he Yukon, the sneak-thief was the most despised. A man might
live as he pleased, as a squaw-man, or with several paramours; he might
shoot a man down in his tracks, if for honour or self-defense. But for
a man who robbed sluice boxes or stole from cabins there was no term of
condemnation strong enough in the English language. Cabins in those
days were seldom locked, and a man who secured his door at night, or
when he left the place, was viewed with suspicion, and often shunned.
Anyone might enter another's abode, borrow what he needed, and, if
hungry, help himself. It was the law, the unwritten verdict of the
place.

When Keith reached the store he found most of the men congregated
there, discussing the whole affair in no light terms. Some were
sitting on rude benches, others were standing. The room reeked with
tobacco and whiskey fumes. As he gazed around and noticed how the
scent of blood had aroused their passions, a sigh escaped his lips. A
number who at the debate had talked the strongest about temperance, who
were so quiet in the Reading Room, and orderly in church, were among
the most vehement talkers, and expressed their views in the strongest
manner.

They reminded him of a certain Sunday School class in his old home
town. When separated each was quiet and manly, a typical little saint,
who said "yes, sir," and "no, sir," most carefully, and could tell
about Moses and David with evident pride. But when together, the mob
instinct seemed to possess them, and to carry them beyond all bounds of
reason in thought, word and deed.

As he listened to these miners and heard their rash remarks he
shuddered. "God help the poor fellow!" he thought, "whoever he may be,
if he once gets into such brutish hands."

"Yes," he heard Tim Fleeters saying, "it was only yesterday that I went
out to cut fire-wood. The poke of gold was in my chest, at the foot of
my bunk. When I returned, and lifted the lid to get some tea which I
kept there, the poke was gone--gold and all."

"The sneak!" spoke up another, "shooting's too good for him."

"Hanging would be better," remarked a third. "Shooting'd be a cinch."

In the meantime the rest of the men had arrived, among whom was
Pritchen, and joined in the conversation.

There were several miners in the room calmer than the rest, of whom
Caribou Sol was one. He had watched the whole proceedings, and
listened to the talk as it drifted along. Seeing that nothing definite