Part 49 (1/2)

”Thank you, thank you,” said Brown warmly. ”The prayers of a good man bring blessing, and I love to remember the words of our Master, 'He that is not against us is on our part.'”

”Ah! dat ees true, dat ees true. Dat ees like Heem. Adieu.”

For some days Rosenblatt had been at work quietly in the colony, obtaining information and making friends. Among the first who offered their services was old Portnoff and a friend of his,--an old man with ragged beard, and deep-set, piercing eyes looking out from under s.h.a.ggy brows, to whom Portnoff gave the name of Malkarski. As Portnoff seemed to be a man of influence among his people, Rosenblatt made him foreman over one of the gangs of workmen in his employ. It was through Portnoff he obtained an accurate description of the mine property. But that same night Portnoff and Malkarski were found at Brown's house.

”There is a man,” said Portnoff, ”who wishes to know about the mine. Perhaps he desires to purchase.”

”His name?” enquired Brown.

”Rosenblatt.”

”Rosenblatt? That name has a familiar sound. It would be wise,”

he continued, ”to carry your information to Kalman at once.”

”It shall be done to-night,” said Malkarski in a deep voice.

”It is important. Portnoff will go.” Portnoff agreed.

The following morning brought Kalman to Wakota. The arrival of Rosenblatt in the country had changed for him the face of heaven and earth. Before his eyes there rose and remained the vision of a spot in a Russian forest where the snow was tramped and b.l.o.o.d.y.

With sobs and execrations he poured forth his tale to Brown.

”And my father has sworn to kill him, and if he fails I shall take it up.”

”Kalman, my boy,” said Brown, ”I cannot wonder that you feel like this. Killing is too good for the brute. But this you cannot do.

Vengeance is not ours, but G.o.d's.”

”If my father fails,” said Kalman quietly, ”I shall kill him.”

”You must not think like that, much less speak so,” said Brown.

”This is Canada, not Russia. You are a Christian man and no heathen.”

”I can't help it,” said Kalman; ”I can only see that b.l.o.o.d.y snow.”

He put his hands over his eyes and shuddered violently. ”I must kill him!”

”And would you ruin your own life? Would you shut yourself off forever from your best and holiest thoughts? And what of your sister, and Jack, and me? And what of--of--all your friends?

For this one fierce and sinful pa.s.sion--for it is sinful, Kalman--you would sacrifice yourself and all of us.”

”I know all that. It would sacrifice all; but in here,” smiting his breast, ”there is a cry that will not cease till I see that man's blood.”

”G.o.d pity you, Kalman. And you call yourself a follower of Him who for His murderers prayed, 'Father, forgive them.'” Then Brown's voice grew stern. ”Kalman, you are not thinking clearly. You must face this as a Christian man. The issue is quite straight. It is no longer between you and your enemy; it is between you and your Lord.

Are you prepared to-night to reject your Lord and cut yourself off from Him? Listen.” Brown took his Bible, and turning over the leaves, found the words, ”'If ye forgive not men their trespa.s.ses, neither will your Father forgive your trespa.s.ses'; and remember, these are the words of Him who forgave those who had done their worst on Him, blighting His dearest hopes, ruining His cause, breaking His heart. Kalman, you dare not.”

And Kalman went his way to meet his Gethsemane in the Night Hawk ravine, till morning found him on his face under the trees, with his victory still in the balance. The hereditary instincts of Slavic blood cried out for vengeance. The pa.s.sionate loyalty of his heart to the memory of his mother and to his father cried out for vengeance. His own wrongs cried out for vengeance, and against these cries there stood that single word, ”Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.”

Before a week was gone old Portnoff came hot foot to Brown to report that early that morning Rosenblatt had ridden off in the direction of the Fort, where was the Government Land Office.

”It is something about the mine. He was in good spirits.

He offered me something good on his return. If this were only Russia!” said the old Nihilist.

”Yes, yes,” growled his friend Malkarski, in his deep voice, ”we should soon do for him.”