It was not the size of the stakes that interested them, for in the early Dawson days, before the inrush of the _chechakos_ and tin-horns, big games were the order, and thousands of dollars in dust and markers passed almost nightly over McCarty’s tables. The interest was in the fact that Old Man Gordon was playing, and that in a sudden abandon of profligacy he was risking all he owned upon a game of cards. For, not a man among them but had listened to the old man’s oft repeated tirades against the vice of gambling. The interest lay in this, but to even a greater extent, it lay in MacShane. For the unwritten law of the Yukon was plain, needing no interpretation of court to make it understood. If a man sat in a game of cards he stated no limit of liability. “Table stakes” and “limit” games were unknown. A player stood to lose all he possessed. He must not bet beyond the limit of his property without the consent of the other players. And should a pot in which he was interested be forced beyond the value of his property, he could call for so much of the pot as had accumulated up to that point, all subsequent bets being considered as between the other players only. Also, in all fairness, the law decreed that a man should be given the chance to win back what he had lost. The practice of “making a killing” and quitting a game was brought in by the tin-horns, with their “table stakes” and “limit” games. Old Man Gordon was demanding to be allowed to win back his loss. And breathlessly the onlookers watched MacShane, for not a man among them would have had the nerve to refuse to play. Yet, every man among them knew that MacShane did not want to win the old man’s claim. It was up to MacShane. The law was plain, and no man would have blamed him had he played and won. But MacShane, veriest sourdough of them all, chose to disregard the law, and the fact that men knew him for what he was gave approval to his decision. “This game is over, Gordon,” he stated, quietly. “I’m quitting.” And with the words, he pushed back from the table and stood up. The old man leaped to his feet and faced him, shaking with rage: “Ye’re a quitter! The great Burr MacShane is a quitter! Bah! Ye’ve be’n a big man hereabouts, an’ throughout pretty much all the North--but it took Old Man Gordon to find ye out! Hereabout, men know ye now for what ye are! Ye’ve won thirty-seven hundred in gude gold from me--but ye’ve lost more than I have, Burr MacShane! I bid ye Gude Night!” MacShane listened to the tirade without a word, and when the door closed behind the old man, he strolled to the bar and presented his slips. McCarty weighed out the dust, which was in several small sacks. MacShane gathered up the sacks, added the one Gordon had tossed across the table, and slipped them into his pocket.