ouded heart, a light in the darkness,
peace in the midst of storm, and a faint smile crossed his face--the
first in many days.

Tender hands bore Old Pete over the trail to the Radhurst cabin and
laid him upon the couch within. Outside, the miners stood in little
groups waiting, but hardly knowing what they were waiting for.
Homeless, penniless were they, but they never thought of it then.
Their own losses were swallowed up in the excitement of the moment, and
the sudden blow which had fallen.

Down below, the river--the river of death--surged and moaned. It had
swept away the cabins and had gripped in its icy grasp the body of one
wretched man, whose hand no more would be raised to strike at the
Standard of the Lord and His co-workers.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE SHINING TRAIL

When morning dawned it was a dreary sight which met the eyes of the
tired watchers gathered about the smouldering embers of the fire upon
the high bank. The waters had subsided, leaving masses of ice, trees,
rocks and mud strewn around in every direction. Of the miners' cabins
nothing remained; they had been swept out into the river.

Looking down upon the scene of desolation, the men realized the
helplessness of their position; without cabins, food or blankets
matters seemed serious enough. Most of them said nothing, but sat or
stood watching the river flowing sullenly by. A few, however, broke
into loud complaints. Of these Perdue, the saloon-keeper, was the most
incessant in his lamentations.

"Only think," he wailed, "I've lost everything, saved nothing. My
supplies and money are all gone."

"An' yer pizened whiskey, why don't ye say," replied Caribou Sol,
turning fiercely upon him. "What are ye howlin' fer, anyway? Why
can't ye stan' up an' take yer dose like a man, instid of whinin' like
a baby?"

"Chuck him into the river, Sol," called out one of the men. "That will
cool him off."

"No, I'll not soil me hands with the likes of 'im; I've other things to
do," and Sol turned on his heel and started for the Indian camp.

He had almost reached the place when he saw the missionary emerging
from the old chief's lodge, and with him was Amos, the catechist.

"Good morning, Mr. Burke," said Keith, extending his hand. "I'm afraid
you have had a bad night of it."

"None the best, sir," came the reply. "But, say, how's Pete?"

"Bad, very bad," and a pained expression came into Keith's face.

"Any chance of gittin' better,