"Listen to this message from the cashier of the Cortez Home Bank!" bellowed Gray, his big voice dominating the uproar. Undisturbed by his prisoner's struggles, he read loudly: "Joe Thorn and Henry Baker quit work fifteenth, leaving for Fairbanks over winter trail, with five dogs--four gray and white malamutes, black shepherd leader. Thorn medium size, thirty-five, red hair. Baker dark, scar on cheek. WILSON, Cashier." The doctor's features spread into a broad grin. "You've all seen the dog-team, and here's the red hair." His fingers sunk into his prisoner's fiery locks with a grip that threatened to leave him a scalp for a trophy. Thorn cursed and twisted. The crowd's allegiance had been quick to shift, but it veered back to O'Neil with equal suddenness. "Bunco!" yelled a hoarse voice, after a brief hush. "Lynch 'em!" cried another; and the angry clamor burst forth anew. "Don't be foolish," shouted Murray; "nobody has been hurt." "We'd have been on the trail to-morrow. Send 'em down the river barefoot!" "Yes! What about that gang from Omar?" "I'm afraid they'll have to take care of themselves," O'Neil said. "But these two men aren't altogether to blame; they're acting under orders. Isn't that right?" he asked Thorn. The miner hesitated, until the grip in his hair tightened; then, evidently fearing the menace in the faces on every side, he decided to seek protection in a complete confession. "Yes!" he agreed, sullenly. "Gordon cooked it up. It's all a fake." O'Neil nodded with satisfaction. "This is the second time he's tried to get my men away from me. The other time he failed because Tom Slater happened to come down with smallpox. Thank God, he recovered!" A ripple of laughter spread, then grew into a bellow, for the nature of "Happy Tom's" illness had long since become a source of general merriment, and O'Neil's timely reference served to divert the crowd. It also destroyed most of its resentment. "You fellows don't seem able to protect yourselves; so Doc and I will have to do it for you. Now listen," he continued, more gravely. "I meant it when I said I'd open the commissary and help you out if the strike were genuine, but, nevertheless, I want you to know just what it would have meant to me. I haven't enough money to complete the S. R. & N., and I can't raise enough, but I have signed an option to sell the road if the bridge is built by next spring. It's really a two year's job, and some engineers don't believe it can be built at all, but I know it can if you'll help. If we fail I'm ruined; if we succeed"--he waved his hands and smiled at them cheerfully--"maybe we'll build another railroad somewhere. That's what this stampede meant. Now, will you stick to me?" The answer roared from a hundred throats: "You bet we'll stick!" At the rear of the room, whence they had witnessed the rapid unfolding of this drama, the two girls joined in the shout. They were hugging each other and laughing hysterically.