ck, and
gold all the way down. At the sharpest hazards of trail and river and
famine, the message was that other men might die, but that he would
pull through triumphant. It was the old, old lie of Life fooling
itself, believing itself--immortal and indestructible, bound to achieve
over other lives and win to its heart's desire.

And so, reversing at times, Daylight waltzed off his dizziness and led
the way to the bar. But a united protest went up. His theory that the
winner paid was no longer to be tolerated. It was contrary to custom
and common sense, and while it emphasized good-fellowship,
nevertheless, in the name of good-fellowship it must cease. The drinks
were rightfully on Ben Davis, and Ben Davis must buy them.
Furthermore, all drinks and general treats that Daylight was guilty of
ought to be paid by the house, for Daylight brought much custom to it
whenever he made a night. Bettles was the spokesman, and his argument,
tersely and offensively vernacular, was unanimously applauded.

Daylight grinned, stepped aside to the roulette-table, and bought a
stack of yellow chips. At the end of ten minutes he weighed in at the
scales, and two thousand dollars in gold-dust was poured into his own
and an extra sack. Luck, a mere flutter of luck, but it was his.
Elation was added to elation. He was living, and the night was his.
He turned upon his well-wishing critics.

"Now the winner sure does pay," he said.

And they surrendered. There was no withstanding Daylight when he
vaulted on the back of life, and rode it bitted and spurred.

At one in the morning he saw Elijah Davis herding Henry Finn and Joe
Hines, the lumber-jack, toward the door. Daylight interfered.

"Where are you-all going?" he demanded, attempting to draw them to the
bar.

"Bed," Elijah Davis answered.

He was a lean tobacco-chewing New Englander, the one daring spirit in
his family that had heard and answered the call of the West shouting
through the Mount Desert back odd-lots. "Got to," Joe Hines added
apologetically. "We're mushing out in the mornin'."

Daylight still detained them. "Where to? What's the excitement?"

"No excitement," Elijah explained. "We're just a-goin' to play your
hunch, an' tackle the Upper Country. Don't you want to come along?"

"I sure do," Daylight affirmed.

But the question had been put in fun, and Elijah ignored the acceptance.

"We're tacklin' the Stewart," he went on. "Al Mayo told me he s