and forefinger of his own."Kiss the bride!" Bill thundered, and Sturges Owen was too weak todisobey."Now baptize the child!""Neat and tidy," Bill commented."Gathering the proper outfit for a new trail," the fatherexplained, taking the boy from the mother's arms. "I was grub-staked, once, into the Cascades, and had everything in the kitexcept salt. Never shall forget it. And if the woman and the kidcross the divide to-night they might as well be prepared for pot-luck. A long shot, Bill, between ourselves, but nothing lost ifit misses."A cup of water served the purpose, and the child was laid away ina secure corner of the barricade. The men built the fire, and theevening meal was cooked.The sun hurried round to the north, sinking closer to the horizon.The heavens in that quarter grew red and bloody. The shadowslengthened, the light dimmed, and in the sombre recesses of theforest life slowly died away. Even the wild fowl in the riversoftened their raucous chatter and feigned the nightly farce ofgoing to bed. Only the tribesmen increased their clamor, war-drums booming and voices raised in savage folk songs. But as thesun dipped they ceased their tumult. The rounded hush of midnightwas complete. Stockard rose to his knees and peered over thelogs. Once the child wailed in pain and disconcerted him. Themother bent over it, but it slept again. The silence wasinterminable, profound. Then, of a sudden, the robins burst intofull-throated song. The night had passed.A flood of dark figures boiled across the open. Arrows whistledand bow-thongs sang. The shrill-tongued rifles answered back. Aspear, and a mighty cast, transfixed the Teslin woman as shehovered above the child. A spent arrow, diving between the logs,lodged in the missionary's arm.There was no stopping the rush. The middle distance was cumberedwith bodies, but the rest surged on, breaking against and over thebarricade like an ocean wave. Sturges Owen fled to the tent,while the men were swept from their feet, buried beneath the humantide. Hay Stockard alone regained the surface, flinging thetribesmen aside like yelping curs. He had managed to seize anaxe. A dark hand grasped the child by a naked foot, and drew itfrom beneath its mother. At arm's length its puny body circledthrough the air, dashing to death against the logs. Stockardclove the man to the chin and fell to clearing space. The ring ofsavage faces closed in, raining upon him spear-thrusts and bone-barbed arrows. The sun shot up, and they swayed back and forth inthe crimson shadows. Twice, with his axe blocked by too deep ablow, they rushed him; but each time he flung them clear. Theyfell underfoot and he trampled dead and dying, the way slipperywith blood. And still the day brightened and the robins sang.Then they drew back from him in awe, and he leaned breathless uponhis axe."Blood of my soul!" cried Baptiste the Red. "But thou art a man.Deny thy god, and thou shalt yet live."Stockard swore his refusal, feebly but with grace."Behold! A woman!" Sturges Owen had been brought before thehalf-breed.Beyond a scratch on the arm, he was uninjured, but his eyes rovedabout him in an ecstasy of fear. The heroic figure of theblasphemer, bristling with wounds and arrows, leaning defiantlyupon his axe, indifferent, indomitable, superb, caught hiswavering vision. And he felt a great envy of the man who could godown serenely to the dark gates of death. Surely Christ, and nothe, Sturges Owen, had been moulded in such manner. And why nothe? He felt dimly the curse of ancestry, the feebleness of spiritwhich had come down to him out of the past, and he felt an angerat the creative force, symbolize it as he would, which had formedhim, its servant, so weakly. For even a stronger man, this angerand the stress of circumstance were sufficient to breed apostasy,and for Sturges Owen it was inevitable. In the fear of man'sanger he would dare the wrath of God. He had been raised up toserve the Lord only that he might be cast down. He had been givenfaith without the strength of faith; he had been given spiritwithout the power of spirit. It was unjust."Where now is thy god?" the half-breed demanded."I do not know." He stood straight and rigid, like a childrepeating a catechism."Hast thou then a god at all?""I had.""And now?""No."Hay Stockard swept the blood from his eyes and laughed. Themissionary looked at him curiously, as in a dream. A feeling ofinfinite distance came over him, as though of a great remove. Inthat which had transpired, and which was to transpire, he had nopart. He was a spectator--at a distance, yes, at a distance. Thewords of Baptiste came to him faintly:-"Very good. See that this man go free, and that no harm befallhim. Let him depart in peace. Give him a canoe and food. Sethis face toward the Russians, that he may tell their priests ofBaptiste the Red, in whose country there is no god."They led him to the edge of the steep, where they paused towitness the final tragedy. The half-breed turned to Hay Stockard."There is no god," he prompted.The man laughed in reply. One of the young men poised a war-spearfor the cast."Hast thou a god?""Ay, the God of my fathers."He shifted the axe for a better grip. Baptiste the Red gave thesign, and the spear hurtled full against his breast. Sturges Owensaw the ivory head stand out beyond his back, saw the man sway,laughing, and snap the shaft short as he fell upon it. Then hewent down to the river, that he might carry to the Russians themessage of Baptiste the Red, in whose country there was no god.
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