Bluff is a good game, and sometimes it will turn a trick when
everything else fails. I boarded Morgan's Railroad, as it was
called, upon one occasion at Algiers. Trains on that road were
generally full of suckers, as the road connected with the Galveston
steamers at Burwick's Bay. Tom Brown and Holly Chappell, my
partners, were both along; and as game was plenty along the road,
we carried our shotguns along, and in the event of no bigger game
were accustomed to get off and shoot snipe, catching the return
train to the city in the evening. Sure enough, there was a party
of traders aboard, and Brown lost no time in making their acquaintance
and opening out. One of them commenced to cut his clothes the
minute he got a glimpse of the corner after Chappell made one cap.
To make matters more binding, I came up and lost $1,200. Then the
ball opened, and it was not more than half and hour before we had
downed the party. Then the devil was to pay. One of the party
said: "Look here; I must have my money back, or h--l will flop
around here mighty quick." Then they all joined in and made a big
kick; and as I saw fun brewing, I slipped into the baggage-car,
changed hats and coats with the baggage-master, got his badge and
my double-barrelled shotgun. Then I rushed into the car and drew
the bead on the party who had collected around the boys, giving a
war-whoop and demanding in stentorian tones, "Who has been playing
cards in this car?"
"I have," said Brown.
"Get off this train mighty quick;" and I pulled the rope. My
partners lost no time in getting off. Pulling the rope again, the
train started; and when the conductor came back, I explained that
somebody would have been hurt, had I not acted as I did. This was
satisfactory, and going back he told the party that gambling on
the road was against the rules, and that he could have them all
arrested when the bay was reached, if he wished. This had the
effect of quieting them down, especially as they knew that the man
who had won their money was off the train. I was not long in
reaching the baggage-car and returning the borrowed articles, and
quietly slipping off at the first station, not forgetting my shotgun.
Hunting was good that day, and I bagged ten snipe and thirteen
robbins, which the boys helped me eat at our old friend Cassidy's
restaurant, on Gravier Street, opposite the St. Charles Hotel.
The boys all agreed that my conduct was all that saved the boodle,
which consisted of $3,300 and two gold watches. Thus it is that
a little management, backed by a double-barrelled shotgun and an
official badge, is often times a powerful persuader.