would know that all was well at the village.

During the summer of his tenth year at Klassan, he was summoned to the Mackenzie River, to attend a Conference of missionaries which was to be held there. It was a long journey, and he dreaded to leave his post for such a length of time. Before departing, however, he called the band together, committed them to care of the trusty native catechist, Amos, and received their promises of true allegiance.

Keith had been absent but a few weeks, when a crowd of miners struck Klassan. Prospectors had been roaming the land for years, and at length made several good discoveries along the Kaslo.

The white men came, fifty strong, from the Lower Yukon, built their cabins at Klassan close to the river, and began operations. The work of mining progressed rapidly, and much gold was secured. During the long winter evenings little could be done, so the men gathered at Jim Perdue's place, which was store and saloon combined, to gamble and to drink bad whiskey.

The latter was a strange concoction, manufactured on the spot, to take the place of the limited supply of whiskey which had been brought in from the outside. It was known generally as "hootch," though some called it "Forty-rod whiskey," from its supposed power of killing at that distance. It was formed of a large quantity of sugar of molasses, with a small percentage of dried fruit for flavouring, while ordinary sourdough was used for fermentation. When ready for use it was poured into an empty kerosene tin, and served hot or cold according to the taste of the customer.

This nearness of the miners was a severe test of the Indians' loyalty. At first they kept much aloof from the newcomers, and remained firm to their absent teacher and pastor. But at length several weakened and were enticed into the saloon, where ere-long they were imitating the pernicious ways of the white men. Most of them, however, held their ground, especially the older ones, who stood faithfully by Amos in the time of trial.

The catechist was much grieved to see the young men drifting into such evil habits. He pleaded earnestly with them and induced a number to leave for their winter hunting grounds. But with others he had no influence; he had lost his control entirely.

Every night, however, at the appointed hour the mission bell rang out its full, clear summons, and the faithful few never failed to meet together in the little church. Then Amos would read the prayers in the rhythmical Indian dialect, and give a brief address of exhortation.

One night, before closing his remarks, he said to them, "To-morrow, I go to visit my traps, and to track a moose which I know is near. I may be a little late in getting back, so I ask Paul Nitsi to build the fire, ring the bell, and have everything ready when I come."

This was received with nods of approval, and after a few more words they separated.

That same night a very different scene was being enacted in Perdue's store. Cards and drinks formed the order of the evening.

"Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Ding, dong," sounded out the little bell.

"D—n that bell!" cried Bill Pritchen, a stranger, bringing his fist down upon the table with a bang. "I wonder you men stand it."

"How can we stop it?" asked Tim Murphy, cutting a wad from a plug of tobacco.

"Stop it? Why, I'd stop it d—n soon," returned Pritchen.

"Anyway, what good would it do?" continued Tim, who was fond of an argument. "The Indians are quiet and honest, mind their own affairs, and enjoy their little service."

"You'll see how honest they are, Tim Murphy. I never saw an honest Injun yet. Only dead Injuns are honest. Then look at their d—n superstition. Such psalm singing would be stopped in some camps as quick as h—l."

To this conversation Jim Perdue, the saloon-keeper, was the most interested listener. He hated Amos and the loyal members of the band, who kept aloof from his store and filthy poison. He determined, therefore, to use Pritchen as an instrument to further his evil designs upon the natives.

"So you think you can stop that bell from ringing, do you?" he asked. "Well, then, I'll bet a drink all around that you can't do it."

"I'll do it for one night," answered Pritchen guardedly.

"Oh, ye might fix the bell so it wouldn't ring fer one night, that'd be no trouble. But ye can't make them leave their service, and come here fer a drink. If ye kin I'll supply the stuff free."

"Free poison," laughed one of the men. "Say, Jim, ye'd better go easy. The ground's too mighty tough, and we don't want to spend a month digging graves."

"Never ye fear, Dick," replied Perdue good naturedly. "You've stood the stuff all right, so I guess the Injuns are safe."

During this conversation Pritchen was thinking hard. When the laugh which followed the saloon-keeper's retort had subsided, he turned to him and said:

"Jim, I'll take your bet."

"What, to stop the bell, and to bring the Injuns here fer a drink?"

"Yes, but only for to-morrow night, remember."

"Oh, that'll do," replied Perdue. "I'll do the rest."

The next day Pritchen was unusually busy. Having obtained the aid of a native interpreter, he visited the Indians and set before them the plan he had carefully concocted during the night. The Great White Chief at Ottawa, so he told them, had heard of the Takudhs, and how they attended the services of his Church. So pleased was he with their faithfulness that he had sent him, Pritchen, all the way to Klassan to carry his message of good will, and to give a present to each one. He had only lately arrived, and would like as soon as possible to carry out the Great White Chief's command. If the Indians would come over to the store in the evening he would be pleased to distribute the presents.

This harangue was received with evident approval by most of the natives, and bright visions danced before their eyes. There were others who were not so easily persuaded, of whom was the aged, wrinkled, and gray-haired chief of the band. He wished to know more, and asked for some token to show that the white man was telling the truth.

Pritchen was prepared for this, and at once brought forth a fair-sized poke of gold and held it up in his hand.

"Look," he said. "Much gold; the White Chief's gold. With this I will buy the presents in yonder store."

The various "ah, ah's" which passed from one to another revealed the effect his words produced. But still the old man was not convinced. Any miner might have that much gold, he told him. What else could he show?

Pritchen did not expect this, and felt somewhat confused. He fumbled in his pockets for some trinket to appease the suspicious chief. He was about to abandon the search when his hand struck a note book, in a pocket he had overlooked, on the inside of his rough jacket. He quickly drew it forth, and from its pages produced a small photograph. That it was the face of a young man, handsome and fair, did not signify. It would serve his purpose, Pritchen felt sure of that.

"See," he said, holding it in his hand. "The white chief sends his picture to the chief of the Takudhs."

This was enough. All doubt was at once removed, and as the old man stretched out a scrawny hand for the treasure, a smile of triumph passed over Pritchen's hard face.

"I caught the rascal at last," he said to himself as he left the lodge. "It was mighty lucky for me that I had that photo. I had forgotten all about it. But I must get it back some way or else there may be trouble."

At the appointed hour of six the simple-minded Indians emerged from their various lodges and filed silently toward Perdue's store. Here they squatted on the floor, with their backs to the wall, awaiting proceedings.

A number of miners entered and stood or sat chatting with one another, apparently unconscious of the dusky figures in their midst. At length Pritchen arrived, and after conversing for a while in a low tone with Perdue he turned to the Indians. He told