acob Welse closed the door, tilted his chair back, and cocked his feet
on the guard-rail of the stove. For one half-minute a girlish vision
wavered in the shimmering air above the stove, then merged into a woman
of fair Saxon type.

The door opened. "Mr. Welse, Mr. Foster sent me to find out if he is
to go on filling signed warehouse orders?"

"Certainly, Mr. Smith. But tell him to scale them down by half. If a
man holds an order for a thousand pounds, give him five hundred."

He lighted a cigar and tilted back again in his chair.

"Captain McGregor wants to see you, sir."

"Send him in."

Captain McGregor strode in and remained standing before his employer.
The rough hand of the New World had been laid upon the Scotsman from
his boyhood; but sterling honesty was written in every line of his
bitter-seamed face, while a prognathous jaw proclaimed to the onlooker
that honesty was the best policy,--for the onlooker at any rate, should
he wish to do business with the owner of the jaw. This warning was
backed up by the nose, side-twisted and broken, and by a long scar
which ran up the forehead and disappeared in the gray-grizzled hair.

"We throw off the lines in an hour, sir; so I've come for the last
word."

"Good." Jacob Welse whirled his chair about. "Captain McGregor."

"Ay."

"I had other work cut out for you this winter; but I have changed my
mind and chosen you to go down with the Laura. Can you guess why?"

Captain McGregor swayed his weight from one leg to the other, and a
shrewd chuckle of a smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes. "Going to
be trouble," he grunted.

"And I couldn't have picked a better man. Mr. Bally will give you
detailed instructions as you go aboard. But let me say this: If we
can't scare enough men out of the country, there'll be need for every
pound of grub at Fort Yukon. Understand?"

"Ay."

"So no extravagance. You are taking three hundred men down with you.
The chances are that twice as many more will go down as soon as the
river freezes. You'll have a thousand to feed through the winter. Put
them on rations,--working rations,--and see that they work. Cordwood,
six dollars per cord, and piled on the bank where steamers can make a
landing. No work, no rations. Understand?"

"Ay."

"A thousand men can get ugly, if they are idle. They can get ugly
anyway. Watch out they don't rush the caches. If they do,--do your
duty."

The other nodded grimly. Hi