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.