Wondering what George could have in mind, we followed him, for with us it was custom to cling together, come what might. Straight he led us to the Hang-out, and in through the door. Already Laughing Jim was the center of a garrulous group, and his face for once was grave. As we entered he broke away from those who retailed to him the narrowness of his escape, and came toward George, admiring, reluctant, yet evidently anxious to voice his gratitude. But George’s brows drew themselves into a scowl, and his gray-blue eyes were cold and sharp as he looked at the man whose life he had most certainly saved for a second time. “Put on your coat,” he said, “and come outside for a minute. We want to talk to you, Jim.” Again we followed him out as we saw that Jim, his young face depicting curiosity, was turning over his cash drawer to the bartender, and looking for his mackinaw. We had but a minute to wait before he emerged, and no time at all to speculate over George’s intentions. “I’ve saved you to-night, for the second time,” was our partner’s terse statement. Jim started to thank him, but George threw up his hand, demanding attention. “So you owe me something, and you’ll pay! Jim, your game’s done as far as this camp’s concerned.” Again the wheelman opened his lips as if to speak, and again was abruptly silenced. “We’ll have no powwow,” declared George, scowling at him, as he stood there in the moonlight. “But you’ll do this! You’ll walk back into the Hang-out and announce that never again in this camp will you roll a wheel or turn a card; that you’re through; that you’ve finished! Then you’ll wait for the first chance to go down, or up, the river when spring comes, and--Jim--you’ll go!” “But----” objected Jim. “I said you’d go!” was the quick assertion. “There are a bunch of us here, pardners all, who say that you’ll go as I say, quit to-night, and go as soon as you can. And it’s up to you where you go. Up the river to Dawson, down to St. Michaels, or----” Significantly the thumb of his mitten turned toward the earth, and Jim understood. The shadows on the snow, sharp and defined, nodded their heads in assent, and the gambler looked from man to man, reading in those dim faces a sentence. It was characteristic of him that after this quick appraisement he drew a deep breath, looked out across the broad expanse of snow-clad river, up at the flaming skies, and then laughed, deeply, recklessly, and shrugged his shoulders. Also it was characteristic that he turned toward the door, and said: “Good! Come ahead and see if I can’t play any game!” Once inside he walked unhesitatingly to the rough bar, seized a cigar cutter that rested thereon, and banged it loudly on the pine boards. Every one in the room paused and turned toward him, men’s faces, dim through the smoke, expressing open-mouthed curiosity.