uide, was in danger, and had been grossly
insulted by the white man. They leaped to their feet, bore down upon
the struggling pair, and tore away the fingers from the catechist's
throat.

Pritchen had over-stepped the mark, and had brought the storm upon his
own head. He fought hard to free himself from the violent hands which
were laid upon him. The women tore his face and hair, the men dealt
him savage blows, and he staggered to and fro in an effort to keep his
feet and to escape from the human wildcats.

During this performance the miners had remained stolidly silent, and
when they beheld the tables turned upon Pritchen smiles of satisfaction
flitted across their faces. They had little use for the big,
blustering bully. He was not one of them, anyway, only an intruder,
and whence he came or what his business no one seemed to know. But
when they saw him in real danger they bestirred themselves, went to his
assistance, and everything pointed to a free and general fight.

At that instant the saloon door was flung open, and a tall, stalwart
figure sprang into the room. A subtle influence spread over the
contestants, and, pausing in their struggle, turned to look upon the
new arrival.

"Lord! who is it?" gasped Tim Murphy, shrinking back a step or two.

The stranger's eyes swept the room with one swift glance. In an
instant he comprehended much.

"Comrades!" he cried in a voice of terrible intensity, "what does this
mean?"

Receiving no answer to his passionate appeal, he turned to Perdue, who
was watching the proceedings with the keenest interest.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "What are you doing with
my Indians? Where is my flock which I left in peace and quietness?"

"Who in h--l are you, and what business is it of yours what we do with
the Injuns?" replied Perdue in a surly manner, at the same time
shrinking back from those searching blue eyes, which seemed to pierce
his very soul.

"Man," came the response, as a yearning arm reached out toward the
natives, "they are mine. Through long years of travail I have borne
with them, and I love them. I am Keith Steadman, the missionary."

At these words Pritchen started. A look of fear came into his eyes,
and he glanced round as if seeking some avenue of escape. Then his
appearance changed. His face darkened like a stormy sky. He reached
forward, seized a cup of whiskey from the bar, and strode up to Amos,
who was quiet in the pres