Page:The trail of the golden horn.djvu/236

232 Zell could read them, and what do you suppose they were?”

“I could never guess.”

“They were words of the Great Master Himself, and they have fairly burned themselves into my mind and soul. I had often heard them before, but thought little about them. But to see them there in that strange language, written with a trembling hand, and with an old rusted pen, stirred something within me which I can never forget.”

“What were they?” the constable asked, now deeply impressed by the sergeant’s earnest tone.

“Wonderful words about love which the Master was imparting to his disciples. ‘This is my commandment that ye love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ Now, what do you think of that? The last words penned by that old saint for his wandering flock. And he lived them, too; that is what affected me so deeply. His love was so great that he actually laid down his life for the Indians.”

The sergeant paused and looked off among the trees. The constable watched him somewhat curiously, completely surprised at the change which had come over his leader. He admired him, too, and longed to tell him so. But before he could frame suitable words, the sergeant continued:

“And think of the influence that missionary exerted over the natives. They were wild savages when he first came among them, so I have been told. He changed their entire manner of living, and until base white men began to demoralize them they lived at peace and we had not the slightest trouble with them. It was a sad