rdly believe it possible
that any one could be so hardened to human suffering. Before he could
speak, an old man, with white hair and shaggy beard, stepped up to
Perdue.

"You brute!" he roared. "You desarve to be strung up to the nearest
tree. Ye're jist like most of yer set; ye strip us of our chink, and
manhood, and when we've nothin' left ye fire us out. I've a son
somewhar, God bless'm, and fer his sake this poor chap'll come to my
cabin. B'ys, if y'll bear him tenderly, I'll lead the way. Will that
do, sir?" he concluded, turning to the missionary.

"Just the thing," replied Keith, "and while you carry him, I'll slip
over to my cabin for my instruments and bandages."

CHAPTER XII

THE UPLIFT

"Mother!"

What more common and beautiful word than this, a mere symbol, the
outward expression of the child heart within each of us. At any time
it is full of deep meaning, but how greatly intensified when repeated
by some suffering one in the dim morning hours, when "the casement
slowly grows a glimmering square."

"Mother!"

Keith bent over the quiet form on the rude bunk. For hours he had
anxiously awaited some sign of consciousness, and while the old man
with the white hair slept on the floor, rolled up in his one blanket,
he had kept watch.

"Mother, are you there?" and Joe's hand reached out into the air.

"Hush," soothed Keith. "You are safe, so go to sleep."

Joe opened his eyes and fixed them upon the missionary in a dreamy sort
of a way, then closed them again, and soon passed off into a peaceful
slumber.

Steadily the wounded man recovered under the careful treatment he
received. The blankness, caused by the concussion, which at the first
enwrapped his mind, rolled away as a dark cloud vanishes from the
mountain's brow. Keith was much with him during the first few days.
He knew the importance of keeping his mind filled with fresh, bright
thoughts, and not allowing him to brood upon Pritchen and the terrible
scene at the saloon. He told him stories of his experience among the
Indians, and many of their quaint ways. At times Joe would laugh
heartily at some amusing incident, and eagerly ask for more. Often
Keith read to him a story from a book or an old magazine, and when it
was finished they would discuss it together.

On such occasions, Sol Burke, the old man who owned the cabin, was
always an earnest listener. He seldom spoke, but would lean forward,
as if drinking in every