When a man paired off with one of these pseudo girls it immediately became the aim of each dancer to whirl the other down, that is, to whirl so rapidly that the other, losing all sense of balance, when suddenly released, goes staggering foolishly to a fall. Many such tilts there were, to the intense delight of the spectators, the vanquished one crashing to the floor amid cries of “Loser buys! Loser buys!” And the loser bought, albeit with one accord they drank sparingly, for most of them were light drinkers by habit, and of those who were not, none cared to be called upon to settle with MacShane. For there had been occasions when men had tried conclusions with MacShane at close quarters, and rumor of them had travelled the length of the river. At five minutes to eight, MacShane whirled down McCarty in the last dance of the orgy. Interest centered at once upon the two, and soon they had the floor to themselves as faster and faster they spun round and round to the galloping music of the piano. Both were strong as oxen, and both were past masters at the game, and when at last MacShane suddenly released his grip and staggered backward, the crowd burst into a wild yell of acclaim, as McCarty, his arms clutching at the air like flails, reeled half across the room and sprawled his length at the feet of Horse Face Joe. “Come on, you snow hounds!” cried MacShane, “Out with you! It’s every man out doors! Grab every kid you see--big an’ little, red, white, black, an’ yellow! Down the river an’ up the river an’ get back here by ten! Bust into the cabins an’ tepees! You’ve got a free search warrant for kids! Wrap ’em up good, an’ bring ’em along. Tell their folks to come too, if they want to--but every kid within five miles has got to be brought! Dump ’em in here when you catch ’em, an’ go an’ get more. The girls will herd ’em till time for the show to start. Vamoose, now! Hit the trail!” CHAPTER IV A GAME OF CRIBBAGE The Indians of the Yukon are a gentle folk, else that early morning raid of the sourdoughs had produced a war. Pouring through the door of the Golden North Saloon the men, shouting and laughing, dispersed in every direction, and in twos and threes invaded the habitations of the Indians, who had not yet crawled from between their blankets. For eight o’clock in the morning in December is not yet dawn on the Yukon.