Буйний День = Burning Daylight / Jack London - AMERICAN LIBRARY series

Burning Daylight / Jack London. — Kyiv : Znannia, 2022. — 287 p. — Англ. мовою без скорочень та адаптації. — (American Library).

Elam Harnish, the lead character of the novel by Jack London (1876—1916), whom everyone calls Burning Daylight, wins everyone’s hearts with his strength, courage, and restlessness. A tireless gold digger, he establishes his place in life, earns respect, and possesses a fortune. So, what's next? The incredible story of the ups and downs of an adventurous, strong, and determined man will help the reader to ponder the true human values which are never too late to return to.

It was a quiet night in the Shovel. At the bar, which ranged along one side of the large chinked-log room, leaned half a dozen men, two of whom were discussing the relative merits of spruce-tea and lime-juice as remedies for scurvy. They argued with an air of depression and with intervals of morose silence. The other men scarcely heeded them. In a row, against the opposite wall, were the gambling games. The crap-table was deserted. One lone man was playing at the faro-table. The roulette-ball was not even spinning, and the gamekeeper stood by the roaring, red-hot stove, talking with the young, dark-eyed woman, comely of face and figure, who was known from Juneau to Fort Yukon as the Virgin. Three men sat in at stud-poker, but they played with small chips and without enthusiasm, while there were no onlookers. On the floor of the dancing-room, which opened out at the rear, three couples were waltzing drearily to the strains of a violin and a piano.

Circle City was not deserted, nor was money tight. The miners were in from Moseyed Creek and the other diggings to the west, the summer washing had been good, and the men’s pouches were heavy with dust and nuggets. The Klondike had not yet been discovered, nor had the miners of the Yukon learned the possibilities of deep digging and wood-firing. No work was done in the winter, and they made a practice of hibernating in the large camps like Circle City during the long Arctic night. Time was heavy on their hands, their pouches were well filled, and the only social diversion to be found was in the saloons. Yet the Shovel was practically deserted, and the Virgin, standing by the stove, yawned with uncovered mouth and said to Charley Bates: 

“If something don’t happen soon, I’m gin’ to bed. What’s the matter with the camp, anyway? Everybody dead?”

Bates did not even trouble to reply, but went on moodily rolling a cigarette. Dan MacDonald, pioneer saloonman and gambler on the upper Yukon, owner and proprietor of the Tivoli and all its games, wandered forlornly across the great vacant space of floor and joined the two at the stove.

“Anybody dead?” the Virgin asked him.

“Looks like it,” was the answer.

“Then it must be the whole camp,” she said with an air of finality and with another yawn.