“Stop!” he ordered, and there was something so chill and commanding in his voice that men paused irresolutely; then, sensing the deadliness of the situation, obeyed. “The meeting in there fairly voted down any action against Laughing Jim,” George said quietly. “My pardners and I stand for law and order. The majority is still the law in this camp, and if it comes to a show-down, we, my pardners and I, will furnish the order! There’ll be no rush on Laughing Jim so long as any of us can handle his gun. If you think you can put it over, men, try it on!” His grim conclusion was not to go unchallenged; for when he ceased, Phil Mahoney leaped to the front, waving his arms and shouting an appeal to his followers to pay no heed. Before he had uttered a dozen words George leaped. The long barrel of his pistol flew into the air, and came crashing sidewise against Phil’s head, and the disturber fell to the snow, stricken as is an animal beneath the blow of a pole-ax. Even as he fell, George’s voice, cold and drawling, steady and distinct, queried: “Who’s next?” There was no “next.” I found myself the only unarmed one from our camp, leaning forward on tiptoes, with fists clenched, and the expectant lust of battle ripping through my veins as I saw them waver, saw other men line themselves back of us ready for combat, and witnessed, as the long seconds flew, the dissolution of Phil Mahoney’s forces. At the time it seemed that hours were passing; but that entire change of sentiment could not have required more than five minutes, and then there arose the murmur: “George is right, boys! The meeting decided it! That settles it!” and all was over. The strange character of Shakespeare George was never better exemplified than in his following action, and thinking of the events of that far-fled night, I sometimes smile at his conception of “law and order”; for when it was certain that the mob spirit was quelled and dissipated, he slipped the gun back into its worn holster and whispered to us, his partners: “Come on, boys! I’ve got something else we ought to do,” and trudged away. The door of the trading post slammed as old Mayo swore at the loiterers and asserted that he had no contract to warm all outdoors. Black-moving spots were here and there on the white-covered earth as groups turned toward their cabins, moving quickly to escape the nipping teeth of the air.