# The Trail of the Golden Horn/Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27
An Unfolded Record
MARION BRISBANE was kept very busy for some time after the sergeant and the constable had left. The mission house was in sad need of attention. With the aid of the Indian woman she set to work upon the main room, swept, dusted, and scrubbed the floor. This took all day, and at night she was very tired. But the place looked the better for the cleaning, and she viewed it with considerable satisfaction.
“That is the first thorough cleaning it has had for some time, it seems to me,” she declared.
“It used to be clean,” Zell replied. “When Mrs. Norris was living she was very particular. I often helped her, and so did the other girls. We always liked to do it for her, as she was so good and kind.”
“She must have been a noble woman, Zell. I suppose you miss her.”
The girl rose from her seat and moved slowly across the room. She was still weak, and walked with difficulty. She stopped before a little table, above which were several shelves, filled with books, papers, letters, and writing material.
“This is where she so often sat and wrote,” she said. “I can see her now sitting here while we were at our lessons. She would read and write, and every morning she would kneel here while the Gikhi had prayers. I am afraid that we didn’t pay much attention to what ​was being said. We were all too silly, thinking about other things. I guess you understand, Miss, what girls of our age generally think about.”
“Did the missionary and his wife know anything about your thoughts?” Marion asked.
“Oh, no. They never dreamed of such things. They lived too near heaven for that. Perhaps that was where they made a mistake in thinking that the girls were like themselves. Anyway, they were right, and we were wrong. I see it now, when it is too late.”
Zell’s eyes were misty as she stood there, resting her left hand upon the table for support. Marion, too, was affected, as in her mind she saw a faithful woman, who had given up all the luxuries of life for a great cause, seated there or kneeling in prayer. What earnest petitions had been offered up before that rude table, and how many letters had been written to loved ones far away. The thought of that noble woman was an inspiration to her, and helped her to be brave. Stepping forward, she glanced at the books upon the shelves. She examined several, and was surprised to find them all stained as if with water.
“What happened to these?” she asked. “They look as if they had been soaked.”
“Oh, the big flood did that,” Zell explained. “It was one spring several years ago, when the Kluksan was jammed up in the mountains with ice. It broke and swept down upon The Gap in a rushing torrent. The Gikhi was sitting at his table writing, when an Indian rushed in and gave the warning. We had only time to get out of the house and flee to the high bank when the water was in this house, and almost everything was ruined. The Indians’ cabins were all swept away, while only the mission house and church were left ​standing. You see, Miss, God wouldn’t let the flood hurt them. That’s what the Indians said, and I guess they were right. But they have forgotten about it, though,” she added with a sigh.
“Does a flood like that happen often?” Marion asked.
“It was the first one in a long time. The old Indians said there was another many years ago, when they were little.”
“They must have had a hard time building their houses again.”
“Indeed they did. The women and children slept in the church, and the men made lean-tos. They built new cabins on higher ground, as you can see for yourself.”
Marion did not really hear these last words, as she was holding in her hands another book she had taken from one of the shelves. It was different from the others, and much of it was written with a lead pencil. She began to read, and became so interested that for a time she forgot everything else. It was an account of the founding of the mission at The Gap, the coming of the missionaries to the place, their struggles and the opposition of the Medicine Men. Although there was no name, she was certain that it had been written by Mrs. Norris. What a treasure it was, and what a pity that it had remained hidden for such a length of time. She longed to read more, but she was aroused by Zell’s voice.
“The Gikhi! The Gikhi!” she exclaimed, pointing to the bedroom. “He is calling!”
Laying aside the book, Marion hastened across the room, pushed open the door, which had been kept partly closed owing to the housecleaning, and looked in. To her astonishment she saw the missionary sitting up ​in bed and staring straight before him. Going swiftly to his side, she spoke to him, and the sound of her voice attracted his attention. He turned his eyes toward her, and reached out his right hand. This Marion grasped, and the expression which overspread the old man’s face told of his satisfaction.
“Where have you been, dear?” he asked. “I thought you were never coming.”
“Just outside,” Marion replied, somewhat startled at the word of endearment. “But come, lie down again. You must not tire yourself.”
“Have the Indians come back yet?” the man asked, unheeding her words. “It will be Christmas soon, and we must give them a good time.”
“He thinks you are his wife,” Zell whispered, as she stood by the nurse’s side. “He doesn’t know us. What a strange look he has in his eyes.”
As gently as possible Marion forced the missionary to lie back upon the pillow. But he was excited, and held her hand fast.
“That word doesn’t look right, Martha,” he said. “It seems strange.”
“What word?” Marion asked, hoping to detect some gleam of intelligence in his wandering mind.
“No, no,” he continued, “that’s not the word I want. Where is it? Ah, I have it!” His eyes brightened, and a smile illumined his face. “Love—that’s it! ‘Greater love hath—’” He paused abruptly, drew his hand quickly from Marion’s, and pointed excitedly with his forefinger straight before him. “They’re coming!” he cried. “I see them; they’re on the trail; they’ll be here soon! Thank God, my flock is coming back, and Zell is with them! Don’t you see her, Martha? Little Zell, who left us; she is coming home again!”
​With a cry of grief, the half-breed girl turned and fled from the room. A few minutes later Marion found her curled up in a corner weeping as if her heart would break. The nurse laid a gentle hand upon the girl’s shoulder, but she threw it off and shrank back from the touch.
“Oh, I am bad, bad!” she moaned. “Did you hear what he said? He was longing for me all the time, and I never knew it.”
“There, there, dear; you can’t help it now,” Marion soothed. “You made a mistake, but he will forgive you when he gets well.”
“But will he get well, Miss? Maybe he will die, and he will never know how sorry I am.”
“Let us hope that he will get better,” Marion encouraged. “When the doctor comes he may be able to do something for him.”
“Oh, I hope he will come soon, Miss. He will tell me how Tim is getting along. But suppose he is dead! If he is, then I shall die too. I don’t want to live with Tim gone.”
“Don’t worry too much about that, dear,” and Marion put her arm around the girl as she spoke. “The doctor will do all he can, never fear, and our Heavenly Father will do the rest. Have you prayed for your lover, Zell?”
“I have tried to, Miss, but I guess my prayers will do no good. I have been so bad that the Lord wouldn’t listen to me.”
“He certainly will, Zell. He has promised to hear us when we come to Him. Did He not say, ‘Call upon Me in the time of trouble and I will hear thee’? Isn’t that His promise? Why, then, should you doubt His word?”
​“Why, Miss, you talk just like Mrs. Norris used to. She often told us the same thing. But she was a good woman, and her prayers were not all answered. Why was that?”
“Are you sure they were not, Zell?”
“I am certain, Miss. She prayed for the Indians that they might all be good. But look how they have wandered, and have nearly all left the mission.”
“Perhaps her prayers will be answered, Zell,” Marion quietly replied. “She prayed that you might come back, and be a good girl. And here you are, changed, and sorry for what you have done.”
“Did she pray for me?” the girl asked in surprise. “How do you know that? You never met Mrs. Norris, did you?”
Marion made no immediate reply. She picked up a cup and spoon from the table, and going to the stove dipped out some soup from a steaming pot. Then going into the bedroom, she offered a little to the missionary, who was now lying very still.
“Take this,” she said; “it will do you good.”
As the man paid no heed to her words, she filled the spoon with soup and held it to his lips. Like a child he opened his mouth and drank it, the first nourishment he had taken since the shooting. In this manner Marion was able to feed him, and she gave him all the cup contained. This, she felt, was an encouraging sign, and she returned to the other room with greater hope for the invalid. She found Zell just where she had left her, with hands clasped before her, and quietly sobbing.
“Come, dear,” Marion brightly began. “I want to read something to you. The good missionary took a little nourishment, and seems to be resting comfortably. ​We can spend a cozy evening together in this nice warm room.”
Going over to the table, she picked up the book she had so hurriedly laid down, and opened it. She then sat down upon a rough bench, and motioned Zell to her side. The girl obeyed, and in another minute the two were seated side by side with the light of a nearby candle resting upon their fair faces.
“I am going to read you something from this book,” Marion said. “It was written years ago by Mrs. Norris. She wrote something every day, and I feel that it will be perfectly right for us to read some of the beautiful things she recorded here. Would you like to hear them?”
“Oh, indeed I should, Miss,” was the eager reply. “I have often wondered what she wrote in that book. She seemed so fond of it.”
Marion passed over the part of the journal which told of the trials of the missionaries when they first reached The Gap, until she came to an entry which she knew would interest the girl. It was the day before Christmas, and this the writer noted.
“‘My dear husband has just come home after an absence of nearly two weeks. He has been visiting the Indians, and many of them have come back with him for the treat, and the wonderful Christmas services we are planning to have. And what a present he brought with him—a little girl, a half-breed! She is a dear little thing, and has such sweet ways. She is only seven years old, yet she is exceptionally bright and smart for her age. She is a real Christmas gift, the best I ever had. How I have always longed for a child to care for, and perhaps she may be the first-fruit ​of the mission school we hope to start for the native children. She has such a pretty name—Zell——’”
Here Marion was interrupted by a cry from the girl at her side.
“Was it really me, Miss?” she asked. “Surely Mrs. Norris didn’t write all that about me!”
“Yes, she did, dear, and there is more. Listen: ‘The Indians have been coming in and out of the house all the evening, and we have been so busy. But my mind is so full of the little child that I can hardly think of anything else. She is asleep now in a cozy place I have made for her. My heart is overflowing with gratitude. As I sit here, with the house at last quiet, and Charles reading his letters, which came while he was away, I could sing for joy. But not being able to do that for fear of waking the child, I think of that wonderful psalm, and can understand the feeling of him who wrote it: ‘Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, praise His Holy Name.’ God grant that this little one brought so unexpectedly to my arms may grow in grace, and in the knowledge and fear of the Lord.’”
Thus page after page Marion read, the girl listening with almost breathless interest. The story of the forming of the Indian school was told in detail, the number of children in attendance, their names, and the efforts made to instruct them. Then there was the story of the falling away of the natives, and the great changes that took place at The Gap. Marion read only a portion of this, and when she saw what was written about Zell’s departure, she closed the book and laid it on the table.
“There, I think I’ve read enough this evening,” she said. “You must be sleepy, and want to go to bed.”
​“No, no; read more,” Zell insisted. “Read about where I ran away from the school.”
“How do you know there is anything about that?”
“I am sure there must be. I want to know what Mrs. Norris thought about what I did.”
“Perhaps it will make you very sad.”
“I do not care, Miss. I want to hear.”
Marion did as she was requested, and again opening the book, she turned to the last few pages. Here the dates were far apart, showing that for some time nothing had been recorded. Soiled with tears was the page where the writing once more abruptly began.
“‘I have had no heart to write anything for several weeks’”—so ran the scribbled words, which made the reading difficult. “‘The worst has at last arrived, and Zell, our darling child, is gone! She left us for a white man. Charles can hardly believe it is true, and goes from cabin to cabin searching for her. But I know, and so do the girls in the school. I can hardly write, so full are my eyes with tears. Our house is very lonely now without our darling. May the good Lord keep her safe, and lead her back to us again. I have the feeling that if she does come I shall not be here. I sometimes wonder—’”
“That is all,” Marion quietly remarked, as she once more laid aside the book. Her eyes were misty, while Zell’s were brimming with tears.
“Oh, why didn’t she write more?” the girl impetuously asked. “Why did she stop just there? What was she wondering about? How I should like to know.”
“We never shall, dear,” Marion replied. “She finished her journal just there.”
“She couldn’t write any more, Miss; that was the ​reason. Her heart was broken because I ran away. I never imagined she would feel like that.”
“Do not worry too much about it now, dear,” Marion advised. “You are very weak yet. When you are stronger we shall talk it all over. You must go to bed now and get a good sleep. I shall sit up for a while, and watch until Kate comes. She said she would stay with us to-night.”
“Do you think the doctor will be here to-morrow?” Zell asked.
“Perhaps so. If he is at Big Chance, it should not take him long to make the journey.”
“Oh, I hope he will come soon, and bring good news about Tim. Surely the good Lord won’t let Tim die when I want him so much. You understand, don’t you, Miss?”
“Indeed I do,” Marion replied, giving the girl an affectionate kiss. “Lovers understand many things which are hidden from others. But, there, you must go right to bed. I shall come presently and tuck you in.”