Burning Daylight by Jack London

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. “We

sure trimmed them beautiful. 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’.”

The geniality in his lazy Western drawl reassured them. 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.

“Well,” Daylight demanded good-humoredly, “ain’t you-all got a

good word for your pardner? Or has his sure enough brilliance

plumb dazzled you-all?”

Letton made a dry sound in his throat. Dowsett sat quietly and

waited, while Leon Guggenhammer struggled into articulation.

“You have certainly raised Cain,” he said.

Daylight’s black eyes flashed in a pleased way.

“Didn’t I, though!” he proclaimed jubilantly. “And didn’t we

fool’em! I was totally surprised. I never dreamed they would be

that easy.

“And now,” he went on, not permitting the pause to grow awkward,

“we-all might as well have an accounting. I’m pullin’ West this

afternoon on that blamed Twentieth Century.” He tugged at his

grip, got it open, and dipped into it with both his hands. “But

don’t forget, boys, when you-all want me to hornswoggle Wall

Street another flutter, all you-all have to do is whisper the

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98

word. I’ll sure be right there with the goods.”

His hands emerged, clutching a great mass of stubs, check-books,

and broker’s receipts. 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 three men looked their bepuzzlement at one another. 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.

“It will take some hours yet, Mr. Harnish, before the full

accounting can be made. Mr. 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.”

Dowsett and Guggenhammer manifested a relief that was almost

obvious. 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’m real glad to hear that,” he said. “I don’t want to miss

that train, and you-all have done me proud, gentlemen, letting me

in on this deal. 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?”

Nathaniel Letton did not look appealingly at his two friends, but

in the brief pause they felt that appeal pass out from him.

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.

“It is extremely–er–difficult,” Leon Guggenhammer began. “You

see, Ward Valley has fluctuated so, er–”

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99

“That no estimate can possibly be made in advance,” Letton

supplemented.

“Approximate it, approximate it,” Daylight counselled cheerfully.

“It don’t hurt if you-all are a million or so out one side or the

other. The figures’ll straighten that up. But I’m that curious

I’m just itching all over. What d’ye say?”

“Why continue to play at cross purposes?” Dowsett demanded

abruptly and coldly. “Let us have the explanation here and now.

Mr. 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.

“Speaking of deals,” he said, “reminds me of a poker game I once

seen in Reno, Nevada. 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.

“‘Say,’ he whispers, ‘I seen the dealer deal hisself four aces.’

“‘Well, an’ what of it?” says the player.

“‘I’m tryin’ to tell you-all because I thought you-all ought to

know,’ says the tenderfoot. ‘I tell you-all I seen him deal

hisself four aces.’

“‘Say, mister,’ says the player, ‘you-all’d better get outa

here. You-all don’t understand the game. It’s his deal, ain’t

it?'”

The laughter that greeted his story was hollow and perfunctory,

but Daylight appeared not to notice it.

“Your story has some meaning, I suppose,” Dowsett said pointedly.

Daylight looked at him innocently and did not reply. He turned

jovially to Nathaniel Letton.

“Fire away,” he said. “Give us an approximation of our winning.

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.” By

this time Letton was stiffened by the attitude Dowsett had taken,

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100

and his answer was prompt and definite.

“I fear you are under a misapprehension, Mr. Harnish. 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…”

Far from excited, Daylight had all the seeming of being stunned.

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.

“Do you-all mind saying that over again?” Daylight said. “Seems

to me I ain’t got it just exactly right. You-all said…?”

He hung with painful expectancy on Nathaniel Letton’s utterance.

“I said you were under a misapprehension, Mr. 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.”

Daylight pointed at the heap of receipts and stubs on the table.

“That-all represents ten million twenty-seven thousand and

forty-two dollars and sixty-eight cents, hard cash. Ain’t it

good for anything here?”

Letton smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

Daylight looked at Dowsett and murmured:–

“I guess that story of mine had some meaning, after all.” He

laughed in a sickly fashion. “It was your deal all right, and

you-all dole them right, too. 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.”

He gazed at the heap on the table with an air of stupefaction.

“And that-all ain’t worth the paper it’s written on. 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…”

His hand, dipping swiftly into his inside breast pocket, appeared

with the big Colt’s automatic.

“As I was saying, the old deal’s finished. Now it’s MY deal, and

I’m a-going to see if I can hold them four aces-

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101

“Take your hand away, you whited sepulchre!” he cried sharply.

Nathaniel Letton’s hand, creeping toward the push-button on the

desk, was abruptly arrested.

“Change chairs,” Daylight commanded. “Take that chair over

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