“ ‘YE HAVE SIX CARDS IN YER HAND, YE SPALPEEN.’ ”“ ‘YE HAVE SIX CARDS IN YER HAND, YE SPALPEEN.’ ”
every one of the ten visitors had his gun out, excepting Krags, who was struggling violently but ineffectually to free his hands. The Brownsville men were as quick as the strangers, but, although three or four shots were heard, none reached a mark. And after a little time, Long Mike’s voice commanded attention.
“Av we did the roight thing,” he shouted, “we’d chop holes in th’ oice, an’ send yez ahl shwimmin’ down th’ river. But Oi’m thinkin’ we can have more fun nor that. Yez’ll ahl give yer guns to Sam, an’ Oi’ll take this omadhaun out-o’-doors an’ woipe th’ ground up wid him. An’ Bixby’ll hitch up an’ carry what’s left back to La Crosse the noight widout waitin’ f’r sun-up.”
No one dissented, for Krags and his followers were as confident as the Brownsville men, and moreover counted themselves lucky to get off as they did after the exposé. And then Smithers gave a new turn to the situation by saying, “I’ll bet even money that Krags’ll lick him.”
In about three minutes all the availablecash in the party was staked on the contest and the two gladiators stripped for the fray.
Then was Brownsville glorified within three minutes more, for Long Mike stood with his hands down, waiting the other’s onslaught. It came with a fury that would have demolished an ordinary man, but he took two blows that seemed enough to break his bones, and then wrapped his arms around Krags in such fashion as to hold him helpless. For a moment he stood thus, tightening his grip slowly, and then said, coolly:
“Ye’ll tell me when ye have enough.”
The other made no answer, but struggled like a wildcat, while Long Mike stood smiling and slowly tightening his awful grip. Not until the bones began to crack did the defeated man give up, but presently he gasped “Enough,” and fell, half-dead, to the ground as the other released his hold.
“Oi’m thinkin’, belike,” said Stumpy, as they watched the stage start off, “thot we might have a party up here from Dubuque next week, I don’t know. Thim social visits is foine divarsion.”
Thefate of the one-eyed man had not been forgotten in Brownsville, but the lapse of time since his taking off had been sufficient to allay the excitement which it had occasioned.
This excitement, it may be said, was not the result of any fervent esteem which the one-eyed man might have enjoyed among his fellow citizens if he had been a person of more congenial temperament than he was. As a matter of fact, he had various traits of character which had distinctly failed to commend him to the hearty liking of the community, and while he lived there were not a few citizens who counted him among the least desirable of their number.
Brownsville, however, was not habituatedto homicide. Fights there were in Brownsville not infrequently, and a good shindy was commonly reckoned among the pleasurable variations to the monotony that characterized life in the little river town for something like three hundred and sixty days in the year.
Such fights, however, were usually carried to a more or less satisfactory conclusion without loss of life, and the sudden demise of the one-eyed man had aroused some horror, as well as a strong feeling of antipathy for the man who shot him. This feeling was also tempered by the lukewarmness of the sentiment of the community toward the one-eyed man, but the prevailing opinion was that Wharton had gone a little too far in shooting.
There was no disputing the fact, however, that it was a fair fight, and that the one-eyed man had brought it on himself, so there had been no attempt made to put Wharton on trial for the killing. He had gone away from Brownsville, and the general satisfaction at that had, of itself, tempered thehostility he had provoked, which hostility was indeed no very powerful sentiment.
When theCreole Belle, however, tied up at the Brownsville landing, just at the edge of a summer evening, some months after the shooting, and Mr. Wharton stepped ashore, he failed to receive any enthusiastic welcome. Strangers who came ashore at Brownsville were not so numerous as to allow of his escaping recognition, and most of those whom he greeted on his way from the landing to the barroom responded with a cool “Howdy,” but no one proffered a handshake, and none gave him spontaneous greeting.
It was not observed, however, that any of those in the barroom made any strenuous effort to avoid his invitation to partake of such refreshment as Sam had in readiness. It was therefore to be fairly inferred that time had mellowed the resentment which Mr. Wharton’s violent action had originally provoked.
Perhaps no clearer statement of the actual condition of public sentiment could be madethan that which Stumpy put in words, speaking to Gallagher, as they returned to their work on the landing after they had followed the crowd into the barroom.
“I do be thinkin’ this here Wharton ’ud be betther loiked,” he said, “av he’d shtop some place where they knowed less about him. Av he shtays here, belike there’ll be doin’s.”
“Maybe,” said Gallagher, “but I reckon there’s them here that’ll kape him from too much killin’, an’ the most o’ the houses is nailed down.”
“Shure, it’s not the likes o’ that I’m thinkin’. ’Tain’t likely he’ll steal the town, nor yet the river,” returned Stumpy, somewhat nettled at the other’s indifference, “but he’s not the koind o’ man I loike to see.
“Shure, he’s a gambler, an’ he’s too almighty free with his gun, I’m thinkin’. He’ll carry away the money that belongs in the town, an’ av there’s anny row—an’ belike there will be if Long Mike sits in wid him, it’s not fightin’ wid fists we’ll see, but a shootin’ scrape.
“Shure, I don’t mind a bit o’ a shindy, or a sociable game o’ dhraw-poker, but thim kind is the wrong cattle to play wid.”
“We’ll see,” said Gallagher, shortly, as he turned to his work.
He was an enthusiastic gambler himself, though a most unlucky one, and the notion of playing with a professional had no terrors for him. Moreover, the scent of a battle, even afar, was sweeter to him than newmown hay. Stumpy, however, though by no means averse to excitement of any kind, was more conservative and had his forebodings.
Later in the evening, after theCreole Bellehad discharged her freight and taken on that which was waiting for her, and had gone on down the Mississippi, leaving Mr. Wharton still in the barroom, it appeared altogether probable that some, at least, of these forebodings would be justified.
Sam had been kept tolerably busy in the meantime, Mr. Wharton having realized what was expected of him as a stranger, and being evidently disposed to fulfil hisobligations. Possibly in consequence of this the crowd around him, when Brownsville resumed its normal inactivity after the departure of the boat, was conversationally disposed.
Not less than four persons were talking at once, most of the time, and though Mr. Wharton did comparatively little talking and did not appear to have taken enough red liquor to affect his nerves in the least, it was noticeable that he was doing all he could to promote the general hilarity.
There could hardly be a doubt of his object. At all events, Stumpy entertained none, and though he did his duty conscientiously in seeing that none of Sam’s liquor should go begging, as became one who was conversant with Brownsville’s customs, he yet maintained a constant watchfulness, as one who feared the worst. When, presently, he heard Wharton propose a game of cards, he muttered:
“I knew it. Now for a battle, murder an’ sudden death, I don’t know. Av Long Mike sits in, an’ the saints above cudn’t kape him out, there’ll be doin’s. Sure it’s me for to shtand by.”
Stand by, accordingly, he did. Wharton’s proposal was seconded and adopted with alacrity, and Long Mike and Gallagher took their seats at the table eagerly. Hennessy also declared his willingness to buy chips, and the fifth hand was taken by a man named Cutler, who had been in town for some weeks, and was, therefore, known to them all excepting Wharton, but who had failed to arouse any feeling of liking or respect among the citizens.
Just why he was there he did not explain, nor did any demand an explanation; but it seemed so utterly unreasonable for a stranger to remain in Brownsville indefinitely that he was already an object of suspicion. He flashed his money with the others, however, and no one made objection to his playing.
The game was for table stakes, and, as each player bought a hundred to start, no one else in the room felt rich enough to take a hand. They all stood around looking on,however, so Stumpy attracted no attention when he took his stand directly behind Wharton’s chair, getting as close to it as he conveniently could without touching it. It so happened, moreover, that Cutler sat nearly opposite to him, being the third man to Wharton’s left.
For a considerable time the play was uneventful, and the luck appeared to run more evenly than was to be expected. Even Gallagher did not lose as rapidly as usual, and Long Mike’s proverbial good luck failed to appear.
In less than half an hour, however, the big hands began to come, and the play became strenuous enough to put an end to general conversation. Nothing was heard but the few stock phrases which ordinarily announce the play at poker, and not only the players, but the onlookers, became more and more excited.
A full hand that Gallagher caught pat on Long Mike’s deal gave him the opportunity to open a jack-pot under the guns, which he did for five dollars, there beingthat amount in the pot. Cutler came in, and so did Hennessy, whereupon Wharton raised it ten dollars.
Long Mike skinned his cards down, and finding three sevens, concluded they were worth playing, so he saw the raise, and Gallagher promptly came back with ten more. Cutler hesitated a little, but saw the double raise, and Hennessy dropped out.
Wharton studied a bit, but finally made it ten more to play, and Long Mike shoved his money forward with a dogged air, as if he knew, as he did, that he was overplaying his hand, but was determined not to be driven out.
Gallagher still had some fifty dollars in front of him, and he pushed that forward eagerly, whereupon Cutler dropped, and Wharton simply made good. Then Long Mike made a few remarks.
They were profane rather than pertinent, being of the nature of a reflection on his own discretion in playing further, but his characteristic dislike to being driven out made him put up his money, and he askedthe others what they wanted in the draw. Neither of them took cards, so, with considerable more bad language, Long Mike took two for himself.
“I’m all in,” said Gallagher, and Wharton threw in a white chip carelessly, with the evident thought that Long Mike had no show and would not see any considerable bet.
To his surprise and disgust, however, Long Mike not only saw his side bet, but shoved his whole pile forward. It was clear that he had made fours, or a full, or was bluffing outrageously, but as Wharton himself had four fives, he felt compelled to call.
Gallagher had struck his usual luck, and Long Mike had found his, for his last card was the fourth seven. It put Gallagher out of the game, for he had only twenty dollars more in his pocket, and they refused to let him buy in again for so little. Wharton, however, took another hundred, having only a few chips left.
The next two deals were uneventful, butwhen Wharton took the cards, there being a jack-pot on, Long Mike opened it. The other two stayed, and again Wharton raised.
No one came back at him, but they all stayed, and on the draw they took two cards apiece. It looked like three of a kind all round.
Long Mike bet a chip. Cutler and Hennessy trailed and Wharton raised. Long Mike stayed and Cutler raised back.
Hennessy, who had been playing cautiously from the beginning, threw down his cards, and Wharton raised again. Still Long Mike stayed, and Cutler raised once more.
Once more Wharton went back at him, and though no single raise had been more than five dollars, Long Mike seemed suddenly suspicious. He looked from one to the other keenly, and then studied his hand carefully. Suddenly he pushed fifty dollars forward, and it was up to Cutler.
That worthy hesitated and looked at Wharton. Whether it was a look of inquiry is doubtful, but Stumpy chose to considerit so, and he violated all poker etiquette unhesitatingly.
“Why don’t ye play yer own hand, ye omadhaun,” he demanded, fiercely, “an’ not be lookin’ at yer pal for insthructions?”
The uproar came on the instant. The players all sprang to their feet, upsetting the table, and Wharton and Cutler both reached for their guns. Hennessy, however, grabbed Cutler, and Stumpy seized Wharton’s wrist in a grip of iron.
“Ye’ll not shoot,” he said. “Ye’ve kilt wan man in Brownsville already, an’ that’s enough. We foight different here. Av ye feel yerself aggrieved, Oi’ll front ye, man to man, but there’ll be no gun in yer hand. Sure I saw yez passin’ signals to yer pal, so I’m thinkin’ ye’ll play no more poker here, ayther.”
The hubbub was indescribable, but when it became possible to distinguish voices it appeared that popular sentiment was on Stumpy’s side. Wharton and Cutler refused to fight with nature’s weapons, and, since they were not allowed possession oftheir pistols again, they retired in as good order as possible to the landing-place, where another boat was just coming in.
After they had gone up the river together, Stumpy said confidentially to his dog Peter:
“Sure, I saw nothin’ out o’ way, Peter, but ye’ll not mention that same. Thim gamblers is pizen, an’ the quickest way o’ gettin’ rid o’ thim was the best.”
And Peter barked loudly and wagged the remains of his tail.
Itseemed a pity, after peace had prevailed so long in Brownsville, to have Long Mike and Gallagher at odds again. The big man had made no attempt for fully a year and a half to kill his foreman, and men had thought the feud was past, yet once again the smaller man was now seeking safety while Long Mike raged like a lion in his quest for his old-time foe.
“Sure I do be thinkin’ we’ll niver have peace in th’ place widout a firsht-class killin’. ’Tis th’ only thing as’ll shtill th’ atmoshphere,” said Stumpy.
It had broken out over a game of poker, but no man knew whether the smouldering embers of hatred had blazed up at a chance word, or whether some fresh spark had been kindled by the friction of the game.
Jim Titherton had been greatly astonished. Titherton was a gentleman of more or less elegant leisure, who spent much of his time travelling up and down the Mississippi River, stopping frequently at the smaller towns where the boats landed, but very seldom at any of the cities. Ashore he was never known to busy himself in any recognized commercial pursuit, but he was always ready and willing to play a game of cards with anybody who was properly qualified to play.
He had been in Brownsville for two days, and had already begun to look for the arrival of the next boat, finding that Brownsville was not overanxious to play cards with strangers, when somewhat to his surprise Long Mike invited him to play.
Of itself, this was a fact requiring explanation, but the further fact that Long Mike had started in made it unnecessary to seek any explanation for anything he might do. There was only one thing certain about Long Mike’s actions once he started in, andthat was that he would do whatever would naturally be least expected.
When he challenged Mr. Titherton to a game of draw-poker, however, something like consternation was immediately manifest among the other occupants of the barroom. One evidence of the simplicity of life in Brownsville was that Sam had never found it necessary to adopt a name for his saloon. It did not have to be distinguished from the other barrooms, because there were no others.
In consequence, the main part of the male population of Brownsville sat in Sam’s place evenings, and when the leading citizen of the place, being not too completely in command of all his faculties, proposed to play poker with a stranger who was known to have suspicious ability as a player, to say the least, it was realized that a common peril impended; for Long Mike was not only the chief capitalist and the sole employer of labour in the place, but he was also known to be entirely reckless when he was well started, and capable of playing away his entire earthly possessions. Mr. Titherton,therefore, stood to win practically all the money in Brownsville unless something was done promptly.
It was true that Long Mike was lucky. It was one of the traditions of Brownsville, and the story had travelled both up and down the river, that nobody could win money from Long Mike in a square game, provided that gentleman kept sober enough to count his chips. But Brownsville realized that luck alone was not likely to avail much to the man who played single-handed with Mr. Titherton.
The obvious expedient, therefore, was to increase the number of players in the game. It seemed certain that if Titherton and Long Mike played a two-handed game, disaster would befall, but if several others should sit in, there would at least be the chance of frustrating any schemes of iniquitous play that might be instituted, and there would be the further possibility of breaking the game up by force of arms in case the disaster should become imminent.
It was usually Stumpy who spoke first, andthis occasion proved to be no exception. Knowing the uncertain temper of his boss, he realized the necessity for diplomacy, and therefore spoke as one who might address the entire atmosphere:
“Av it wasn’t for me bein’ th’ cr-rack player in Brownsville, maybe it’s me ’ud be as’t for to take a hand, I don’t know. Sure, it’d be loike takin’ a bottle o’ milk from a babby. It’d be a sin f’r me to play.”
Long Mike looked at him uncertainly for a time. Then he laughed contemptuously.
“Since when did ye l’arn the game, Stumpy?” he said. “Sure, it was last week I bluffed ye out on a pair o’ deuces.”
“There’s ne’er a man this side o’ Memphis,” replied Stumpy, steadily, “can bate me at th’ game, barrin’ it’s Gallagher, yander, an’ maybe Ferguson, av he have the luck.”
“It’s Gallagher, is it?” said Long Mike, his face darkening at the mention of the name. “An’ Ferguson. An’ you. Sure it’s a foine pair the three av yez is. Belike anny wan o’ yez ’d play betther blindfold. Butthere, then, the more o’ yez cooms in, the more money there’ll be in th’ game. We’ll play five-handed.”
It took no diagram of the situation to explain matters to Gallagher and Ferguson, and it is proper to say that they saw their duty and did it like men, though it is certain that neither of them had any more relish for the undertaking than had Stumpy. Their loyalty to Long Mike was greatly stimulated by the realization of the peril to the common interest involved in his playing single-handed against Mr. Titherton, and they took their places at the card-table unhesitatingly.
Moreover, they took their places beside one another, and so contrived, without seeming to contrive, that Long Mike should sit on Titherton’s left, leaving the latter gentleman, to say the least, with no advantage of position. It would be his say in each round before Long Mike’s, so that he could not model his play on the latter’s.
For, it should be explained, Brownsville’s dislike to playing with strangers came from no lack of science, or skill, or courage. Itarose merely from the fact that manual dexterity in the deal was the one thing which Brownsville could not boast. In all other respects, the Brownsville game of poker was well up to the Mississippi River standard.
They made the game table stakes, and each man flashed fifty dollars for a starter. They were used to a moderate game, but they all knew that it was liable to grow to much greater dimensions if Long Mike should become excited.
For the first few rounds, however, there was no great excitement. The hands ran tolerably well, two flushes and a full being shown inside of twenty minutes, with a straight and several threes, but no strong hands were out together, and there was no contest of any importance.
Then came what looked at first like a struggle. It was Stumpy’s deal, and Ferguson had put up the ante, fifty call a dollar.
Titherton came in, and so did Long Mike. Gallagher raised it two dollars. Stumpy and Ferguson dropped, and Tithertonmade it three more. That was a sufficient indication to Long Mike, and he passed it up to Gallagher, who promptly raised it five.
Titherton threw in his five and called for two cards. Gallagher called for one, and Titherton threw in a white chip. Gallagher looked at his draw carefully, and pushed his entire pile into the pot.
Thereupon Titherton studied for a full minute. He looked keenly at his antagonist’s face, and then he looked at his own hand again. And lastly he counted his chips, as if intending to call, keeping his head bent down, but watching Gallagher meantime out of the corner of his eye. Then suddenly he threw down his cards.
Gallagher said nothing as he drew in the pot, but there was a slight twitching at one corner of his mouth which led those who knew him best to suspect that he had not filled his flush. As this was no longer a matter of any importance nothing was said about it.
Ferguson dealt next, and as no one caughta hand, the cards passed to Titherton, and he dealt for a jack-pot.
It had not escaped Mr. Titherton’s notice, previous to this deal, that his manner of handling the cards had been the subject of close scrutiny, but he had not deemed it expedient to say anything about it. Now, however, as he began to serve the cards after the cut, he was somewhat astonished to see three of the players lean suddenly forward, so that their faces were within a foot of the table, and to notice that three pairs of eyes seemed to be fixed intently on his fingers.
“What the ——?” he exclaimed in surprise, and, stopping the deal, he glared for a moment at each of the three in turn.
They looked at him blandly in return, but volunteered no explanation, and he went on dealing, red with anger, but saying nothing more.
Long Mike had apparently taken no notice of all this, being occupied with some red liquor that Sam had brought to him in response to his rather boisterous demand, but when he had received his cards helooked at them carelessly and promptly opened the pot for the size of it.
When the others had seen their cards, they all came in, up to the dealer, and he raised it ten dollars. Long Mike hesitated, as if about to raise it back, but evidently decided that he was not in a good place for that play, so he merely made good.
Gallagher and Stumpy both came in on the raise, but Ferguson dropped. Long Mike then called for two cards, and as Titherton picked up the deck to serve him the three leaned forward again and watched the dealer’s fingers as they had done before.
Again Titherton paused, as if he had in mind to resent the insult, and again he thought better of it, and went on with the deal. Gallagher took one card and Stumpy took two, but they did not move to pick them up, keeping their eyes fixed on Titherton.
“The dealer takes one,” said Titherton, and he dropped one card alongside his hand, which lay in front of him.
Then the three straightened up and looked at one another, as if greatly astonished.
“Is thot the reg’lar game?” asked Gallagher.
“It is,” said Stumpy. “Thot is, it’s the new rule they’ve made in Arkansas. Maybe it’s rig’lar on th’ river now, I don’t know. In Arkansas the dealer has th’ privilege o’ ta-akin’ a card from the bottom or the top, av ye don’t see ut.”
“But how if you see ut?” asked Gallagher.
“Thot depinds,” said Stumpy. “On th’ boats they shoot, but on shore the dealer gen’ly goes over the levee, an’ all hangs on how he can shwim.”
“I’ll bet ten dollars,” said Long Mike, throwing the money in the pot.
He had been looking rather confusedly at his cards while the others talked, not paying attention to what they said. But Titherton interposed.
“Hold on a minute,” he exclaimed, laying his hand down in front of him and putting some chips on the five cards.
He moved and spoke very deliberately.
“Will you gentlemen be good enough toexplain what you are talking about?” he demanded.
“We will,” said Stumpy. “We was discussin’ a new rule in dhraw-poker.”
“Ut were called to moind,” said Gallagher, “by a slight pecooliarity av yer digital manœuvres.”
They said that Gallagher had once been a schoolmaster.
“You’re a liar,” said Titherton, that being the next regular move in the game, and, as custom required, he pulled his gun at the same instant and covered Gallagher.
Three other revolvers appeared at the same instant, and if Long Mike had not been a person of almost preternatural promptness, there would have been gun-play if not bloodshed in the room. He moved like a cat, however, and Titherton’s gun went spinning across the room before he could pull the trigger. Long Mike had seized his wrist and shaken it, and the bones came near snapping.
“Ye’ll cease yer palaver, an’ play the hand,” said the big man, as angry as theothers. “Av there’s foightin’ to do, ye’ll do it afther. An’ if ye’re afther takin’ a card from the bottom o’ the deck, ye’ll kape it an’ Oi’ll play ye annyhow. But that omadhaun there, he’s no liar. Oi’ll say that for him. But he’ll settle wi’ me later for breakin’ up this play.”
But this amazing proposition met with no favour from any one. Titherton struggled like a wild beast in his rage, but was unable to free himself, though he began to bite at Long Mike’s fingers, and the others sprang to their feet.
“Don’t shoot,” said Stumpy, putting away his gun. “Let’s run the spalpeen into the river.” And the other two started to help him.
But Long Mike was aroused by the pain of a sharp bite, and his temper gave way. His strength was as the strength of seven men, and he, too, arose, knocking the table over as he lunged forward. Seizing Titherton with both hands he lifted him high in the air and threw him violently against the wall, whence he fell unconscious to the floor.
Then the big man made a rush for Gallagher.
“Oi’ll kill yez this time!” he exclaimed, and Gallagher knew that he would.
It was, therefore, small wonder that he dodged under Long Mike’s arm and made a flying leap through the window, carrying sash and all with him.
There was a frantic pursuit, but Gallagher had gained a few seconds of a start and was nowhere to be found. After a good part of the night had been spent in fruitless search, they bethought them of Titherton, and went back to look for him, but he had recovered consciousness and had made his escape also.
“Sure it’s a pity we didn’t throw him in the river whin he were stunned, an’ he’d niver ha’ knowed th’ difference,” said Stumpy, discontentedly.
But Long Mike raged as was his fashion, and called for red liquor many times, breathing out threats of what he would do on the morrow, till the others saw that it was necessaryto encourage him in his effort to get a sufficiency of liquor.
And when they had finally accomplished this, and had put him safely in his own bed, Stumpy said again:
“Sure there’ll be no such thing as livin’ quiet an’ peaceable in Brownsville till we have a firsht-class killin’. But Oi do be thinkin’ it’ll not be Gallagher. He do get away too often.”
TheMississippi River packetCity of Natchezhad been tied up at the levee in Arkansas City for possibly half an hour. The passengers who wanted to go ashore had gone, all but one, and the roustabouts were struggling with the freight under the inspiring influence of the mate’s energetic comments.
Possibly because of their terrified condition, resulting from the mate’s flow of language, but more probably because of their total indifference to consequences, they paid no attention whatever to a short, red-headed gentleman who might perhaps have been born in Ireland, and who came strolling from the direction of the boat’s barroom toward the single gangplank, now in use by the freight department.
Even as they paid no attention to him, he paid none to them, but approached the gangplank somewhat unsteadily, with the evident intention of going ashore. The mate’s attention for the moment was fixed on some point at the other side of the deck, or it is a moral certainty that he would have interposed language of sufficient strength to arrest the belated passenger’s progress.
As it happened, however, there was none to warn him of his danger, and he stepped in debonair fashion on the sloping gangplank, serenely unconscious of the fact that four huge darkies were coming behind him, bearing a case of goods on their shoulders that must have weighed something like a thousand pounds.
It is an open question whether they saw that he was in their way, but it is absolutely certain that they recognized no obligation on their part to shout a warning. On they came, jog-trotting along till they were only a single pace behind him, when he either tripped or slipped, and, staggering, seemed about to fall. Had he fallen and so trippedthe rousters, the matter would have been serious indeed.
Just as he lost his balance, a sinewy hand was stretched forth from somewhere in the darkness, for it was late at night, and catching the tottering gentleman by the lapel of his coat, gave him such a mighty and overmastering yank that he darted forward on the double-quick for thirty or forty feet, and fell all in a heap on the levee. As he lay there, he was hopelessly undignified in appearance, but he was out of the path of the roustabouts.
Quite as if nothing whatever had happened, he looked up at his unknown preserver, who could now be seen indistinctly, and said in a conversational tone:
“Sure, Oi do be think (hic) thinkin’ the citizens o’ this (hic) this town is domned hard oop fer popu (hic) population. Does yez git ivery (hic) iverybody ashore, loike (hic) iverybody (hic) does yez—”
Here his voice trailed off to a murmur, and it seemed probable to the tall, powerful man who stood over him that he was likelyto go to sleep where he lay if something were not done promptly. Promptness, however, was a prominent characteristic of Mr. Joseph Bassett, the sheriff of the county, and the stranger speedily arose, a wetter and a soberer man—likewise an angrier.
With these various considerations Joe Bassett was no whit concerned excepting that the fact of the stranger having been aroused made his own duty somewhat easier of performance. As the short man began sputtering in a peculiarly red-headed fashion, Joe calmly interrupted him.
“It’s ag’in the law, stranger, f’r any galoot f’m off’n a boat fer to go an’ git hisself killed on the levee in Arkansas City by a packin’-case or any other murderous weepin in the hands o’ roustabouts or anybody else. ’Pears to me you must be a stranger in these parts. Ever been into a town of any size afore?”
The short man continued to sputter as if nothing had been said, so Joe looked at him with mild curiosity for a moment, and then said:
“Hyer now. That’ll be about enough. I’d ought for to arrest you for disturbin’ the peace o’ them roustabouts, but if you’ve got money enough to settle a hotel bill, I reckon I might better take you there. Have ye?”
“Oi have,” said the little man.
“What’s your name?” asked the sheriff, presuming on his official position to disregard a point of strict etiquette in the community.
“Mostly they do be callin’ me Stumpy, whin Oi’m at home in Brownsville,” said the little man, whose wrath seemed to have cooled as the water dripped off his face. “Av thot’s a good enough name for Brownsville, sure it’ll do here.”
“Come along then, Stumpy,” said the sheriff, good-naturedly, as he linked his arm in the little man’s and steadied his steps toward the hotel across the street.
The landlord had no scruples against dispensing red liquor to any man who was in the company of the sheriff, and it came about that the three had sundry drinks whichStumpy paid for with great cheerfulness before going to bed.
Soon after he had done this, Mr. Bassett dropped in at old man Greenhut’s saloon, and after some irrelevant remarks reported the presence of a stranger in town.
“What’s he like?” demanded Greenhut.
“Well, he’s red-headed an’ I reckon he’s Irish, but ’pears like he had some money. He didn’t flash no wad, but he ain’t no ways mean with his loose change.”
“You can’t al’ays tell,” said old man Greenhut. “The Good Book says, ‘Him that hath, keeps, an’ f’m him that hath not, the loose change ofttimes leaks.’ Still, it’s worth lookin’ into. Some o’ you boys had better be up to the hotel when he gets round. Maybe he might have a likin’ f’r draw-poker.”
Accordingly, it happened that when Stumpy came down to the hotel barroom next morning in search of an appetite, he discovered a couple of strangers there who were by no means unsociably disposed. Further, he discovered that they were JakeWinterbottom and Sam Pearsall by name, citizens of Arkansas City, who esteemed it a privilege to make strangers acquainted with the resources of the place in the way of sports and pastimes.
Several of these were mentioned, but it appeared that horse-racing was out of season, and there had been no cock-fights arranged for the day. In fact, the only amusement available, so far as these two could say, was a quiet game of draw which was likely to be started at any hour in Greenhut’s back room.
“Gintlemen, Oi’m wid yez,” said Stumpy. “We do be playin’ dhraw-poker in Brownsville whiles, but it’s more f’r th’ spoort we play nor the money.”
Mr. Winterbottom and Mr. Pearsall heartily agreed that the game ought always to be played for sport rather than for money. In fact, they said, the game was always played in Greenhut’s place for sport. Sometimes, when the players got warmed up, the stakes grew rather large, but usually it wasa small game carried on for amusement and the promotion of Greenhut’s bar trade.
“Has he a bar?” demanded Stumpy.
They assured him that he had an excellent bar, and Stumpy demanded that they should all three go forthwith to Greenhut’s. As neither of the others had any objection, they were soon sampling Greenhut’s liquor.
In paying for the drinks Stumpy showed a roll of respectable size containing at least a few fives and tens, so no one showed any reluctance in joining the game which Stumpy himself proposed, and five players presently bought chips in the back room, Bassett and Plunkitt joining the two who had invited the stranger in.
“One o’ th’ most interestin’ stories in the Good Book,” remarked old man Greenhut to the little group that remained with him in the front of the saloon, “is that there yarn about the ravens that fetched food to Joseph when his brethren pitched him in a pit. Nobody knowed where them ravens come from, but they fetched Joseph so much
“IN PAYING FOR THE DRINKS STUMPY SHOWED A ROLL OF RESPECTABLE SIZE.”“IN PAYING FOR THE DRINKS STUMPY SHOWED A ROLL OF RESPECTABLE SIZE.”
corn inside o’ seven year’t him an’ his family fed on it f’r seven year more.
“ ‘Pears like there’s ravens comin’ f’m up the river, an’ f’m down the river, to feed Arkansas City. This here bird is a trifle off colour for a raven, but his wad looks good.”
In the back room things were not quite satisfactory. A table stakes game was started and each man bought five dollars’ worth of chips. The local talent considered this small, but Stumpy said they always began the game that way in Brownsville, and they deferred to his preference, remembering that it was always possible to buy more chips and so increase the size of the possible bet.
Presently, however, it appeared that there were other peculiarities in the Brownsville game, or at least in the game Stumpy played. He refused to come in, hand after hand, with no apparent impatience at the chipping out process, even when he was forced to buy his second five. Then, suddenly, he came in without looking at his hand, and whenhe was raised, pushed his whole pile into the pot.
Winterbottom had three sevens, and he saw the bet unhesitatingly. Pearsall had nothing, but he put in his money on the theory that his chance was as good as any man’s who had not looked at his hand. The sheriff, with one pair, considered it a fair gamble, and Plunkitt came in to be sociable.
On the draw Stumpy stood pat, still without looking at his cards, which lay face down in front of him. Winterbottom drew two without bettering, and neither of the others improved his hand.
As Winterbottom had opened, he bet a blue chip on the side, which the sheriff called, having kings, and the other two laid down. Stumpy, being all in, was not affected by the side betting, and let his cards remain on the table.
Winterbottom, being called, showed his three sevens.
“That’s good,” said the sheriff, showing his kings, and they all looked at Stumpy.
“Sure, Oi don’t know,” he said, drolly, “but Oi do be thinkin’ maybe Oi’ll bate thim others,” and he turned his cards over one at a time.
The first four were diamonds, and he looked at Winterbottom.
“Have yez anny propositions?” he asked, with a grin.
“I reckon not,” said Winterbottom.
“Oi thought maybe ye’d be afther wantin’ to shplit th’ pot. Sure, thim diamonds is mighty pretty.”
“Go on,” said Jake, impatiently.
“Oh! Very well,” said Stumpy, and he turned another diamond.
It gave him nearly sixteen dollars as against the ten he had put in, and after counting it carefully he said he guessed he’d quit.
At this there was a chorus of protest. “Do you mean to say you’ve got four North American citizens to waste half an hour for you to win six dollars?” demanded Pearsall.
“It’s what I call a dirty trick,” said Plunkitt.
“Aisy, now, aisy,” said Stumpy. “Oi told yez Oi play this game fer spoort, an’ Oi’ve had all the spoort Oi’m loikely to have. Thim things don’t happen twice. Yez needn’t look dangerous. Oi’ll not foight yez, on’y wan at a toime. Oi’m Oirish, but Oi’m not Oirish enough for that. Yez’ll all have another dhrink with me.”
And that was all the Arkansas City players accomplished with Stumpy.
After he had gone on his hilarious way, old man Greenhut looked after him indignantly, and said:
“I reckon them ravens that fed Joseph must ha’ been some other breed. They sure wa’n’t red-headed blackbirds.”
“Itcertainly is really amazin’,” said old man Greenhut, “how folks keeps on a-missin’ of it, all their lives, by not bein’ on the spot. ’N I’ve noticed always that the folks that ain’t thar all the time ain’t never thar. Once a feller gits the habit o’ bein’ thar, he’s always thar, but once he gits out o’ the habit, or if he never gits it, he ain’t never round when the grand opportunity comes, and just naturally he misses it. Don’t seem to make no difference how likely a man is, or how hard he may try to git a holt o’ the persimmons o’ luck that the good Lord keeps a-growin’ all the time for everybody that’s got the gumption to knock ’em off the bushes, he don’t never get none of ’em ’thout he’s thar, an’ as I said, such folks ain’t never thar.
“Now thar’s Tenspot Ike. Thar ain’t no capabler feller ’n him in town ’n’ everybody likes him. If a man wants to stand treat, thar ain’t nobody that’d be more likely to get ’nvited than him, an’ yet Ike, he’ll set around here day in an’ day out, waitin’ for some good angel to step down an’ trouble the pool o’ Siloam, the same bein’ a bottle o’ good old rye for the purpose of illustration, an’ thar won’t be nobody. But just as sartin as some open-hearted friend o’ humanity comes along with a ragin’ thirst an’ the price for two, Ike ain’t around. I call it wicked an’ bad for trade for a man to fly in the face o’ Providence like that.”
The old man looked again at the battered half-dollar he had just taken in, and bit on it to make sure it was good. Then looking once more into his cash-drawer to make sure that he had given out the lead quarter in change that had come back to him so often, he came out from behind the bar and took his favourite seat by the window.
“D’ye ever hear how Ike come to be called Tenspot?” he asked in a general sortof way, after he had carefully inspected the stump of a cigar that was between his teeth as usual, and had lighted it up again. If anybody had ever heard the story, he forbore to speak, and the old man kept right on talking.
“There wasn’t never nothin’ the matter with Ike,” he said, “except that pesky habit o’ his o’ bein’ always somewheres else. You could always count on him with a copper. ’F you wanted him anywheres special, he wasn’t there. I remember one time we’d ketched a hoss thief right here in town, ’n’ had everythin’ ready to send him off to glory sudden like, exceptin’ for a Testament to swear the witnesses on, an’ Ike had the on’y copy o’ the Good Book there was in town.
“Some o’ the boys was in favour o’ swingin’ him right up without formalities, arguin’ that as long as we’d ketched him in the act, an’ there wa’n’t no doubt o’ what he was tryin’ to do, there wa’n’t no use o’ wastin’ time on a trial, but I says, ‘No; to do that’d degrade Arkansas City to the level o’ barbarism,’ I says, ‘or a second-classminin’ settlement. Sich things is all right,’ I says, ‘whar ther ain’t no civilization, nor none o’ the refinin’ influences o’ religion, but Arkansas City ain’t no such place. Let’s hang him decent-like an’ ’cordin’ to law,’ I says, ’s’long’s we’ve got it to do. An’ ther ain’t no such thing as legal testimony,’ I says, ‘ ’thout it’s sworn to on the Good Book.’
“Well, the boys was reasonable, an’ some of ’em went looking for Ike, he havin’, as I said, th’ on’y copy o’ th’ Testament ther was in town. ’Course he wasn’t round in none o’ the saloons where he usually kept hisself, an’ while they was a-lookin’ fer him, that pesky hoss thief managed some ways or another to git away. When we did find Ike, he was tryin’ to teach two Chinamen, that had just come to town an’ was in a fair way to starve to death runnin’ a laundry, how to play poker. ‘Stands to reason,’ Ike says, when I as’t him how he come to do it, ‘that them unfortunate heathen wouldn’t never make day’s wages,’ he says, ‘runnin’ no laundry here, so I was just puttin’ ’em in a way to make an honest livin’ by showin’ ’em the principles o’ draw-poker.’ He give ’em a fair start, too, as it happened, for he dropped seventeen dollars in good American money in that little missionary enterprise o’ his’n. The boys said it was a judgment o’ heaven on him fer not bein’ where he’d oughter ha’ been, as he usually ain’t, besides bein’ a grave reflection on Arkansas City in lettin’ that hoss thief git off. I fined the feller the drinks that had business to’ve shot him as he ran, fer not havin’ his gun ready, an’ just naturally he bought ’em in my place, so I wasn’t none the loser, but it was a great public calamity. I’d most rather he hadn’t got away.
“I ain’t a-sayin’ but what Ike’s natural talent fer bein’ somewheres else was a benefit to him on one occasion. That was when Bill Briscom was found in the road with the top of his head blowed off. We all knowed that him an’ Ike had had a serious difficulty the day before, an’ there was some talk o’ holdin’ Ike fer trial on suspicion, but Ike he heard about it, just naturally, an’ he spoke up like a man: ‘I ain’t a-sayin’ butthat I’d oughter ha’ killed the feller,’ he says, ’fer I caught him cheatin’ at cards, an’ I licked him good an’ proper, an’ the galoot swore he’d shoot me on sight, but it stands to reason,’ he says, ‘that in order to ha’ killed him, I’d ’a’ had to be there at the time. Now I leave it to all of you to say whether I was ever whar I’d oughter be at the time when I was needed. You all know my weakness, gentlemen,’ he says, ’an’ I ask you to join me in drinkin’ to the memory o’ the late departed. He warn’t no good, but as long as he’s gone we can afford to forgive him fer all he done.’
“Well, that settled that matter, though some o’ Briscom’s friends, for he had some friends who said he wasn’t half-bad, an’ who kind o’ thought Ike had ought for to own up that he shot him in a fair fight—them friends was disposed to push the matter to a trial. But I says to ’em, ‘You can’t never convict him,’ I says. ‘Ike’s constitutional infirmity,’ I says, ‘is too well known to the community. There ain’t no jury in this country,’ I says, ‘that’d find him guilty.’
“But that ain’t tellin’ you how he come to be called Tenspot Ike,” said the old man, suddenly remembering what he had started to say. “That were a most remarkable story, an’ p’ints several morals. In the first place, it were the on’y time in his life that Ike was ever knowed to be on hand when he was wanted, and there’s no manner o’ doubt it were the last. Then it were the occasion of a most miraculous delivery of the credit an’ cash capital of Arkansas City from eternal smash by means of a casual ten-spot of clubs that Ike, by some utterly unaccountable dispensation of Providence, happened to have in his pocket.
“The way of it was this. It was in the time o’ the spring floods, an’ the river had been up for nigh two months, an’ Arkansas City was all afloat up to the second story, ’xcept on the levee. There were a boat now an’ again, of course, but they’d just tie up at the levee for a few minutes, an’ the folks that had been thinkin’ o’ comin’ ashore would just look around for a spell, kind o’ discouraged like, and then they’d set downon the boat again an’ go on down the river, or up, as the case might be, an’ you couldn’t blame ’em. The railroad was washed away for ten miles back, an’ there wasn’t no other way to git out o’ town. Just naturally folks took the way they was sure of, there bein’ nothin’ to stay here for. There bein’ no strangers in town, the boys played poker among themselves pretty constant, for there wasn’t nothin’ else to do while the river was up, an’ after the first five weeks the entire cash capital of the place was in the possession of two men. It was a case o’ what the Good Book tells about when it says that him as has shall win, and him that has nothin’ shall lose that which he seemeth to have. Jim Harris and Pete Barlow won everything in sight, an’ there wasn’t another man in town among the sporting set that had a dollar to his name. ’Course there was some of us taxpayers that didn’t play frequent, that had money in the bank, but the sports was all flat broke ’xcept them two. We was all looking for them to come together an’ for one of ’em to eat the other up, but for some reasonthey didn’t, each bein’ more or less afraid of the other as near as I c’d figger it. Pete an’ Ike was good friends, but Jim Harris hated Ike like p’ison for reasons of his own, an’ Ike like a good Christian was always lookin’ for a chance to pile red-hot coals on him.
“Well, just then some crossroads gambler from Mississippi come along the river lookin’ for blood. He’d raked one or two other towns clean, an’ just naturally arrove here with a wad bigger’n his head. He drifted around the first day tryin’ to get acquainted, an’ some o’ the boys spotted him, an’ lost no time in tellin’ our two capitalists about him an’ his wad. Thar was some backin’ an’ fillin’, but the second day the three come together right here in this room an’ after some talk got to playin’ cards. The news got around an’ the room was tol’able nigh full o’ the boys. All of ’em was pinin’ for the destruction o’ that stranger, just for the sake of encouragin’ home talent, but there wasn’t many of ’em that cared whether Harris or Barlow’d git away with him, solong as one of ’em should do the trick. Ike was here, o’ course. If he’d had money enough to set into the game I s’pose he’d ha’ been in Little Rock, but bein’ as there wasn’t no earthly probability o’ his bein’ wanted here, he was just naturally here. But the dispensation o’ Providence is very often mysterious an’ he turned out to be the chosen instrument o’ heaven for the salvation of Arkansas City.
“They played an’ played for six or seven hours, settin’ ’em up for the house once in awhile by way of a kitty, but none of ’em gittin’ much ahead. Just naturally the boys all stayed. I don’t never give ’em too much credit when they’re broke, for fear of encouragin’ ’em in pernicious habits, an’ they was a pretty dry lot. They was a-watchin’ the game close, an’ stood around tol’able close, but o’ course not crowdin’ the players. Ike stood a little behind Barlow, lookin’ over his left shoulder, but o’ course sayin’ nothin’. We didn’t s’pose he could see what cards was held, no more than the rest of us, for all three men was playin’ close to their chests, as wasnatural. It seems, though, that Ike has eyes consid’able better’n the average hawk, an’ he was keepin’ tabs on the game right smart.
“It come Jim Harris’s deal, an’ I noticed the stranger give a sort of a little start as he watched the cards droppin’. Then he looked at his hand an’ I see his face change just the least little. He seemed to hesitate a little an’ then he reached into his pocket an’ pulled out his gun, an’ laid it on the table alongside of his cards. ‘It’s kind of uncomfortable settin’ on the end of it,’ he says with a little grin, which we all understood well enough. Pete Barlow did, anyhow, for he dropped his cards on the table almost before he had lifted them, and flashed out his own gun. ‘That’s so. ’Tis uncomfortable,’ he says, as he lays it on the table. Jim Harris, he warn’t far behind, an’ when he lays out his weapon he says, ‘I might as well be in the fashion.’
“Just naturally we all understood what all that meant, but we warn’t any of us expectin’ what followed. It were fairly amazin’. Ike reached over in front o’ PeteBarlow an’ grabbed his pistol, sayin’ as he did so, ‘You look after your playin’, Pete. If there’s goin’ to be any shootin’ done, I’ll shoot for you.’
“Now I reckon there couldn’t be no worse break made than that, an’ I looked to see Pete break out in a blaze o’ wrath, but I was clean flabbergasted when he looked up pleasant an’ smiled an’ said: ‘All right, Ike.’ I was clean flabbergasted an’ I never understood the thing at all till Ike explained it to me afterward.
“ ‘You see Harris had boxed the cards,’ he says, ‘an’ the stranger seen it. That’s why he pulled his gun. I seen that Pete had three tens an’ a pair o’ aces, an’ I guessed the rest. Now, it was a clean plumb miracle, but I happened to have a ten o’ clubs in my pocket o’ the same pattern o’ cards. It was one of a pack that dropped in the water an’ I’d put it in my pocket. I didn’t know why at the time, but now I can see it was the will o’ heaven. I reached over an’ took the gun just for an excuse to drop the card in Pete’s lap. He seen it an’ tumbled.’
“Well, that’s all there was to it. The stranger, he wouldn’t play the hand, o’ course, but Harris havin’ four sevens, laid for Pete, who just naturally stood pat an’ flashed four tens an’ an ace at the show down. That let Harris out, an’ Pete swatted the stranger till he had to borrow twenty to leave town with. An’ the credit of Arkansas City was saved.”
“Oneo’ the commonest failin’s o’ poor fallen humanity is a lack o’ self-control,” said old man Greenhut, as he turned back from the door of his tavern, out of which he had just thrown an unfortunate stranger, and walked around to his place behind the bar rubbing and slapping his hands together, as if to brush off some imaginary taint that might be supposed to have attached to the stranger’s clothes.
The stranger, who didn’t seem to be in good health, and was far from being well dressed, had shuffled in a few moments before and walked up to the stove with a deprecatory air, saying nothing to anybody and warming himself in an apologetic fashion as if he realized that he had no right to the heat and good cheer that radiated from the red-hot sides of that comfortable piece of furniture. Nobody said anything to him, and he coughed once or twice, timidly, before he ventured to walk over to the bar and accost the old man. “Squire,” he said, “I am half-sick, an’ I need a glass o’ liquor powerful bad, but I hain’t got any money. Kin you trust me for a drink? I’ll pay ye for it, honest. I hain’t never beat a man out of a cent in my life, an’ I’ll pay, sure. I wouldn’t ask ye for it, on’y I’m reely sick.”
The old man looked at him steadily while he was talking, but he answered never a word. Slowly he reached under the bar and the stranger’s face brightened up. He thought the old man was reaching for a bottle. After hesitating a little the old man came out from behind the bar. Seizing the unresisting stranger by the collar he rushed him violently to the door, and half-threw and half-kicked him out. Then breaking the silence for the first time since the stranger’s entrance, he delivered himself of the reflections recorded above as he walked slowly back to his place. He stood there for some minutes,evidently thinking of what he had said, and then, business being slack for the moment, he relighted his cigar and came out again to his favourite seat by the window.
“Self-control,” he said, presently, “is God’s best gift to man. The fellow that kin always control himself under all circumstances is the one that’s goin’ to win the pot. Now take that ar shiftless bum that just come in here an’ asked me to supply his necessities at my expense. If he’d ’a’ had any self-control he never would have allowed hisself to be mastered by an accursed longin’ for liquor without the price of it, an’ if I hadn’t ’a’ had my self-control right along with me, like as not I’d ’a’ let him have it. I’ve knowed men to do just such fool things. An’ thar he’d ’a’ been saddled with a debt that he wouldn’t never ’a’ paid, an’ I’d ’a’ been just that much out.
“I’ve often thought that the Lord must ’a’ meant the game o’ poker as a instrument o’ savin’ grace in the way o’ cultivatin’ those virtues ’thout which a man hain’t fit to live, nor yet capable o’ gettin’ on in the world.Now poker’ll teach a man self-control better’n almost anything else I know. You never seen a poker player what knowed the first principles o’ the game, givin’ way to no weaknesses.
“ ‘Minds me of a game I see played once on the oldRiver Belle, comin’ down the river just after the spring floods o’ ’76. There wa’n’t no such games then as there used to be before the war, or even for a few years after. I don’t know what the reason is, but poker don’t ’pear to be respected, now, like it used to be. ’Pears like the risin’ generation hain’t none o’ the moral stamina that folks had when I was younger. Call poker immoral, I’ve heard tell, just as if ’twasn’t the greatest educator an’ highest moral training known to civilization.
“There was a good bit o’ money up in that game, for there was four o’ the nerviest men I ever knowed in it, an’ every one of ’em was out for blood. Two of ’em, Jim Waters an’ Abe Simpson, was St. Louis sports that always travelled together. JimBlivins was another. He come from Memphis, but he’d kind o’ run hisself out o’ town an’ mostly travelled the river. ’Twarn’t that he was crooked, partic’lar. He played as fair as most of ’em did, an’ used to say that he never stacked the cards ’thouten he had reason to think that somebody else in the game was up to the same sort o’ deviltry. But the truth was he played too strong a game for the Memphis crowd, an’ it got so that nobody that knowed him would play with him, so just naturally he had to seek for new pastures an’ strange lambs. The fourth man was a feller I never seed afore, though I come to know him well enough afterward. ’Twas George Dunning, a chap f’m somewheres up in Iowa that had took to the river for business an’ somehow had struck up a friendship with Blivins. They was playin’ partners at the time, though I didn’t know it, an’ just naturally they wasn’t a-shoutin’ it out from the housetops, the same bein’ the upper deck in case of steamboats. Incidentally there was another feller in the game. He was a cattle-dealer from Texas, Dunniganby name, that had just been up north sellin’ a slew o’ cattle, an’ was goin’ home with a wad that wouldn’t fit comfortable in his inside pocket.
“The other four was just naturally intendin’ to get hold o’ that wad, but there was some difference of opinion amongst ’em about it. Waters an’ Simpson was reckonin’ on takin’ it back to St. Louis with ’em, an’ Blivins an’ Dunning was thinkin’ o’ gettin’ off at Memphis an’ dividin’ up there. What Dunnigan was figurin’ on I don’t know, but I reckon he expected to draw compound interest on his money durin’ the time he was on the boat.
“By the time we got below Cairo the game was goin’ on under a full head o’ steam. The professionals was all well fixed for money an’ there wasn’t no small stakes played for. Nothin’ was said about a limit, neither, nor there warn’t no table stakes rules. It was just a case o’ bettin’ anything you damn please, an’ either layin’ down or makin’ a bigger bluff every time the other feller peeped.
“White chips was a dollar, reds was five, an’ blues was fifty, makin’ a tol’able stiff game even with chips, but they was a good many hundred-dollar bills lyin’ on the table ’fore they’d been playin’ long, an’ there was a feelin’ among them that was lookin’ on that bigger money than that was liable to be flashed ’most any time.
“It was reely surprisin’, seein’ that the game was that sort, an’ the men playin’ was so much in earnest, that there was nothin’ decisive-like in the fust day’s play. You’d ha’ thought that somebody’d gone broke within a few hours, anyhow, but whether ’twas that they wasn’t in no hurry, seein’ they had several days ahead of ’em, or whether ’twas that they was too much for one another, I don’t know. Anyhow, they was a-playin’ from about four o’clock in the evenin’ till after midnight, an’ nobody was more’n five or six hundred dollars out that fust day.
“You see they all played cautious. I’ve often noticed that when men are playin’ in a real important game, with plenty o’ time toplay in, they’ll play a much more cautious game than they will if there’s only a few dollars, or a few hundred in sight. Anyhow, I didn’t see no bet o’ more than five hundred pushed up while I was lookin’ on, an’ that was most o’ the time, an’ I didn’t see that called nor raised on’y once. Blivins put up five hundred once on three queens, an’ Dunnigan, who had drawed one card, raised him five hundred, so Blivins just naturally laid down, seein’ ’twas a jack-pot an’ Dunnigan hadn’t opened when he had a chance, but had raised once before the draw, showin’ he had hopes of a flush or a straight.
“Well, as I said, they played till about twelve o’clock an’ nobody was hurt much. Then Dunnigan said he guessed he’d turn in, an’ nobody made any objections, only they all seemed to understand they was to go on with the game the next day.
“I must say that there Dunnigan was a foxy player. He laid down his cards a good many times that second day when an ordinary man would have played ’em, provin’ conclusive that he knowed the game. Yousee he was reely better off in the game than he would have been if the other fellers hadn’t been watchin’ one another the way they was. Ef either two of the four had drawed out o’ the game I don’t reckon he’d ha’ lasted more’n perhaps an hour or so, though as I said, he understood the game well enough, but just naturally he wasn’t on to the reely subtle refinements o’ scientific manipulation, an’ any one o’ them four could ha’ stacked cards on him without him knowin’ it. But the p’int was that Waters an’ Simpson was watchin’ Blivins an’ Dunning with more anxiety than a hen gives to a brood o’ ducklin’s, and Blivins an’ Dunning was returnin’ the compliment most amazin’ earnest like. Nary a one of ’em dasted to deal crooked, an’ as for tryin’ to ring in marked cards, any such trick as that would ha’ just been suicide.
“After some hours’ play the second day, though, all hands seemed to get impatient. ’Twa’n’t that they played any less cautious, but they seemed to be gettin’ on to one another’s play better an’ better all the timean’ feelin’ as though they was justified in playin’ to the strength o’ their hands more’n they had. I noticed they begun callin’ one another once in awhile, an’ a call had been ruther a scarce thing before that. Dunnigan was caught bluffin’ most outrageous once, on a busted flush, but nobody even smiled. Blivins had called him on two pairs, an’ he raked in a pot of near a thousand dollars just as if nothin’ had happened.
“All of a sudden came a most astonishin’ deal. I reckon it was honest enough, for, as I said, they was a-watchin’ one another like cats, an’ slick as they all was, there warn’t one of ’em but knowed the others would catch him if he tried to deal crooked. So just naturally we had to assume it was honest, anyway, although Dunning dealt the cards, an’ he was one o’ the best manipulators I ever see.
“What made it surprisin’ was that the cards had been a-runnin’ most almighty slow up to that time, as they will sometimes for a long spell. There had been a few good hands, o’ course, but there hadn’t been a realstruggle worth talkin’ about in all those hours o’ play. This time, though, there was struggle enough to satisfy the most sanguinary.
“Dunning dealt, as I said, an’ Waters had the age. He got four hearts with the ace and king at the head. Blivins was next player an’ he caught three queens. Dunnigan was next an’ he found kings and eights in his hand. Simpson was next an’ he got four spades—little ones. An’ Dunning dealt himself four ten-spots, pat.
“That of itself was a tol’able noteworthy deal, but the draw was still more astonishin’. They’d all come in as a matter o’ course, an Waters had just naturally raised it a blue chip. That give Dunning a chance, an’ he raised it a hundred dollars. I asked him a long time afterward how ’twas he didn’t raise the first round, an’ he said he couldn’t exactly say, on’y he had a sort o’ hunch that Waters would raise, as he did, an’ so give him all the better show. Everybody stood this raise also, and then they called for cards.
“Waters got his fifth heart. Blivinscaught the fourth queen. Dunnigan made a king full, an’ Simpson got nothin’. Dunning, o’ course, drew a dummy to his four tens.
“If ever there was a kettle o’ fish that was. Blivins bet five hundred on the go off, an’ Dunnigan raised him five hundred as a simple act o’ Christian duty, havin’ a king full against one two-card and three one-card draws, Simpson threw down his cards, havin’ no chance to do anything else. Dunning just naturally put up a thousand dollars more, an’ Waters was between the devil an’ the deep blue sea.