Page:The trail of the golden horn.djvu/226

222 so often read in the little manual, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.” That was the Law he had almost broken in deed, and that he had broken it in spirit was a great grief to the old man. He was only an Indian, wrinkled, bent, and gray, an object of scorn to many white men had they seen him standing there. But the action of that native was worthy of the highest honour. He had met temptation in its most terrible form, and had almost fallen. But he had resisted, and won a remarkable victory. He had crushed back the spirit of revenge which was still strong upon him, and had submitted himself to the spirit of the Great Master. But still his grief was great. In his agony he dropped upon his knees in the snow, and lifted his hands above his head in an attitude of supplication. No sound did he utter, but his moving lips were more eloquent than many words. For a few minutes he remained in this position, silent and alone. The trees around him were the only witnesses to the humble worshipper mutely asking forgiveness from the Great Spirit of the universe. And to him it seemed that his request was granted, for a peace stole into his heart, and a weight was suddenly lifted from his mind.

At length he rose to his feet, and looked around. His eyes, which a short time ago had glowed with vengeance, now shone with the light of joy. His weariness was forgotten, and even his hunger as he re-entered the building to minister to the needs of the man lying upon the bunk. As he approached, Bill lifted his head and raised his right hand.

“What are you doing here, you devil?” he demanded. “Why don’t you kill me an’ git through with it?”