“I'm not going to—at least, not yet,” said the sergeant again. “It's not a question of law. The day may come when the lid goes on out here, but so far the local millennium hasn't dawned. There's no dispute there. I told you I came in here on the 'old friend' basis, and I meant it. I've known you off and on a bit for quite a while; and I always liked you for the reputation you had of playing square. There's no talk of crookedness now, though I must confess you've pulled something a little thinner than I thought it was in you to do. However, let that go. I don't want to butt in on this unless I have to—and that's why I'm trying to get you to come away with me in the morning. If you don't, there'll be trouble, and then I'll have to take a hand whether I want to or not.”
“By God!”—the oath came fiercely, involuntarily from Three-Ace Artie's lips. The irony of it all was upon him again. The injustice of it galled and maddened him. And yet—tell them the truth of the matter? He would have seen every last one of them consigned to the bottomless pit first! The turbulent soul of the man was aflame. “Run out of camp, eh!”—-it was a devil's laugh that echoed around the shack. “That means being run out of the Yukon! I'd have to get out, wouldn't I—out of the Yukon—ha, ha!—my name would smell everywhere to high heaven!”
“I'm not sure but that's exactly what I would do if I were you,” said Sergeant Marden simply. “The fact you've got to face is that you're black-balled—and the easiest way to swallow a nasty dose is to swallow it in a gulp, isn't it?” He got up from his chair and laid his hand on Three-Ace Artie's shoulder. “Look here, Leroy,” he said earnestly, “you've got a cool enough head on you not to play the fool, and you're a big enough sport to stand for the cards whatever way they turn. I want you to say that you'll come along with me in the morning—I'll get out of here early before any one is about, or I'll go now if you like, if that will help any. It's the sensible thing to do. Well?”
“I don't know, Marden—I don't know!” Three-Ace Artie flung out shortly.
“Yes, you do,” insisted the sergeant quietly. “You know a fight wouldn't get you anywhere—if you got one or two of them, Murdock Shaw for instance, you'd simply be hung for your pains. They mean business, and I don't want any trouble—why make any for me when it can't do you any good? I'm putting it to you in a friendly way; and, besides that, it's common sense, isn't it?” His grip tightened in a kindly pressure on Three-Ace Artie's shoulder. “I'm right, ain't I? What do you say?”
“Oh, you're right enough!”—a hard smile twisted Three-Ace Artie's lips. “There's no argument about that. I'd have to go anyway, I know that—but I'm not keen on going without giving them a run for their money that they'd remember for the rest of their lives!”
“And at the same time put a crimp into your own,” said Sergeant Marden soberly. He held out his hand. “You'll come, won't you?”
Twice Three-Ace Artie paced the length of the shack. Logically, as he had admitted, Marden was right; but battling against logic was a sullen fury that prompted him to throw consequences to the winds, and, with his back to the wall, invite Ton-Nugget Camp to a showdown. And then, abruptly, the gambler's instinct to throw down a beaten hand, when bluff would be of no avail and holding it would only increase his loss, turned the scales, and he halted before Sergeant Marden.
“I'll go,” he said tersely.
There was genuine relief in the officer's face.