it was two in the morning when the dancers, bent on getting something to eat, adjourned the dancing for half an hour. and it was at this moment that jack kearns suggested poker. jack kearns was a big, bluff-featured man, who, along with bettles, had made the disastrous attempt to found a post on the head-reaches of the koyokuk, far inside the arctic circle. after that, kearns had fallen back on his posts at forty mile and sixty mile and changed the direction of his ventures by sending out to the states for a small sawmill and a river steamer. the former was even then being sledded across chilcoot pass by indians and dogs, and would come down the yukon in the early summer after the ice-run. later in the summer, when bering sea and the mouth of the yukon cleared of ice, the steamer, put together at st. michaels, was to be expected up the river loaded to the guards with supplies.

jack kearns suggested poker. french louis, dan macdonald, and hal campbell (who had make a strike on moosehide), all three of whom were not dancing because there were not girls enough to go around, inclined to the suggestion. they were looking for a fifth man when burning daylight emerged from the rear room, the virgin on his arm, the train of dancers in his wake. in response to the hail of the poker-players, he came over to their table in the corner.

"want you to sit in," said campbell. "how's your luck?"

"i sure got it to-night," burning daylight answered with enthusiasm, and at the same time felt the virgin press his arm warningly. she wanted him for the dancing. "i sure got my luck with me, but i'd sooner dance. i ain't hankerin' to take the money away from you-all."

nobody urged. they took his refusal as final, and the virgin was pressing his arm to turn him away in pursuit of the supper-seekers, when he experienced a change of heart. it was not that he did not want to dance, nor that he wanted to hurt her; but that insistent pressure on his arm put his free man-nature in revolt. the thought in his mind was that he did not want any woman running him. himself a favorite with women, nevertheless they did not bulk big with him. they were toys, playthings, part of the relaxation from the bigger game of life. he met women along with the whiskey and gambling, and from observation he had found that it was far easier to break away from the drink and the cards than from a woman once the man was properly entangled.

he was a slave to himself, which was natural in one with a healthy ego, but he rebelled in ways either murderous or panicky at being a slave to anybody else. love's sweet servitude was a thing of which he had no comprehension. men he had seen in love impressed him as lunatics, and lunacy was a thing he had never considered worth analyzing. but comradeship with men was different from love with women. there was no servitude in comradeship. it was a business proposition, a square deal between men who did not pursue each other, but who shared the risks of trail and river and mountain in the pursuit of life and treasure. men and women pursued each other, and one must needs bend the other to his will or hers. comradeship was different. there was no slavery about it; and though he, a strong man beyond strength's seeming, gave far more than he received, he gave not something due but in royal largess, his gifts of toil or heroic effort falling generously from his hands. to pack for days over the gale-swept passes or across the mosquito-ridden marshes, and to pack double the weight his comrade packed, did not involve unfairness or compulsion. each did his best. that was the business essence of it. some men were stronger than others—true; but so long as each man did his best it was fair exchange, the business spirit was observed, and the square deal obtained.

but with women—no. women gave little and wanted all. women had apron-strings and were prone to tie them about any man who looked twice in their direction. there was the virgin, yawning her head off when he came in and mightily pleased that he asked her to dance. one dance was all very well, but because he danced twice and thrice with her and several times more, she squeezed his arm when they asked him to sit in at poker. it was the obnoxious apron-string, the first of the many compulsions she would exert upon him if he gave in. not that she was not a nice bit of a woman, healthy and strapping and good to look upon, also a very excellent dancer, but that she was a woman with all a woman's desire to rope him with her apron-strings and tie him hand and foot for the branding. better poker. besides, he liked poker as well as he did dancing.

he resisted the pull on his arm by the mere negative mass of him, and said:—

"i sort of feel a hankering to give you-all a flutter."

again came the pull on his arm. she was trying to pass the apron-string around him. for the fraction of an instant he was a savage, dominated by the wave of fear and murder that rose up in him. for that infinitesimal space of time he was to all purposes a frightened tiger filled with rage and terror at the apprehension of the trap. had he been no more than a savage, he would have leapt wildly from the place or else sprung upon her and destroyed her. but in that same instant there stirred in him the generations of discipline by which man had become an inadequate social animal. tact and sympathy strove with him, and he smiled with his eyes into the virgin's eyes as he said:—

"you-all go and get some grub. i ain't hungry. and we'll dance some more by and by. the night's young yet. go to it, old girl."

he released his arm and thrust her playfully on the shoulder, at the same time turning to the poker-players.

"take off the limit and i'll go you-all."

"limit's the roof," said jack kearns.

"take off the roof."

the players glanced at one another, and kearns announced, "the roof's off."

elam harnish dropped into the waiting chair, started to pull out his gold-sack, and changed his mind. the virgin pouted a moment, then followed in the wake of the other dancers.

"i'll bring you a sandwich, daylight," she called back over her shoulder.

he nodded. she was smiling her forgiveness. he had escaped the apron-string, and without hurting her feelings too severely.

"let's play markers," he suggested. "chips do everlastingly clutter up the table....if it's agreeable to you-all?"

"i'm willing," answered hal campbell. "let mine run at five hundred."

"mine, too," answered harnish, while the others stated the values they put on their own markers, french louis, the most modest, issuing his at a hundred dollars each.

in alaska, at that time, there were no rascals and no tin-horn gamblers. games were conducted honestly, and men trusted one another. a man's word was as good as his gold in the blower. a marker was a flat, oblong composition chip worth, perhaps, a cent. but when a man betted a marker in a game and said it was worth five hundred dollars, it was accepted as worth five hundred dollars. whoever won it knew that the man who issued it would redeem it with five hundred dollars' worth of dust weighed out on the scales. the markers being of different colors, there was no difficulty in identifying the owners. also, in that early yukon day, no one dreamed of playing table-stakes. a man was good in a game for all that he possessed, no matter where his possessions were or what was their nature.

harnish cut and got the deal. at this good augury, and while shuffling the deck, he called to the barkeepers to set up the drinks for the house. as he dealt the first card to dan macdonald, on his left, he called out:

"get down to the ground, you-all, malemutes, huskies, and siwash purps! get down and dig in! tighten up them traces! put your weight into the harness and bust the breast-bands! whoop-la! yow! we're off and bound for helen breakfast! and i tell you-all clear and plain there's goin' to be stiff grades and fast goin' to-night before we win to that same lady. and somebody's goin' to bump...hard."

once started, it was a quiet game, with little or no conversation, though all about the players the place was a-roar. elam harnish had ignited the spark. more and more miners dropped in to the tivoli and remained. when burning daylight went on the tear, no man cared to miss it. the dancing-floor was full. owing to the shortage of women, many of the men tied bandanna handkerchiefs around their arms in token of femininity and danced with other men. all the games were crowded, and the voices of the men talking at the long bar and grouped about the stove were accompanied by the steady click of chips and the sharp whir, rising and falling, of the roulette-ball. all the materials of a proper yukon night were at hand and mixing.

the luck at the table varied monotonously, no big hands being out. as a result, high play went on with small hands though no play lasted long. a filled straight belonging to french louis gave him a pot of five thousand against two sets of threes held by campbell and kearns. one pot of eight hundred dollars was won by a pair of treys on a showdown. and once harnish called kearns for two thousand dollars on a cold steal. when kearns laid down his hand it showed a bobtail flush, while harnish's hand proved that he had had the nerve to call on a pair of tens.

but at three in the morning the big combination of hands arrived.

it was the moment of moments that men wait weeks for in a poker game. the news of it tingled over the tivoli. the onlookers became quiet. the men farther away ceased talking and moved over to the table. the players deserted the other games, and the dancing-floor was forsaken, so that all stood at last, fivescore and more, in a compact and silent group, around the poker-table. the high betting had begun before the draw, and still the high betting went on, with the draw not in sight. kearns had dealt, and french louis had opened the pot with one marker—in his case one hundred dollars. campbell had merely "seen" it, but elam harnish, corning next, had tossed in five hundred dollars, with the remark to macdonald that he was letting him in easy.

macdonald, glancing again at his hand, put in a thousand in markers. kearns, debating a long time over his hand, finally "saw." it then cost french louis nine hundred to remain in the game, which he contributed after a similar debate. it cost campbell likewise nine hundred to remain and draw cards, but to the surprise of all he saw the nine hundred and raised another thousand.

"you-all are on the grade at last," harnish remarked, as he saw the fifteen hundred and raised a thousand in turn. "helen breakfast's sure on top this divide, and you-all had best look out for bustin' harness."

"me for that same lady," accompanied macdonald's markers for two thousand and for an additional thousand-dollar raise.

it was at this stage that the players sat up and knew beyond peradventure that big hands were out. though their features showed nothing, each man was beginning unconsciously to tense. each man strove to appear his natural self, and each natural self was different. hal campbell affected his customary cautiousness.

french louis betrayed interest. macdonald retained his whole-souled benevolence, though it seemed to take on a slightly exaggerated tone. kearns was coolly dispassionate and noncommittal, while elam harnish appeared as quizzical and jocular as ever. eleven thousand dollars were already in the pot, and the markers were heaped in a confused pile in the centre of the table.

"i ain't go no more markers," kearns remarked plaintively. "we'd best begin i.o.u.'s."

"glad you're going to stay," was macdonald's cordial response.

"i ain't stayed yet. i've got a thousand in already. how's it stand now?"

"it'll cost you three thousand for a look in, but nobody will stop you from raising."

"raise—hell. you must think i got a pat like yourself." kearns looked at his hand. "but i'll tell you what i'll do, mac.

"i've got a hunch, and i'll just see that three thousand."

he wrote the sum on a slip of paper, signed his name, and consigned it to the centre of the table.

french louis became the focus of all eyes. he fingered his cards nervously for a space. then, with a "by gar! ah got not one leetle beet hunch," he regretfully tossed his hand into the discards.

the next moment the hundred and odd pairs of eyes shifted to campbell.

"i won't hump you, jack," he said, contenting himself with calling the requisite two thousand.

the eyes shifted to harnish, who scribbled on a piece of paper and shoved it forward.

"i'll just let you-all know this ain't no sunday-school society of philanthropy," he said. "i see you, jack, and i raise you a thousand. here's where you-all get action on your pat, mac."

"action's what i fatten on, and i lift another thousand," was macdonald's rejoinder. "still got that hunch, jack?"

"i still got the hunch." kearns fingered his cards a long time. "and i'll play it, but you've got to know how i stand. there's my steamer, the bella—worth twenty thousand if she's worth an ounce. there's sixty mile with five thousand in stock on the shelves. and you know i got a sawmill coming in. it's at linderman now, and the scow is building. am i good?"

"dig in; you're sure good," was daylight's answer. "and while we're about it, i may mention casual that i got twenty thousand in mac's safe, there, and there's twenty thousand more in the ground on moosehide. you know the ground, campbell. is they that-all in the dirt?"

"there sure is, daylight."

"how much does it cost now?" kearns asked.

"two thousand to see."

"we'll sure hump you if you-all come in," daylight warned him.

"it's an almighty good hunch," kearns said, adding his slip for two thousand to the growing heap. "i can feel her crawlin' up and down my back."

"i ain't got a hunch, but i got a tolerable likeable hand," campbell announced, as he slid in his slip; "but it's not a raising hand."

"mine is," daylight paused and wrote. "i see that thousand and raise her the same old thousand."

the virgin, standing behind him, then did what a man's best friend was not privileged to do. reaching over daylight's shoulder, she picked up his hand and read it, at the same time shielding the faces of the five cards close to his chest. what she saw were three queens and a pair of eights, but nobody guessed what she saw. every player's eyes were on her face as she scanned the cards, but no sign did she give. her features might have been carved from ice, for her expression was precisely the same before, during, and after. not a muscle quivered; nor was there the slightest dilation of a nostril, nor the slightest increase of light in the eyes. she laid the hand face down again on the table, and slowly the lingering eyes withdrew from her, having learned nothing.

macdonald smiled benevolently. "i see you, daylight, and i hump this time for two thousand. how's that hunch, jack?"

"still a-crawling, mac. you got me now, but that hunch is a rip-snorter persuadin' sort of a critter, and it's my plain duty to ride it. i call for three thousand. and i got another hunch: daylight's going to call, too."

"he sure is," daylight agreed, after campbell had thrown up his hand. "he knows when he's up against it, and he plays accordin'. i see that two thousand, and then i'll see the draw."

in a dead silence, save for the low voices of the three players, the draw was made. thirty-four thousand dollars were already in the pot, and the play possibly not half over. to the virgin's amazement, daylight held up his three queens, discarding his eights and calling for two cards. and this time not even she dared look at what he had drawn. she knew her limit of control. nor did he look. the two new cards lay face down on the table where they had been dealt to him.

"cards?" kearns asked of macdonald.

"got enough," was the reply.

"you can draw if you want to, you know," kearns warned him.

"nope; this'll do me."

kearns himself drew two cards, but did not look at them.

still harnish let his cards lie.

"i never bet in the teeth of a pat hand," he said slowly, looking at the saloon-keeper. "you-all start her rolling, mac."

macdonald counted his cards carefully, to make double sure it was not a foul hand, wrote a sum on a paper slip, and slid it into the pot, with the simple utterance:—

"five thousand."

kearns, with every eye upon him, looked at his two-card draw, counted the other three to dispel any doubt of holding more than five cards, and wrote on a betting slip.

"i see you, mac," he said, "and i raise her a little thousand just so as not to keep daylight out."

the concentrated gaze shifted to daylight. he likewise examined his draw and counted his five cards.

"i see that six thousand, and i raise her five thousand...just to try and keep you out, jack."

"and i raise you five thousand just to lend a hand at keeping jack out," macdonald said, in turn.

his voice was slightly husky and strained, and a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth followed speech.

kearns was pale, and those who looked on noted that his hand trembled as he wrote his slip. but his voice was unchanged.

"i lift her along for five thousand," he said.

daylight was now the centre. the kerosene lamps above flung high lights from the rash of sweat on his forehead. the bronze of his cheeks was darkened by the accession of blood. his black eyes glittered, and his nostrils were distended and eager. they were large nostrils, tokening his descent from savage ancestors who had survived by virtue of deep lungs and generous air-passages. yet, unlike macdonald, his voice was firm and customary, and, unlike kearns, his hand did not tremble when he wrote.

"i call, for ten thousand," he said. "not that i'm afraid of you-all, mac. it's that hunch of jack's."

"i hump his hunch for five thousand just the same," said macdonald. "i had the best hand before the draw, and i still guess i got it."

"mebbe this is a case where a hunch after the draw is better'n the hunch before," kearns remarked; "wherefore duty says, 'lift her, jack, lift her,' and so i lift her another five thousand."

daylight leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the kerosene lamps while he computed aloud.

"i was in nine thousand before the draw, and i saw and raised eleven thousand—that makes thirty. i'm only good for ten more."

he leaned forward and looked at kearns. "so i call that ten thousand."

"you can raise if you want," kearns answered. "your dogs are good for five thousand in this game."

"nary dawg. you-all can win my dust and dirt, but nary one of my dawgs. i just call."

macdonald considered for a long time. no one moved or whispered.

not a muscle was relaxed on the part of the onlookers. not the weight of a body shifted from one leg to the other. it was a sacred silence. only could be heard the roaring draft of the huge stove, and from without, muffled by the log-walls, the howling of dogs. it was not every night that high stakes were played on the yukon, and for that matter, this was the highest in the history of the country. the saloon-keeper finally spoke.

"if anybody else wins, they'll have to take a mortgage on the tivoli."

the two other players nodded.

"so i call, too." macdonald added his slip for five thousand.

not one of them claimed the pot, and not one of them called the size of his hand. simultaneously and in silence they faced their cards on the table, while a general tiptoeing and craning of necks took place among the onlookers. daylight showed four queens and an ace; macdonald four jacks and an ace; and kearns four kings and a trey. kearns reached forward with an encircling movement of his arm and drew the pot in to him, his arm shaking as he did so.

daylight picked the ace from his hand and tossed it over alongside macdonald's ace, saying:—

"that's what cheered me along, mac. i knowed it was only kings that could beat me, and he had them.

"what did you-all have?" he asked, all interest, turning to campbell.

"straight flush of four, open at both ends—a good drawing hand."

"you bet! you could a' made a straight, a straight flush, or a flush out of it."

"that's what i thought," campbell said sadly. "it cost me six thousand before i quit."

"i wisht you-all'd drawn," daylight laughed. "then i wouldn't a' caught that fourth queen. now i've got to take billy rawlins' mail contract and mush for dyea. what's the size of the killing, jack?"

kearns attempted to count the pot, but was too excited. daylight drew it across to him, with firm fingers separating and stacking the markers and i.o.u.'s and with clear brain adding the sum.

"one hundred and twenty-seven thousand," he announced. "you-all can sell out now, jack, and head for home."

the winner smiled and nodded, but seemed incapable of speech.

"i'd shout the drinks," macdonald said, "only the house don't belong to me any more."

"yes, it does," kearns replied, first wetting his lips with his tongue. "your note's good for any length of time. but the drinks are on me."

"name your snake-juice, you-all—the winner pays!" daylight called out loudly to all about him, at the same time rising from his chair and catching the virgin by the arm. "come on for a reel, you-all dancers. the night's young yet, and it's helen breakfast and the mail contract for me in the morning. here, you-all rawlins, you—i hereby do take over that same contract, and i start for salt water at nine a.m.—savvee? come on, you-all! where's that fiddler?"