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."