CHAPTER VIII

AN EXCITING TIME

The low ceilinged room was filled with roughly dressed miners and a few women gaudily attired. Alex's voice had rang out so seriously and deadly that a wide lane had opened up between him and the bartender. Clay and Ike, with the stranger in the lead, pushed forward to where Teddy, a leering grin on his face, was waiting for another round of beer. The bartender was striving to secure his long-barreled pistol, which lay on a shelf underneath the bar, but Alex was on the watch and the pinging of the automatic sent a steel-nosed bullet crashing through the bar close to the bartender's hands, which he promptly elevated on high. "Now for your insults and threats and the way you have abused Teddy," Alex cried, anger taking full possession of him. He sent two bullets in the mirror which cracked it from top to bottom, then he began to shoot slowly and carefully, at the four tiers of bottles behind the bar. Each bullet brought forth the tinkling sound of splintered glass and the gushing forth of escaping liquor. The bartender's face grew paler with each sound of breaking glass, for liquor was liquid gold at Nome.

But this state of things could not last. The shots brought the reserve force of bartenders and bouncers from other parts of the building, some pulling out their long-barreled revolvers as they ran to their chief's assistance. The first appeared behind the bar just as the stranger, with the boys at his side, struggled into the open lane that ran from Alex to the bar. Alex had emptied his pistol and was calmly reloading it with deliberate care, although he could not but realize the peril in which he stood. His face brightened as he saw his two friends.

"Get out while you've got the chance," he shouted.

But Clay only smiled as he whipped out his automatic and leveled it at the newcomer behind the bar, who was cocking a heavy 44 Colts.

"Hold on a minute, you gunmen," rang out the stranger's voice, cool and crisp. The constantly augmented group of bartenders and bouncers hesitated for a moment at the determined tones of authority, and Alex finished his reloading.

"I reckon you all know me," went on the cool drawling voice, "if some of you don't know me, I'm the Yukon Kid an' you may have heard the name before." A murmur swept over the crowd.

"I never thought much of Nome, with her gambling dens, dance halls and dives like this, but I never thought one of the places I have mentioned would descend so low as to hector and make desperate a boy, just a stripling, and a chekako (tenderfoot), at that." His clear voice swept the assembled miners and the group of hesitating bartenders. His two heavy revolvers seemed to leap from their holsters. One steel muzzle described a rapidly slanting arc back and forth before the saloon men, while the other whirled rapidly in a circle with a finger pressed gently on the trigger, seemed to cover the whole crowd at once to their evident uneasiness.

"Boys, go and get your bear out in the street. Don't be too hard on him," said the Yukon Kid, with a grin. "Remember it's his first offense and likely his last, for he'll be a sick bear tomorrow."

Alex came forward from his corner and Ike and Clay moved up to Teddy. "Come on, Teddy, and no foolishness about it," Clay commanded. But Teddy, a maudlin insane glint in his eyes, squared off angrily to fight.

Clay snatched out his sheaf knife and made a downward sweep with it. Teddy's eyes lost their look of insanity, and whining, he dropped on all fours and made for the door, followed by the boys. Once outside Teddy tried to arise to his hind feet but found his legs too weak and wabbly, so dropped back on all fours.

"Take him right down to the boat and tie him up to the snubbing block in the prow, Alex," Clay ordered. "You go with him, Ike. I'm going to look for Case and Captain Joe. I am worried about them. Where did you see him last, Alex?"

"We got separated soon after we left the boat, I was trying to hunt him up when that brute gave me a shove down into one of those worked out mines and bolted. By the time I got out I was not thinking about anything but finding Teddy before he got into mischief. I don't know what became of Case."

"Stop a minute, Clay," shouted Ike, as they were moving off. "Don't forget if a man insists on our taking souvenirs, there's eight of us in the crew, you understand."

"But there are only six of us," said Clay, puzzled.

"You forget the dog and bear," replied Ike solemnly. "Don't you think animals have some feelings and don't like to be slighted? If they don't want them we can take care of them for them."

Clay turned back into the saloon with a smile on his face.

It was quite a different sight that met his eyes when he stepped inside. The Yukon Kid was the center of the crowd of miners, who, pressing around him, were loudly demanding news of the upper Yukon. Two bartenders were, with forced smiles on their faces, serving the crowd with drinks on the house. The others were mopping up the spilled liquor from the broken bottles.

The crowd was so dense that Clay could not force his way in so he stood on its edge striving to signal the Kid. "Great man, the Kid," volunteered a miner next him. "Came into this country just a kid and hasn't been outside since. Carries the mail back and forth as far as Dawson. Never misses a trip, and let me tell you that's a trip but few dare to make in the middle of winter. Don't reckon he's so very rich--gives away too much. But, I reckon, he's known better and trusted more than any man in the North. He's a good man to tie to for he's always reliable in peace or trouble."

Clay studied the Kid's face closely as the man talked. In spite of the roughness and scars placed there by Mother North, it was a young, comely, strong face, and set off with twinkling steel gray eyes. Their eyes met and the Kid pushed through the crowd to his side.

"Hello," he said. "You back?"

"I wanted to thank you for what you have done for us," Clay said gratefully.

"Bosh!" exclaimed the Kid, the red mounting to his face. "What little I did for you I'd do for any chekako who was staked up against odds," he chuckled. "That's a fire-eating little partner you've got. He'll make a sour dough all right if he doesn't get killed in the making."

"I have got another partner just as gamey." Clay said proudly. "He is not as quick tempered as Alex but he's all right. I wanted to ask you if you had heard or seen anything of him. The two left the boat at the same time, but soon got separated. He had a big white bull dog with him. I am afraid something has happened to him."

"No, I haven't seen or heard anything of him, but wait a bit, some of this crowd may have heard of him. I'll inquire."

"He was gone but a moment then returned to Clay. "I've found out where he was an hour ago, but Lord only knows where he is now. Wait! I'll go with you. You couldn't find the place alone." He moved up to the bar and called for drinks, taking a glass of root beer for himself. "My parting round, boys," he said friendly. "Have something yourself, Charley," to the white-clad bartender. "What I'm trying to figure out is who's going to pay for that mirror and the wasted liquor--about $3,000, I calculate," scoffed the bartender.

"It's your own fault, Charley," said the Kid, lightly. "You can't collect it out of the boys--they are minors any way. Better charge it up as advertising."

"Say," he continued, as he noted the black frown on the other's face. "I'll take responsibility for that bill. Just send it up to my cabin, and then come up and try to collect it."

The frown disappeared from the fellow's face and he tried to force a grin.

"Guess I'd better charge it to advertising," he said.

"Sure, advertising pays," agreed the Kid cordially, and turning, he strode for the door where Clay was awaiting him. As they stepped outside, a strong wind smote their faces so as to almost prevent conversation. The Kid turned, his hand against his mouth. "Keep close to me," he shouted "and no matter what trouble comes up, don't pull your gun unless I give the word."

Clay obeyed and kept close at the Kid's heels. A half hour's walk brought them to the fringe of the town, where they could see the _Rambler_ dancing at her dock about a mile distant.

"We're nearly there," said the Kid, "and remember, you're to let me handle this thing, in my own way. Just keep still and let me do the talking. He had reached a group of tents which were pitched in a kind of circle leaving a round plot of ground inclosed within. From this court yard came the sounds of laughter, hoots and cries. The Yukon Kid picked his way in between the ropes of two tents, Clay following. At this entrance they paused a minute to review the scene.

The courtyard was about one-fourth of an acre in extent. All around its sides were packed a dense crowd of men offering and taking big bets on the outcome of the battle that raged in the center.

Here, within another circle, a curious battle was going on. Ranged around in a silent circle, according to their usual code, were a dozen or more wolf-dogs, more wolf than dog, squatted on their haunches, their eyes eager, and their long white fangs dripping saliva, for to them belonged the spoils of the battle that was going on now within this inner circle. When one of the combatants died, it was their privilege to drag it outside of the circle and satisfy their hunger-warped souls on its flesh and bones. They cared not which died, only that he died quickly. Theirs was the sentiment of aching bellies."

The Kid kicked a way through the circle of dogs and Clay followed him. Inside two men, seated on a log, were evidently refereeing the fight while on the other end of the log sat Case, tightly bound hand and foot, his face a picture of anger and helplessness.

The Kid took a seat on the log by the side of the one who appeared chief in authority and who shifted uneasily. He did not like the Yukon Kid. The Kid knew too much and had an uncanny way of learning hidden things.

"Having a good match, Major?" enquired the Kid pleasantly, as he glanced at the desperate battle for life Captain Joe was putting up against a gaunt, husky wolf dog that towered way above him. Both dogs were fighting desperately and silently as became their breed, the husky darting in and out, snapping viciously, and Captain Joe whirling to meet the attack on his short, stumpy legs with surprising quickness, always trying to reach the enemy's throat.

"Yes, it's some match," agreed the other, cautiously. "A good many thousands of dollars of gold dust changed hands on the first match alone."

"You don't mean you've been fighting that bull dog against more than one husky?" the Kid cried in amazement.

"He's killed two, this is the third one," said the Major: "By jove! there goes the third." Captain Joe had found his goal at last. The husky, eager to kill, had bent too low and Captain Joe's teeth were buried in his throat in a death-like grip, which, rear and plunge as he might, the husky could not shake off. In a few moments it was all over and the dead husky was dragged away by his ravenous comrades, while Captain Joe painfully limped over to Case and Clay, his sides heaving and his white body bleeding from countless wounds. Clay picked him up and wiped his poor punctured body. "He's fought like a hero without a whine," Case said with dim eyes. "I tried to stop the first fight when it started, but a dozen of the crowd grabbed me and tied me up. All I've been able to do is to sit here and see them make him fight one husky after another. He's got four more to fight before they'll let him go. He can't finish those four. He is getting too weak. I doubt if he can go through another round, he has lost so much blood." The voice of the referee interrupted: "Captain Joe still alive and on his feet. Next match, Captain Joe against Birch Bark."

At the other end of the log the Yukon Kid was talking sweetly and cooly to the man in authority.

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