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"How can we stop it?" asked Tim Murphy, cutting a wad from a plug of tobacco. "Stop it? Why, I'd stop it d n soon," returned Pritchen. "Anyway, what good would it do?" continued Tim, who was fond of an argument. "The Indians are quiet and honest, mind their own affairs, and enjoy their little service." "You'll see how honest they are, Tim Murphy. I never saw an honest Injun yet.
Keith stooped down and examined it carefully. He tried the lid, but it was fastened. He placed his hand to his forehead and tried to think. "Maybe you locked it and put the key in your pocket," suggested one. Keith ran his hands through every pocket, and into each corner, but all in vain; the key was nowhere to be found. "Very strange," muttered Pritchen.
"No, it's not all by a d sight," and Pritchen helped himself to another plateful of beans. "But then if you fellows don't want to hear the rest, it's all right; it'll keep." "Come, Bill," coaxed Perdue, "never mind Missouri; all he thinks about is cards. Let's have yer yarn."
An' what did it, b'ys? I ask yez that. What did it? Whiskey, that's what did it, an' ye'll joke about it, an' say it doesn't hurt to take a drop now an' then." "He's a weak fool who can't," spoke up Pritchen. He was not satisfied at the silence which followed when Sol finished, and the impression he had made upon the men. "Weak fool! Weak fool, did ye say?" returned Sol.
Stern work was on hand, and must be attended to without delay. "I know this much," Keith replied, looking Pritchen straight in the eyes, "that if something isn't done for this man, and done at once, you will have another life to answer for at the Judgment Day, and it is not a poor, helpless Indian woman this time, either."
"There, if anyone should enter during my absence nothing will be left to tell how I have spent the afternoon." As he moved along the path leading to the store, Pritchen crept out from behind an adjacent building and watched the missionary until his tall figure was out of sight.
As Pritchen turned to him his face flushed in a confused manner, which Perdue, who was watching, observed. "The key, I say!" repeated Pritchen in a sharp voice. "Let's have the key to this chest. "It must be in the lock," replied Keith. "I left it there when I went out, and did not turn it, either." "Look for yourself, then," and Pritchen stepped back to make room for the missionary.
"They said, or at least Pritchen did, that he killed an Injun woman some years back." "What!" "Yes, that's what he said. But, my, you should have seed the parson then. He was jist like a tager, an' I never heerd a man say sich cuttin' things in all my life. He jist went fer Pritchen an' opened up a page in his history which 'ud make ye creep.
In silence Keith beheld the work of destruction. What could he do? Every blow seemed to strike at his own heart, telling him of impending trouble. "Hello! what's this? A woman's face! Well, I'll be damned! Look, boys," and Pritchen pointed to the sketch lying in full view. The weak candle light fell tremblingly upon the fair face as Perdue bent over the box to examine the picture more closely.
Then he seized it roughly in his hand, and held it up for a better inspection. It was not the little laugh given by one of the men which stirred Keith so intensely, but the wink he caught Pritchen tipping to Perdue. It was that quick telegraphic message, the base innuendo which stung and lashed him more than a thousand words.
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