Runs north of Fifty-three."

Jan rolled over, clawing and kicking. He was fighting hand and foot now,
and he fought grimly, silently. Two of the three men who hung upon him,
shouted directions to each other, and strove to curb the short, hairy
devil who would not curb. The third man howled. His finger was between
Jan's teeth.

"Quit yer tantrums, Jan, an' ease up!" panted Red Bill, getting a
strangle-hold on Jan's neck. "Why on earth can't yeh hang decent and
peaceable?"

But Jan kept his grip on the third man's finger, and squirmed over the
floor of the tent, into the pots and pans.

"Youah no gentleman, suh," reproved Mr. Taylor, his body following his
finger, and endeavoring to accommodate itself to every jerk of Jan's
head. "You hev killed Mistah Gordon, as brave and honorable a gentleman
as ever hit the trail aftah the dogs. Youah a murderah, suh, and without
honah."

"An' yer no comrade," broke in Red Bill. "If you was, you'd hang 'thout
rampin' around an' roarin'. Come on, Jan, there's a good fellow. Don't
give us no more trouble. Jes' quit, an' we'll hang yeh neat and handy,
an' be done with it."

"Steady, all!" Lawson, the sailorman, bawled. "Jam his head into the
bean pot and batten down."

"But my fingah, suh," Mr. Taylor protested.