"London, Jack - Tales of the klondyke" - читать интересную книгу автора (London Jack)

upon his axe, indifferent, indomitable, superb, caught his
wavering vision. And he felt a great envy of the man who could go
down serenely to the dark gates of death. Surely Christ, and not
he, Sturges Owen, had been moulded in such manner. And why not
he? He felt dimly the curse of ancestry, the feebleness of spirit
which had come down to him out of the past, and he felt an anger
at the creative force, symbolize it as he would, which had formed
him, its servant, so weakly. For even a stronger man, this anger
and the stress of circumstance were sufficient to breed apostasy,
and for Sturges Owen it was inevitable. In the fear of man's
anger he would dare the wrath of God. He had been raised up to
serve the Lord only that he might be cast down. He had been given
faith without the strength of faith; he had been given spirit
without the power of spirit. It was unjust.

"Where now is thy god?" the half-breed demanded.

"I do not know." He stood straight and rigid, like a child
repeating a catechism.

"Hast thou then a god at all?"

"I had."

"And now?"

"No."

Hay Stockard swept the blood from his eyes and laughed. The
missionary looked at him curiously, as in a dream. A feeling of
infinite distance came over him, as though of a great remove. In
that which had transpired, and which was to transpire, he had no
part. He was a spectator--at a distance, yes, at a distance. The
words of Baptiste came to him faintly:-

"Very good. See that this man go free, and that no harm befall
him. Let him depart in peace. Give him a canoe and food. Set
his face toward the Russians, that he may tell their priests of
Baptiste the Red, in whose country there is no god."

They led him to the edge of the steep, where they paused to
witness the final tragedy. The half-breed turned to Hay Stockard.

"There is no god," he prompted.

The man laughed in reply. One of the young men poised a war-spear
for the cast.

"Hast thou a god?"