Certainly the men of the little Yukon camp began to find their rations horribly short commons, and to suffer a continual hunger, never wholly appeased.  It is conditions like these that bring out the brute latent in all men.  The day came to mean three scant meals.  Each meal came to mean a silent struggle in each man’s soul not to let his stomach get the better of his head and heart.  At first they joked and laughed about their hunger and the scarcity.  By-and-by it became too serious, the jest was wry-faced and rang false.  They had, in the beginning, each helped himself from common dishes set in the middle of the rough plank table.  Later, each found how, without meaning to—­hating himself for it—­he watched food on its way to others’ plates with an evil eye.  When it came to his turn, he had an ever-recurrent struggle with himself not to take the lion’s share.  There were ironical comments now and then, and ill-concealed bitterness.  No one of the five would have believed he could feel so towards a human being about a morsel of food, but those who think they would be above it, have not wintered in the Arctic regions or fought in the Boer War.  The difficulty was frankly faced at last, and it was ordained in council that the Colonel should be dispenser of the food.

“Can’t say I like the office,” quoth he, “but here goes!” and he cut the bacon with an anxious hand, and spooned out the beans solemnly as if he weighed each “go.”  And the Trio presently retired to the Little Cabin to discuss whether the Colonel didn’t show favouritism to the Boy, and, when Mac was asleep, how they could get rid of Kaviak.

So presently another council was called, and the Colonel resigned his office, stipulating that each man in turn should hold it for a week, and learn how ungrateful it was.  Moreover, that whoever was, for the nonce, occupying the painful post, should be loyally upheld by all the others, which arrangement was in force to the end.

And still, on grounds political, religious, social, trivial, the disaffection grew.  Two of the Trio sided against the odd man, Potts, and turned him out of the Little Cabin one night during a furious snowstorm, that had already lasted two days, had more than half buried the hut, and nearly snowed up the little doorway.  The Colonel and the Boy had been shovelling nearly all the day before to keep free the entrance to the Big Cabin and the precious “bottle” window, as well as their half of the path between the two dwellings.  O’Flynn and Potts had played poker and quarrelled as usual.

The morning after the ejection of Potts, and his unwilling reception at the Big Cabin, Mac and O’Flynn failed to appear for breakfast.

“Guess they’re huffy,” says Potts, stretching out his feet, very comfortable in their straw-lined mucklucks, before the big blaze.  “Bring on the coffee, Kaviak.”

“No,” says the Colonel, “we won’t begin without the other fellows.”