Newspaper Page Text
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@) DAYLIGHT
By JACK LONDON
oy i
Ilustrations by Dearborn Melvill
{Copyright, 1910, by the New York Herald Co.)
{Copyright, 1910, by the. MacMillan Company.)
: SYNOPSIS.
Elam Harnish, known all through Alas
ka as “Burning Daylight,” celebrates his
soth birthday with a crowd of miners at
the Circle (ity Tivoli. The dance leads
to heavy gambling, in which over SIOO,OOO
is staked. Harnish loses his money and
his mine but wins the mail contract. He
starts on his mail trip with dogs and
sledge, telling his friends that he will be
in the big Yukon gold strike at the start.
CHAPTER Il.—Continued.
“Of course he’ll make it,” Kearns
whispered in Bettles’ ear. “And
there’s five hundred Daylight’s back
in sixty days,” he added aloud. = .
Billy Rawlins closed with the wager,
and Bettles hugged Kearns ecstatical
ly.
“By Yupiter, | ban take that bet,”
Qlaf Henderson said, dragging Day
light away from Bettles and Kearns.
“Winner pays!” Daylight shouted,
closing the wager. “And I'm sure go
ing to win, and sixty days is a long
time between drinks, so | pay now.
Name your brand, you hochinoos!
Name rour brand!”
Somebody opened the outer door. A
vague fray light filtered in.
“Burning Daylight, Burning Day
light.,” some one called warningly.
Daylight paused for nothing, head
ing for the door and pulling down his
ear-flaps. Kama stood outside by the
sled, a long, narrow affair, sixteen
inches wide and seven and a half feet
in length, its slatted bottom raised six
inches above the steel-shod runners
On it, lashed with thcngs of moose
hide, were the light canvas bags that
contained the mail, and the food and
gear for dogs and men In front of
it, in a single line, lay curled five
frost-rimmed dogs. They were husk
fes, matched in size and color, all un
usually large and all gray. From their
cruel jaws to their ‘bushy tails they
were as like as peas in their likeness
to timbter wolves. Wolves they were,
domesticated, it was true, but wolves
in appearance and in all their ¢harac
teristics. On top the sled load, thrust
under the lashings and ready for im
mediate use, were two pairs of snow
shoes Daylight was saying good-by
to those who clustered around him.
The Virgin wanted to kiss him, and.
fyddled slightly though he was with
the whisky, he saw his way out with
out compromising with the apron
string. He kissed the Virgin, but he
kissed the other three women with
equal partiality. He pulled on his
long mittens, roused the dogs to their
feet, and took his place at the gee
pole.
“Mush, you beauties!” he cried.
The animals threw their weights
against their breastbands on the in
stant, crouching low to the snow and
digging in their claws. They whined
eagerly, and hefore the sled had gone
half a dozen lengths both Daylight
and Kama (in the rear) were running
to keep up. And so, running, man and
dogs dipped over the bank and down
to the frozen bed of the Yukon, and in
the gray light were gone. On the
river, where was a packed trail and
where snowshoes were unnecessary,
the dogs averaged six miles an hour.
To keep up with them, the two men
were compelled to run. Daylight and
Kama relieved each other regularly
at the gee-pole, for here was the hard
work of steering the flying sled and
of keeping in advance of it. The man
relieved dropped behind the sled, oc
casionally leaping upon it and resting.
As if through a wall, Daylight had
passed from the hum and roar of the
Tivoli into another world—a world of
silence and {immobility. Nothing
stirred. The Yukon slept under a coat
of ice three feet thick.
The cold snap continued. Only men
of lr_on kept the trail at such low
temperatures, and Kama and Day
light were picked men of their races.
But Kama knew the other was the bet
ter man, and thus, at the start, he was
himself foredoomed to defeat. Not
that he slackened his effort or willing
ness by the slightest degree, but that
he was beaten by the burden he car
ried in his mind. His attitude toward
Daylight was worshipful. Stoical, tae
iturn, proud of his physical prowess,
he found all these qualities incarnated
in his white companion.
CHAPTER Il
At Sixty Mile they restocked provi
gions, added a few pounds of letters
to their load, and held steadily on.
From Forty Mile they had unbroken
trail, and they could look for
ward only to unbroken trail
it wagnificently, . bat ‘the killing’
pace was beginning to tell on Kama
His pride kept bis mouth shut, but
the result of the chilling of his lungs
in the cold snap could not be con
cealed. They traveled till ten o’clock
the night they reached Selkirk, and at
six next morning they plunged ahead
into ‘the next stretch’ of wl&(liernepsfofi
nearly five hundred miles that lay be
tween Selkirk and Dyea. There was
no let-up in his pace. Twelve hours
a day, six in the twilight and six in
the dark, they toiled on the trail
Three hours were consumed in cook
ing, repairing harnesses, and making
-and breaking camp, and the remaining
nine hours dogs and men slept as if
dead. z
- The time came when Kama was un
able to go in the lead and break trail,
and it was proof that he was far gone
when he permitted Daylight to toil
all day at the heavy snowshoe work.
Lake by lake they crossed the string
of lakes from Marsh to Linderman,
and began the ascent of Chilcoot. ‘By
all rights Daylight should have camped
below the last pitch of the pass at the
dim end of day; but he kept on and
over and down to Sheep Camp, while
behind him raged a snow storm that
would have delayed him twenty-four
hours. This last excessive strain broke
Kama completely.- In the morning he
could not travel. At five, when called,
he sat up after a struggle, groaned,
and sank back again. Daylight did
the camp work of both, harnessed the
dogs, and, when ready for the start,
rolled the helpless Indian in all three
sleeping robes and lashed him on top
of the sled. The going was good; they
were on their last lap; and he raced
the dogs down through Dyea canyon
and along the hard-packed trail that
led to Dyea post. And running still,
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The Time Came When Kama Was Unable to Go in the Lead.
Kama groaning on top the load, and
Daylight leaping at the gee-pole to
avoid going under the runners of the
flying sled, they arrived at Dyea by
the sea. True to his promise, ‘Day
light did not stop. Ap hour’s time saw
the sled loaded with the ingoing mail
and grub, fresh dogs harnessed and
a fresh Indian engaged. Kama never
spoke from the time of his arrival till
the moment Daylight, ready to depart,
stood beside him to say good-by. They
shoock hands.
“You kill um dat damn Indian,”
Kama said. “Savvee, Daylight? You
kill um.”
“He'll sure last as far as Pelly,”
Daylight grinned. &
Kama shook his head doubtfully,
and rolled over on his side, turning
his back in token of farewell.
¢ * o
" A crowd filled the Tivoli—the old
crowd that had seen Dayl? depart
two months before; for this” was the
night of the sixtieth day, and opinion
was divided as ever as to whether or
not he would compass the achieve
ment. At ten o’clock bets were still
being made, though the odds rose, bet
by bet, against his success. Dowr in
her heart the Virgin believed he had
failed, yet she made a bet of twenty
ounces with Charley Bates, against
forty ounces, that Dayuiht would ar
e 5t Tey SRRt o e
< She It was who heard the l,ug"ywj
of the dogs. “ : ol
““Listen!” she cried. - “It's. Day
light!™ ; 2
There was a general stampede for
the door: but when the double storm
doors were thrown wide open, the
crowd fell back. They heard the eager
whining of dogs,.the snap of a dog
whip and the voice of Daylight crying
encouragement as the weary animals
capped all they had done by dragging
the sled in over the wooden floor.
They came in with a rush, and with
them rushed in theé frost; a visible
vapor of smoking white, through
which their heads and hacks showed,
as they strained in the harness, till
they had all the seeming of swimming
in a river. Behind them, at the gee
pole, came Daylight, hidden to the
knees by the swirling frost through
which he appeared to wade. He was
the same old Daylight, withal lean
and tired-looking, and his black eyes
‘were sparkling and flashing brighter
than ever. His parka of cotton drill
‘hooded -him like ‘a monk, and fell in
straight lines to his knees. Grimed
and scorched by camp-smoke and fire,
the garment in itself told the story of
.his trip. A two-months’ beard cov
ered his face; and the beard, in turn,
was matted with the ice of his breath
ing through the long seventy-mile
run. :
~ He experienced a thrill of surprise
as the roar of welcome went up and
as every familiar detail of the Tivoll
greeted his vigion—the long bar and
the array of bottles, the gambling
‘games, the big stove, the weigher at
the gold-scales, the musicians, the
men and women, the Virgin, Celia,
and Nellie, Dan MacDonald, Bettles,
Billy Rawlins, Olaf Henderson, Doc
Watson—all of them. It was just as
he had left it, and in all seeming
it might well be the very day he had
left The sixty days of incessant trav
el through the white wilderness sud
denly telescoped, and had -no exis
tence in time. They were a moment,
an incident. He had plunged out and
into them through the wall of silence,
and back through the wall of silence
he had plunged, apparently the next
instant, and into the roar and tur
moil of the Tivoli.
He drew a deep breath and cried:
“The winner pays, and I'm the win
ner, ain’t I 1?. Surge up, you-all Male
mutes and Siwashes, and name your
poison! There’s your Dyea mall,
straight from Salt Water, and no horn
swogglin about it! Cast the lashings
adrift, you-all, and wade into it!”
A dozen pairs of hands were at the
sled-lashings, when the young Le
Barge Indian, bending at the same
task, suddenly and Ilimply straight
ened up. In his eyes was a great sur
prise. He stared about him wildly,
for the thing he was undergoing was
new to him. He was profoundly
struck by an unguessed limitation. He
shook as with a palsy, and he gave at
the knecs, slowly sinking down to fall
suddenly across the sled and to know
the smashing blow of darkness across
his consciousness
“Exhaustion,” eald Daylight. “Take
him off and put him to bed, some of
’w, _He'’s gure a good Indian.”
“A few minutes later, Daylight was
whirling around the dance-floor, waltz
ing with the Virgin. And small won
der it was that the Virgin yielded her
self to his arms, as they danced dance
after dance, and sick at heart at the
knowledge that he found nothing in
ber more. than a good friend and an’
excellent dancer. Small consolation
it was to know that he never loved
any woman. She was sick with love of
him, and he danced with her as be
would dance With any woman,-as he’
would dance with a man wiko Was a
good dancer and upon whose arm was
tied a handkerchief to conventionalize
him into a woman.
At one in the morning hie saw Elijab
Davis herding Henry Finn and Joe
Hines: the lumber-jack, foward ' the
‘door. Daylight interfered.
“Where are you-all going?”’ he de
manded, attempting to draw them to.
the bar. . 5 g S ;
“Bed.” Elijab Dayis answered. - .~
“Got to,” Joe Hines added apolo
getically. “We're mushing out in the
mornin’.” b
‘Daylight still detained them.
“Where to? What's the excite
ment?”
“No excltements" 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 Flijah ignored the accept
ance.
“We're tacklin’ the Stewart,” he
went on. “Al Mayo told me he seen
some likely lookin’ barg first time he
come down the Stewart, and we're
goin’ to sample ’em while the’ river’s
froze. You listen, Daylight, an’ mark
my words, the time’s comin’ when
winter diggin’s ’'ll be all the go.
There’ll be men in them days that'll
laugh at our summer scratchin’ an’
ground-wallerin’.”
Elijah laughed, gathered his two
partners up, and was making a second
attempt to reach the door.
_“Hold on,” Daylight called. *l sure
mean it.”
The three men turned back sudden
ly upon him, in their faces surprise,
‘delight, and incredulity.
“G'wan, you're foolin’,” said Finn.
the other lumber:jack, a quiet, steady,
Wisconsin man.
“There's my dawgs and sled,” Day
light answered. “That’ll make two
‘teams and halve the loads; though
we-all 'll have to travel easy for a
spell, for them:dawgs is sure tired.”
The three men were overjoyed, but
still a trifle incredulous
“Now lcok here,” Joe Hines blurted
out, “none of your foolin’, Daylight.
We mean business. Will you come?”
Daylight extended his hand and
' shook.
CHAPTER IV. ;
This time the trall was easier. It
was better packed, and they were not
carrying mail against time. At Forty
Mile they laid over two days for the
sake of the dogs, and at Sixty Mile
Daylight’s team was left with the
trader. Unlike Daylight, after the
‘terrible run from Selkirk to Circle
City, they had been unable to recup
‘erate on the back trail. So the four
men pulled on from Sixty Mile with
a fresh team of dogs on Daylight’s
sled. The fo]lowlng night they
camped in the cluster of islands at
the mouth of the Stewart. Daylight
talked town sites, and, though the
others laughed at him, he staked the
whole maze of high. wooded island.
“Just supposing the big strike does
come on the Stewart,” he argued.
“Mebbe you-all 'll be in on it, and then
again mebbe you-all won’t. But I sure
will. You-all 'd better reconsider and
'go in with me on it.”
But they were stubborn.
“You're as bad as Harper and Joe
Ladue,” sald Joe Hines. “They’re al
ways at that game. You know that
big flat jest below the Klondike and
under Moosehide Mountain? Well,
the recorder at Forty Mile was tellin’
me they staked that not a month ago
—The Harper & Ladue Town Site.
Ha! Ha! Ha!”
Elijah and Finn joined in his laugh
ter; but Daylight was gravely in earn
est.
“There she 1is!” he cried. “The
hunch i 8 working! It's in the alr, |
tell you-all! What'd they-all- stake
the big flat for if they-all didn’t get
the hunch? Wish I'd staked it.”
The regret in his voice was provoca
tive of a second burst of laughter.
“Laugh, dang you, laugh! Why
your eyes ain’t open yet. You-all are
a bunch of little mewing Kkittens. |
tell you-all if that strikes come on
Klondike, Harper and Ladue will be
millionaires. And if it comes on Stew
art, you-all watch the Elam Harnish
town site boom. In them days, when
you-all come around makin’® poor
mouths . . .” He'heaved a sigh of
resignation. “Well, ‘1 suppose I'll
have to give you-all a grub-stake or
soup, or something or other.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Assassinated.
Marks—My old aunt had not been
dead 24 hours when her parrot died,
too. !
Parks—The poor bird died of grief,
1 suppose. '
ot R ek sX R SRR L e g
Lady jn Pierce Relates An Experi
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and Women.
Pierce, Neb.—Mrs. Dollie Schilow
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back of my head, as well as low down
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. Sometimes, it seemed like I would
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to see the doctor, but he did not help
me. . 3 :
At lasi, I began to take-Cardui, and
three bottles gave me 'great relief.
My health is getting better every day.
I can recommend Cardui to suffer
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Other women, who suffer as Mrs.
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ment for Women,” sent in plain wrap
per, on request.
OF THE AGE OF CHIVALRY
Fat Victim of Cupid Bashfully Ac
knowledges Real Reason for His
Act of Heroism.
The smallest boy had broken
through the ice and the fat boy was
crawling to his rescue.
~ “Come back, Fatty!” the other boys
shrieked. “You’ll bust it all in, an’
den youse’ll both be drowned!”
But the fat boy, flat on his stom
ach and spread out to his widest ex
tent, ignored these warning cries and
steadily crept toward the black hole
and Tommy’s clinging fingers.
Once the ice made a cracking sound
and the watchers yelled with dismay.
But the fat boy did not halt. Nearer
and nearer he came, and finally his
outstretched hands caught those cling
ing fingers and drew the small boy,
little by little, onto the firmer ice and
so to safety.
“What did youse do it fer, Fatty?”
one of the boys tearfully remonstrat
ed.
“Aw,” replied the hero, “I knew
what I lost in weight I made up in
wideness, see?”
Then his face softened.
“Besides,” he bashfully said, “I'm
sweet on Tommy’'s sister!”
After a Fashion.
Church Member—Does your father
always practiec what he preaches?
Minister’'s Son-——Yessum; before a
mirror.—Cornell Widow.
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Thought
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