“But Mr. Mar,” the missionary went on, “he vill be viser dan de Prophets. He tink dere are no more any vitches. Not even vhen he see dat Yakutat girl dey call Omilik—not even vhen he see vhat she have done. But von day Mr. Mar hear some noise, and he go down to de beach, and he see de girl tied to de tall stone ve fastens our boats to. He see dey been beating her, and now dey pile up de driftwood round, and he, not understanding”—the missionary explained, with an air of forbearance—“he, not understanding, he try to interfere. Dey very mad of course. Dey send for me. I tell Mr. Mar I _know_ dis girl have vitched a baby and two men. De vomen all know it—everybody but Mr. Mar know it quite vell. Mr. Mar get very excited and say he not believe it. Dey bring de baby; he say, ‘Dat a sick baby, anyhow.’ He not understand at all. Dey go on vid making de fire. Mr. Mar yoost goin’ to do someting foolish, vhen de girl cry out, ‘I confess. Yes, yes, I do all dem tings!’ ‘Dere, you _see_!’ I tell Mr. Mar. So dey make de vitch go and bring de little pieces vhat she cut off de baby coat, and off de men’s clo’es for to vitch dem vid. Dey all holla vhen dey see dose tings. All but Mr. Mar. He say de natives dey all done dat; dey all steals pieces off everybody in the settlemint; cause dey so ’fraid anybody get sick, dey be called vitches; and if dey not got any pieces to give up, dey know dey shall be burnt. ‘So dey all keeps plenty ’gainst de evil day,’ says Mr. Mar. “He mek so great foos, I tell dem yoost to tie de girl so she not wriggle out, and leave her dere like dey done Chuchuk last year. So dey does dat. Ve all goes avay. “Von day and night. Two day and night. Tree day and night. Dat girl yoost de same. Dey cooms to me and says, ‘Somebody gif dat vitch to eat.’ I say nobody vill do a ting like dat. Dey say dey sure. Next night dey vatch. Dey see Mr. Mar go down vid bread and vater. You can tink dey are mad. It is good I am dere. I say, ‘Vait! I vill talk vid Mr. Mar.’ I do dat.” His faded white-lashed eyes grew sterner still as he recalled the interview. “Well, what happened?” “It vas for me a moment of great responsibeeleetee. De more ve talk, de more I see it ees for Mr. Mar a matter of sentiment. _No_! of _nairves_! For os it ees a matter of religion. Ve live vid dose people. Ve teach dem. Ve feed dem in time of famine. Ve nurse dem ven dey are sick. But ven dey do vat the Yakutat voman haf done—” His low, booming voice went out across the surf, leaving behind a trail of menace like the deadened roll of a distant gun. “What then?” Cheviot’s eyes were held by the fiery look on the rugged face. Impossible to doubt the burning sincerity that gave its ugliness that moment of almost uncanny power.