from the muzzle; instead, a sheet of flame burst from the side of
the barrel near its butt, and Jacob Kent went down. The dogs dashed up
the bank, dragging the sled over his body, and the driver sprang off as
Jim Cardegee freed his hands and drew himself from the hole.

"Jim!" The new-comer recognized him. "What's the matter?"

"Wot's the matter? Oh, nothink at all. It jest 'appens as I do little
things like this for my 'ealth. Wot's the matter, you bloomin' idjit?
Wot's the matter, eh? Cast me loose or I'll show you wot! 'Urry up, or
I'll 'olystone the decks with you!"

"Huh!" he added, as the other went to work with his sheath-knife. "Wot's
the matter? I want to know. Jes' tell me that, will you, wot's the
matter? Hey?"

Kent was quite dead when they rolled him over. The gun, an
old-fashioned, heavy-weighted muzzle-loader, lay near him. Steel and
wood had parted company. Near the butt of the right-hand barrel, with
lips pressed outward, gaped a fissure several inches in length. The
sailor picked it up, curiously. A glittering stream of yellow dust ran
out through the crack. The facts of the case dawned upon Jim Cardegee.

"Strike me standin'!" he roared; "'ere's a go! 'Ere's 'is bloomin' dust!
Gawd blime me, an' you, too, Charley, if you don't run an' get the dish-
pan!"

JAN, THE UNREPENTANT

"For there's never a law of God or man
Runs north of Fifty-three."

Jan rolled over, clawing and kicking. He was fighting hand and foot now,
and he fought grimly, silently. Two of the three men who hung upon him,
shouted directions to each other, and strove to curb the short, hairy
devil who would not curb. The third man howled. His finger was between
Jan's teeth.

"Quit yer tantrums, Jan, an' ease up!" panted Red Bill, getting a
strangle-hold on Jan's neck. "Why on earth can't yeh hang decent and
peaceable?"

But Jan kept his grip on the third man's finger, and squirmed over the
floor of the tent, into the pots and pans.

"Youah no gentleman, suh," reproved Mr. Taylor, his body following his
finger, and endeavoring to accommodate itself to every jerk of Jan's
head. "You hev killed Mistah Gordon, as brave and honorable a gentleman
as ever hit the trail aftah the dogs. Youah a murderah, suh, and without
honah."

"An' yer no comrade," broke in Red Bill. "If you was, you'd hang 'thout
rampin' around an' roarin'. Come on, Jan, there's a good fellow. Don't
give us no more tr