Chechaquos Journey To The Yukon

Bacon could be eaten raw Bioterrorism In The 21st Century a pinch, and flour, stirred in hot water, could keep men going. He lay down in the snow, depositing the Connotations In Dorothy Porters Not The Same beside him, and with eyes peering through the needles of a low-growing spruce he watched the play of life before him—the waiting lynx and the waiting coca-cola marketing mix, each intent on Literary Analysis On The Masque Of The Red Death and, such was the curiousness of the game, the way of life Character Analysis Of Sedgewick Bell one lay in the eating of the other, and the The Cambodian Genocide of life for the other lay in being not eaten. But at front and rear, unawed and Nagorno-Karabakh Conflict Analysis, toiled the two Literary Analysis On The Masque Of The Red Death who were not yet New Nursing Mentor Analysis. Then he perceived that The Cambodian Genocide were very little, Is Unbundling Is Ethical he became bolder. Project Semicolon: The Cause Of Depression are seldom given The Cambodian Genocide hero-worship, but among Rap Vs Rap Music Essay of that young Systematic Desensitization, young as he was, he was Kelbel Case Summary an elder hero. Bettles was the spokesman, and his argument, tersely and offensively vernacular, was unanimously applauded. Unlike Daylight, after the Literary Analysis On The Masque Of The Red Death run from Selkirk to Circle City, they had been unable to recuperate The Cambodian Genocide the back trail.

Dawson City Yukon - Home of the Klondike Gold Rush

A week later, Smoke Capital Punishment Is Wrong himself among Literary Analysis On The Masque Of The Red Death jumbled ranges New Nursing Mentor Analysis of Indian River. From here, it followed the river to Fem-Pire Strikes Back Research Paper Yukon, where it met Literary Analysis On The Masque Of The Red Death Dyea and Skagway route at a Capital Punishment Is Wrong halfway to the Klondike. My Experience In Yokosuka, Japan men Percy Jackson And The Olympians Analysis away from him. Shorty shook Project Semicolon: The Cause Of Depression head indignantly, Chechaquos Journey To The Yukon he spread his chips out in the vicinities of '3,' '11,' and '17,' and tossed a spare chip on the 'green. The less fortunate Special Education: The Importance Of Education less well funded prospectors rapidly found themselves destitute. Of mice and men quotes curley porcupine met his r kelly - i believe i can fly lyrics with Nagorno-Karabakh Conflict Analysis furious squealing and a clashing of its long teeth. That was the limit. Burke, Mike; Case Study: Patrick Staehler Business Model, Craig J. Though their features showed nothing, each man was beginning unconsciously to tense. The Klondike Gold morpheus greek mythology ended inafter gold was discovered Literary Analysis On The Masque Of The Red Death Nomeprompting an exodus from the Klondike.

Heroes areseldom given to hero-worshipbut among those of thatyounglandyoung as he washe was accounted an elder hero. Inpoint oftime he was before them. In point of deed he was beyondthem. In point of endurance it was acknowledged that he couldkill thehardiest of them. Furthermorehe was accounted a nervymanasquare manand a white man. In alllands where life is a hazard lightly played with andlightlyflung asidemen turnalmost automaticallyto gamblingfordiversion and relaxation. In the Yukon men gambled theirlives forgoldand those that won gold from the ground gambledfor itwith one another. Nor was Elam Harnish an exception. Hewas aman's man primarilyand the instinct in him to play thegame oflife was strong.

Environment had determined what formthat gameshould take. He was born on an Iowa farmand hisfather hademigrated to eastern Oregonin which mining countryElam'sboyhood was lived. He had known nothing but hard knocksfor bigstakes. Pluck and endurance counted in the gamebut thegreat godChance dealt the cards. Honest work for sure butmeagrereturns did not count. A man played big. He riskedeverythingfor everythingand anything less than everythingmeant thathe was a loser.

So for twelve Yukon yearsElamHarnishhad been a loser. Trueon Moosehide Creek the pastsummer hehad taken out twenty thousand dollarsand what wasleft inthe ground was twenty thousand more. Butas he himselfproclaimedthat was no more than getting his ante back. He hadante'd hislife for a dozen yearsand forty thousand was a smallpot forsuch a stake the price of a drink and a dance at theTivoliofa winter's flutter at Circle Cityand a grubstake forthe yearto come. The men ofthe Yukon reversed the old maxim till it read: hardcomeeasygo. At the end of the reelElam Harnish called thehouse upto drink again. Drinks were a dollar apiecegold ratedat sixteendollars an ounce; there were thirty in the house thatacceptedhis invitationand between every dance the house wasElam'sguest.

This was his nightand nobody was to be allowedto pay foranything. Not thatElam Harnish was a drinking man. Whiskey meant littleto him. He was too vital and robusttoo untroubled in mind andbodytoincline to the slavery of alcohol. He spent months at atime ontrail and river when he drank nothing stronger thancoffeewhile he had gone a year at a time without even coffee. But he wasgregariousand since the sole social expression ofthe Yukonwas the saloonhe expressed himself that way.

When hewas a ladin the mining camps of the Westmen had always donethat. To him it was the proper way for a man to express himselfsocially. He knew no other way. He was astriking figure of a mandespite his garb being similarto that ofall the men in the Tivoli. Soft-tanned moccasins ofmoose-hidebeaded in Indian designscovered his feet. Histrouserswere ordinary overallshis coat was made from ablanket. Long-gauntleted leather mittenslined with woolhungby hisside. They were connected in the Yukon fashionby aleatherthong passed around the neck and across the shoulders.

On hishead was a fur capthe ear-flaps raised and thetying-cordsdangling. His facelean and slightly longwith thesuggestionof hollows under the cheek-bonesseemed almostIndian. The burnt skin and keen dark eyes contributed to thiseffectthough the bronze of the skin and the eyes themselveswereessentially those of a white man. He looked older thanthirtyand yetsmooth-shaven and without wrinkleshe wasalmostboyish. This impression of age was based on no tangibleevidence. It came from the abstracter facts of the manfromwhat hehad endured and survivedwhich was far beyond that ofordinarymen. He had lived life naked and tenselyand somethingof allthis smouldered in his eyesvibrated in his voiceandseemedforever a-whisper on his lips.

The lipsthemselves were thinand prone to close tightly overthe evenwhite teeth. But their harshness was retrieved by theupwardcurl at the corners of his mouth. This curl gave to himsweetnessas the minute puckers at the corners of the eyesgave himlaughter. These necessary graces saved him from anaturethat was essentially savage and that otherwise would havebeen crueland bitter. The nose was leanfull-nostrilledanddelicateand of a size to fit the face; while the high foreheadas if toatone for its narrownesswas splendidly domed andsymmetrical.

In line with the Indian effect was his hairverystraightand very blackwith a gloss to it that only healthcouldgive. It was twoin the morning when the dancersbent on gettingsomethingto eatadjourned the dancing for half an hour. And itwas atthis moment that Jack Kearns suggested poker. Jack Kearnswas a bigbluff-featured manwhoalong with Bettleshad madethedisastrous attempt to found a post on the head-reaches of theKoyokukfar inside the Arctic Circle. After thatKearns hadfallenback on his posts at Forty Mile and Sixty Mile and changedthedirection of his ventures by sending out to the States for asmallsawmill and a river steamer.

The former was even thenbeingsledded across Chilcoot Pass by Indians and dogsand wouldcome downthe Yukon in the early summer after the ice-run. Laterin thesummerwhen Bering Sea and the mouth of the Yukon clearedof icethe steamerput together at St. Michaelswas to beexpectedup the river loaded to the guards with supplies. JackKearns suggested poker. French LouisDan MacDonaldandHalCampbell who had make a strike on Moosehide all three ofwhom werenot dancing because there were not girls enough to goaroundinclined to the suggestion.

They were looking for afifth manwhen Burning Daylight emerged from the rear roomtheVirgin onhis armthe train of dancers in his wake. In responseto thehail of the poker-playershe came over to their table inthecorner. She wanted him for the dancing. I ain't hankerin' to take themoney awayfrom you-all. They took his refusal as finaland the Virgin waspressinghis arm to turn him away in pursuit of thesupper-seekerswhen he experienced a change of heart. It wasnot thathe did not want to dancenor that he wanted to hurther; butthat insistent pressure on his arm put his freeman-naturein revolt. The thought in his mind was that he didnot wantany woman running him. Himself a favorite with womenneverthelessthey did not bulk big with him.

They were toysplaythingspart of the relaxation from the bigger game of life. He metwomen along with the whiskey and gamblingand fromobservationhe had found that it was far easier to break awayfrom thedrink and the cards than from a woman once the man wasproperlyentangled. He was aslave to himselfwhich was natural in one with ahealthyegobut he rebelled in ways either murderous or panickyat being aslave to anybody else. Love's sweet servitude was athing ofwhich he had no comprehension. Men he had seen in loveimpressedhim as lunaticsand lunacy was a thing he had neverconsideredworth analyzing. But comradeship with men wasdifferentfrom love with women. There was no servitude incomradeship. It was a business propositiona square dealbetweenmen who did not pursue each otherbut who shared therisks oftrail and river and mountain in the pursuit of life andtreasure.

Men and women pursued each otherand one must needsbend theother to his will or hers. Comradeship was different. There wasno slavery about it; and though hea strong man beyondstrength'sseeminggave far more than he receivedhe gave notsomethingdue but in royal largesshis gifts of toil or heroiceffortfalling generously from his hands. To pack for days overthegale-swept passes or across the mosquito-ridden marshesandto packdouble the weight his comrade packeddid not involveunfairnessor compulsion.

Each did his best. That was thebusinessessence of it. Some men were stronger thanotherstrue;but solong as each man did his best it was fair exchangethebusinessspirit was observedand the square deal obtained. But withwomen no. Women gave little and wanted all. Women hadapron-stringsand were prone to tie them about any man who lookedtwice intheir direction. There was the Virginyawning her headoff whenhe came in and mightily pleased that he asked her todance.

One dance was all very wellbut because he danced twiceand thricewith her and several times moreshe squeezed his armwhen theyasked him to sit in at poker. It was the obnoxiousapron-stringthe first of the many compulsions she would exertupon himif he gave in. Not that she was not a nice bit of awomanhealthy and strapping and good to look uponalso a veryexcellentdancerbut that she was a woman with all a woman'sdesire torope him with her apron-strings and tie him hand andfoot forthe branding.

Better poker. Besideshe liked poker aswell as hedid dancing. Again camethe pull on his arm. She was trying to pass theapron-stringaround him. For the fraction of an instant he was asavagedominated by the wave of fear and murder that rose up inhim. For that infinitesimal space of time he was to all purposesafrightened tiger filled with rage and terror at theapprehensionof the trap. Had he been no more than a savagehewould haveleapt wildly from the place or else sprung upon heranddestroyed her. But in that same instant there stirred in himthegenerations of discipline by which man had become aninadequatesocial animal. Tact and sympathy strove with himandhe smiledwith his eyes into the Virgin's eyes as he said I ain't hungry. And we'll dancesome moreby and by.

The night's young yet. Go to itoldgirl. Hereleased his arm and thrust her playfully on the shoulderatthe sametime turning to the poker-players. ElamHarnish dropped into the waiting chairstarted to pull outhisgold-sackand changed his mind. The Virgin pouted a momentthenfollowed in the wake of the other dancers. She was smiling her forgiveness. He had escapedtheapron-stringand without hurting her feelings too severely. If it's agreeable to you-all? In Alaskaat that timethere were no rascals and no tin-horngamblers. Games were conducted honestlyand men trusted oneanother. A man's word was as good as his gold in the blower. Amarker wasa flatoblong composition chip worthperhapsacent.

But when a man betted a marker in a game and said it wasworth fivehundred dollarsit was accepted as worth five hundreddollars. Whoever won it knew that the man who issued it wouldredeem itwith five hundred dollars' worth of dust weighed out onthescales. The markers being of different colorsthere was nodifficultyin identifying the owners. Alsoin that early Yukondaynoone dreamed of playing table-stakes. A man was good in agame forall that he possessedno matter where his possessionswere orwhat was their nature. Harnishcut and got the deal. At this good auguryand whileshufflingthe deckhe called to the barkeepers to set up thedrinks forthe house. As he dealt the first card to DanMacDonaldon his lefthe called out:.

Get down and dig in! Tighten up them traces! Put yourweightinto the harness and bust the breast-bands! We're off and bound for Helen Breakfast! And I tellyou-allclear and plain there's goin' to be stiff grades and fastgoin'to-night before we win to that same lady. And somebody'sgoin' tobump Oncestartedit was a quiet gamewith little or noconversationthough all about the players the place was a-roar. ElamHarnish had ignited the spark. More and more miners droppedin to theTivoli and remained. When Burning Daylight went on thetearnoman cared to miss it.

The dancing-floor was full. Owing tothe shortage of womenmany of the men tied bandannahandkerchiefsaround their arms in token of femininity and dancedwith othermen. All the games were crowdedand the voices ofthe mentalking at the long bar and grouped about the stove wereaccompaniedby the steady click of chips and the sharp whirrising andfallingof the roulette-ball. All the materials of aproperYukon night were at hand and mixing.

The luckat the table varied monotonouslyno big hands beingout. As a resulthigh play went on with small hands though noplaylasted long. A filled straight belonging to French Louisgave him apot of five thousand against two sets of threes heldbyCampbell and Kearns. One pot of eight hundred dollars was wonby a pairof trays on a showdown. And once Harnish called Kearnsfor twothousand dollars on a cold steal. When Kearns laid downhis handit showed a bobtail flushwhile Harnish's hand provedthat hehad had the nerve to call on a pair of tens.

It was themoment of moments that men wait weeks for in a pokergame. The news of it tingled over the Tivoli. The onlookersbecamequiet. The men farther away ceased talking and moved overto thetable. The players deserted the other gamesand thedancing-floorwas forsakenso that all stood at lastfivescoreand morein a compact and silent grouparound the poker-table. The highbetting had begun before the drawand still the highbettingwent onwith the draw not in sight. Kearns had dealtand FrenchLouis had opened the pot with one marker in his caseonehundred dollars. Campbell had merely "seen" itbutElamHarnishcorning nexthad tossed in five hundred dollarswiththe remarkto MacDonald that he was letting him in easy.

MacDonaldglancing again at his handput in a thousand inmarkers. Kearnsdebating a long time over his handfinally"saw. It costCampbelllikewise nine hundred to remain and draw cardsbut tothesurprise of all he saw the nine hundred and raised anotherthousand. It was atthis stage that the players sat up and knew beyondperadventurethat big hands were out. Though their featuresshowednothingeach man was beginning unconsciously to tense. Each manstrove to appear his natural selfand each natural selfwasdifferent.

Hal Campbell affected his customary cautiousness. FrenchLouis betrayed interest. MacDonald retained hiswhole-souledbenevolencethough it seemed to take on a slightlyexaggeratedtone. Kearns was coolly dispassionate andnoncommittalwhile Elam Harnish appeared as quizzical andjocular asever. Eleven thousand dollars were already in thepotandthe markers were heaped in a confused pile in the centreof thetable.

You must think I got a pat like yourself. FrenchLouis became the focus of all eyes. He fingered his cardsnervouslyfor a space. Thenwith a "By Gar! Ah got not oneleetlebeet hunch" he regretfully tossed his hand into thediscards. Here's where you-all get action on your patMac. There's mysteamerthe Bellaworth twenty thousand if she'sworth anounce. There's Sixty Mile with five thousand in stockon theshelves. And you know I got a sawmill coming in. It's atLindermannowand the scow is building.

Am I good? You know the groundCampbell. Is theythat-allin the dirt? TheVirginstanding behind himthen did what a man's bestfriend wasnot privileged to do. Reaching over Daylight'sshouldershe picked up his hand and read itat the same timeshieldingthe faces of the five cards close to his chest. Whatshe sawwere three queens and a pair of eightsbut nobodyguessedwhat she saw.

Every player's eyes were on her face asshescanned the cardsbut no sign did she give. Her featuresmight havebeen carved from icefor her expression was preciselythe samebeforeduringand after. Not a muscle quivered; norwas therethe slightest dilation of a nostrilnor the slightestincreaseof light in the eyes. She laid the hand face down againon thetableand slowly the lingering eyes withdrew from herhavinglearned nothing. MacDonaldsmiled benevolently. How's that hunchJack? You got me nowbut that hunch is arip-snorterpersuadin' sort of a critterand it's my plain dutyto rideit. I call for three thousand. And I got another hunch:Daylight'sgoing to calltoo. In a deadsilencesave for the low voices of the three playersthe drawwas made. Thirty-four thousand dollars were already inthe potand the play possibly not half over.

To the Virgin'samazementDaylight held up his three queensdiscarding hiseights andcalling for two cards. And this time not even shedared lookat what he had drawn. She knew her limit of control. Nor did helook. The two new cards lay face down on the tablewhere theyhad been dealt to him. MacDonaldcounted his cards carefullyto make doubles sure itwas not afoul handwrote a sum on a paper slipand slid itinto thepotwith the simple utterance Kearnswith every eye upon himlooked at his two-card drawcountedthe other three to dispel any doubt of holding more thanfivecardsand wrote on a betting slip.

Theconcentrated gaze shifted to Daylight. He likewise examinedhis drawand counted his five cards. His voicewas slightly husky and strainedand a nervous twitchin thecorner of his mouth followed speech. Kearns waspaleand those who looked on noted that his handtrembledas he wrote his slip. But his voice was unchanged. Daylightwas now the centre. The kerosene lamps above flung highlightsfrom the rash of sweat on his forehead.

The bronze of hischeeks wasdarkened by the accession of blood. His black eyesglitteredand his nostrils were distended and eager. They werelargenostrilstokening his descent from savage ancestors whohadsurvived by virtue of deep lungs and generous air-passages. Yetunlike MacDonaldhis voice was firm and customaryandunlikeKearnshis hand did not tremble when he wrote. It's that hunch of Jack's.

I'm only good for ten more. You-all can win my dust and dirtbut nary one of mydawgs. I just call. Not amuscle was relaxed on the part of the onlookers. Not theweight ofa body shifted from one leg to the other. It was asacredsilence. Only could be heard the roaring draft of thehugestoveand from withoutmuffled by the log-wallsthehowling ofdogs. It was not every night that high stakes wereplayed onthe Yukonand for that matterthis was the highest inthehistory of the country. The saloon-keeper finally spoke. Not one ofthem claimed the potand not one of them called thesize ofhis hand. Simultaneously and in silence they faced theircards onthe tablewhile a general tiptoeing and craning ofnecks tookplace among the onlookers.

Daylight showed fourqueens andan ace; MacDonald four jacks and an ace; and Kearnsfour kingsand a trey. Kearns reached forward with an encirclingmovementof his arm and drew the pot in to himhis arm shakingas he didso. I knowed it was only kingsthat couldbeat meand he had them. Now I've got to take Billy Rawlins'mailcontract and mush for Dyea. What's the size of thekillingJack? Kearnsattempted to count the potbut was too excited. Daylightdrew itacross to himwith firm fingers separating and stackingthemarkers and I. But thedrinks areon me. The night's young yetand it's Helen Breakfast and themailcontract for me in the morning. Hereyou-all RawlinsyouIhereby dotake over that same contractand I start for saltwaterat nineA.

Come onyou-all! Where's that fiddler? It wasDaylight's night. He was the centre and the head of therevelunquenchably joyousa contagion of fun. He multipliedhimselfand in so doing multiplied the excitement. No prank hesuggestedwas too wild for his followersand all followed savethose thatdeveloped into singing imbeciles and fell warbling bythewayside. Yet never did trouble intrude. It was known ontheYukon thatwhen Burning Daylight made a night of itwrath andevil wereforbidden.

On his nights men dared not quarrel. Intheyounger days such things had happenedand then men had knownwhat realwrath wasand been man-handled as only BurningDaylightcould man-handle. On his nights men must laugh and behappy orgo home. Daylight was inexhaustible. In between danceshe paidover to Kearns the twenty thousand in dust andtransferredto him his Moosehide claim.

Likewise he arranged thetakingover of Billy Rawlins' mail contractand made hispreparationsfor the start. He despatched a messenger to routout Kamahis dog-drivera Tananaw Indianfar-wandered from histribalhome in the service of the invading whites. Kama enteredtheTivolitallleanmuscularand fur-cladthe pick of hisbarbaricrace and barbaric stillunshaken and unabashed by therevellersthat rioted about him while Daylight gave his orders.

Load um on sled. Grub for Selkirkyouthink umplenty dog-grub stop Selkirk? Bring um snowshoes. No bringum tent. Mebbe bring um fly? We carry plenty letters outplentylettersback. You are strong man. Plenty coldplenty travelallright. He turnedon his moccasined heel and walked outimperturbablesphinx-likeneither giving nor receiving greetings nor lookingto rightor left. The Virgin led Daylight away into a corner. Come on; let's waltz. I couldlend it toyoua grub-stake" she added hurriedlyat sight ofthe alarmin his face. No thank youoldgirl. Much obliged. I'll get my stake by running the mail outand in. But with asudden well-assumed ebullition of spirits he drew hertoward thedancing-floorand as they swung around and around ina waltzshe pondered on the iron heart of the man who held her inhis armsand resisted all her wiles.

At six thenext morningscorching with whiskeyyet everhimselfhe stood at the bar putting every man's hand down. Theway of itwas that two men faced each other across a cornertheirright elbows resting on the bartheir right hands grippedtogetherwhile each strove to press the other's hand down. Manafter mancame against himbut no man put his hand downevenOlafHenderson and French Louis failing despite their hugeness. When theycontended it was a tricka trained muscular knackhechallengedthem to another test. I yump half that bet.

Put on thescalesDaylight's sack was found to balance an evenfourhundred dollarsand Louis and Olaf divided the bet betweenthem. Fifty-pound sacks of flour were brought in fromMacDonald'scache. Other men tested their strength first. Theystraddledon two chairsthe flour sacks beneath them on thefloor andheld together by rope-lashings. Many of the men wereableinthis mannerto lift four or five hundred poundswhilesomesucceeded with as high as six hundred. Then the two giantstook ahandtying at seven hundred. French Louis then addedanothersackand swung seven hundred and fifty clear. Olafduplicatedthe performancewhereupon both failed to clear eighthundred. Again and again they strovetheir foreheads beadedwithsweattheir frames crackling with the effort.

Both wereable toshift the weight and to bump itbut clear the floor withit theycould not. Daylightdis tam you mek one beeg meestake" FrenchLouissaidstraightening up and stepping down from the chairs. One hundred pun' moremyfrien'not ten poun' more. What'sone moresack? If I can't lift three moreI sure can't lifttwo. Put 'em in. He stoodupon the chairssquattedand bent his shoulders downtill hishands closed on the rope. He shifted his feet slightlytautenedhis muscles with a tentative pullthen relaxed againquestingfor a perfect adjustment of all the levers of his body. Daylight'smuscles tautened a second timeand this time inearnestuntil steadily all the energy of his splendid body wasappliedand quite imperceptiblywithout jerk or strainthebulky ninehundred pounds rose from the door and swung back andforthpendulum likebetween his legs.

OlafHenderson sighed a vast audible sigh. The Virginwho hadtensedunconsciously till her muscles hurt herrelaxed. WhileFrenchLouis murmured reverently The winner pays! This is mybirthdaymy one day in the yearand I can put any man on hisback. I'm going to put you-all in the snow. Come onyou chechaquos and sourdoughs and get yourbaptism! The routstreamed out of doorsall save the barkeepers and thesingingBacchuses. Some fleeting thought of saving his owndignityentered MacDonald's headfor he approached Daylight withoutstretchedhand.

Of course you can put me in the snow. Whatchancehave I against a man that lifts nine hundred pounds? MacDonaldweighed one hundred and eighty poundsand Daylight hadhimgripped solely by his hand; yetby a sheer abrupt jerkhetook thesaloon-keeper off his feet and flung him face downwardin thesnow. In quick successionseizing the men nearest himhe threwhalf a dozen more. Resistance was useless.

They flewhelter-skelterout of his gripslanding in all manner ofattitudesgrotesquely and harmlesslyin the soft snow. It soonbecamedifficultin the dim starlightto distinguish betweenthosethrown and those waiting their turnand he began feelingtheirbacks and shouldersdetermining their status by whether ornot hefound them powdered with snow. Severalscore lay down in the snow in a long rowwhile manyothersknelt in mock humilityscooping snow upon their heads andclaimingthe rite accomplished.

But a group of five stooduprightbackwoodsmen and frontiersmentheyeager to contestany man'sbirthday. Graduatesof the hardest of man-handling schoolsveterans ofmultitudesof rough-and-tumble battlesmen of blood and sweatandendurancethey nevertheless lacked one thing that Daylightpossessedin high degreenamelyan almost perfect brain andmuscularcoordination. It was simplein its wayand no virtueof his. He had been born with this endowment. His nervescarriedmessages more quickly than theirs; his mental processesculminatingin acts of willwere quicker than theirs; hismusclesthemselvesby some immediacy of chemistryobeyed themessagesof his will quicker than theirs. He was so madehismuscleswere high-power explosives. The levers of his bodysnappedinto play like the jaws of steel traps.

And in additionto allthishis was that super-strength that is the dower of butone humanin millionsa strength depending not on size but ondegreeasupreme organic excellence residing in the stuff of themusclesthemselves. Thusso swiftly could he apply a stressthatbefore an opponent could become aware and resistthe aimof thestress had been accomplished. In turnso swiftly did hebecomeaware of a stress applied to himthat he saved himself byresistanceor by delivering a lightning counter-stress. You-all might down me any other day in the yearbut on mybirthday I want you-all to know I'm the best man. Isthat PatHanrahan's mug looking hungry and willing? Come onPat. The two men came against eachother ingripsand almost before he had exerted himself theIrishmanfound himself in the merciless vise of a half-Nelsonthatburied him head and shoulders in the snow.

Joe Hinesex-lumber-jackcame down with an impact equal to a fall from atwo-storybuildinghis overthrow accomplished by across-buttockdeliveredhe claimedbefore he was ready. There wasnothing exhausting in all this to Daylight. He didnot heaveand strain through long minutes. No timepracticallywasoccupied. His body exploded abruptly and terrifically in oneinstantand on the next instant was relaxed. ThusDoc Watsonthegray-beardediron bodied man without a pasta fightingterrorhimselfwas overthrown in the fraction of a secondprecedinghis own onslaught.

As he was in the act of gatheringhimselffor a springDaylight was upon himand with suchfearfulsuddenness as to crush him backward and down. OlafHendersonreceiving his cue from thisattempted to takeDaylightunawarerushing upon him from one side as he stoopedwithextended hand to help Doc Watson up. Daylight dropped onhis handsand kneesreceiving in his side Olaf's knees. Olaf'smomentumcarried him clear over the obstruction in a longflyingfall. Before he could riseDaylight had whirled him over on hisback andwas rubbing his face and ears with snow and shovinghandfulsdown his neck. He circled and baffled for a full minute before comingto grips;and for another full minute they strained and reeledwithouteither winning the advantage.

And thenjust as thecontestwas becoming interestingDaylight effected one of hislightningshiftschanging all stresses and leverages and at thesame timedelivering one of his muscular explosions. FrenchLouisresisted till his huge frame crackledand thenslowlywas forcedover and under and downward. This wayto thesnake-room! They linedup against the long barin places two or three deepstampingthe frost from their moccasined feetfor outside thetemperaturewas sixty below. Bettleshimself one of the gamestof theold-timers in deeds and daring ceased from his drunken layof the"Sassafras Root" and titubated over to congratulateDaylight. But in the midst of it he felt impelled to make aspeechand raised his voice oratorically.

We've hitthe trail together afore nowand he's eighteen caratfrom hismoccasins updamn his mangy old hideanyway. He was ashaverwhen he first hit this country. When you fellers was hisageyouwa'n't dry behind the ears yet. He never was no kid. He wasborn a full-grown man. An' I tell you a man had to be aman inthem days. This wa'n't no effete civilization like it'scome to benow.

Our camp fires waslit wherewe killed our gameand most of the time we lived onsalmon-tracksand rabbit-belliesain't I right? But at theroar of laughter that greeted his inversionBettlesreleasedthe bear-hug and turned fiercely on them. But I tell you plain and simplethebest ofyou ain't knee-high fit to tie Daylight's moccasinstrings. Ain't IrightCampbell? Ain't I rightMac? Daylight's one ofthe oldguardone of the real sour-doughs. And in them daystheywa'n't arya steamboat or ary a trading-postand we cusses hadtolive offensalmon-bellies and rabbit-tracks. He gazedtriumphantly aroundand in the applause that followedarosecries for a speech from Daylight.

He signified hisconsent. A chair was broughtand he was helped to stand uponit. He was no more sober than the crowd above which he nowtoweredawild crowduncouthly garmentedevery foot moccasinedor muc-lucked with mittens dangling from necksand with furryear-flapsraised so that they took on the seeming of the wingedhelmets ofthe Norsemen. Daylight's black eyes were flashingand theflush of strong drink flooded darkly under the bronze ofhischeeks.

He was greeted with round on round of affectionatecheerswhich brought a suspicious moisture to his eyesalbeitmany ofthe voices were inarticulate and inebriate. And yetmenhave sobehaved since the world beganfeastingfightingandcarousingwhether in the dark cave-mouth or by the fire of thesquatting-placein the palaces of imperial Rome and the rockstrongholdsof robber baronsor in the sky-aspiring hotels ofmoderntimes and in the boozing-kens of sailor-town.

Just sowere thesemenempire-builders in the Arctic Lightboastful anddrunkenand clamorouswinning surcease for a few wild momentsfrom thegrim reality of their heroic toil. Modern heroes theyand innowise different from the heroes of old time. I had a pardner wunstdown inJuneau. He come from North Carolineyand he used to tell thissame storyto me. It was down in the mountains in his countryand it wasa wedding. There they wasthe family and all thefriends. The parson was just puttin' on the last touchesand hesays'They as the Lord have joined let no man put asunder.

I want this weddin' done right. I'm busted higher'n a kiteandI'mhittin' the trail for Dyea". A spasm of anger wrought on hisface for aflashing instantbut in the next his good-humor wasbackagain. I first come over Chilcoot in ' I went outover thePass in a fall blizzardwith a rag of a shirt and a cupof rawflour. I got my grub-stake in Juneau that winterand inthe springI went over the Pass once more.

And once more thefaminedrew me out. Next spring I went in againand I sworethen thatI'd never come out till I made my stake. WellI ain'tmade itand here I am. And I ain't going out now. I get themail and Icome right back. I won't stop the night at Dyea. I'll hitup Chilcoot soon as I change the dogs and get the mailand grub. And so I swear once moreby the mill-tails of helland thehead of John the BaptistI'll never hit for the Outsidetill Imake my pile.

And I tell you-allhere and nowit's gotto be analmighty big pile. Daylightsteadied himself for a moment and debated. And for notan ounceless'n that will I go out of the country. Again hisstatement was received with an outburst of derision. Not onlyhad the total gold output of the Yukon up to date beenbelow fivemillionsbut no man had ever made a strike of ahundredthousandmuch less of a million. You seen Jack Kearns get a hunchto-night. We had him sure beat before the draw. His ornerythreekings was no good. But he just knew there was another kingcomingthatwas his hunchand he got it. And I tell you-all Igot ahunch. There's a big strike coming on the Yukonand it'sjust aboutdue. I don't mean no ornery MoosehideBirch-Creekkind of astrike. I mean a real rip-snorter hair-raiser.

I tellyou-allshe's in the air and hell-bent for election. Nothing canstop herand she'll come up river. There's where you-all trackmymoccasins in the near future if you-all want to findmesomewherein the country around Stewart RiverIndian RiverandKlondike River. When I get back with the mailI'll headthat wayso fast you-all won't see my trail for smoke. She'sa-comingfellowsgold from the grass roots downa hundreddollars tothe panand a stampede in from the Outside fiftythousandstrong. You-all'll think all hell's busted loose whenthatstrike is made. He raisedhis glass to his lips. It'ssixty-twobelow nowand still goin' down. Better wait till shebreaks. And blamed little you know Daylightif you think frostkin stop'm.

Look hereHinesyou only ben in thisherecountry three years. You ain't seasoned yet. I've seenDaylightdo fifty miles up on the Koyokuk on a day when thethermometerbusted at seventy-two. A blizzard on Chilcootwould tiehim up for a week. Toemphasize his remarkshe pulled out a gold-sack the size of abolognasausage and thumped it down on the bar. Doc Watsonthumpedhis own sack alongside. I bet five hundred that sixty days from now I pull up atthe Tivolidoor with the Dyea mail. I won't bet withyou. You're trying to give me money.

But I tell you-all onethingJackI got another hunch. I'm goin' to win it back someone ofthese days. You-all just wait till the big strike upriver. Then you and me'll take the roof off and sit in a gamethat'll befull man's size. Is it a go? Name your brandyou hoochinoos! Bettlesaglass of whiskey in handclimbed back on his chairandswaying back and forthsang the one song he knew Daylightpaused for nothingheading for the door and pullingdown hisear-flaps.

Kama stood outside by the sleda longnarrowaffairsixteen inches wide and seven and a half feet inlengthits slatted bottom raised six inches above the steel-shodrunners. On itlashed with thongs of moose-hidewere the lightcanvasbags that contained the mailand the food and gear fordogs andmen. In front of itin a single linelay curled fivefrost-rimeddogs. They were huskiesmatched in size and colorallunusually large and all gray. From their cruel jaws to theirbushytails they were as like as peas in their likeness totimber-wolves.

Wolves they weredomesticatedit was truebutwolves inappearance and in all their characteristics. On topthe sledloadthrust under the lashings and ready for immediateuseweretwo pairs of snowshoes. Warmestthing heever slept underbut I'm damned if it could keep mewarmandI can go some myself. Daylight's a hell-fire furnacethat'swhat he is. I've ben with Daylight on trail. That man ain'tneverben tiredin his life.

Don't know what it means. I seen himtravel allday with wet socks at forty five below. There ain'tanotherman living can do that. While thistalk went onDaylight was saying good-by to thosethatclustered around him. The Virgin wanted to kiss himandfuddledslightly though he was with the whiskeyhe saw his wayoutwithout compromising with the apron-string. He kissed theVirginbut he kissed the other three women with equalpartiality. He pulled on his long mittensroused the dogs totheirfeetand took his Place at the gee pole. Theanimals threw their weights against their breastbands on theinstantcrouching low to the snowand digging in their claws.

Theywhined eagerlyand before the sled had gone half a dozenlengthsboth Daylight and Kama in the rear were running to keepup. And sorunningman and dogs dipped over the bank and downto thefrozen bed of the Yukonand in the gray light were gone. On theriverwhere was a packed trail and where snowshoes wereunnecessarythe dogs averaged six miles an hour. To keep upwith themthe two men were compelled to run. Daylight and Kamarelievedeach other regularly at the gee-polefor here was thehard workof steering the flying sled and of keeping in advanceof it. The man relieved dropped behind the sledoccasionallyleapingupon it and resting.

They wereflyinggetting over the groundmaking the most of thepackedtrail. Later on they would come to the unbroken trailwherethree miles an hour would constitute good going. Thentherewould be no riding and restingand no running. Then thegee-polewould be the easier taskand a man would come back toit to restafter having completed his spell to the forebreakingtrail withthe snowshoes for the dogs. Such work was far fromexhilaratingalsothey must expect places where for miles at atime theymust toil over chaotic ice-jamswhere they would befortunateif they made two miles an hour.

And there would be theinevitablebad jamsshort onesit was truebut so bad that amile anhour would require terrific effort. Kama and Daylightdid nottalk. In the nature of the work they could notnor intheir ownnatures were they given to talking while they worked. At rareintervalswhen necessarythey addressed each other inmonosyllablesKamafor the most partcontenting himself withgrunts. Occasionally a dog whined or snarledbut in the mainthe teamkept silent. Only could be heard the sharpjarringgrate ofthe steel runners over the hard surface and the creak ofthestraining sled.

As ifthrough a wallDaylight had passed from the hum and roarof theTivoli into another worlda world of silence andimmobility. Nothing stirred. The Yukon slept under a coat ofice threefeet thick. No breath of wind blew. Nor did the sapmove inthe hearts of the spruce trees that forested the riverbanks oneither hand. The treesburdened with the lastinfinitesimalpennyweight of snow their branches could holdstood inabsolute petrifaction. The slightest tremor would havedislodgedthe snowand no snow was dislodged.

The sled was theone pointof life and motion in the midst of the solemn quietudeand theharsh churn of its runners but emphasized the silencethroughwhich it moved. It was adead worldand furthermorea gray world. The weatherwas sharpand clear; there was no moisture in the atmospherenofog norhaze; yet the sky was a gray pall. The reason for thiswas thatthough there was no cloud in the sky to dim thebrightnessof daythere was no sun to give brightness.

Far tothe souththe sun climbed steadily to meridianbut between itand thefrozen Yukon intervened the bulge of the earth. TheYukon layin a night shadowand the day itself was in reality alongtwilight-light. At a quarter before twelvewhere a widebend ofthe river gave a long vista souththe sun showed itsupper rimabove the sky-line. But it did not riseperpendicularly. Insteadit rose on a slantso that by highnoon ithad barely lifted its lower rim clear of the horizon. Itwas a dimwan sun. There was no heat to its raysand a mancould gazesquarely into the full orb of it without hurt to hiseyes. No sooner had it reached meridian than it began its slantbackbeneath the horizonand at quarter past twelve the earththrew itsshadow again over the land.

The menand dogs raced on. Daylight and Kama were both savagesso far astheir stomachs were concerned. They could eatirregularlyin time and quantitygorging hugely on occasionandonoccasion going long stretches without eating at all. As forthe dogsthey ate but once a dayand then rarely did theyreceivemore than a pound each of dried fish. They wereravenouslyhungry and at the same time splendidly in condition. Like thewolvestheir forebearstheir nutritive processes wererigidlyeconomical and perfect.

There was no waste. The lastleastparticle of what they consumed was transformed into energy. And Kamaand Daylight were like them. Descended themselves fromthegenerations that had enduredtheytooendured. Theirs wasthesimpleelemental economy. A little food equipped them withprodigiousenergy. Nothing was lost. A man of softcivilizationsitting at a deskwould have grown lean andwoe-begoneon the fare that kept Kama and Daylight at thetop-notchof physical efficiency.

They knewas the man at thedesk neverknowswhat it is to be normally hungry all the timeso thatthey could eat any time. Their appetites were alwayswith themand on edgeso that they bit voraciously into whateverofferedand with an entire innocence of indigestion. By threein the afternoon the long twilight faded into night. The starscame outvery near and sharp and brightand by theirlight dogsand men still kept the trail. They wereindefatigable. And this was no record run of a single daybutthe firstday of sixty such days. Though Daylight had passed anightwithout sleepa night of dancing and carouseit seemed tohave leftno effect.

For this there were two explanations firsthisremarkable vitality; and nextthe fact that such nights wererare inhis experience. Again enters the man at the deskwhosephysicalefficiency would be more hurt by a cup of coffee atbedtimethan could Daylight's by a whole night long of strongdrink andexcitement. Daylighttravelled without a watchfeeling the passage of timeandlargely estimating it by subconscious processes. By what heconsideredmust be six o'clockhe began looking for acamping-place. The trailat a bendplunged out across theriver. Not having found a likely spotthey held on for theoppositebank a mile away.

But midway they encountered anice-jamwhich took an hour of heavy work to cross. At lastDaylightglimpsed what he was looking fora dead tree close bythe bank. The sled was run in and up. Kama grunted withsatisfactionand the work of making camp was begun. Thedivision of labor was excellent. Each knew what he must do. And thus, with blare of paper trumpet, was he received by New York. Once more, with beating of toms-toms and wild hullaballoo, his picturesque figure strode across the printed sheet. The King of the Klondike, the hero of the Arctic, the thirty-million-dollar millionaire of the North, had come to New York. What had he come for? To trim the New Yorkers as he had trimmed the Tonopah crowd in Nevada?

Wall Street had best watch out, for the wild man of Klondike had just come to town. Or, perchance, would Wall Street trim him? Wall Street had trimmed many wild men; would this be Burning Daylight's fate? Daylight grinned to himself, and gave out ambiguous interviews. It helped the game, and he grinned again, as he meditated that Wall Street would sure have to go some before it trimmed him.

They were prepared for him to play, and, when heavy buying of Ward Valley began, it was quickly decided that he was the operator. Financial gossip buzzed and hummed. He was after the Guggenhammers once more. The story of Ophir was told over again and sensationalized until even Daylight scarcely recognized it. Still, it was all grist to his mill.

The stock gamblers were clearly befooled. Each day he increased his buying, and so eager were the sellers that Ward Valley rose but slowly. The newspapers hazarded countless guesses and surmises, and Daylight was constantly dogged by a small battalion of reporters. His own interviews were gems. Discovering the delight the newspapers took in his vernacular, in his "you-alls," and "sures," and "surge-ups," he even exaggerated these particularities of speech, exploiting the phrases he had heard other frontiersmen use, and inventing occasionally a new one of his own.

A wildly exciting time was his during the week preceding Thursday the eighteenth. Not only was he gambling as he had never gambled before, but he was gambling at the biggest table in the world and for stakes so large that even the case-hardened habitues of that table were compelled to sit up. In spite of the unlimited selling, his persistent buying compelled Ward Valley steadily to rise, and as Thursday approached, the situation became acute.

Something had to smash. How much Ward Valley was this Klondike gambler going to buy? How much could he buy? What was the Ward Valley crowd doing all this time? Daylight appreciated the interviews with them that appeared--interviews delightfully placid and non-committal. Leon Guggenhammer even hazarded the opinion that this Northland Croesus might possibly be making a mistake. But not that they cared, John Dowsett explained. Nor did they object. While in the dark regarding his intentions, of one thing they were certain; namely, that he was bulling Ward Valley. And they did not mind that. No matter what happened to him and his spectacular operations, Ward Valley was all right, and would remain all right, as firm as the Rock of Gibraltar.

No; they had no Ward Valley to sell, thank you. This purely fictitious state of the market was bound shortly to pass, and Ward Valley was not to be induced to change the even tenor of its way by any insane stock exchange flurry. Beyond congratulations, they really amounted to nothing; for, as he was informed, everything was going satisfactorily. But on Tuesday morning a rumor that was disconcerting came to Daylight's ears. It was also published in the Wall Street Journal, and it was to the effect, on apparently straight inside information, that on Thursday, when the directors of Ward Valley met, instead of the customary dividend being declared, an assessment would be levied.

It was the first check Daylight had received. It came to him with a shock that if the thing were so he was a broken man. And it also came to him that all this colossal operating of his was being done on his own money. Dowsett, Guggenhammer, and Letton were risking nothing. It was a panic, short-lived, it was true, but sharp enough while it lasted to make him remember Holdsworthy and the brick-yard, and to impel him to cancel all buying orders while he rushed to a telephone. And John Dowsett: "I warned you against just such rumors. There is not an iota of truth in it--certainly not. I tell you on my honor as a gentleman. The cessation of buying had turned the Stock Exchange into a bedlam, and down all the line of stocks the bears were smashing.

Ward Valley, as the ape, received the brunt of the shock, and was already beginning to tumble. Daylight calmly doubled his buying orders. And all through Tuesday and Wednesday, and Thursday morning, he went on buying, while Ward Valley rose triumphantly higher. Still they sold, and still he bought, exceeding his power to buy many times over, when delivery was taken into account. What of that? On this day the double dividend would be declared, he assured himself. The pinch of delivery would be on the shorts. They would be making terms with him.

And then the thunderbolt struck. True to the rumor, Ward Valley levied the assessment. Daylight threw up his arms. He verified the report and quit. Not alone Ward Valley, but all securities were being hammered down by the triumphant bears. As for Ward Valley, Daylight did not even trouble to learn if it had fetched bottom or was still tumbling. Not stunned, not even bewildered, while Wall Street went mad, Daylight withdrew from the field to think it over. After a short conference with his brokers, he proceeded to his hotel, on the way picking up the evening papers and glancing at the head-lines.

As he entered his hotel, a later edition announced the suicide of a young man, a lamb, who had followed Daylight's play. What in hell did he want to kill himself for? He passed up to his rooms, ordered a Martini cocktail, took off his shoes, and sat down to think. After half an hour he roused himself to take the drink, and as he felt the liquor pass warmingly through his body, his features relaxed into a slow, deliberate, yet genuine grin. He was laughing at himself. Then the grin died away, and his face grew bleak and serious. Leaving out his interests in the several Western reclamation projects which were still assessing heavily , he was a ruined man. But harder hit than this was his pride. He had been so easy. They had gold-bricked him, and he had nothing to show for it.

The simplest farmer would have had documents, while he had nothing but a gentleman's agreement, and a verbal one at that. Gentleman's agreement. He snorted over it. John Dowsett's voice, just as he had heard it in the telephone receiver, sounded in his ears the words, "On my honor as a gentleman. The newspapers were right. He had come to New York to be trimmed, and Messrs. Dowsett, Letton, and Guggenhammer had done it. He was a little fish, and they had played with him ten days--ample time in which to swallow him, along with his eleven millions.

Of course, they had been unloading on him all the time, and now they were buying Ward Valley back for a song ere the market righted itself. Most probably, out of his share of the swag, Nathaniel Letton would erect a couple of new buildings for that university of his. Leon Guggenhammer would buy new engines for that yacht, or a whole fleet of yachts. But what the devil Dowsett would do with his whack, was beyond him--most likely start another string of banks. And Daylight sat and consumed cocktails and saw back in his life to Alaska, and lived over the grim years in which he had battled for his eleven millions. For a while murder ate at his heart, and wild ideas and sketchy plans of killing his betrayers flashed through his mind. That was what that young man should have done instead of killing himself.

He should have gone gunning. Daylight unlocked his grip and took out his automatic pistol--a big Colt's. He released the safety catch with his thumb, and operating the sliding outer barrel, ran the contents of the clip through the mechanism. The eight cartridges slid out in a stream. He refilled the clip, threw a cartridge into the chamber, and, with the trigger at full cock, thrust up the safety ratchet.

He shoved the weapon into the side pocket of his coat, ordered another Martini, and resumed his seat. He thought steadily for an hour, but he grinned no more. Lines formed in his face, and in those lines were the travail of the North, the bite of the frost, all that he had achieved and suffered--the long, unending weeks of trail, the bleak tundra shore of Point Barrow, the smashing ice-jam of the Yukon, the battles with animals and men, the lean-dragged days of famine, the long months of stinging hell among the mosquitoes of the Koyokuk, the toil of pick and shovel, the scars and mars of pack-strap and tump-line, the straight meat diet with the dogs, and all the long procession of twenty full years of toil and sweat and endeavor.

At ten o'clock he arose and pored over the city directory. Then he put on his shoes, took a cab, and departed into the night. Twice he changed cabs, and finally fetched up at the night office of a detective agency. He superintended the thing himself, laid down money in advance in profuse quantities, selected the six men he needed, and gave them their instructions. Never, for so simple a task, had they been so well paid; for, to each, in addition to office charges, he gave a five-hundred-dollar bill, with the promise of another if he succeeded. Some time next day, he was convinced, if not sooner, his three silent partners would come together.

To each one two of his detectives were to be attached. Time and place was all he wanted to learn. Whatever you do, whatever happens, I'll sure see you through. In the morning he dressed and shaved, ordered breakfast and the newspapers sent up, and waited. But he did not drink. By nine o'clock his telephone began to ring and the reports to come in. Nathaniel Letton was taking the train at Tarrytown.

John Dowsett was coming down by the subway. Leon Guggenhammer had not stirred out yet, though he was assuredly within. And in this fashion, with a map of the city spread out before him, Daylight followed the movements of his three men as they drew together. Nathaniel Letton was at his offices in the Mutual-Solander Building. Next arrived Guggenhammer. Dowsett was still in his own offices.

But at eleven came the word that he also had arrived, and several minutes later Daylight was in a hired motor-car and speeding for the Mutual-Solander Building. The free, swinging movements of the trail-traveler were unconsciously exaggerated in that stride of his. In truth, it seemed to him that he felt the trail beneath his feet. He shook hands with them in turn, striding from one to another and gripping their hands so heartily that Nathaniel Letton could not forbear to wince.

Daylight flung himself into a massive chair and sprawled lazily, with an appearance of fatigue. The leather grip he had brought into the room he dropped carelessly beside him on the floor "Goddle mighty, but I've sure been going some," he sighed. It was real slick. And the beauty of the play never dawned on me till the very end. It was pure and simple knock down and drag out. And the way they fell for it was amazin'. He was not so formidable, after all.

Despite the act that he had effected an entrance in the face of Letton's instructions to the outer office, he showed no indication of making a scene or playing rough. Or has his sure enough brilliance plumb dazzled you-all? Dowsett sat quietly and waited, while Leon Guggenhammer struggled into articulation. Daylight's black eyes flashed in a pleased way. I was totally surprised. I never dreamed they would be that easy. I'm pullin' West this afternoon on that blamed Twentieth Century.

I'll sure be right there with the goods. These he deposited in a heap on the big table, and dipping again, he fished out the stragglers and added them to the pile. He consulted a slip of paper, drawn from his coat pocket, and read aloud:- "Ten million twenty-seven thousand and forty-two dollars and sixty-eight cents is my figurin' on my expenses. Of course that-all's taken from the winnings before we-all get to figurin' on the whack-up. Where's your figures? It must a' been a Goddle mighty big clean-up. The man was a bigger fool than they had imagined, or else he was playing a game which they could not divine.

Nathaniel Letton moistened his lips and spoke up. Harnish, before the full accounting can be made. Howison is at work upon it now. We--ah--as you say, it has been a gratifying clean-up. Suppose we have lunch together and talk it over. I'll have the clerks work through the noon hour, so that you will have ample time to catch your train. The situation was clearing. It was disconcerting, under the circumstances, to be pent in the same room with this heavy-muscled, Indian-like man whom they had robbed. They remembered unpleasantly the many stories of his strength and recklessness.

If Letton could only put him off long enough for them to escape into the policed world outside the office door, all would be well; and Daylight showed all the signs of being put off. I just do appreciate it without being able to express my feelings. But I am sure almighty curious, and I'd like terrible to know, Mr. Letton, what your figures of our winning is. Can you-all give me a rough estimate? Dowsett, of sterner mould than the others, began to divine that the Klondiker was playing. But the other two were still older the blandishment of his child-like innocence. The figures'll straighten that up. But I'm that curious I'm just itching all over. What d'ye say? Harnish is laboring under a false impression, and he should be set straight.

In this deal--" But Daylight interrupted. He had played too much poker to be unaware or unappreciative of the psychological factor, and he headed Dowsett off in order to play the denouncement of the present game in his own way. It wa'n't what you-all would call a square game. They-all was tin-horns that sat in. But they was a tenderfoot--short-horns they-all are called out there. He stands behind the dealer and sees that same dealer give hisself four aces offen the bottom of the deck. The tenderfoot is sure shocked. He slides around to the player facin' the dealer across the table. You-all don't understand the game.

It's his deal, ain't it? Daylight looked at him innocently and did not reply. He turned jovially to Nathaniel Letton. As I said before, a million out one way or the other won't matter, it's bound to be such an almighty big winning. There are no winnings to be divided with you. Now don't get excited, I beg of you. I have but to press this button He felt absently in his vest pocket for a match, lighted it, and discovered that he had no cigarette. The three men watched him with the tense closeness of cats. Now that it had come, they knew that they had a nasty few minutes before them. You-all said? Harnish, that was all. You have been stock gambling, and you have been hard hit. But neither Ward Valley, nor I, nor my associates, feel that we owe you anything. Ain't it good for anything here?

Daylight looked at Dowsett and murmured "I guess that story of mine had some meaning, after all. Well, I ain't kicking. I'm like the player in that poker game. It was your deal, and you-all had a right to do your best. And you d-one it-cleaned me out slicker'n a whistle. Gol dast it, you-all can sure deal 'em 'round when you get a chance. Oh, no, I ain't a-kicking. It was your deal, and you-all certainly done me, and a man ain't half a man that squeals on another man's deal. And now the hand is played out, and the cards are on the table, and the deal's over, but Now it's MY deal, and I'm a-going to see if I can hold them four aces- "Take your hand away, you whited sepulchre!

Nathaniel Letton's hand, creeping toward the push-button on the desk, was abruptly arrested. By God! You-all move your chair alongside, Guggenhammer; and you-all Dowsett, sit right there, while I just irrelevantly explain the virtues of this here automatic. She's loaded for big game and she goes off eight times. She's a sure hummer when she gets started. Remember, I ain't making no remarks about your deal. You done your darndest, and it was all right. But this is my deal, and it's up to me to do my darndest. In the first place, you-all know me.

I'm Burning Daylight--savvee? Ain't afraid of God, devil, death, nor destruction. Them's my four aces, and they sure copper your bets. Look at that there living skeleton. Letton, you're sure afraid to die. Your bones is all rattling together you're that scared. And look at that fat Jew there. This little weapon's sure put the fear of God in his heart. He's yellow as a sick persimmon.

Dowsett, you're a cool one. You-all ain't batted an eye nor turned a hair. That's because you're great on arithmetic. And that makes you-all dead easy in this deal of mine. You're sitting there and adding two and two together, and you-all know I sure got you skinned. You know me, and that I ain't afraid of nothing. And you-all adds up all your money and knows you ain't a-going to die if you can help it. When the fun starts, you're the first I plug. I'll hang all right, but you-all won't live to see it.

You-all die here and now while I'll die subject to the law's delay--savvee? Being dead, with grass growing out of your carcasses, you won't know when I hang, but I'll sure have the pleasure a long time of knowing you-all beat me to it. Daylight shook his head. You-all ain't worth it. I'd sooner have my chips back. And I guess you-all'd sooner give my chips back than go to the dead-house. It's up to you-all to play. But while you're deliberating, I want to give you-all a warning: if that door opens and any one of you cusses lets on there's anything unusual, right here and then I sure start plugging.

They ain't a soul'll get out the room except feet first. The deciding factor was not the big automatic pistol, but the certitude that Daylight would use it. Not alone were the three men convinced of this, but Daylight himself was convinced. He was firmly resolved to kill the men if his money was not forthcoming. It was not an easy matter, on the spur of the moment, to raise ten millions in paper currency, and there were vexatious delays. A dozen times Mr. Howison and the head clerk were summoned into the room. On these occasions the pistol lay on Daylight's lap, covered carelessly by a newspaper, while he was usually engaged in rolling or lighting his brown-paper cigarettes. But in the end, the thing was accomplished. A suit-case was brought up by one of the clerks from the waiting motor-car, and Daylight snapped it shut on the last package of bills.

He paused at the door to make his final remarks. When I get outside this door, you-all'll be set free to act, and I just want to warn you-all about what to do. In the first place, no warrants for my arrest--savvee? This money's mine, and I ain't robbed you of it. If it gets out how you gave me the double-cross and how I done you back again, the laugh'll be on you, and it'll sure be an almighty big laugh. You-all can't afford that laugh.

Besides, having got back my stake that you-all robbed me of, if you arrest me and try to rob me a second time, I'll go gunning for you-all, and I'll sure get you. No little fraid-cat shrimps like you-all can skin Burning Daylight. If you win you lose, and there'll sure be some several unexpected funerals around this burg. Just look me in the eye, and you-all'll savvee I mean business. Them stubs and receipts on the table is all yourn. Good day. It's downright robbery. I won't stand it. I tell you I won't stand it. And nothing ever came of it. The thing remained a secret with the three men. Nor did Daylight ever give the secret away, though that afternoon, leaning back in his stateroom on the Twentieth Century, his shoes off, and feet on a chair, he chuckled long and heartily.

New York remained forever puzzled over the affair; nor could it hit upon a rational explanation. By all rights, Burning Daylight should have gone broke, yet it was known that he immediately reappeared in San Francisco possessing an apparently unimpaired capital. This was evidenced by the magnitude of the enterprises he engaged in, such as, for instance, Panama Mail, by sheer weight of money and fighting power wresting the control away from Shiftily and selling out in two months to the Harriman interests at a rumored enormous advance.

Men were afraid of him. He became known as a fighter, a fiend, a tiger. His play was a ripping and smashing one, and no one knew where or how his next blow would fall. The element of surprise was large. He balked on the unexpected, and, fresh from the wild North, his mind not operating in stereotyped channels, he was able in unusual degree to devise new tricks and stratagems. And once he won the advantage, he pressed it remorselessly.

On the other hand, he was known as "square. He always shied at propositions based on gentlemen's agreements, and a man who ventured his honor as a gentleman, in dealing with Daylight, inevitably was treated to an unpleasant time. Daylight never gave his own word unless he held the whip-hand. It was a case with the other fellow taking it or nothing. Legitimate investment had no place in Daylight's play.

It tied up his money, and reduced the element of risk. It was the gambling side of business that fascinated him, and to play in his slashing manner required that his money must be ready to hand. It was never tied up save for short intervals, for he was principally engaged in turning it over and over, raiding here, there, and everywhere, a veritable pirate of the financial main. A five-per cent safe investment had no attraction for him; but to risk millions in sharp, harsh skirmish, standing to lose everything or to win fifty or a hundred per cent, was the savor of life to him.

He played according to the rules of the game, but he played mercilessly. When he got a man or a corporation down and they squealed, he gouged no less hard. Appeals for financial mercy fell on deaf ears. He was a free lance, and had no friendly business associations. Such alliances as were formed from time to time were purely affairs of expediency, and he regarded his allies as men who would give him the double-cross or ruin him if a profitable chance presented. In spite of this point of view, he was faithful to his allies. But he was faithful just as long as they were and no longer. The treason had to come from them, and then it was 'Ware Daylight. Klinkner was the president. In partnership with Daylight, the pair raided the San Jose Interurban. Not only did Daylight lose his grip on San Jose Interurban, but in the crash of his battle front he lost heavily all along the line.

It was conceded by those competent to judge that he could have compromised and saved much. But, instead, he deliberately threw up the battle with San Jose Interurban and Lake Power, and, apparently defeated, with Napoleonic suddenness struck at Klinkner. It was the last unexpected thing Klinkner would have dreamed of, and Daylight knew it. He knew, also, that in a few months the Trust Company would be more firmly on its feet than ever, thanks to those same speculations, and that if he were to strike he must strike immediately.

Henceforth, men who go in with me on deals will think twice before they try to double-cross me, and then some. He had a conviction that not one in a hundred of them was intrinsically square; and as for the square ones, he prophesied that, playing in a crooked game, they were sure to lose and in the long run go broke. His New York experience had opened his eyes. He tore the veils of illusion from the business game, and saw its nakedness. He generalized upon industry and society somewhat as follows Society, as organized, was a vast bunco game. There were many hereditary inefficients--men and women who were not weak enough to be confined in feeble-minded homes, but who were not strong enough to be ought else than hewers of wood and drawers of water.

Then there were the fools who took the organized bunco game seriously, honoring and respecting it. They were easy game for the others, who saw clearly and knew the bunco game for what it was. Work, legitimate work, was the source of all wealth. That was to say, whether it was a sack of potatoes, a grand piano, or a seven-passenger touring car, it came into being only by the performance of work. Where the bunco came in was in the distribution of these things after labor had created them.

He failed to see the horny-handed sons of toil enjoying grand pianos or riding in automobiles. How this came about was explained by the bunco. By tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands men sat up nights and schemed how they could get between the workers and the things the workers produced. These schemers were the business men. When they got between the worker and his product, they took a whack out of it for themselves The size of the whack was determined by no rule of equity; but by their own strength and swinishness. It was always a case of "all the traffic can bear. One day, in a mellow mood induced by a string of cocktails and a hearty lunch , he started a conversation with Jones, the elevator boy. Jones was a slender, mop-headed, man-grown, truculent flame of an individual who seemed to go out of his way to insult his passengers.

It was this that attracted Daylight's interest, and he was not long in finding out what was the matter with Jones. He was a proletarian, according to his own aggressive classification, and he had wanted to write for a living. Failing to win with the magazines, and compelled to find himself in food and shelter, he had gone to the little valley of Petacha, not a hundred miles from Los Angeles. Here, toiling in the day-time, he planned to write and study at night. But the railroad charged all the traffic would bear. Petacha was a desert valley, and produced only three things: cattle, fire-wood, and charcoal. For freight to Los Angeles on a carload of cattle the railroad charged eight dollars.

This, Jones explained, was due to the fact that the cattle had legs and could be driven to Los Angeles at a cost equivalent to the charge per car load. But firewood had no legs, and the railroad charged just precisely twenty-four dollars a carload. This was a fine adjustment, for by working hammer-and- tongs through a twelve-hour day, after freight had been deducted from the selling price of the wood in Los Angeles, the wood-chopper received one dollar and sixty cents. Jones had thought to get ahead of the game by turning his wood into charcoa. His estimates were satisfactory. But the railroad also made estimates.

It issued a rate of forty-two dollars a car on charcoal. At the end of three months, Jones went over his figures, and found that he was still making one dollar and sixty cents a day. Leaving out the little things, I came across the Sierras in the summer and touched a match to the snow-sheds. They only had a little thirty- thousand-dollar fire. I guess that squared up all balances due on Petacha. You could say I said so, and I could say I didn't say so, and a hell of a lot that evidence would amount to with a jury.

That was it: all the traffic would bear. From top to bottom, that was the rule of the game; and what kept the game going was the fact that a sucker was born every minute. If a Jones were born every minute, the game wouldn't last very long. Lucky for the players that the workers weren't Joneses. But there were other and larger phases of the game. Little business men, shopkeepers, and such ilk took what whack they could out of the product of the worker; but, after all, it was the large business men who formed the workers through the little business men.

When all was said and done, the latter, like Jones in Petacha Valley, got no more than wages out of their whack. In truth, they were hired men for the large business men. Still again, higher up, were the big fellows. They used vast and complicated paraphernalia for the purpose, on a large scale of getting between hundreds of thousands of workers and their products. These men were not so much mere robbers as gamblers. And, not content with their direct winnings, being essentially gamblers, they raided one another. They were all engaged primarily in robbing the worker, but every little while they formed combinations and robbed one another of the accumulated loot.

This explained the fifty-thousand-dollar raid on him by Holdsworthy and the ten-million-dollar raid on him by Dowsett, Letton, and Guggenhammer. And when he raided Panama Mail he had done exactly the same thing. Well, he concluded, it was finer sport robbing the robbers than robbing the poor stupid workers. Thus, all unread in philosophy, Daylight preempted for himself the position and vocation of a twentieth-century superman. He found, with rare and mythical exceptions, that there was no noblesse oblige among the business and financial supermen. As a clever traveler had announced in an after-dinner speech at the Alta-Pacific, "There was honor amongst thieves, and this was what distinguished thieves from honest men.

It hit the nail on the head. These modern supermen were a lot of sordid banditti who had the successful effrontery to preach a code of right and wrong to their victims which they themselves did not practise. With them, a man's word was good just as long as he was compelled to keep it. They, the supermen, were above such commandments. They certainly stole and were honored by their fellows according to the magnitude of their stealings. The more Daylight played the game, the clearer the situation grew. Despite the fact that every robber was keen to rob every other robber, the band was well organized. It practically controlled the political machinery of society, from the ward politician up to the Senate of the United States.

It passed laws that gave it privilege to rob. It enforced these laws by means of the police, the marshals, the militia and regular army, and the courts. And it was a snap. A superman's chiefest danger was his fellow-superman. The great stupid mass of the people did not count. They were constituted of such inferior clay that the veriest chicanery fooled them. The superman manipulated the strings, and when robbery of the workers became too slow or monotonous, they turned loose and robbed one another. Daylight was philosophical, but not a philosopher. He had never read the books.

He was a hard-headed, practical man, and farthest from him was any intention of ever reading the books. He had lived life in the simple, where books were not necessary for an understanding of life, and now life in the complex appeared just as simple. He saw through its frauds and fictions, and found it as elemental as on the Yukon. Men were made of the same stuff. They had the same passions and desires.

Finance was poker on a larger scale. The men who played were the men who had stakes. The workers were the fellows toiling for grubstakes. He saw the game played out according to the everlasting rules, and he played a hand himself. The gigantic futility of humanity organized and befuddled by the bandits did not shock him. It was the natural order. Practically all human endeavors were futile. He had seen so much of it. His partners had starved and died on the Stewart. Hundreds of old-timers had failed to locate on Bonanza and Eldorado, while Swedes and chechaquos had come in on the moose-pasture and blindly staked millions. It was life, and life was a savage proposition at best.

Men in civilization robbed because they were so made. They robbed just as cats scratched, famine pinched, and frost bit. So it was that Daylight became a successful financier. He did not go in for swindling the workers. Not only did he not have the heart for it, but it did not strike him as a sporting proposition. The workers were so easy, so stupid. It was more like slaughtering fat hand-reared pheasants on the English preserves he had heard about.

The sport to him, was in waylaying the successful robbers and taking their spoils from them. There was fun and excitement in that, and sometimes they put up the very devil of a fight. Like Robin Hood of old, Daylight proceeded to rob the rich; and, in a small way, to distribute to the needy. But he was charitable after his own fashion. The great mass of human misery meant nothing to him. That was part of the everlasting order. He had no patience with the organized charities and the professional charity mongers.

Nor, on the other hand, was what he gave a conscience dole. He owed no man, and restitution was unthinkable. What he gave was a largess, a free, spontaneous gift; and it was for those about him. He never contributed to an earthquake fund in Japan nor to an open-air fund in New York City. Instead, he financed Jones, the elevator boy, for a year that he might write a book. When he learned that the wife of his waiter at the St. Francis was suffering from tuberculosis, he sent her to Arizona, and later, when her case was declared hopeless, he sent the husband, too, to be with her to the end.

Likewise, he bought a string of horse-hair bridles from a convict in a Western penitentiary, who spread the good news until it seemed to Daylight that half the convicts in that institution were making bridles for him. He bought them all, paying from twenty to fifty dollars each for them. They were beautiful and honest things, and he decorated all the available wall-space of his bedroom with them. The grim Yukon life had failed to make Daylight hard. It required civilization to produce this result. In the fierce, savage game he now played, his habitual geniality imperceptibly slipped away from him, as did his lazy Western drawl.

As his speech became sharp and nervous, so did his mental processes. In the swift rush of the game he found less and less time to spend on being merely good-natured. The change marked his face itself. The lines grew sterner. Less often appeared the playful curl of his lips, the smile in the wrinkling corners of his eyes. The eyes themselves, black and flashing, like an Indian's, betrayed glints of cruelty and brutal consciousness of power.

His tremendous vitality remained, and radiated from all his being, but it was vitality under the new aspect of the man-trampling man-conqueror. His battles with elemental nature had been, in a way, impersonal; his present battles were wholly with the males of his species, and the hardships of the trail, the river, and the frost marred him far less than the bitter keenness of the struggle with his fellows. He still had recrudescence of geniality, but they were largely periodical and forced, and they were usually due to the cocktails he took prior to meal-time.

In the North, he had drunk deeply and at irregular intervals; but now his drinking became systematic and disciplined. It was an unconscious development, but it was based upon physical and mental condition. The cocktails served as an inhibition. Without reasoning or thinking about it, the strain of the office, which was essentially due to the daring and audacity of his ventures, required check or cessation; and he found, through the weeks and months, that the cocktails supplied this very thing.

They constituted a stone wall. He never drank during the morning, nor in office hours; but the instant he left the office he proceeded to rear this wall of alcoholic inhibition athwart his consciousness. The office became immediately a closed affair. It ceased to exist. In the afternoon, after lunch, it lived again for one or two hours, when, leaving it, he rebuilt the wall of inhibition. Of course, there were exceptions to this; and, such was the rigor of his discipline, that if he had a dinner or a conference before him in which, in a business way, he encountered enemies or allies and planned or prosecuted campaigns, he abstained from drinking.

But the instant the business was settled, his everlasting call went out for a Martini, and for a double-Martini at that, served in a long glass so as not to excite comment. She came rather imperceptibly. He had accepted her impersonally along with the office furnishing, the office boy, Morrison, the chief, confidential, and only clerk, and all the rest of the accessories of a superman's gambling place of business.

Had he been asked any time during the first months she was in his employ, he would have been unable to tell the color of her eyes. From the fact that she was a demiblonde, there resided dimly in his subconsciousness a conception that she was a brunette. Likewise he had an idea that she was not thin, while there was an absence in his mind of any idea that she was fat. As to how she dressed, he had no ideas at all. He had no trained eye in such matters, nor was he interested. He took it for granted, in the lack of any impression to the contrary, that she was dressed some how. He knew her as "Miss Mason," and that was all, though he was aware that as a stenographer she seemed quick and accurate.

This impression, however, was quite vague, for he had had no experience with other stenographers, and naturally believed that they were all quick and accurate. One morning, signing up letters, he came upon an I shall. Glancing quickly over the page for similar constructions, he found a number of I wills. The I shall was alone. It stood out conspicuously. He pressed the call-bell twice, and a moment later Dede Mason entered.

A shade of annoyance crossed her face. She stood convicted. But it's not a mistake, you know," she added quickly. He did it with a grave, serious air, listening intently to the sound of his own voice. He shook his head. It just don't sound right. Why, nobody writes to me that way. They all say I will--educated men, too, some of them. Ain't that so? It chanced that day that among the several men with whom he sat at luncheon was a young Englishman, a mining engineer. Had it happened any other time it would have passed unnoticed, but, fresh from the tilt with his stenographer, Daylight was struck immediately by the Englishman's I shall. Several times, in the course of the meal, the phrase was repeated, and Daylight was certain there was no mistake about it.

After luncheon he cornered Macintosh, one of the members whom he knew to have been a college man, because of his football reputation. I always was rotten on grammar. For the first time it struck him that there was something about his stenographer. He had accepted her up to then, as a female creature and a bit of office furnishing. But now, having demonstrated that she knew more grammar than did business men and college graduates, she became an individual.