The Trail of the Golden Horn/Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
Waiting
THAT night Marion had a fairly good sleep, which she sorely needed. It was the first real rest she had enjoyed since leaving Hugo’s cabin on the overland trail. She awoke greatly refreshed, and found the Indian woman preparing breakfast. Zell was also awake, and brighter than she had been for days.
“Oh, Miss!” she exclaimed as Marion entered her room, “I’ve had such a wonderful dream. Tim was standing right by my side, looking so well and strong. I am sure it is a sign that he is all right.”
“Let us hope that your dream will come true,” Marion replied with a smile. “I, too, had such a nice dream, and almost like yours.”
“Was it about the sergeant, Miss?”
“Yes, and he was with us here and we were all so happy. But you had better get up now, dear, for Kate has breakfast almost ready.”
Marion then went to see how the missionary was getting along. She found him asleep, although the Indian woman told her that he had talked a great deal during the night, and kept saying things which she could not at times understand.
“Gikhi talk much,” she said. “Gikhi sing some tam’, all sam’ in church. Gikhi pray for Injun, all sam’ dis,” and she clasped her hands together and cast her eyes upwards. Gikhi good man, eh?”
“He certainly is, Kate. He was always good to the Indians, was he not?”
“Ah, ah, good. De Lord no let Gikhi die, eh?”
“Let us hope not, Kate. He seems better, doesn’t he?”
“Mebbe so. Doctor come bimeby. Doctor savvey.”
That day was a long one for Marion. She attended to the missionary, and busied herself about the house. Zell was more like her former self, and talked a great deal about the coming of the doctor. She sat much of the time near the little window looking down The Gap in the direction of Big Chance.
“They will come that way,” she said, “and I want to be the first to see them. I know they will come to-day, and will bring good news about Tim. The Golden Horn is smiling, and that is another sign that all is well. Do you believe in signs, Miss?”
“No, I cannot truthfully say that I do. Years ago I did, but I have got all over that.”
“But I believe in them, Miss,” Zell declared. “The Indians have all kinds of signs, and they tell many things by them. They believe in dreams, too. Doesn’t the Bible tell about dreams which came true? I often think about the dream which saved the life of little Jesus. If that dream was true, why shouldn’t it be so to-day?”
This was more than Marion was able to explain. She merely told the girl that she hoped her dream would come true, and that she would soon have her lover with her. Thus all through the day they waited and watched for the absent ones. Several times the missionary aroused, asked for his wife, and talked about the Indians, and the mission work. He took a little nourishment, but showed no sign that he knew what was taking place around him. It was only at the close of the day that he become very restless, tried to get up, and talked incessantly. He was seeing wonderful things, so it seemed to the nurse, as she sat and watched him. His eyes glowed, and a beautiful smile would often overspread his face.
All day long Zell sat by the window and watched down The Gap. As the afternoon wore away, and night drew near, she became very anxious, and asked over and over again why the travellers did not come. Then when it became dark she crept into the room where the missionary was lying, and crouched upon the floor with her eyes fixed intently upon the face of the unconscious man. Marion tried to comfort her, but her words seemed to have no effect.
“They will never come!” she moaned. “Something has happened to Tim, and they don’t want to tell me. Or maybe they have been lost on that terrible overland trail. A snow-slide may have swept them away.”
“You must not get discouraged, dear,” Marion replied. “It is a long way to Big Chance and back. Perhaps the doctor was not there, and—and Hugo had to go to Kynox. The doctor will come as fast as he can, let us never doubt that. Let us get supper now, and be ready if they should come this evening.”
“I don’t want anything to eat, Miss,” Zell declared, “and if Tim dies, I never want to eat again. Do hearts sometimes break for grief, Miss? I am sure mine is almost breaking now. I don’t believe a girl ever loved anyone as I love Tim.”
The girl had risen from the floor and was standing erect now. Her face was flushed, and her dark eyes were filled with tears. Marion had never seen her look so beautiful, and she recorded a silent prayer that the poor girl might have her lover restored to her again. There was nothing conventional about this girl. She was one with the things of nature, and the untamed spirit of roving natives animated her soul. What she did, she did with tremendous intensity, and her love was as a burning fire that cannot be quenched. Her every movement was full of grace, and there was a remarkable refinement about her entire manner. Never once did Marion hear her utter a wrong word, nor express an improper wish. Her heart seemed pure, and her love a most sacred thing. This was shown as the two sat that night near the stove.
“Is it wrong, Miss, to love as I love?” she suddenly asked.
“Why no, dear. I am certain it is right. Why do you ask such a question as that?”
“Oh, I hardly know,” and the girl sighed as she spoke, and placed her right hand wearily to her forehead. “But sometimes I think that my love is so wonderful a thing that it isn’t meant for such a bad girl as I am. Perhaps God thinks that it isn’t right for me to love Tim as I do.”
“That is all nonsense, Zell,” Marion chided. “God knows your heart, and what a good girl you really are. You must not think that you are bad, for you are not. I know you ran away from school, but that doesn’t mean that you are bad. Let us call it a mistake.”
“And you don’t think God will punish me by taking Tim away when I want him so much?”
“No dear, God will not do that to punish you, I feel certain. If Tim should die, which we hope and pray he will not, it will not be God’s doings, but because a bad man shot him. We must not blame God for what others do. He wants us to live and be happy.” “Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that,” the girl replied, her eyes shining with gratitude. “And it is so nice to feel that God will not punish me for what I did. I was afraid he would.”
Marion thought of the girl’s words as she sat alone that night. Zell was asleep in the little room, and the Indian woman was lying upon the cot near the stove. The house was very quiet, the crackling of the sticks in the stove being the only sound which broke the silence. Marion had been reading again the Journal, but she now let the book lie open in her lap, her mind filled with conflicting thoughts. Strange were the ways of life, she mused. Zell imagined that God punished people for not being good. But what about the earnest missionaries who had toiled so long among the Indians at The Gap? Surely there was no injustice with God. His ways, she knew, were past finding out, although she was certain that He did all things well, and over-ruled evil for good. Again she picked up the book and began to read at random words written with a trembling hand.
“The Indians are leaving us, being drawn away by the attractions of white men. Only a few come to service now, and no doubt they will soon go, too. We have no children at school now, and the house is very lonely. We do not know what to do to counteract the mischief which has been wrought in our flock. We cannot offer the natives the allurements of the world which seem to appeal to them so strongly. Charles continues his translation work and ministering to the needs of the few Indians who remain, while I potter around the house and do a little reading and writing. My dear husband and I had a long, serious talk this morning, and took our troubles to Him, who has never failed us yet, and we were greatly comforted. Charles read that beautiful and pathetic story of the Master kneeling alone in Gethsemane, and it cheered us.”
Farther on she came to another entry which arrested her attention.
“We were discussing to-day the advisability of giving up our work here, as Tom and Kate are the only Indians who are now with us. We were undecided what to do, whether to go to some other place or stay here, when a remarkable thing happened. My husband was seated at his table with his Bible open before him. Almost unconsciously he kept turning the pages as we talked, and when at last we were silent for a few minutes, each knowing that the time of decision had finally arrived, Charles suddenly bent forward, gave a slight exclamation of astonishment, and fixed his eyes intently upon the page open before him. I never saw such an expression of awe upon his face. He seemed like a man transfigured, and his eyes shone with a wonderful light. He then began to read in a low impressive voice from Ezekiel, ‘And I sought for a man among them, that should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before me for the land, that I should not destroy it; but I found none.’ So overwhelmed was Charles by these words, that he rose to his feet and paced rapidly up and down the room. ‘The Gap, The Gap,’ he repeated, ‘I must stand in the gap, Martha. The Lord needs me here. This is The Gap, the place where I must remain. Wonderful, isn’t it, that I should be led to that passage? The Lord shall not want for a man to stand in The Gap here in the north, so long as I live.’ He urged me to go home to England, but I would not listen to such an idea. My place is by the side of my dear husband, for the Lord sometimes needs a woman to stand in the gap as well as a man. We then both knelt down and thanked God for His guidance in our time of perplexity. Our duty is now clear, and we look forward to the future with trustful hearts.”
Marion’s eyes were dim with tears as she finished reading this soul-stirring record of a noble woman. Those words inspired her, and made her own troubles seem small. And Mrs. Norris had stood in the gap, dying at her post of duty. Surely such faith and self-sacrifice would not be in vain. With the wreck of all their work around them, two great souls could still go forward in simple trust that all things would come out right at last. Now one was gone, and the other was lying battling for life in his little room. Would there ever come an answer to their prayers? she wondered, or had they toiled in vain?
She was aroused by the missionary’s voice. It was so different from the last few days that she was somewhat startled. Hurrying to the bedroom, she saw the old man’s eyes fixed intently upon the door with a wondering look. Seeing her, he smiled.
“What has happened?” he asked in a feeble but natural voice. What am I doing here in bed? And who are you? I never saw you before.”
“You have been very ill,” Marion explained, going to his side. “I am a nurse, Marion Brisbane, from Kynox.”
“I have been ill, you say? That is strange. Ah, now I begin to understand. It was that man with the revolver. Did he shoot me? Yes, I remember. He wanted something I had. Did he get it?”
“What was it?” Marion asked.
“The ring Hugo, the trapper, gave me to keep. Oh, I hope it is safe.”
“There, now, you must not worry, Mr. Norris,” Marion replied. “Just keep still, and I shall get you something to eat. You are very weak yet. The doctor should be here soon.”
“What doctor?”
“Dr. Rainsford, from Kynox. He should arrive at any minute now.”
“Who went for him?”
“A friend of yours, Hugo, the trapper.”
“He did!”
Marion at length left the room and soon returned bringing some rich broth she had in readiness. She placed the cup on a small table by the bed.
“Drink this,” she quietly ordered. “You must be hungry.”
“I suppose I am,” the missionary replied as he complied with her request. “It is good of you to wait upon me. I am not used to such attention, and it seems strange.”
“You will have to get used to it, then, Mr. Norris. I am your nurse, and am in the habit of being obeyed.”
The missionary smiled as he sipped the broth, and toyed with the spoon in the cup. He was very weak, and the effect of speaking and moving exhausted him. This Marion saw, and she turned to leave him, when he touched her gently on the arm.
“Don’t go yet,” he said. “I want to ask you a question. I am weak, I know, but tell me, have the Indians come back yet?”
“Not yet,” was the reluctant reply.
“You think they are coming, then?” There was a note of intense eagerness in the old man’s voice.
“Let us hope so, Mr. Norris. Perhaps they will be here in time for Christmas.” This was merely a surmise on Marion’s part, but she had to say something of an encouraging nature.
“Yes, I believe they will be here for Christmas,” and the man’s face brightened. “They always came then, and we had such a happy time. Martha, my dear wife, always looked forward to this blessed season. I feel certain that my flock will come back. I can see them trooping in from the distant camping-places, all eager to outstrip one another. Yes, they will surely come.”
Leaving him with his vision, Marion slipped out of the room. She knew that he should be quiet, and she also wished to be by herself, that she might think. She was puzzled at the missionary’s unexpected recovery. She sat down near the stove, and leaned back against the wall, for she felt unusually tired. Had the man been shot? she asked herself. Perhaps the bullet had not entered his body as she had imagined. It might have struck him a glancing blow on the head. She should have questioned Tom, the Indian, more closely. Was it possible that after all he might recover, and live to stand in The Gap for some time yet?
After a while she rose to her feet, moved softly to the door of the bedroom, and looked in. What she saw gave her great hope. The invalid’s eyes were closed, and his sleep was as that of a little child.