der what he'll say when he finds the soldiers have come. I wonder if
he'll like it."

Gale turned his eyes down-stream to the barracks, and noted that the
long flag-staff had at last been erected. Even as he looked he saw a
bundle mounting towards its tip, and then beheld the Stars and Stripes
flutter out in the air, while the men below cheered noisily. It was
some time before he answered.

"Poleon Doret is like the rest of us men up here in the North. We have
taken care of ourselves so far, and I guess we're able to keep it up
without the help of a smooth-faced Yankee kid for guardian."

"Lieutenant Burrell isn't a Yankee," said Necia. "He is a blue-grass
man. He comes from Kentucky."

Her father grunted contemptuously. "I might have known it. Those rebels
are a cultus, lazy lot. A regular male man with any ginger in him would
shed his coat and go to work, instead of wearing his clothes buttoned
up all day. It don't take much 'savvy' to run a handful of
thirteen-dollar-a-month soldiers." Necia stirred a bit restlessly, and
the trader continued: "It ain't man's work, it's--loafing. If he tries
to boss us he'll get QUITE a surprise."

"He won't try to boss you. He has been sent here to build a military
post, and to protect the miners in their own self-government. He won't
take any part in their affairs as long as they are conducted peaceably."

Being at a loss for an answer to this unexpected defence, the old man
grunted again, with added contempt, while his daughter continued:

"This rush to the upper country has brought in all sorts of people,
good, bad--and worse; and the soldiers have been sent to prevent
trouble, and to hold things steady till the law can be established. The
Canadian Mounted Police are sending all their worst characters
down-river, and our soldiers have been scattered among the American
camps for our protection. I think it's fine."

"Where did you learn all this?"

"Lieutenant Burrell told me," she replied; at which her father regarded
her keenly. She could not see the curious look in his eyes, nor did she
turn when, a moment later, he resumed, in an altered tone:

"I reckon Poleon will bring you something pretty from Dawson, eh?"

"He has never failed to bring me presents, no matter where he came
from. Dear old Poleon!" She smiled tenderly. "Do you remember that
first day when he drifted, singing, into sight around the bend up
yonder? He had paddled his birch-bark from the Chandelar wit