There wasn’t a man in the camp who didn’t resent the millionaire’s tone.

“This is a great friend of ours—­ain’t you, Kaviak?” said the Boy.  “He’s got a soul above gold-mines, haven’t you?  He sees other fellas helping themselves to his cricket and his high chair—­too polite to object—­just goes and sits like a philosopher on the bones of dead devils and looks on.  Other fellas sittin’ in his place talkin’ about gold and drinkin’ punch—­never offerin’ him a drop—­”

Several cups were held out, but Mac motioned them back.

“I don’t think,” says John Dillon slyly—­“don’t think this punch will hurt the gentleman.”

And a roar went up at the Colonel’s expense.  General Lighter pulled himself to his feet, saying there was a little good Old Rye left outside, and he could stock up again when he got to the Oklahoma.

“Oh, and it’s yersilf that don’t shoy off from a dthrop o’ the craythur whin yer thravellin’ the thrail.”

Everybody looked at Benham.  He got up and began to put on his furs; his dog-driver, squatting by the door, took the hint, and went out to see after the team.

“Oh, well,” said the General to O’Flynn, “it’s Christmas, you know”; and he picked his way among the closely-packed company to the door.

“We ought to be movin’, too,” said Dillon, straightening up.  The General halted, depressed at the reminder.  “You know we swore we wouldn’t stop again unless—­”

“Look here, didn’t you hear me saying it was Christmas?”

“You been sayin’ that for twenty-four hours.  Been keepin’ Christmas right straight along since yesterday mornin.”  But the General had gone out to unpack the whisky.  “He knocked up the mission folks, bright and early yesterday, to tell ’em about the Glad News Tiding’s—­Diggin’s, I mean.”

“What did they say?”

“Weren’t as good an audience as the General’s used to; that’s why we pushed on.  We’d heard about your camp, and the General felt a call to preach the Gospel accordin’ to Minook down this way.”

“He don’t seem to be standin’ the racket as well as you,” said Schiff.

“Well, sir, this is the first time I’ve found him wantin’ to hang round after he’s thoroughly rubbed in the news.”

Dillon moved away from the fire; the crowded cabin was getting hot.

Nevertheless the Colonel put on more wood, explaining to Salmon P. and the others, who also moved back, that it was for illuminating purposes—­those two candles burning down low, each between three nails in a little slab of wood—­those two had been kept for Christmas, and were the last they had.

In the general movement from the fire, Benham, putting on his cap and gloves, had got next to Dillon.

“Look here,” said the Trader, under cover of the talk about candles, “what sort of a trip have you had?”

The Yukon pioneer looked at him a moment, and then took his pipe out of his mouth to say: