It was a most fortunate thing for old Pere Garneau that Kalman had adopted this method of transportation on the very night the old priest had chosen for his trip down the Eagle. Pere Garneau, a pioneer priest of the North Saskatchewan country, had ministered for twenty years, by river and by trail, to the spiritual and temporal needs of the half-breeds and the Indians under the care of his church. A heroic soul was the old Father, not to be daunted by dangers, simple as a child, and kindly. But the years had done their work with him on eye and hand. The running ice in the spring flood of the Eagle River got itself under the nose of the good Father's canoe, and the current did the rest. His feeble cry would have brought no aid, had not Kalman, at the very moment, been shoving out his canoe into the current of the Eagle. A few strong sweeps of the paddle, and Kalman had the old priest in tow, and in a few minutes, with Brown's aid, into the hospital and snugly in bed, with his canoe, and what of his stuff could be rescued, safe under cover. Two days of Irma's nursing and of Brown's treatment, and the ill effects of his chilly dip had disappeared sufficiently to allow the Father to proceed on his way.
"Eet will be to me a pleasant remembrance of your hospitalite," he said to Brown on the morning of the third day.
"And to us of your stay, Father Garneau," replied Brown. "But you need not go to-day. You are not strong enough, and, besides, I have some work for you. There is a poor Galician woman with us here who cannot see the morning. She could not bear the priest Klazowski. She had trouble with him, and I think you could comfort her."
"Ah, dat Klazowski!" exclaimed Pere Garneau. "Eet ees not a good man. Many peep' tell me of dat man. He will be no more priest, for certainly. I would see dis woman, poor soul!"
"To-night Kalman will be here," said Brown, "and he will interpret for you."
"Ah, he ees a fine young man, Kalman. He mak' troub' for dat priest, ees eet not?"
"Well, I am afraid he did," said Brown, laughing. "But I fancy it was the priest made trouble for himself."
"Yes, dat ees so, and dat ees de worse troub' of all," said the wise old man.
The poor woman made her confession, received her Sacrament, and thus comforted and at peace, made exit from this troubled life.
"My son," said the priest to Kalman when the service was over, "I would be glad to confess you."
"Thank you, Father," said Kalman. "I make my confession to God."
"Ah, my son, you have been injured in your faith by dat bad priest Klazowski."
"No, I think not," said Kalman. "I have for some years been reading my Bible, and I have lived beside a good man who has taught me to know God and our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. I seek to follow him as Peter and the others did. But I am no longer of the Galician way of religion, neither Greek nor Roman."
"My son," exclaimed the old priest in horror, "you are not an apostate? You have not denied your faith?"
"No, I have not. I try to please Christ."
Long and painfully, and with tears, did the old priest labour with Kalman, to whom his soul went out in gratitude and affection, but without making any change in the young man's mind. The teaching, but more the life, of his friend had not been lost, and Kalman had come to see clearly his way.
Next morning the good Father was ready for his journey.
"I leave to you," he said to Brown, "my double blessing, of the stranger whom you received, and of the sick to whom you served.
Ah! what a peety you are in the darkness of error," he continued with a gentle smile; "but I will pray for you, for you both, my children, many times."
"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 shaggy 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 bloody.
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 God'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 bloody 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 passion--for it is sinful, Kalman--you would sacrifice yourself and all of us."
