Deep in his life-processes Life itself sang the siren song of its own majesty, ever a-whisper and urgent, counseling him that he could achieve more than other men, win out where they failed, ride to success where they perished.

It was the urge of Life healthy and strong, unaware of frailty and decay, drunken with sublime complacence, ego-mad, enchanted by its own mighty optimism.
And ever in vaguest whisperings and clearest trumpet-calls came the message that sometime, somewhere, somehow, he would run Luck down, make himself the master of Luck, and tie it and brand it as his own.

When he played poker, the whisper was of four aces and royal flushes.

When he prospected, it was of gold in the grass-roots, gold on bed-rock, 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.