“GOLD BRICKS.”
Of all the devices which the fertile brain of the confidence operator
has originated, it may be questioned whether any is more ingenious in
conception or has reaped a richer harvest for the scoundrels who have
operated it than has the “gold brick swindle.” Notwithstanding the fact
that the secular press throughout the country has, for years past,
repeatedly directed public attention to the general nature of this
method of fraud, yet even in the present year of grace the newspapers
are month after month called upon to chronicle new exploits of the same
character, and to record the names of fresh victims.
These journals, however, have never thoroughly ventilated the scheme in
all its details, and in their description of the tactics employed by the
operators they not infrequently draw largely upon their imagination,
substituting fiction for fact. The victim himself is often restrained,
by a sense of shame, from unfolding the full depth of his credulity, not
more than fifteen per cent. of the dupes ever making their losses
public. The author believes that the present exposure is the first
authentic recital of the methods of this class of sharpers ever given to
the public from a reliable standpoint.
[Illustration: gold brick swindle]
To perpetrate the fraud successfully, the co-operation of at least three
confederates is essential, of whom two must be gifted with some dramatic
power. Some little cash is also required, it being necessary to procure
a sample of filings of refined gold, one or two nuggets, and a “brick,”
or bar, of some thirty pounds in weight, composed of brass and copper,
costing about twenty-five cents per pound.
The first objective point is the selection of a victim. He must be a man
whose resources are of such a sort as to enable him to produce, at short
notice, a considerable amount in ready cash. It is not considered wise
to deal with a man who may find it necessary to ask for accommodation at
his bank, inasmuch as such action on his part might result in the
institution and prosecution of numberless inconvenient inquiries by the
bank officials. Incredible as it may appear, it is the literal truth
that in choosing a “mark,” the confidence operators frequently have
recourse to a reputable business man in the community, who furnishes the
swindlers with what is known, in slang phrase, as a “pointer” concerning
the resources and personal characteristics of the prominent men in the
neighborhood. In such a case, the party furnishing the information is
always fully informed as to the purpose for which it is desired, and is
promised a stipulated percentage of the dishonest gains, should the
fraud be successfully consummated. The inherent villany of such a
transaction is well calculated to make the reader recoil in disgust, if
not in horror. The author, however, has been told by men who have
successfully perpetrated the fraud, that men of unblemished reputation,
occupying high positions in social, professional, or commercial circles,
some of them even filling posts of responsible trust in public life,
have been personally paid in the presence of his informants, the notes
which constituted their agreed proportion of the money obtained from the
wretched dupe whom they had assisted in defrauding.
The victim having been thus carefully selected and located, the next
step is to excite his cupidity. The ordinary _modus operandi_ is
substantially as described below.
One of the confederates, attired as a miner from Mexico or the far West,
calls upon the party chosen at the latter’s residence. Every detail of
his appearance is attended to with the utmost care, from the seemingly
sun-browned face, the apparent result of years of honest toil in the
open air, to the well-worn, patched trousers carelessly tucked in the
large, coarse, dusty boots. A battered cowboy’s sombrero is negligently
perched upon the head, and around his waist is drawn a buckskin money
belt. Having gained the presence of his prospective dupe, the pretended
miner from the rude camps of “the Rockies” presents a paper on which is
written, in sprawling characters, the victim’s name. For the purpose of
illustration any name will answer; let us suppose that it is Thomas
Jones. After he has handed this paper to the individual in question, the
confidence man (who feigns illiteracy and pretends to be entirely
destitute of worldly wisdom) simulates acute disappointment at
discovering that he is not the Tom Jones for whom he had been looking.
He draws out an old red cotton handkerchief and wipes his eyes, as he
sinks, apparently exhausted, into a chair. Naturally the sight of so
quaint-looking an individual awakens the interest of Mr. Jones, and his
simulated fatigue and grief arouse his curiosity, if not his sympathy,
and he asks the cause of his distress. “No, no,” the sharper answers,
“You’se not the Tom Jones I knows; and we’s come so far, and the
Indian’s so sick he can’t tote the gold no furder. And Tom Jones he was
to give us the paper money.” And here the pretended miner permits his
feelings wholly to get the mastery of him, and he bows his head in
deepest sorrow. Mr. Jones would be either more or less than human if,
after this, he did not seek for further information. “What Indian? What
gold? What paper money?” are among the questions which rise to his lips.
The confidence man hesitates for a moment, and if there are any other
persons in the room requests that the latter withdraw. Then he says to
Mr. Jones, with the air of one imparting a great secret: “You looks
honest, and I’ll tell you. We’se got a heap o’ gold, me and the Indian;
and we’s looking for Tom Jones, cause he’s got lots o’ paper money,
piles o’ paper money, locked up in an iron box. And now I can’t find
him. I could make him and all his chillen rich.” “Where did you get the
gold?” asks the now deeply interested Mr. Jones. “We’se tooken it out o’
the mine, way down in Mexico.” “Where is it?” pursues Jones. “The
Indian, he’s got it,” replies the miner. “And where is the Indian?”
“Oh,” answers the sharper, “he’s down to the big camp, back over there
(pointing), with the house built over the water (a bridge). He’s sick,
and couldn’t come no furder.”
It usually occurs to Mr. Jones at this stage of the conversation that he
has been strangely unmindful of the duties of hospitality, and he
directs that some refreshment be prepared and set before his guest.
While this is being done, the host, who has by this time become very
urbane, tells the stranger that he (Jones) is a wealthy man; that he
owns lands and stock and property of various descriptions, and that he
has “paper money, lots of it;” that it is therefore unnecessary for the
miner to seek for the other Mr. Jones, as he can do business with him.
To this proposal, however, the unsophisticated miner refuses to assent.
He wants to see “his” Mr. Jones, and he expresses his intention of going
on to the next town, where he professes to believe that he can find
tidings of the whereabouts of that mysterious individual. Before he
takes his departure he promises, in compliance with the oft-repeated
request of his host, that in case he fails to find the man of whom he is
in quest he will return.
It is a very common practice, in working this scheme, for the swindler,
shortly before leaving his victim, to take from his belt a small nugget,
which he hands to the intended dupe, with the request that he take it to
the nearest “medicine shop” (drug store), and after he has had some
“smoke water” (acid) poured on it to carry it to the watchmaker’s
(jeweler’s) and sell it for what it is worth, bringing back the
proceeds. This shrewd move of the confidence man serves a double
purpose: it convinces the victim that he actually has gold, and at the
same time leads him to suppose that he is dealing with a man wholly
inexperienced in the ways of the world.
After a day or two the swindler returns, attired as before. He has
failed to find the Thomas Jones whom he was seeking, but has learned
where he is. Will the Mr. Jones whose acquaintance he has so recently
formed kindly write a letter to his old friend at his dictation? Of
course Mr. Jones assents, and the epistle is indited to the mythical
personage, something after the following manner:
“Dear Friend, Mr. Tom Jones:—Me and the Indian has come on with the
first lot of gold.”
Here the pretended miner pauses, and asks his amanuensis if he will keep
his secret. Jones, who is anxious to hear what is to follow, readily
promises. The sharper, however, insists upon his taking an oath of
secrecy, which is duly administered, the affiant sometimes, in his
eagerness, raising both hands. This ceremony having been performed, the
writing of the letter is resumed, its tenor running something after this
fashion:
“We’s got all the rest hid away, and there’s ten millions worth of it.
Now you come right off with the paper money, ’cause the Indian he’s
sick, and me and him wants to go back to Mexico. Come right now. We’s
got enough to make us all rich.”
The thought of $10,000,000 in the hands of an ignorant old miner and an
untutored child of the forest excites the cupidity of Mr. Jones to a
high degree. He chafes under the reflection that his chance of securing
a considerable proportion of this vast sum is drifting away from him. He
believes that his superior knowledge of the world and his familiarity
with business customs and forms would render it a comparatively easy
matter for him to make himself the owner of the lion’s share of an
immense fortune, and he mentally curses the other Jones, from the bottom
of his heart.
The letter having been completed, the miner is asked to give the
address. He promptly answers, “Mississippi.” “Mississippi,” repeats Mr.
Jones. “Why, man, Mississippi is a big State, like this. Your letter
will never reach him directed to Mississippi. What city?” The sharper
does not know any other address, and begins again to bemoan his hard lot
at having come so far to no purpose, and “the Indian so sick.”
The “sucker” believes that this is his opportunity. He again assures his
new friend that he himself will buy the gold from him, and after much
persuasion prevails upon the confidence man to reveal the whereabouts of
the “Indian” who has in his custody so much of the precious metal.
The result of this interchange of confidence is that the swindler and
the “sucker” start together for the town where the “Indian” is supposed
to be. Usually some point at a distance of perhaps 100 or 200 miles is
chosen in which to locate this mysterious personage. Sometimes the
confidence man buys the railroad tickets, sometimes the dupe; at all
events, the fares are paid and the pair start for their point of
destination.
On arriving at the place named, the two confederates (who have usually
been apprised of the hour of their arrival) are there at the railway
station, and carefully note the signal given by the “miner.” If the
latter raises his hat, they know that everything is proceeding
satisfactorily. If he shakes the lapel of his coat, they understand that
“the jig is up,” and that they had better “take quick steps and long
ones.” Sometimes the information is conveyed by means of an umbrella or
stick. If the same is carried across the shoulder, “all is well”; if as
a walking cane, there is “danger ahead.”
It is needless to say, that of these two confederates one is the
mysterious “Indian.” The other is what is technically known as a
“trailer,” whose duty it is to follow the “sucker” wherever he goes,
keeping him continually in sight and noting his every movement.
Immediately upon receiving the pre-arranged signal at the station, the
first confidence man and his victim now repair to the spot in the woods
whither the “Indian” has gone. On reaching the locality the bar is
exhumed from the hiding place in which it had been previously buried.
The “redskin,” whose “make-up” has been as carefully arranged as that of
the “miner,” corroborates the statement that the gold is there, and Mr.
Jones is given a glimpse of the glittering but spurious metal.
If the latter should go to a drug store and purchase a bottle of acid,
with which the supposed gold may be tested, the services of the third
confidence man are called into requisition, but he himself is kept
carefully in the background. When the dupe procures the necessary acid,
the “trailer” buys a precise duplicate of the bottle. The contents of
this latter bottle, however, are poured out and replaced by water.
When the victim returns to the spot on which he has left the “Indian”
and the supposed “miner,” the latter has already received from his
confederate the bottle of water, identical in size, appearance and label
with that which the dupe has in his pocket. “Mr. Jones” is informed that
the “Indian” has no objection to the pouring of “smoke water” (acid)
upon the “brick,” but that he is fearful of being put to sleep through
the administration of “sleepy water” (chloroform). This ingenious story
satisfactorily accounts for the request which the sharper makes that
“Mr. Jones” shall hand the bottle to him, in order that the “Indian” may
receive the acid from the hands of his friend. This suggestion appears
reasonable, and the eager dupe promptly turns over his bottle to the
“miner,” who easily substitutes therefor his own previously prepared
bottle of water, which is poured upon the composition, and of course
without effect. The dupe now feels tolerably certain that the bar shown
him is of genuine gold. In order to satisfy him completely, however, the
confidence man produces an augur and brace, which he hands to the dupe
with a request that the latter bore into the “brick” and carry off the
filings in order to have them assayed. As soon as a sufficient quantity
of filings has been obtained, the sharper places them in a piece of
paper torn off from that which the “brick” has been wrapped, and
ostensibly hands them to Jones. As a matter of fact, the latter does not
receive the borings which he believes that he does, the swindler
dexterously substituting at the critical moment, a package similar in
appearance, but containing filings of refined gold with which the
scoundrels have taken the precaution to provide themselves.
The assay naturally shows gold of from 18 to 20 karat fineness, and Mr.
Jones is now quite ready to make the purchase. He goes to his bank,
draws his money, and returns to the “Indian” and the “miner.” The bar is
weighed and its value is computed. Mr. Jones then asks how the money is
to be divided. “Why,” replies sharper number one, “into three piles; one
for you, one for me and one for the Indian.” This arrangement is
eminently satisfactory to the “sucker,” who has probably already
attempted to defraud his companions by means of a false computation, and
who now thinks that he sees his way clear to make a purchase of pure
gold at about two-thirds of its value.
The money having been paid over, the brace of confederates at once take
their departure for parts unknown and Mr. Jones returns to his home
laden down with a ponderous mass of metal worth about $9, but for which
he has paid many thousands.
Another favorite method of perpetrating the swindle is as follows: Two
confederates repair to the farm of some wealthy man and at a chosen spot
bury one of the bars of spurious gold. A chart showing a “lay of the
land,” is then carefully prepared and so treated as to give it the
appearance of antiquity. All preparations having been carefully made,
the confidence men drive up to the residence of the intended dupe, and
after some conversation in the course of which they are at pains to
satisfy themselves that he is the individual for whom they are looking,
they inform him that they have learned that there lies buried upon his
farm a mass of gold of great value. Some plausible story is invented to
account for their having come into possession of this information. The
chart is now produced, and the farmer is surprised to see so correct a
diagram of his property. The spot where the “brick” has been buried is
carefully and accurately located upon the plat.
This appeal to the avarice of the intended victim rarely fails to
accomplish the end desired. He is anxious to commence digging for the
precious metal without delay. The swindlers allow him to conduct the
boring himself. Operations having been begun, in due time the spade or
pick of the digger strikes the bar, whose glittering appearance arouses
every instinct of cupidity in the breast of the countryman. The sharpers
at once offer to sell out their interest to him for comparatively one
half of the value of the supposed gold. The same tactics, substantially,
with regard to testing and assaying the metal are resorted to which have
been already described. The value of the “find” is computed, the
“sucker” pays over his money, and the confidence man leaves him to
repent of his folly at his leisure.
[Illustration: THE “MINER” AND “TOM” JONES.]
EVERY BIT TRUE.
[BY REV. JOHN SNYDER.]
There’s no art
To find the mind’s construction in the face:
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.
—[Shakespeare.
The “second bell” had rung and yet I had not responded to the clamoring
call to breakfast. An impatient rap at my door.
“Papa, papa,” from my oldest daughter. “There’s a gentleman waiting to
see you.”
“Yes, yes, I am coming. I am not one of the seven sleepers.”
Who could it be? The early morning hour is sacred to beggars having
elaborate and well-worn letters of introduction, some of which have seen
service so long that the paper upon which they are written holds
together as poorly as the clumsy tales of their bearers. Sometimes calls
for funeral services come in the dewy morning, and oftener bashful young
gentlemen stop in buggies and say with nervous energy, but trembling
lips, “Dr. Snyder, I would like—we would like to have you do a little
job for me—I mean for us. We’re going to get married to-morrow night and
we’d like to have you tie the knot. We often come to hear you preach on
Sunday evenings.” And then I recognize the sterner half of a handsome
young couple who come rather late to church and sit on the back seat and
keep up a religious conversation during the whole service.
All this time I am hurrying into my morning gown. It is a little torn in
the sleeve, by the way, and when I am in haste I always strike the wrong
side of the sleeve-lining. Down stairs I go, and in the hall sits a man
who has none of the blushing uneasiness of the prospective bridegroom.
My hand is cordially grasped in a palm that seems to bear enthusiastic
honesty and simple affection in its very grip.
“Are you Dr. Snyder?”
“So people call me who don’t know the facts of the case,” I answer with
a smile.
“John Snyder,” he persists, with increasing eagerness.
“Beyond a question.”
I never saw a deeper melancholy shadow a man’s face or sadden his voice.
He seemed broken-hearted, bewildered with some unspeakable sorrow.
“I’ve come 2,500 miles to see you, and now you ain’t the man I’m looking
for,” he said at last.
I drew him into the parlor, and in the bright light got a better look at
his face and form. He was one of Bret Harte’s portraits stepped out of
the frame. Of medium height, slightly but strongly built, his form had
about it that untaught and indefinable grace of movement which it is
popularly supposed is imparted only by the untrammeled freedom of forest
life. His long brown hair slightly curled, fell about his neck, and his
handsome beard evidently was as innocent of steel as that of a
Nazarite’s. He was roughly dressed, having a pair of alligator boots, to
which doubtless the newsboy’s “shine” was an untried novelty. But it was
his face that chiefly charmed me. His nose was straight and clearly cut
and his eye was as frank and innocent as a baby’s. When he spoke his
speech was flavored with that Southern twang which no man not to the
“manner born” can ever imitate.
“Yes,” he repeated, with increasing sorrow in his soft voice, “I have
come 2,500 miles to see you, and you ain’t the man.”
“You were looking for somebody bearing my name?”
“Yes, sir. You see I’ve been livin’ for about twelve or thirteen years
down on the borders of old Mexico, among the Indians and half-breeds.
An’ there was a man come down there several years ago by the name o’
Snyder, John Snyder, that’s your name, ain’t it? Yes. Well, he’d been a
Methodis’ preacher and he come from my own State, North Carliny. He used
to work in the mines an’ he used to preach, too. An’ I tell you he was a
mighty good man. ’Fore he come things was awful rough in that camp. Why,
they use ter kill a man almost every week. I’ve seen a fellow shot right
dead on a bar-room floor and nobody’d take any notice of him, and one of
them rough women would go up to the bar to take a drink of whisky and
her clothes would jest brush over the dead man’s face! But I tell ye
when that preacher come things began to be different. All that killing
business begun to stop. The boys jest thought everything of him. They’d
trust him with everything they had in the world. And he come to St.
Louis about five or six months ago and I want to find him the worst
way.”
Thinking that as my heroic namesake had come from North Carolina, he
would naturally belong to the M. E. Church, South, I directed my
disconsolate visitor to the book concern of that branch of the church
militant. As he turned to leave the door he said, “If I didn’t find that
preacher, could you let me come back and get you to write me a letter,
for I can’t write?” I was touched by the sense of desolation and
pitiable ignorance in which this lonely creature seemed to dwell, and
said cordially:
“Come back, and I will do anything I can to serve you.”
In the early morning of the next day my backwoods hero presented
himself. He had searched the city through, but the saintly miner-
preacher was nowhere to be found. And yet there was a gleam of dimmest
hope in his eye and a sweet and quiet smile upon his lips, for he seemed
to transfer all his loving, clinging confidence to me.
“Well, I couldn’t find him,” he said. “Now, I’ll just tell you in what
kind of a fix I’m in. I’ve been out of the mines fur nigh onto thirteen
years, and sometimes I’ve got together as much as $12,000 or $13,000 at
a time, and then it would jest kinder melt away from me. Now I see a
chance to make some money. Fur about twelve years I’ve hed a chum who’s
a half-breed Indian, a fellow by the name of Zamora. Well, about six
months ago he was out hunting with some full-blooded Indians, and they
chased a small deer up the side of a hill; when all of a sudden the deer
went out of sight. My chum went up to the place where he missed him, and
looking down a hole, saw him jest about four or five feet down. So he
went down after him. When he got down there he forgot all about the
deer, I tell ye. He was jest in a hole o’ gold! He got the Indians to
help him, and right there and then he got out some chunks, and buildin’
a fire where they was campin’, they made what them fellers call a dobie
mold and jest run some of the gold into that. After he had filled them
Indians full o’ whiskey he knew they’d never think of the place again,
and so when he got rid o’ them he went back alone and got what stuff was
on the surface. Then he come and told me about it; but mind ye, he
didn’t show me the place. Them half-breeds are mighty suspicious. But he
brought out three of the chunks. I showed a piece of the stuff to a
fellow named Bailey—Capt. Bailey they called him, and he stole it. He
said, ‘An Indian ain’t got any rights anyhow.’ Well, if I’d tried to get
it back none of the boys would ’er backed me up, ’cause they’re all down
on Indians, and Zamora wouldn’t let me trust another feller in the camp.
He says to me, says he, ‘Let’s go look for that preacher; we can trust
him; these fellers ’ill not only rob us, but put lead into us, too.’ So
we come to Kansas City and I buried two of the chunks of stuff in a hole
about three feet deep, and then we brought the other chunks here. Now,
you see what we want to do is this: First of all, we want to find some
man we can trust. That half-breed won’t hardly let me speak to a white
man. He is always sayin’: You’ve been cheated once trustin’ a white man,
now jest do my way. Let’s find that preacher, we know we can trust him.
Well, we’ve lost the trail of that preacher and I want you to help us
out. I’ll pay you well fur your trouble.”
I said: “My business is to help people in trouble. What can I do for
you?”
“Jest this. We want to go back to that country and fetch out the rest of
that stuff. We’ve got to get a lot o’ burros and some wagons, and some
full-blooded Indians and some good ponies and rifles. There’s a town, a
little place, about ten miles from where this half-breed has hid the
stuff. My plan is to take the Indians to this place and then Zamora and
me to start off in the night with two or three burros. We’ll go at night
so’s no feller’ll foller us. We’ll get the stuff, pile it on the burros,
and bring it all away at the same time. If we give them Indians $10
apiece and a new rifle and plenty of whiskey they’d be drunker’n owls
before night. Then we can ship the stuff on a railroad and bring it
here. Now, we’ve got to get about $2,500 or $3,000 to get the things we
want; and we want to raise it on the price of the stuff we’ve got along
with us. Now, will you help us? I believe we can trust you, ’cause you
look square and straight.”
I endeavored to blush at the childlike compliment, and said:
“What can I do? I never had $3,000 in my life, and never expect to
have.”
“Mebbe you know somebody that’ll help us.”
“Where is the gold and the half-breed?”
“Down on that street where they’re puttin’ up a big brick building.”
“On Olive street. Why don’t you take the gold and sell it outright?”
“Now, that’s jest where the stubbornness of that half-breed comes in.
He’s sick in bed. Got the worst kind of a cold, on his lungs, I guess,
and he won’t let that chunk go out of his sight. He’s afraid that if we
take that stuff to find out how fine it is somebody’ll foller us, and
we’ll never get out of this town alive. You know them fellers is awful
suspicious. What I want you to do if you’re willin’ to help us, is to
jest come down and take a bit of this stuff and see how fine it is, and
mebbe you can find some way to help us out.”
Curiosity mingled with benevolence. I was anxious to see this mass of
gold and talk with this suspicious half-breed. While going to Fourteenth
and Olive streets, where the treasure rested under the sleepless eye of
the non-confiding son of the forest, my innocent miner would turn his
soft and girlish eyes upon my face and speak with wonder and awe of the
height of the houses and the crowded condition of the streets. I was
ushered into a darkened room with much mystery, where a human figure was
lying in bed, with his face muffled up in the bed clothes. Like Claude
Melnotte, he had not found the raw atmosphere of St. Louis like “the
soft air of his native South.” Between his half-suppressed groans he
uttered a few words in Spanish and my guide answered in the same musical
tongue. After locking the door and looking cautiously about, my friend
drew from under the mattress at the foot of the bed something wrapped in
the fragment of an old bed-comforter. In a moment a mass of metal
weighing about thirty pounds and shaped like a bar of washing soap was
revealed. Evidently a pure gold brick.
“Now,” said David, my innocent-faced friend, “I’ll tell you what we’ll
do. I’ll jest bore some holes in this brick, and I’ll get you to take
the shavings and get ’em melted into a button. Then nobody’ll suspect.
Don’t you see? Then take it to some place down town and have ’t tested.
A feller told me out in the mines that he couldn’t tell how fine it was,
but he knew it was over 18 karats.”
So he bored a dozen holes into this mass of treasure, and collected the
golden shavings into a fragment of the _Globe-Democrat_. As he came out
of the darkened chamber Davis grasped my hand with deep emotion, and
said: “This is the only chance I’ve had in nigh thirteen years; if this
don’t go through, it jest seems as if I’ll lose my grip.”
I tried to cheer him with a word of sympathy, and hurried to my friend
Witt, of the Eugene Jaccard Company, and giving him a portion of the
metal, begged him to have it tested. We went together to the workroom of
the establishment, where the foreman of the melting department tested
the specimen and declared it to be _as fine as coin_. It nearly took my
breath away! The long and weary pilgrimage of my humble and sad-faced
friend of the wild woods was about to come to a golden end. He stood on
the threshold of a splendid future! In one of his bursts of generous
trust he had confided to me the secret that the half-breed owned and had
secreted _seventy-three other_ lumps of the virgin metal not counting
the one upon which my eyes had feasted and the two safely hidden in the
hillside at Kansas City. Seventy-six golden bricks, each weighing _over_
thirty pounds! Let anybody make the calculation and see what prospects
the confiding Davis and the untutored half-breed had in store.
Then I sought out my friend, the United States Assayer, and told him the
brilliant story. I told him of the sweet and Raphael-like countenance of
my friend, of the melancholy sickness and sad distrusts of the lonely
half-breed, who was longing for the sight of his native woods. I showed
him the coin-fine precious metal I held in my hand, and consulted him
about the readiest means of helping the two “babes in the wood,” who, in
their ignorance, were the custodians of this uncounted wealth. He
listened with unflecked courtesy, and then responded in a voice not
musical with tearful sympathy:
“Doctor, I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”
I told him that financially, the pole—so to speak—would have to be
considerably more than “ten foot” to enable me to touch it, even if I
was so disposed. In other words, I was not momentarily fixed to engage
in such enterprises, even if they were endorsed by the angel-faced
backwoodsman, and re-inforced by my own sympathy.
“It looks,” he said, “like a gold brick. It seems to me that I recognize
the not unfamiliar features of an auriferous brick. Why doesn’t he bring
the priceless treasure here? I will pay him the highest price for it. If
he doesn’t want to sell I will advance the money they require for
burros, wagons and Indians.”
I meekly presented the picture of the half-breed, whose lungs were
evidently affected and who could not endure the rigors of the St. Louis
climate. He was still obdurate, and refused to invest even
intellectually in this hidden treasure. I said that all the symptoms
were undoubtedly _gold-bricky_. That there were unquestionably parts of
the story that would not “hold water,” to use the vernacular. That the
suspiciousness of the half-breed was certainly over-strained and
phenomenal in its excess. That the confidence that my friend of the
infantile face was willing to repose in myself, a perfect stranger, was
not marked by those periods of slow evolution by which confidence is
proverbially brought to fruition. Still, I said, that gentle, guileless,
St. John-like face haunted the chamber of my soul’s sympathy. I would as
soon expect to see the wondrous Madonna leave its frame in the Sistine
Chapel and try to cheat me with a dozen semi-decayed peaches at the
street corner as to look for deceit lurking behind the bland and child-
like smile of John Davis, the miner. My friend, the assayer, suggested
that the sad smile and Madonna face of John were part of his stock in
trade. “At any rate, Doctor,” said he, “let him bring the brick here.
When I melt it and run it over I will believe it is solid gold; not till
then.”
I sought out Davis and told him that Zamora’s confidence would have to
bear an additional strain; that if it was a necessity he could be
carried on a stretcher to the assay office, bearing the precious nugget
in his bosom if he chose, but that nobody would advance money on a gold
brick of which they had seen nothing but shavings. A mist of tears
seemed to spring into his handsome eyes, and he replied broken-
heartedly:
“I’m afraid that I can’t bring him to it. He had to get the doctor to
see him this morning ’cause he was spitting blood, and he’s sure he’ll
die if he don’t get out of this big town. I can’t help him any longer
than to-night, I know. He don’t know the difference, ye know, between a
hundred dollar bill and a one dollar bill, an’ if I could only get some
money jest to show him and let him see that the parties meant fair, ye
see, he’d let the stuff go out of his sight. Then we could sell it or
raise the rest of the money on it, and inside o’ two months I could have
the rest o’ that pile here in St. Louis. I tell ye, it jest breaks me up
to think o’ losing this chance”—and his words were broken with a heavy
sigh.
He wrung my hand warmly and we parted.
* * * * *
That sad face haunted me. My wife of course saw that something was
troubling my dreams and waking hours, and gave me no rest until I had
confided the whole melancholy story to her. With that wifely anxiety
respecting the family income and expenses characteristic of the worthy
ones of her sex, she exclaimed at once: “You are quite sure that this
sympathy didn’t reach your pocket-book?”
“No,” I said, “I am not out of pocket one cent, but if I had been rich,
I am pretty certain I should have invested in that face, even though
there are thin places in the story.”
Strange as it may seem, my word-photograph of that manly woodman’s
countenance did not move her sympathies a whit. A half-dozen times a day
she would inquire, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye: “Any news yet
from Kansas City?” I tried to show her that, on account of that subtle
influence which will always reveal its presence in the face, it is
impossible for a rogue to bear such a face as Davis owned. The very
spiritual laws of the universe were involved in the denial of such a
monstrous supposition. Her only reply was in the expression of a hope
that my pocket-book should not get entangled in any of these
psychological theories.
Four days passed, and still no news of the weary-hearted Davis. On the
fifth day I came into the house bearing a letter in my hand, and said:
“My love, I think I’ve got news of that gold brick.”
My friend the assayer had written to this effect:
“MY DEAR DOCTOR:—I wish you would call at the office some time to-
morrow, if you are down town. I have an interesting specimen to show
you.”
I went. On a shelf in the inner vault of the assay office laid that gold
brick. There was no mistaking that treasure. It lay like Cæsar in the
Capitol, its dozen wounds looking dumbly up and pleading to me for
recognition. Thirty pounds of solid coin-fine gold, a fraction of the
stately fortune of that mysterious half-breed who
Came like truth and disappeared like dreams.
Only the day before a stranger had entered the assay office bearing a
gold button, the quality of which he wished determined. He said his
brother had taken stock in a mine and he wished from this specimen to
know the value of the product. It was as fine as a $20 gold piece. Very
probably it was part of a $20 gold piece.
Some hours later he came again, bearing the precious brick in his arms.
Wonderful to relate! He had seen the borings from this massive bit of
wealth tested and tried, and found to be pure gold, and some envious
fairy, with a magic wand that was able to neutralize the alchemist’s
potent secret, had changed it into a baser metal. He bore in his arms
but thirty pounds of solid brass. He also bore a letter to this effect:
“SIR:—You have been a —— fool to buy thirty pounds of brass. If you can
find another man who will be —— fool to give you $2,000 for this brass,
I will come and do the talking for you and take half the profits.
JOHN WILLIAMS.”
My dream was shattered. My Bret Harte hero, with his saintly face and
with the flavor of the forest about him, was a vulgar fraud! And yet he
was not all bad. Observe the delicate touch of thoughtful benevolence
with which he generously offered to come back and help his victim regain
a part of what he had lost! There must have been something essentially
noble about him to write like that!
Of course I saw what a clumsy trick it all was. The borings were made
from the lump of brass, but were simply changed after being wrapped in
the bit of newspaper. I have no doubt the gentleman who purchased the
brick sees it clearly enough also.
Since that time I have thought it was not a universal experience which
is expressed in Whittier’s celebrated lines:
Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest of all are “It might have been.”
[Illustration: THE “TRAILER” AND THE “SUCKER.”]
BUNKO.
It is doubtful whether there is a man, woman or child in the United
States, who has been in the habit of reading the daily press, who has
not heard of “Bunko,” and does not have a vague sort of idea that it is
a gigantic scheme for swindling. Yet so hazy is the general information
of the public as to the details of its operation, that even those who
may have read the published accounts of the mode in which the thousands
of unfortunates have been victimized through this scheme, are liable
themselves to be defrauded in a precisely similar manner because of
their own ignorance. I believe that I speak within bounds when I say
that millions have been lost and won through this game. It is my
intention to so thoroughly expose the methods of its manipulators, that
hereafter those who may be fleeced through their operations can attach
the blame primarily only to themselves.
The essential requisites of a “Bunko” outfit are—9 small dice with a
dice-box, a “Bunko” chart, and—last, but by no means least—a skillful
and in every way competent “capper.” It is the peculiar province of the
latter to seek out victims and “steer” them to their ruin. The devices
resorted to in order to lure the unsophisticated into the den of “Bunko”
sharps are too numerous to admit of any detailed description. There is,
however, one fundamental principle underlying them all,—to gain the
confidence of the man whom it is proposed to rob, and then, by specious
representation, to draw him on, step by step, until the unprincipled
gang of scoundrels shall have bled him of the last cent which they can
obtain. Of all descriptions of gamblers, “Bunko” men are, if not the
most astute, certainly the most unscrupulous and the most pitiless. No
chicanery is too contemptible, no treachery too base for them to employ;
and not infrequently they consummate their schemes of fraud by the
perpetration of deeds of actual violence.
The prospective victim having been enticed into the “den of thieves,”
the _modus operandi_ by which he is fleeced will now be described as
briefly as a necessarily full explanation will permit. The first object
that meets his eye is a table upon which is spread an oil-cloth, on
which are painted forty-six squares, numbered from 9 to 54, inclusive.
The arrangement of the numbers is shown in the accompanying diagram,
which also shows the fortune which awaits the players. The game is
played by means of throwing the above mentioned dice. The nine little
ivory cubes are placed in a box and either the “sucker” or the “capper”
(who, as a pretended friend, always plays in concert with the dupe)
throws them upon the table. The spots on the top of all the dice are
added together, and the sum total is taken as the number which has been
thrown. Reference is now had to the chart, and the legend painted upon
the square containing the number thrown by the players is read off.
In order to follow the game through, the chart itself must now be
explained. If the reader will look at the diagram, he will see that some
of the squares contain, in addition to the numbers which are painted
upon all of them, figures representing certain sums of money, while
others are marked “0,” yet others “00,” while upon some of them is
depicted the abbreviation “rep.” He will also observe that some of the
squares contain figures representing sums of money which are inscribed
with the abbreviation “cond.” The letters “rep” stand for representing;
“cond” is the abbreviation for conditional. The mode of play may be best
explained by an illustration. If the player, for instance, throws 18,
(which number may be found in the upper left hand corner of the chart),
it will be seen that the square bears the abbreviation “rep.” This
indicates that the player may double (i. e., either pay for another
chance and throw again), or withdraw from the game, forfeiting the 50
cents or $1.00 (usually the latter sum) which he has already paid.
Suppose that he throw 15, which number may be found in the fourth square
from the left in the upper row of the chart, he wins $1.00. If he throws
54—the second number to the right in the fourth horizontal row of
squares—he wins $500. If he throws a number painted upon a square
inscribed with “0,” “00,” or the abbreviation “chic’y” (which is a
contraction for chancery), he neither wins nor loses, and the
proprietors magnanimously permit him to try his “luck” (God save the
mark) again.
But it is when he throws a number corresponding to that in a square
inscribed with a sum of money and the abbreviation “cond” (conditional)
that his bad fortune commences.
And just here it is proper to say, that as a matter of fact it makes
comparatively little difference what number he actually throws, inasmuch
as the man behind the cloth usually counts the spots on the dice to suit
himself. As a rule, the man who is fool enough to risk his money at such
a scheme is too great a fool to see that his number is correctly read.
But if he should insist upon examining the dice for himself, his pseudo-
partner, the “capper,” who sits at his elbow, is always at hand to
overturn one of the cubes, thereby defeating his last, laudable attempt
at self preservation.
“BUNKO” CHART.
┌─────────┬─────────┬─────────┬─────────┬─────────┬─────────┐
│ │ Cond. │ │ │ │ │
│ Rep. │ │ Rep. │ $1.00 │ Rep. │ $500.00 │
│ │ $500.00 │ │ │ │ │
│ 18 │ │ 39 │ 15 │ 27 │ 10 │
│ │ 25 │ │ │ │ │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ │ │ │ │ Cond. │
│ Rep. │ Rep. │ Rep. │ Ch’cy. │ Rep. │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │$5000.00 │
│ 32 │ 46 │ 30 │ 42 │ 36 │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ 23 │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ $20.00 │ $5.00 │ $1.00 │ 0 0 │ $300.00 │ 0 │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ 12 │ 50 │ 14 │ 20 │ 51 │ 45 │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ │ │ Cond. │ │ │
│ Ch’cy. │ $500.00 │ Rep. │ │$1000.00 │ Rep. │
│ │ │ │ $500.00 │ │ │
│ 37 │ 54 │ 19 │ │ 53 │ 16 │
│ │ │ │ 33 │ │ │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ Cond. │ │ │ │ │ Cond. │
│ │ Rep. │$1000.00 │ Rep. │ 0 0 │ │
│ 100.00 │ │ │ │ │ $100.00 │
│ │ 24 │ 9 │ 43 │ 49 │ │
│ 17 │ │ │ │ │ 28 │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ Cond. │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ Bl’k. │ Rep. │ Ch’cy. │ $5.00 │ 0 0 │
│ $500.00 │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ 29 │ 35 │ 26 │ 13 │ 34 │
│ 48 │ │ │ │ │ │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ │ │ Cond. │ │ Cond. │
│ 0 │ 0 0 │ $300.00 │ │ Rep. │ │
│ │ │ │ $100.00 │ │$1000.00 │
│ 22 │ 41 │ 11 │ │ 21 │ │
│ │ │ │ 31 │ │ 40 │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ Cond. │ │ │ │ │
│ │ │ $500.00 │ Rep. │ Rep. │ │
│ │ $500.00 │ │ │ │ │
│ │ │ 52 │ 38 │ 47 │ │
│ │ 44 │ │ │ │ │
└─────────┴─────────┴─────────┴─────────┴─────────┴─────────┘
Before describing further the misfortunes of the victim, it will be well
to give a synopsis of the inscription upon the squares, and to point out
the exceedingly ingenious manner in which they are arranged.
The lowest number is nine, for the reason that nine dice are thrown, and
as none of the cubes contain a blank side nine aces is the smallest
throw that can be made. The diagram gives a fair idea of the arrangement
of the numbers on the average chart. The squares contain:
1 $5,000 prize.
3 1,000 ”
7 500 ”
2 300 ”
3 100 ”
1 20 ”
2 5 ”
2 1 ”
4 Double 0s.
2 Single 0s.
15 “Represents.”
1 “Blank.”
3 “Chancerys.”
——
46
Of the twenty-one prizes, eight are marked “conditional,” the
signification of which word in this connection will be presently
explained. Of the remaining thirteen, the majority are painted upon
squares containing numbers which it is a moral impossibility to throw.
Thus a $500 prize is inscribed over 54, a number which cannot be won by
the player unless all the nine dice thrown turn up sixes, which has
never been known to happen; a $1,000 prize is numbered 9, and cannot be
won unless all the dice turn up aces, which they never do; another
$1,000 prize requires a throw of 53 to win it, which would involve
casting eight sixes and one five, the probability of which is too remote
to be worth considering. It is, however, quite within the range of
possibility that a “sucker” may throw a number calling for one of the
smaller prizes, which serves to encourage him to persevere in his folly.
When a dupe, throwing in concert with a “capper,” has cast a number
calling for a “conditional” prize, the proprietor informs them that they
have each won the sum inscribed upon that square, but only
“conditionally,” the condition being that before payment they shall show
that they have that amount of cash. He exhibits his money to pay the
prize, and professes his willingness to pay it over as soon as he is
convinced that he has not been risking his money against “wind.” Of
course, this claim is preposterous. When the victim was induced to play,
he was invited to buy a chance in a prize distribution scheme, and not a
word was said to him about putting up any stakes or incurring any risk
whatever, other than the loss of his dollar.
However, this reflection does not present itself to the dupe, and under
the exhilarating and stimulating influence of the “capper,” to which is
added the apparent prospect of winning a large sum of money for nothing,
he leaves the room in order to obtain the necessary amount, with which
he and the “capper” invariably return. At the same moment, departs a
third confederate, technically known as a “trailer.” The business of the
latter individual is to follow the “sucker” and observe his every
movement. Of course he is expected to return to the “office” of the gang
before the victim and the confederate shall have arrived. No movement of
the dupe escapes him. If he goes to a bank, in order to draw money, the
“trailer” stands close at his heels, with a bill of some large
denomination in his hand, for which he is prepared to request change in
the most courteous manner. No action on the part of the greenhorn is
left unobserved, and when the latter returns to the room, in company
with the “capper,” the proprietor of the scheme has been thoroughly
informed as to every movement which he has made since his departure. As
soon as he shows the money, the man behind the cloth takes possession of
it, and informs the players that they are entitled to another throw. The
“capper” appears to be much excited under the influence of the
extraordinary good fortune which has fallen to their lot, and the victim
is easily induced again to take the box and throw the dice. If he
manifests any hesitation, however, the “capper,” (who, it must be
remembered, always acts as his partner), seizes the box and hurriedly
throws for both, before the “sucker” has time to remonstrate. Of course,
this time he loses. Even should the spots on the cubes as thrown, when
added together, amount to a total sum calling for a prize upon the
chart, either the operator will read the total erroneously, or the
“capper” will overturn one of the dice, thus changing the number
actually thrown. The proprietor at once announces that the two players
have lost the amount of money, which they brought with them and placed
in the banker’s hands. It is idle for the “sucker” to protest that he
was not laying a wager, and that this interpretation of the contract is
altogether wrong and unfair. The “bunko” sharpers have his money and
they intend to keep it, despite all remonstrances. If he offers to make
any disturbance, or manifests any disposition to recover his loss by
force, he is at once either knocked down or thrown out of the room, or
sometimes both together. When he succeeds in summoning the officers of
the law to his aid, and in company with the police revisits the room in
which he was fleeced, he finds that his tenants have departed, carrying
with them the paraphernalia of their trade.
A favorite device under such circumstances, after the greenhorn has
returned with his money and has been induced to throw again, is so to
read the number thrown by him as to call upon him to “represent,” which
is accomplished by calling off a number corresponding to one of the
squares upon the chart which is inscribed with the abbreviation “rep.”
In this case, he is told that he must double the amount placed in the
banker’s hands and throw once more, or lose his “stake.” If he is
particularly gullible, and the “capper” has succeeded in persuading him
to bring with him to the den a larger sum of money than that called for
by the proprietor, he will frequently consent to double his money and
try again. As long as he can be induced to keep this up, the sharpers
will continue to play with him. As soon as they discover either that he
has no more money or that he is unwilling to risk any additional sum, he
is informed that he has lost whatever money he may have already
advanced.
From the circumstance of sending a dupe after more money, this game has,
of late years, been sometimes designated by members of the fraternity as
“send”.
It sometimes happens, however, that the “sucker” when he returns with
this money, insists upon being paid the amount of the prize which he has
won and flatly refuses to put up any more money in the game. When the
sharpers perceive that they cannot induce him to play further the
proprietor takes his money, and makes an entry in a large book, with a
view to giving the transaction a business like appearance. He then
counts out a sum, smaller by some $200 than the amount of the prize, and
places this amount together with the victim’s money in an envelope and
seals it up. He counts the money in the presence of the dupe and informs
him that he has not got the full amount at hand in currency, but that
his agent will call upon him in the morning and pay him the balance.
Meanwhile, he is at liberty to take with him the envelope, containing
his own money and that portion of the prize which the bank is able to
pay at the moment. The banker further states that in order that the
agent shall pay the money it is essential that the seals of the envelope
should not be broken, adding that if they are, no further money will be
paid. To this the victim assents, and he is at once handed an envelope,
identical in size and appearance with that in which he saw the money
placed, and sealed in a precisely similar manner. As a matter of fact,
however, the proprietor has substituted for the envelope containing the
money one so closely resembling it in appearance that the difference
cannot be discovered, but which, instead of currency, contains nothing
more valuable than blank paper.
The manner in which the substitution is effected before the very eyes of
the “sucker” without his knowledge is as follows: The operator opens the
ledger and places between two of the leaves the envelope containing the
bank bills. He then presses down upon the cover of the ledger,
apparently with a view of sealing the package more tightly. When he
opens the ledger, he opens it at another page and takes out the
previously prepared envelope. He then marks a cross in pencil over the
seal and asks the dupe to write his name across the flap, in order that
there may be no possible mischance in the identification of the package
when the agent shall call in the morning.
In the description of this game which has been given above, reference
has been made only to the casting of dice as a means of determining the
number made by any player. Sometimes, however, when an attempt is made
to operate the game in resorts of a “higher tone,” cards inscribed with
numbers and abbreviations corresponding to those shown in the diagram
are used. The number of cards is, of course, the same as the number of
squares on the cloth—46. When cards are employed they are dealt from a
box similar to that employed in dealing faro, for a description of which
the reader is referred to the chapter on “Faro.”
In 1882, Floyd Creek, Pete Lelin, and George Curtis, while traveling in
disguise as fugitives from justice—their crime having been the fleecing
of one Wilson, at Eureka Springs in 1881, his disastrous losses causing
instant death—received a “pointer” from a school teacher concerning a
man who had deposited a large sum of money in the bank, and who was
supposed to be a “soft mark.” They watched him carefully and eventually
succeeded in selling him bricks to the value (?) of $22,000. They
received this large sum in gold, and at once took boat for Pensacola.
They did not gain anything by their outrageous swindle. While they
escaped the justice of man, the vengeance of God overtook them speedily,
for their boat sunk and all were drowned, their ill-gotten gains going
to the bottom with them.
[Illustration: THE FICTITIOUS “ROLL.”]