The swart face of the older half-breed flushed angrily as he drew himself up and promised in good, round terms that he would travel his leader off his legs, and would then be delighted to plant him in the snow.

The young officer – and it required his whole will – walked steadily to the door, exhibiting a freshness he did not possess. But they all knew and appreciated his proud effort; nor could he veil the twinges of agony that shot across his face. Covered with frost, the dogs were curled up in the snow, and it was almost impossible to get them to their feet. The poor brutes whined under the stinging lash, for the dog drivers were angry and cruel; nor till Babette, the leader, was cut from the traces, could they break out the sled and get under way.

»A dirty scoundrel and a liar!« »By gar! Him no good!« »A thief!« »Worse than an Indian!« It was evident that they were angry – first at the way they had been deceived; and second at the outraged ethics of the Northland, where honesty, above all, was man's prime jewel. »An' we gave the cuss a hand, after knowin' what he'd did.« All eyes turned accusingly upon Malemute Kid, who rose from the corner where he had been making Babette comfortable, and silently emptied the bowl for a final round of punch.

»It's a cold night, boys – a bitter cold night,« was the irrelevant commencement of his defense. »You've all traveled trail, and know what that stands for. Don't jump a dog when he's down. You've only heard one side. A whiter man than Jack Westondale never ate from the same pot nor stretched blanket with you or me. Last fall he gave his whole clean-up, forty thousand, to Joe Castrell, to buy in on Dominion. Today he'd be a millionaire. But while he stayed behind at Circle City, taking care of his partner with the scurvy, what does Castrell do? Goes into McFarland's, jumps the limit, and drops the whole sack. Found him dead in the snow the next day. And poor Jack laying his plans to go out this winter to his wife and the boy he's never seen. You'll notice he took exactly what his partner lost – forty thousand. Well, he's gone out; and what are you going to do about it?«

The Kid glanced round the circle of his judges, noted the softening of their faces, then raised his mug aloft. »So a health to the man on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may his dogs keep their legs; may his matches never miss fire. God prosper him; good luck go with him; and –«

»Confusion to the Mounted Police!« cried Bettles, to the crash of the empty cups.

 

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