Haw and
Terry in an effort, it is supposed, to recoup his losses at the
Forks. The play continued nearly all night, and at the wind-up,
Locasto, as stated above, was loser to the amount of $19,000. This
is probably the largest individual loss ever sustained at one
sitting in the history of Klondike poker playing."

Jack Locasto! Why had I not thought of him before? Surely if any one
knew of the girl's whereabouts, it would be he. I determined I would ask
him at once.

So I hastily finished my coffee and inquired of the emasculated-looking
waiter where I might find the Klondike King.

"Oh, Black Jack," he said: "well, at the Green Bay Tree, or the Tivoli,
or the Monte Carlo. But there's a big poker game on and he's liable to
be in it."

Once more I paraded the seething street. It was long after midnight, but
the wondrous glow, still burning in the Northern sky, filled the land
with strange enchantment. In spite of the hour the town seemed to be
more alive than ever. Parties with pack-laden mules were starting off
for the creeks, travelling at night to avoid the heat and mosquitoes.
Men with lean brown faces trudged sturdily along carrying extraordinary
loads on their stalwart shoulders. A stove, blankets, cooking utensils,
axe and shovel usually formed but a part of their varied accoutrement.

Constables of the Mounted Police were patrolling the streets. In the
drab confusion their scarlet tunics were a piercing note of colour. They
walked very stiffly, with grim mouths and eyes sternly vigilant under
the brims of their Stetsons. Women were everywhere, smoking cigarettes,
laughing, chaffing, strolling in and out of the wide-open saloons. Their
cheeks were rouged, their eye-lashes painted, their eyes bright with
wine. They gazed at the men like sleek animals, with looks that were
wanton and alluring. A libertine spirit was in the air, a madcap
freedom, an effluence of disdainful sin.

I found myself by the stockade that surrounded the Police reservation.
On every hand I saw traces of a recent overflow of the river that had
transformed the street into a navigable canal. Now in places there were
mudholes in which horses would flounder to their bellies. One of the
Police constables, a tall, slim Englishman with a refined manner, proved
to me a friend in need.

"Yes," he said, in answer to my query, "I think I can find your man.
He's downtown somewhere with some of the big sporting guns. Come