wife of yours. I 'll lave it to her, for the truth I spake."
Bettles flared up in sudden wrath. The Irishman had unwittingly wounded him; for his wife was the half-breed daughter of a Russian fur-trader, married to him in the Greek Mission of Nulato, a thousand miles or so down the Yukon, thus being of much higher caste than the common Siwash, or native, wife. It was a mere Northland nuance, which none but the Northland adventurer may understand.
"I reckon you kin take it that way," was his deliberate affirmation.
The next instant Lon McFane had stretched him on the floor, the circle was broken up, and half a dozen men had stepped between.
Bettles came to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. "It hain't new, this takin' and payin' of blows, and don't you never think but that this will be squared."
"An' niver in me life did I take the lie from mortal man," was the retort courteous. "An' it 's an avil day I 'll not be to hand, waitin' an' willin' to help ye lift yer debts, barrin' no manner of way."
"Still got that 38-55?"
