The days were rapidly lengthening on the Yukon. At noon each day the sun was higher in the heavens and its increased heat was heralded by little streams of snow water that trickled over the ice of the creeks.
One evening when the grip of winter had broken and the feel of spring was in the air, Moosehide Charlie stood at the bar drinking with Johnnie Claw. It was too early for the dancers and three or four of the girls sat idly along the opposite wall. As Brent served the drinks, he noticed that Claw appeared to be urging the younger man into a deal of some kind--he, caught a word now and then, of reference to dumps, slucings, and water heads. Moosehide seemed to be holding out. He was a man who drank little, and after two drinks he turned from the bar shaking his head. "Come on," urged Claw, "Have another."
"No, two or three's my limit. I don't aim to git drunk."
"Drunk, hell!" laughed Claw, "I don't nuther. You've only had two. Make it three, an' I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll throw off a leetle on that claim. I ain't got time to fool with it, noways."
Moosehide returned to the bar: "Well, one more, then, an' that's all. But you'll have to throw off more'n just a little on that property, fer me to touch it."
Claw filled his glass and pushed the bottle toward the other and as Moosehide Charlie measured his liquor, out of the tail of his eye, Brent saw Claw pour something from a small vial into his own glass and return the vial swiftly to his pocket. The next moment he was talking earnestly to Moosehide who, as he listened, toyed with his glass, rubbing into patterns the few drops of liquor he had spilled upon the bar.
Cuter Malone had himself carried a tray of drinks to be served at one of the poker tables in the rear, and just at this moment, tray and glasses struck the floor with a loud crash. Moosehide Charlie turned quickly at the sound, and as he did so Brent saw Johnnie Claw deftly switch the glasses upon the bar. Malone returned, grumbling at his clumsiness, for another tray of drinks, and Claw raised his glass. "I guess we kin deal, all right. Le's drink, an' then we'll slip into the back room there an' figger it out."
As Moosehide picked up the glass before him, Brent reached out swiftly and took it from his fingers. He looked into it for a second and tossed its contents onto the floor. "Better fill her up again," he said, "There was a fly in it." A fly on the Yukon, with the rivers still frozen, and the sodden snow three feet deep on the ground! Moosehide stared, and before Brent could move, Cuter Malone had floored him with a blow from a heavy bottle. The truth flashed upon Moosehide Charlie. One blow of his fist settled Claw, while with his other hand he reached across the bar and jerked a gun from the hand of Cuter Malone. The poker players rose from their chairs and started for the bar, but Moosehide motioned them back with the gun. "Jest go on with yer game, boys," he said meaningly. "Don't mind me." And as they settled into their places he stepped around the bar, keeping Malone covered. Kitty, who had been chatting with the girls on the opposite side of the room, darted across the floor and brushing past Moosehide, knelt beside Brent. "Jest raise up his head, girl, an' throw some water in his face," ordered Moosehide, "An' pour a little licker down his throat. If he can't swaller it, it'll make him gag an' bring him to." Then he turned to Malone: "An' you, you damn crook! You git busy an' weigh out what's comin' to him. An' weigh it damn quick--an' weigh it right. 'Cause if it ain't right, I'm a-comin' back here with about forty or ninety of my friends an' I'm tellin' it to you, we'll gut this damn joint--an' you along with it!"