But that was many hundreds of miles away. Also， it wasrumoured that many hundreds of miles farther on therewere missions. This last， however， was merely rumour； themen of Red Cow had never been there. They had enteredthe lone land by way of Chilcoot and the head-waters ofthe Yukon.
The men of Red Cow ignored all minor offences. Tobe drunk and disorderly and to use vulgar language werelooked upon as natural and inalienable rights. The menof Red Cow were individualists， and recognized as sacredbut two things， property and life. There were no womenpresent to complicate their simple morality. There wereonly three log-cabins in Red Cow—the majority of thepopulation of forty men living in tents or brush shacks；and there was no jail in which to confine malefactors， whilethe inhabitants were too busy digging gold or seeking goldto take a day off and build a jail. Besides， the paramountquestion of grub negatived such a procedure. Wherefore，when a man violated the rights of property or life， he wasthrown into an open boat and started down the Yukon.
The quantity of grub he received was proportioned to thegravity of the offence. Thus， a common thief might get asmuch as two weeks’ grub； an uncommon thief might getno more than half of that. A murderer got no grub at all. Aman found guilty of manslaughter would receive grub forfrom three days to a week. And Marcus O’Brien had beenelected judge， and it was he who apportioned the grub.
A man who broke the law took his chances. The Yukonswept him away， and he might or might not win to BeringSea. A few days’ grub gave him a fighting chance. No grubmeant practically capital punishment， though there was aslim chance， all depending on the season of the year.
Having disposed of Arizona Jack and watched him outof sight， the population turned from the bank and wentto work on its claims—all except Curly Jim， who ran theone faro layout in all the Northland and who speculated inprospect-holes on the sides. Two things happened that daythat were momentous. In the late morning Marcus O’Brienstruck it. He washed out a dollar， a dollar and a half， andtwo dollars， from three successive pans. He had found thestreak. Curly Jim looked into the hole， washed a few panshimself， and offered O’Brien ten thousand dollars for allrights—five thousand in dust， and， in lieu of the other fivethousand， a half interest in his faro layout. O’Brien refusedthe offer. He was there to make money out of the earth，he declared with heat， and not out of his fellow-men. Andanyway， he didn’t like faro. Besides， he appraised his strikeat a whole lot more than ten thousand.
The second event of moment occurred in the afternoon，when Siskiyou Pearly ran his boat into the bank andtied up. He was fresh from the Outside， and had in hispossession a four-months-old newspaper. Furthermore， hehad half a dozen barrels of whisky， all consigned to CurlyJim. The men of Red Cow quit work. They sampled thewhisky—at a dollar a drink， weighed out on Curly’s scales；and they discussed the news. And all would have beenwell， had not Curly Jim conceived a nefarious scheme，which was， namely， first to get Marcus O’Brien drunk， andnext， to buy his mine from him.
The first half of the scheme worked beautifully. It beganin the early evening， and by nine o’clock O’Brien hadreached the singing stage. He clung with one arm aroundCurly Jim’s neck， and even essayed the late lamentedFerguson’s song about the little birds. He considered hewas quite safe in this， what of the fact that the only man incamp with artistic feelings was even then speeding downthe Yukon on the breast of a five-mile current.
But the second half of the scheme failed to connect.
No matter how much whisky was poured down his neck，O’Brien could not be brought to realize that it was hisbounden and friendly duty to sell his claim. He hesitated，it is true， and trembled now and again on the verge ofgiving in. Inside his muddled head， however， he waschuckling to himself. He was up to Curly Jim’s game， andliked the hands that were being dealt him. The whisky wasgood. It came out of one special barrel， and was about adozen times better than that in the other five barrels.
Siskiyou Pearly was dispensing drinks in the bar-room tothe remainder of the population of Red Cow， while O’Brienand Curly had out their business orgy in the kitchen. Butthere was nothing small about O’Brien. He went into thebar-room and returned with Mucluc Charley and PercyLeclaire.
“Business ’sociates of mine， business ’sociates，” heannounced， with a broad wink to them and a guileless grinto Curly. “Always trust their judgment， always trust ’em.
They’re all right. Give ’em some fire-water， Curly， an’ le’stalk it over.”
This was ringing in； but Curly Jim， making a swiftrevaluation of the claim， and remembering that the lastpan he washed had turned out seven dollars， decided thatit was worth the extra whisky， even if it was selling in theother room at a dollar a drink.
“I’m not likely to consider，” O’Brien was hiccoughingto his two friends in the course of explaining to themthe question at issue. “Who？ Me？ —sell for ten thousanddollars！ No indeed. I’ll dig the gold myself， an’ then I’mgoin’ down to God’s country—Southern California—that’sthe place for me to end my declinin’ days—an’ then I’llstart ... as I said before， then I’ll start ... what did I say Iwas goin’ to start？”
“Ostrich farm，” Mucluc Charley volunteered.
“Sure， just what I’m goin’ to start.” O’Brien abruptlysteadied himself and looked with awe at Mucluc Charley.
“How did you know？ Never said so. Jes’ thought I said so.
You’re a min’ reader， Charley. Le’s have another.”
Curly Jim filled the glasses and had the pleasure ofseeing four dollars’ worth of whisky disappear， one dollar’sworth of which he punished himself—O’Brien insistedthat he should drink as frequently as his guests.