There are always men who have some scheme on hand--some trick or
device that is a sure winner. It may be a system, a combination,
marked cards, or something of the sort. Such a man was John Brogan,
of Alexandria. His stronghold was marked cards. He had played
with them for years, and had been remarkably successful, having
accumulated considerable property. I was once coming down the Red
River, when I made the acquaintance of a shrewd fellow named Neice.
He used a small concave reflector about the size of a gold dollar,
which he placed in the pile of chips before him, and which in
dealing the cards enabled him to see every card, and where it went.
He generally played with gamblers, and so adroit was he in his
manipulations that they were unable to catch him. I made up my
mind that we could both make some money, so I told him that I had
a man for him who was well heeled. He was willing to help me, and
we started for Alexandria. I got the Captain to land about three
miles above the city, and put off my partner, whom I had thoroughly
posted. When I reached Alexandria I went at once to the Ice House,
for that was the odd name given to the hotel, where I soon found
Brogan; and having had a good shake of the hand and a few drinks,
we sat down for a social chat about old times, beguiling away the
time with choice Havanas.
We had been chatting away for about an hour and a half, when a
rough-looking fellow walked into the bar-room and asked if he could
get a dram. "I've come a good distance," he said, "and am very
tired. The fact is, I have been out in the back country looking
up a mill site, and tramped 'round a good deal more than I
calculated."
"Take something with me, my friend," spoke up Brogan. "I don't
mind," and we all three took a drink together. The stranger called
shortly for another round, and as he settled, pulled out a roll of
bills as big as a pillow, that at once caught Brogan's eyes. He
gave me a significant hunch. After supper the miller walked into
the bar-room, purchased a cigar, and walked out. Then Brogan said
to me, "How is the best way to get some of that money?" I told
him, "I'll play monte for you; perhaps he'll bite at that." John
hunted around, and soon brought the miller into the bar-room again.
I was up to snuff, and made my talk and showed my cards, and John
won $100 from me. Then the miller said, "I'll take a hand." He
lost $200. I kept on playing the cards, but the miller would bet
no more, remarking to me, "I think you are a sharper."
John then asked the miller if he ever played poker. "Oh, sometimes;
I used to play for a quarter ante." "Let's have a little game,
then, to pass away time." The game began, and Brogan trotted out
his marked cards. I insisted on playing, but the miller said, "No,
that I was too smart." So, somewhat crestfallen, I walked out and
took a stroll, and was gone perhaps a couple of hours. When I
returned they were playing for ten dollars ante, and Brogan was
losing very fast. I remained around the card table only for a
short time and then went away. When I came back the miller had
won every dollar Brogan had as well as his diamonds, amounting to
something like $4,500. Brogan came to me and wanted to borrow
$500. I said, "Certainly, you can have it; but, John, you are
drinking too much; take my advice and wait till morning." "All
right; then my luck will change." "Of course, and that miller will
be on hand."
Late that night a boat came along, and the miller skipped out.
Morning came and I bade John Brogan good-bye. Poor fellow; he
never knew why his marked cards didn't work, and I never told him.
Both John Brogan and Neice have been dead many years, and, I trust,
are happy in the spirit land--perhaps playing chuck-a-luck, marked
cards, and concave reflectors with St. Peter and the Apostles.