The door opened.  “Mr. Welse, Mr. Foster sent me to find out if he is to go on filling signed warehouse orders?”

“Certainly, Mr. Smith.  But tell him to scale them down by half.  If a man holds an order for a thousand pounds, give him five hundred.”

He lighted a cigar and tilted back again in his chair.

“Captain McGregor wants to see you, sir.”

“Send him in.”

Captain McGregor strode in and remained standing before his employer.  The rough hand of the New World had been laid upon the Scotsman from his boyhood; but sterling honesty was written in every line of his bitter-seamed face, while a prognathous jaw proclaimed to the onlooker that honesty was the best policy,—­for the onlooker at any rate, should he wish to do business with the owner of the jaw.  This warning was backed up by the nose, side-twisted and broken, and by a long scar which ran up the forehead and disappeared in the gray-grizzled hair.

“We throw off the lines in an hour, sir; so I’ve come for the last word.”

“Good.”  Jacob Welse whirled his chair about.  “Captain McGregor.”

“Ay.”

“I had other work cut out for you this winter; but I have changed my mind and chosen you to go down with the Laura.  Can you guess why?”

Captain McGregor swayed his weight from one leg to the other, and a shrewd chuckle of a smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes.  “Going to be trouble,” he grunted.

“And I couldn’t have picked a better man.  Mr. Bally will give you detailed instructions as you go aboard.  But let me say this:  If we can’t scare enough men out of the country, there’ll be need for every pound of grub at Fort Yukon.  Understand?”

“Ay.”

“So no extravagance.  You are taking three hundred men down with you.  The chances are that twice as many more will go down as soon as the river freezes.  You’ll have a thousand to feed through the winter.  Put them on rations,—­working rations,—­and see that they work.  Cordwood, six dollars per cord, and piled on the bank where steamers can make a landing.  No work, no rations.  Understand?”

“Ay.”

“A thousand men can get ugly, if they are idle.  They can get ugly anyway.  Watch out they don’t rush the caches.  If they do,—­do your duty.”

The other nodded grimly.  His hands gripped unconsciously, while the scar on his forehead took on a livid hue.

“There are five steamers in the ice.  Make them safe against the spring break-up.  But first transfer all their cargoes to one big cache.  You can defend it better, and make the cache impregnable.  Send a messenger down to Fort Burr, asking Mr. Carter for three of his men.  He doesn’t need them.  Nothing much is doing at Circle City.  Stop in on the way down and take half of Mr. Burdwell’s men.  You’ll need them.  There’ll be gun-fighters in plenty to deal with.  Be stiff.  Keep things in check from the start.  Remember, the man who shoots first comes off with the whole hide.  And keep a constant eye on the grub.”