and Mucluc Charley nudged him in
the ribs. Marcus O'Brien cleared his throat and went on--

"Weighing the gravity of the offence, sir, and the extenuating
circumstances, it is the opinion of this court, and its verdict, that you
be outfitted with three days' grub. That will do, I think."

Arizona Jack cast a bleak glance out over the Yukon. It was a swollen,
chocolate flood, running a mile wide and nobody knew how deep. The earth-
bank on which he stood was ordinarily a dozen feet above the water, but
the river was now growling at the top of the bank, devouring, instant by
instant, tiny portions of the top-standing soil. These portions went
into the gaping mouths of the endless army of brown swirls and vanished
away. Several inches more, and Red Cow would be flooded.

"It won't do," Arizona Jack said bitterly. "Three days' grub ain't
enough."

"There was Manchester," Marcus O'Brien replied gravely. "He didn't get
any grub."

"And they found his remains grounded on the Lower River an' half eaten by
huskies," was Arizona Jack's retort. "And his killin' was without
provocation. Joe Deeves never did nothin', never warbled once, an' jes'
because his stomach was out of order, Manchester ups an' plugs him. You
ain't givin' me a square deal, O'Brien, I tell you that straight. Give
me a week's grub, and I play even to win out. Three days' grub, an' I
cash in."

"What for did you kill Ferguson?" O'Brien demanded. "I haven't any
patience for these unprovoked killings. And they've got to stop. Red
Cow's none so populous. It's a good camp, and there never used to be any
killings. Now they're epidemic. I'm sorry for you, Jack, but you've got
to be made an example of. Ferguson didn't provoke enough for a killing."

"Provoke!" Arizona Jack snorted. "I tell you, O'Brien, you don't savve.
You ain't got no artistic sensibilities. What for did I kill Ferguson?
What for did Ferguson sing 'Then I wisht I was a little bird'? That's
what I want to know. Answer me that. What for did he sing 'little bird,
little bird'? One little bird was enough. I could a-stood one little
bird. But no, he must sing two little birds. I gave 'm a chanst. I
went to him almighty polite and requested him kindly to discard one
little bird. I pleaded with him. There was witnesses that testified to
that.

"An' Ferguson was no jay-throated songster," some one spoke up from the
crowd.

O'Brien betrayed indecision.

"Ain't a m