Burning Daylight | Page 8

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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 trays 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