"Those days are past," said Stark, who had joined in the discussion.

"There's too many new people coming in for all of them to be honest."

"They'd better be," said Lee, aggressively. "We ain't got no room for stealers. Why, I had a hand in makin' the by-laws of this camp myself, 'long with John Gale, and they stip'lates that any person caught robbin' a cache is to be publicly whipped in front of the tradin'-post, then, if it's winter time, he's to be turned loose on the ice barefooted, or, if it's summer, he's to be set adrift on a log with his shirt off."

"Either one would mean certain death," said a stranger. "Frost in winter, mosquitoes in summer!"

"That's all right," another bystander declared. "A man's life depends on his grub up here, and I'd be in favor of enforcing that punishment to the letter if we caught any one thieving."

"All the same, I take no chances," said Stark. "There's too many strangers here. Just to show you how I stand, I've put Runnion on guard over my pile of stuff, and I'll be glad when it's under cover. It isn't the severity of punishment that keeps a man from going wrong, it's the certainty of it."

"Well, he'd sure get it, and get it proper in this camp," declared Lee; and at that moment, as if his words had been a challenge, the flaps of the great tent were thrust aside, and Runnion half led, half threw a man into the open s.p.a.ce before the bar.

"Let's have a look at you," he panted. "Well, if it ain't a n.i.g.g.e.r!"

"What's up?" cried the men, crowding about the prisoner, who crouched, terror-stricken, in the trampled mud and moss, while those playing roulette and "bank" left the tables, followed by the dealers.

"He's a thief," said Runnion, mopping the sweat from his brow. "I caught him after your grub pile, Stark."

"In my cache?"

"Yes. He dropped a crate of hams when I came up on him, and tried to run, but I dropped him." He held his Colt in his right hand, and a trickle of blood from the negro's head showed how he had been felled.

"Why didn't you shoot?" growled Stark, angrily, at which the negro half arose and broke into excited denials of his guilt. Runnion kicked him savagely, and cursed him, while the crowd murmured approval.

"Le' me see him," said Lee, elbowing his way through the others. Fixing his one eye upon the wretch, he spoke impressively.

"You're the first downright thief I ever seen. Was you hungry?"

"No, he's got plenty," answered one of the tenderfeet, who had evidently arrived on the boat with the darky. "He's got a bigger outfit than I have."

The prisoner drew himself up against the bar, facing his enemies sullenly.

"Then I reckon it's a divine manifestation," said "No Creek" Lee, tearfully. "This black party is goin' to furnish an example as will elevate the moral tone of our community for a year."

"Let me take him outside," cried Stark, reaching under the bar for a weapon. His eyes were cruel, and he had the angry pallor of a dangerous man. "I'll save you a lot of trouble."

"Why not do it legal?" expostulated Lee. "It's just as certain."

"Yes! Lee is right," echoed the crowd, bent on a Roman holiday.

"What y'all aim to do?" whined the thief.

"We're goin' to try you," announced the one-eyed miner, "and if you're found guilty, as you certainly are goin' to be, you'll be flogged.

After which perdicament you'll have a nice ride down-stream on a saw-log without your laundry."

"But the mosquitoes--"

"Too bad you didn't think of them before. Let's get at this, boys, and have it over with."

In far countries, where men's lives depend upon the safety of their food supply, a side of bacon may mean more than a bag of gold; therefore, protection is a strenuous necessity. And though any one of those present would have gladly fed the negro had he been needy, each of them likewise knew that unless an example were made of him no tent or cabin would be safe. The North being a gameless, forbidding country, has ever been cruel to thieves, and now it was heedless of the black man's growing terror as it set about to try him. A miners' meeting was called on the spot, and a messenger sent hurrying to the post for the book in which was recorded the laws of the men who had made the camp.

The crowd was determined that this should be done legally and as prescribed by ancient custom up and down the river. So, to make itself doubly sure, it gave Runnion's evidence a hearing; then, taking lanterns, went down to the big tarpaulin-covered pile beside the river, where it found the crate of hams and the negro's tracks. There was no defence for the culprit and he offered none, being too scared by now to do more than plead. The proceedings were simple and quiet and grim, and were wellnigh over when Lieutenant Burrell walked into the tent saloon.

He had been in his quarters all day, fighting a fight with himself, and in the late evening, rebelling against his cramped conditions and the war with his conscience, he had sallied out, and, drawn by the crowd in Stark's place, had entered.

A man replied to his whispered question, giving him the story, for the meeting was under Lee's domination, and the miners maintained an orderly and business-like procedure. The chairman's indigestion had vanished with his sudden a.s.sumption of responsibility, and he showed no trace of drink in his bearing. Beneath a lamp one was binding four-foot lengths of cotton tent-rope to a broomstick for a knout, while others, whom Lee had appointed, were drawing lots to see upon whom would devolve the unpleasant duty of flogging the captive. The matter-of-fact, relentless expedition of the affair shocked Burrell inexpressibly, and seeing Poleon and Gale near by, he edged towards them, thinking that they surely could not be in sympathy with this barbarous procedure.

"You don't understand, Lieutenant," said Gale, in a low voice. "This n.i.g.g.e.r is a THIEF!"

"You can't kill a man for stealing a few hams."

"It ain't so much WHAT he stole; it's the idea, and it's the custom of the country."

"Whipping is enough, without the other."

"Dis stealin' she's bad biznesse," declared Poleon. "Mebbe dose ham is save some poor feller's life."

"It's mob law," said the Lieutenant, indignantly, "and I won't stand for it."

Gale turned a look of curiosity upon the officer. "How are you going to help yourself?" said he; but the young man did not wait to reply.

Quickly he elbowed his way towards the centre of the scene with that air of authority and determination before which a crowd melts and men stand aside. Gale whispered to his companion:

"Keep your eye open, lad. There's going to be trouble." They stood on tiptoe, and watched eagerly.

"Gentlemen," announced Burrell, standing near the ashen-gray wretch, and facing the tentful of men, "this man is a thief, but you can't kill him!"

Stark leaned across the bar, his eyes blazing, and touched the Lieutenant on the shoulder.

"Do you mean to take a hand in all of my affairs?"

"This isn't your affair; it's mine," said the officer. "This is what I was sent here for, and it's my particular business. You seem to have overlooked that important fact."

"He stole my stuff, and he'll take his medicine."

"I say he won't!"

For the second time in their brief acquaintance these two men looked fair into each other's eyes. Few men had dared to look at Stark thus and live; for when a man has once shed the blood of his fellow, a mania obsesses him, a disease obtains that is incurable. There is an excitation of every sense when a hunter stands up before big game; it causes a thrill and flutter of undiscovered nerves, which nothing else can conjure up, and which once lived leaves an incessant hunger. But the biggest game of all is man, and the fiercest sensation is hate.

Stark had been a killer, and his brain had been seared with the flame till the scar was ineradicable. He had lived those lurid seconds when a man gambles his life against his enemy's, and, having felt the great sensation, it could never die; yet with it all he was a cautious man, given more to brooding on his injuries and building up a quarrel than to reckless paroxysms of pa.s.sion, and experience had taught him the value of a well-handled temper as well as the wisdom of knowing when to use it and put it in action. He knew intuitively that his hour with Burrell had not yet come.

The two men battled with their eyes for an opening. Lee and the others mastered their surprise at the interruption, and then began to babble until Burrell turned from the gambler and threw up his arm for silence.

"There's no use arguing," he told the mob. "You can't do it. I'll hold him till the next boat comes, then I'll send him down-river to St.

Michael's."

He laid his hand upon the negro and made for the door, with face set and eyes watchful and alert, knowing that a hair's weight might shift the balance and cause these men to rive him like wolves.

Lee's indignation at this miscarriage of justice had him so by the throat as to strangle expostulation for a moment, till he saw the soldier actually bearing off his quarry. Then he broke into a flood of invective.

"Stop that!" he bellowed. "To h.e.l.l with YOUR law--we're goin' accordin'

to our own." An ominous echo arose, and in the midst of it the miner, in his blind fury forgetting his exalted position, took a step too near the edge of the bar, and fell off into the body of the meeting. With him fell the dignity of the a.s.semblage. Some one laughed; another took it up; the nervous tension broke, and a man cried: