“At home, in the streets of London, I have been rudely spoken to; I have been greatly annoyed in Paris; in New York I have been subject to humorous impertinence; but in the great North-West every man has seemed to be my friend.  In fact, wherever our English tongue is spoken,” she wound up calmly, putting the great Austin in his place, “a woman may go alone.”

Austin seemed absorbed in filling his pipe.  The lady tripped on to the next claim with a sedate “Good-night” to the men on No. 0.  She thought the momentary trouble past, and never turned to see how the Kentuckian, waiting till she should be out of earshot, came round in front of Austin with a low question.

The gang watched the Boy dodge under the sluice and hobble hurriedly over the chaos of stones towards the owner.  Before he reached him he called breathless, but trying to laugh: 

“You think the Colonel’s played out, but, take my word for it, he ain’t a man to fool with.”

The gang knew from Austin’s sneering look as he turned to strike a match on a boulder—­they knew as well as if they’d been within a yard of him that Scowl had said something “pretty mean.”  They saw the Colonel make a plunge, and they saw him reel and fall among the stones.

The owner stood there smoking while the night gang knocked off work under his nose and helped the Boy to get the Colonel on his feet.  It was no use.  Either he had struck his head or he was dazed—­unable, at all events, to stand.  They lifted him up and started for the big tent.

Three Indians accosted the cripple leading the procession.  He started, and raised his eyes.  “Nicholas!  Muckluck!” They shook hands, and all went on together, the Boy saying the Colonel had a little sunstroke.

* * * * *

The next day Scowl Austin was found lying face down among the cotton-woods above the benches on Skookum, a bullet-wound in his back.  He had fainted from loss of blood, when he was picked up by the two Vermonters, the men who had twice gone by No. 0 the night before the quarrel, and who had enraged Austin by stopping an instant during the clean-up to look at his gold.  They carried him back to Bonanza.

The Superintendent and several of the day gang got the wounded man into bed.  He revived sufficiently to say he had not seen the man that shot him, but he guessed he knew him all the same.  Then he turned on his side, swore feebly at the lawlessness of the South, and gave up the ghost.

Not a man on the creek but understood who Scowl Austin meant.

“Them hot-headed Kentuckians, y’ know, they’d dowse a feller’s glim for less ’n that.”

“Little doubt the Colonel done it all right.  Why, his own pardner says to Austin’s face, says he, ‘The Colonel’s a bad man to fool with,’ and just then the big chap plunged at Austin like a mad bull.”

But they were sorry to a man, and said among themselves that they’d see he was defended proper even if he hadn’t nothin’ but a little dust in a jam-pot.