"Well," said the Boy, "it's just one o' those topsy-turvy things that happen up here. You saw that Indian that came in with Nicholas? Some years ago he killed a drunken white man who was after him with a knife. There was no means of tryin' the Indian where the thing happened, so he was taken outside.
"The Court found he'd done the killin' in self-defence, and sent him back. Well, sir, that native had the time of his life bein' tried for murder. He'd travelled on a railroad, seen a white man's city, lived like a lord, and came home to be the most famous man of his tribe. Got a taste for travel, too. Comes to the Klondyke, and his fame fires Skookum Bill. All you got to do is to kill one o' these white men, and they take you and show you all the wonders o' the earth. So he puts a bullet into Austin."
"Why didn't he own up, then, and get his reward?"
"Muckluck knew better—made him hold his tongue about it."
"And then made him own up when she saw——"
The boy nodded.
"What's goin' to happen?"
"Oh, he'll swing to-morrow instead o' me. By the way, Colonel, a fella hunted me up this mornin' who'd been to Minóok. Looked good to him. I've sold out Idaho Bar."
"'Nough to buy back your Orange Grove?"
He shook his head. "'Nough to pay my debts and start over again."