All men that bet should not be classed as gamblers, for some _things_
that style themselves _men_ will bet (to win, of course), and kick
if they lose, which a gambler will never do, although he may
sometimes be sucker enough to bet (to win) against a sure thing,
like old monte, or a brace game.
A kicker, or squealer, always speaks of the money he has lost,
against any game, as his money; while the gambler considers the
money he loses, against any game, as lost; and it belongs to the
person who won it, and you never hear one of them do any kicking.
"Old Rattlesnake" and I left New Orleans one evening on the steamer
_Robert E. Lee_.
We played the good old game in the usual way, and caught quite a
number of good sized suckers, among which was one from St. Joseph,
La. We got off at Baton Rouge, and took another boat back to New
Orleans. The next trip we made on the _Lee_ we learned from my
old friend Carnahan, the steward, that the St. Joseph sucker, whom
we had downed on the last trip, made a big kick when he learned
that we had left the boat at Baton Rouge. He said he would get a
lot of the St. Joseph boys, go back to where we got off, and make
us give up his money, or he would kill us.
The steward told him not to do it, for said he:
"Those fellows are bad men to fool with. I have seen twenty suckers
try to make them give up, but I never saw them do it."
As we were not within miles of this kicker, who, I have no doubt,
styled himself a man, of course he could do a great deal of blowing;
but when a short time afterwards we met him with a lot of St. Joseph
boys at his back, we could not get within speaking distance of him.
I was glad of it, as they were a bad crowd.
Old Carnahan and I were cabin boys on the same boat before the
Mexican war. He is dead now, but I shall always remember him for
telling the kicker, "Those fellows are bad men to fool with."
Old Jack and I traveled North during the summer season, playing
the boats and railroad trains.
We were going out of Detroit, Mich., on the Great Western Railroad,
over into Ontario, one night, when there was quite a number of half-
breed (French and Irish) Canadians on board. They had six or seven
bull-dogs with them that had been fighting against some dogs in
Detroit, and from their talk we learned that they downed Uncle Sam.
So we thought (as we were Americans) that we would try and down
them; not with bull-dogs, but with the good old game.
Jack was soon among them, and in a short time, with my assistance
as capper, he had downed several of the Canucks for a few hundred.
They were kickers from the old house. They all got together and
began cackling like a lot of old hens when a hawk is after them.
No one but themselves could understand a word they said; but they
soon made a rush for Jack and demanded, in English, that he give
up their money, or they would kill him. Their bull-dogs wanted to
take part in the fight, and I guess they would have done it if it
had not been for their owners, for if a dog's master runs he will
be sure to run after him. Old Jack whipped out that big, long six-
shooter of his, and the instant they saw it they all started and
made a regular stampede for the other car. The dogs took after
their masters, and it was fun to see the passengers climbing upon
the seats. The men and the dogs rushed into the ladies' car, and
you would have thought it was on fire if you had heard the screams
and yells that the passengers set up when the men and bull-dogs
rushed in among them. The poor dumb brutes were frightened as
much as their owners, and they set up the d----dest howl I ever
heard in all my life. We were just nearing a station, so I told
old Jack to drop off, which he did, and then he got onto the hind
sleeper. The people at the station had heard the screams, and came
running to see what was the matter.
The railroad boys had hard work to get the dogs and men out of the
ladies' car, but they could not get one of the dogs back into the
cars he had been run out of. I did not blame the brutes much, for
they had been badly frightened.
We were coming out of Chicago at one time on the Burlington & Quincy
Railroad, and had downed some suckers, when one of them began to
kick like a bad mule. He told the conductor that old Jack had
robbed him out of his money. The conductor told him he could do
nothing except turn the gambler over to the police at the next
station. He locked the doors to keep Jack from jumping off, and
the sucker quieted down, thinking he would be O. K. when he reached
the station. I saw two gentlemen from Quincy in the car that I
was acquainted with, so I wrote a note to them, requesting that
they tell the kicker he was in the same boat with the gambler, as
he would be fined just as much as the man who got his money, and
that the fine in Illinois was $100. The result was the fellow hid
himself, and when the conductor pointed old Jack out he could not
find the kicker. We got off with the officers, and as no one was
on hand to testify, of course we only had to treat until the next
train arrived.