Lucky Broad uttered a yelp of encouragement.  “Hangin’ sounds better ’n it feels,” he declared.  “Think it over, you family men.  When you make your stakes and go home, little Johnny’s going to climb onto your knee and say, ’Papa, tell me why you hung that man at Sheep Camp,’ and you’ll say, ’Why, son, we hung him because he stole a sack of rice.’  Like hell you will!”

’Poleon Doret regained public attention by saying, “Messieurs, I got s’prise for you.”  He lifted himself to his toes and called loudly over the heads of the assembled citizens, “Dis way, madame.”  From the direction he was looking there came a swiftly moving figure, the figure of a tall woman with straw-gold hair.  Men gave way before her.  She hurried straight to the tent platform, where ’Poleon leaned down, took her beneath her arms, and swung her lightly up beside him.  “Madame de Countess Courteau,” he announced; then with a flourish he swept off his knitted cap and bowed to the new-comer.  To those beneath him he cried, sharply, “Tak’ off dose hat or I knock dem off.”

The Countess, too, had evidently made haste, for she was breathing deeply.  She flashed a smile at Pierce Phillips, then said, so that all could hear: 

“I understand you accuse this young man of stealing something last night.  Well, he was in Linderman.  He brought me over to-day.”

“We don’t care so much about the rice; this stealing has been going on for a long time,” a bystander explained.

“True.  But the rice was stolen last night, wasn’t it?  The man who stole it probably stole the other stuff.”

“They’re two to one,” Pierce told her.  “They’re trying to saw it off on me.”

The Countess turned and stared at the McCaskey brothers, who met her look defiantly.  “Ban!” she exclaimed.  “I haven’t heard the evidence, for I was on my way to Dyea when Mr.—­” She glanced inquiringly at ’Poleon.

He bowed again.  “Doret,” said he.  “Napoleon Doret.”

“—­when Mr. Doret overtook me, but I’m willing to wager my life that this boy isn’t a thief.”  Again she smiled at Phillips, and he experienced a tumult of conflicting emotions.  Never had he seen a woman like this one, who radiated such strength, such confidence, such power.  She stood there like a goddess, a splendid creature fashioned of snow and gold; she dominated the assembly.  He was embarrassed that she should find him in this predicament, shamed that she should be forced to come to his assistance; nevertheless, he was thrilled at her ready response.

It was the elder McCaskey who next claimed attention.  “We’ve made our spiel,” he began; then he launched into a repetition of his former statement of facts.

The Countess stepped to Pierce’s side, inquiring, quickly, “What is this, a joke?”

“I thought so at first, but it looks as if I’ll be cutting figure eights on the end of a tent-rope.”

“What makes them think you did the stealing?”