"Say when," he murmured calmly, from behind his artillery, "and I'll blow the deevil into vulgar fractions."
I stepped out of range of fire without delay. Soapy's fingers twitched on the stock of his lowered revolver as his ferret-like eyes blinked down the muzzle of the deadly tube, which never wavered a hair's breadth. Then his weapon dropped from his nerveless hand, and slowly his arms were upraised towards the sky, and he smiled an exceedingly sickly smile.
"You've got the pull on me this time, partner," he said. "I caves."
At this moment a hoarse chorus of cheers rang out from the vicinity of the Skagit Hotel. The inmates had assembled on the upper deck to witness the discomfiture of their common enemy.
"Shoot him!" they roared; "he killed old Smith."
But Mac was not disposed to make himself public executioner. "Ye'd better vanish, Soapy," he grunted.
| A Party of Miners going in by the Skagway or White Pass Trail. |