"One throw
for the whole thing, mine against yours."

Kootanie George knew gold when he saw it and now he knew that there was
nearer two thousand than one in that bag. He gripped the dice box,
glared at Drennen angrily, hesitated, then with a sudden gesture turned
out the dice.

He had cursed before when he had made his throw; now he just slumped
forward a little in his chair, his jaw dropping, the color dribbling
out of his cheeks, finding all words inadequate. He had thrown two
deuces again. Again Drennen looked at him contemptuously. Again
George heard his ugly laugh. Drennen threw his dice carelessly. And
upon the table, between the canvas bag and the glitter of minted gold,
there stared up into George's face five fives.

"Damn you," cried the Canadian hoarsely, his fingers hooked and
standing apart like claws as he half rose from his chair. "Damn you!"

His nerves were strung high and tense and the words came from him
involuntarily. They were the clean words of rage at which no man in
the world could take offence unless he sought a quarrel. And yet
Drennen, as he moved forward a little to draw his winnings toward him,
thrust his face close up to Kootanie George's and said crisply:

"Say that again and I'll slap your face!"

"Damn you!" shouted George.

And with the words came the blow, Drennen's open palm hard against
George's cheek.

"And now George will kill him!" cried Ernestine through her set teeth.

CHAPTER V

THE WAY OF THE NORTH

"Oh, mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" half sobbed old Marquette. "They will kill
one the other! Another time it matters not. But to-night, here! . . .
Stop; I forbid it!"

One blow had been struck and already the compact circle about the two
men had squared as those who watched drew back along the walls leaving
the centre of the room clear. They had jerked tables and chairs away
with them. One table, the one at which Drennen and George had sat a
moment ago, with its load of virgin gold and minted coins, was now
against the further counter, young Frank Marquette guarding it, that
the gold upon it might go to Drennen when the fight was over. . . .

"If he is alive then," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as they took
note of the black rage distorting the big Canadian's face. "If George
does not kill him it is a miracle of Satan."

"You are come to-night for trouble." Slowly Kootanie George slipped
his heavy coat from his shoulders. His deep, hairy chest,