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Queer Luck
Queer Luck
Poker Stories from the New York Sun
By
David A. Curtis
❦
New York
Brentano’s
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1896, 1897, 1898, BY
THE SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
BRENTANO’S
Contents
PAGE
WHY HE QUIT THE GAME 1
FREEZE-OUT FOR A LIFE 19
A GAMBLER’S PISTOL PLAY 35
QUEER RUNS OF LUCK 57
STORMS’S STRAIGHT FLUSH 75
FOR A SENATE SEAT 93
THE BILL WENT THROUGH 109
POKER FOR HIGH STAKES 127
“OVERLAND JACK” 149
HIS LAST SUNDAY GAME 169
FOSS STOPPED THE GAME 181
HE PLAYED FOR HIS WIFE 203
THE CLUB’S LAST GAME 221
Why he Quit the Game
_THE EXCITEMENT OF A PHENOMENAL STRUGGLE TOOK HIM TO THE VERGE OF
DISHONOR_
Five men of better nerve never dealt cards than the five who sat
playing poker the other night in one of those up-town club-rooms that
are so quietly kept as to be entirely unknown to the police and the
general public. The game proved to be phenomenal.
The play was high. The party had played together once a week, for a
long time, and the limit had always been one dollar at the beginning
of the evening, though occasionally it had gone as high as ten before
morning. This particular night, however, the cards ran remarkably
well, and by midnight the limit was ignored if not forgotten. Two
of the players had laid their pocketbooks alongside their chips.
They had not played so before, but the gambling fever had come upon
them with the excitement of good hands, one against another, until
the friendly contest had become a struggle for blood. Fours had been
shown several times since midnight, and beaten once, while straight
flushes had twice won important money. Deck after deck had been called
for, and tossed aside in turn after a few deals, till the carpet was
strewn thickly with the discarded pasteboards, but there was no change
in the remarkable run of the cards. Pat fulls and flushes showed in
deal after deal, and the luck in the draw was so extraordinary and
so evenly distributed that they all grew cautious of betting on any
ordinary hand, and a bluff had not been tried for an hour. Yet no one
had offered a remark, though the play grew higher and harder. It was as
if each man feared to break the run by mentioning it. At length the
Colonel spoke.
“The devil himself is playing with his picture books to-night, I
think,” he said, with a short laugh, as he lost two stacks of blues on
a seven full.
It had been the Doctor’s deal, and he looked up quickly. Gazing at the
Colonel, he said:
“The hands are certainly remarkable. I never saw so many big ones at
one sitting.” The words were simple, but there was a curious tone, half
of question, in his voice. There had not been such nervous tension in
the party before, but they were all men of experience, and had seen
trouble between friends resulting from careless words on many different
occasions.
The Colonel detected the tone and answered quickly and gracefully:
“That’s so, Doc. I’ve beaten some strong hands myself to-night.”
“A new pack, Sam,” said the Editor, who was the next to deal. The
imperturbable darky by the sideboard produced one instantly, and the
Editor shuffled it carefully. Then he offered it to the other players
in turn. They all refused to touch it, and, shuffling the deck himself
once more, he laid it down for the cut and began to deal. It was a
little thing, but so far out of the ordinary as to mark the fact that
they were fencing now with bare blades, and from that on, there was a
strict observance of the punctilio of the game.
One by one the cards fell in five symmetrical little piles, as perfect
as Herrmann could have made them, for the Editor was deft with his
fingers, but one after another of the players passed out and a jack pot
was made. The big hands had failed to appear.
It was the Congressman’s deal, and he doubled his ante and took the
cards. The Colonel sat next and pushed out four blue chips--twenty
dollars. The others all came in, the Congressman making good and
dealing without a word. There was a hundred dollars in the pot, and
there came that curious certainty to all of them which sometimes comes
to experienced players, that a mighty struggle was at hand.
The Colonel made a pretense of looking at his hand, but in reality
looked only at the first two cards. They were both aces. He passed.
The Lawyer sat next. He found a four flush and a pair of tens; so he
passed.
The Doctor was next player. He held a pat straight, king high. He
opened the pot for twenty dollars.
The Editor came in on three deuces, and the Congressman with a pair of
queens put up his money. The others came up promptly.
The Colonel, having first call, looked over his hand carefully. The
last card was an ace also, and he called for one, holding up a seven.
The four hearts in the Lawyer’s hand were the queen, ten, nine, and
eight. He promptly discarded the other ten, and drew one card. The
Doctor, of course, stood pat, and the Editor drew two. The Congressman
also drew to the strength of his hand.
With all the players in, the Doctor felt that a straight was a doubtful
hand, but he put up twenty and waited. The Editor looked anxiously for
the fourth deuce, but, finding neither that nor a pair, laid down his
cards.
Three sixes had fallen to the Congressman’s queens, and he raised it
twenty. Thereupon they all looked keenly at the Colonel. Not a muscle
moved in his stern, handsome face, as he saw the raise, and went fifty
better.
It was ninety dollars for the Lawyer to come in. He simply made good,
and looked anxiously to see if there would be another raise. They
criticised his play afterward, claiming that he should have raised
back, but he defended it by saying that there were two players yet to
hear from. The first of these resigned. A king straight was no hand for
that struggle. The Congressman was still confident of his full hand,
however, for he had drawn three sixes, and he came back at the Colonel
with fifty more.
The Colonel raised him a hundred. It looked as if it would be a duel
between him and the Congressman, but the Lawyer was still to hear from.
He raised it a hundred. The Congressman made good, and the Colonel
raised again.
The Lawyer counted his chips carefully, and finding exactly the right
amount, covered the last raise. Then, opening his pocketbook, he drew
out a hundred-dollar bill and pushed that to the middle of the table.
Once more the Congressman made good, and the Colonel raised it a
hundred. The Lawyer came back, and the Congressman dropped out.
The Colonel raised it a hundred. The Lawyer made it another, and there
was over twenty-five hundred dollars on the table.
The struggle of the evening had come, and the three who had dropped out
were not less excited than the two players. To all appearance they were
far more so, for the Colonel looked as calm as if on parade, and the
Lawyer’s only sign of agitation was his heightened color. None of them
thought much of that, for he was of plethoric habit and flushed easily.
The Colonel raised it a hundred. The Lawyer fumbled in his pocketbook
for a moment, and, drawing out a fresh roll of bills, raised it two
hundred. The Colonel raised it five hundred. The Lawyer came back
at him with five hundred more. The Colonel raised it a thousand.
The Lawyer flipped up the ends of the bills he was holding in his
hand, and, counting them rapidly, found a little over two thousand
dollars. Separating the odd money, he extended his hand with the twenty
centuries in it, and was in the act of speaking, when he checked
himself as suddenly as if he had been shot.
“I raise--” he began, and then was stricken dumb. The bills were still
in his grasp, and, instead of laying them down, he sat for a moment as
rigid as a statue, while his face grew white.
The silence was intense. The Colonel was the only one in the party who
showed no excitement, but the Lawyer, who had watched him up to that
moment with the most acute scrutiny, no longer looked at him at all.
Instead, he slowly withdrew his hand, picked up his cards, which he had
laid, face down, before him, and looked them over again.
“What is that for?” thought the Editor. “He is not looking to see what
he holds. He knows perfectly well. And he hasn’t been bluffing. What
stopped him, I wonder?”
No one spoke, however, as the Lawyer laid his cards down again and
looked once more into his pocketbook.
“Aha!” thought the Editor. “It’s the amount that staggers him. That’s
queer, too. I’ve seen him play higher than this at the tables.”
It seemed to be the amount, however; for the Lawyer, finding no more
money in his pocketbook, counted out a thousand dollars from the roll
in his hand and, laying that on the pile in the middle of the table,
said:
“I call you.”
His hand shook perceptibly, and for the first time the Colonel’s face
relaxed. He smiled grimly as he laid down four aces.
The Lawyer’s face had been pale, but it grew almost ghastly as he
showed his hand. He had caught the jack of hearts in the draw and had
won the pot.
The Doctor watched him curiously, even more so than the others, though
the entire party was surprised. To his professional eye it looked as if
the excitement would culminate in a fainting fit. That for a moment was
indeed imminent; then the magnificent nerve which had made the Lawyer
famous stood him in good stead, and he rallied by a supreme effort.
Once more his hand was as steady as clockwork as he reached out and
drew the great pile of chips and gold and bank bills toward him.
It was not, however, until after he had done a strange thing that he
could command himself sufficiently to speak. And while he was doing it
the others looked on in silence. They had seen four aces beaten by a
straight flush, but even the excitement of that was in abeyance. Some
strange climax was coming, and none could even guess what it would be.
First he counted out from the pile twenty one-hundred-dollar bills,
and, folding them together with the money he had held back on the last
bet, he placed the roll in his pocketbook, and, closing that carefully,
put it into his inside pocket and drew a long breath--almost a gasp--as
if of relief. Next he counted out two thousand more and pushed it
over toward the Colonel, who looked at it and at him in wonder. The
remainder of the pot--a goodly sum--lay in a confused heap in front of
him, and before speaking he looked at it steadily for a space wherein
one might count fifty. At length he said, raising his hand, as if
registering an oath:
“I am done with poker. I have nothing to say against the game. You all
know how well I love to play. To my mind there is no other sport that
equals it. None, I believe, so shows the skill and the mettle of a
man as this does. Yet, loving the game as well and admiring it as much
as I do, I give it up from this moment, forever. I have stepped across
the border line of dishonor to-night. The money I have just put back in
my pocket was given to me last evening by a client to be paid out this
morning, and if I had lost I could not immediately have replaced it. I
had it in my possession simply because I had not had the opportunity
to deposit it, and in the excitement of the game I forgot that it was
not my own. The fascination that could make me do a thing like that
is one that I dare not risk again. Then, as the last two thousand I
bet was not my own, I cannot touch the money I won with it. I have
returned it to the Colonel, and, as you, sir, would never have betted
against dishonest money, it is as if it had never been at stake, and
consequently it is yours.”
The Colonel bowed and picked up the bills.
“As to the rest of this,” continued the Lawyer, pointing to the pile
which he had not yet disturbed, “I am in doubt. I certainly won it, but
I am embarrassed at quitting a friendly game with such heavy winnings.
It is not a question of right, but of delicacy, and I prefer to put it
to you, as to a jury, whether I owe you satisfaction in any way.”
He paused, and still no other man spoke. It was as if each one was
waiting for the others. So the Lawyer spoke again.
“What am I to do?” he said. “I am in the hands of my friends.”
They all looked at the Colonel. He was the oldest in the party.
“I am no man’s censor,” said he, seeing that he was expected to speak.
“Neither do I care to consider the morals of the question, but I have
seen a man blow his brains out over a card table after he had done
what you have done, and lost, as you, fortunately, did not. I said then
that he did well, and I say now that you have done well. Having won
with money that was not your own, even though you did it inadvertently,
you could not touch your winnings. But as to that which you won with
your own money--Are you very sure that you will never play again?”
“Absolutely,” said the Lawyer.
“Then pocket your money. We have played together, we five, for more
than a year now, and I doubt if you are much ahead of the game, even
counting your winnings to-night.”
He extended his hand, and the Lawyer grasped it nervously. One after
another, the three others shook hands with him also, and the game was
over.
Freeze-out for a Life
_AN OLD GAME UNDER NEW CIRCUMSTANCES_
“No, I don’t play poker any more,” said a big Westerner, who came into
an up-town club-house the other night with some friends who had been
showing him the town. He spoke rather seriously, although he had been
chatting and laughing in a loud, breezy way until the very moment when
somebody suggested a little game of draw as an appropriate wind-up of
the night’s diversion.
“Why, how is that?” exclaimed one of his friends. “You used to play a
stiff game. You haven’t sworn off, have you?”
“N-no,” said the Westerner, still serious. “I have not sworn off, but
there is no excitement in the game for me now. The last game I played
was too exciting.
“It was a dozen years ago, when I was a tenderfoot, with the usual
allowance of freshness and ignorance of frontier perils. We used to
call it brashness, and I was certainly brash. I roamed around the
country for the better part of a year, with a more or less vague
purpose of settling somewhere, but not caring much where. I had money
enough to start with, whenever I should find an opening to suit me, but
I was not in a hurry, and was enjoying the freedom and adventurous life
of the plains as only a youngster can who is not obliged to put up with
the hardships, but looks on them as mere incidents.
“I was well down toward New Mexico when there was a rumor of Indian
troubles, and I heard that a company of United States troops were on
the march toward one of the principal villages, where the redskins were
particularly sullen. I had been out hunting for a week with a couple
of fellows I had met in one of the towns, when we got the news from a
stranger who came into our camp late at night and asked for supper. He
admitted when we questioned him--not too closely, for inquisitiveness
is at a large discount on the plains, but casually--that he was a scout
in the government employ, and was on his way to join this company.
“‘There’s likely to be some pretty warm work,’ he said when we asked
a little more, ‘for if the red devils are not on the warpath now they
will be in a day or two, and you fellows will do a smart trick if you
turn back.’
“Turning back, however, didn’t seem very attractive to me when there
was so much excitement ahead. I promptly remarked that I thought I
would go on with the scout and offer my services to the Captain in
command. I told you I was pretty brash at the time, and I had no
knowledge of military affairs. My notion was that the Captain would be
glad of a recruit, or, at least, that he would make no objection to my
going with him.
“I noticed that the scout looked at me a little curiously, but he
evidently thought it was not his business to educate tenderfeet, and he
only grunted. My two companions were as fresh as I was, and we told the
scout we would go along if he had no objection.
“‘It’s a free country, and I reckon you can travel wherever you like,’
he said with a grin that I understood better afterward.
“We started before dawn, and had some thirty odd miles to go to strike
the trail where the company was expected to camp that night. There were
still some ten miles to go when, as we were rounding a small hill, the
scout suddenly leaped from his horse and called to us to do the same.
“He had seen Indians, and, to cut it short, we camped that night in a
place where the scout said that four men could hold out for a while,
even against the hundred or so in the party that had surrounded us. It
was a certainty, though, that we would all lose our scalps unless help
came, for there was no water to be had, and the Indians knew it and
made themselves comfortable just out of range of our rifles. The scout
didn’t say much for a long time, but we could see that he was thinking
as hard as any of us, and we were all pretty busy at it. There didn’t
seem to be anything to suggest, or at least there was nothing that
I could think of excepting to make a dash and try to break through.
Nobody said anything in reply when I spoke of that, and the scout gave
me a look of disgust that made me angry enough, but shut me up all the
same. Finally he said:
“‘It’s just this way. These devils have caught us, and they know it.
They won’t make a rush, for they know we will shoot, and an Indian will
never risk being shot if he can get his man without. We can’t fight
our way out. There’s too many of ’em. And we can’t stay here any longer
than we can live without water.’
“I asked him if the Captain wouldn’t make a search for him, and he said
the Captain didn’t know he was coming. ‘He’s on his way south,’ he
said, ‘and the trail he is on is ten miles to the east of us. There’s
only one thing that I see, and that means certain death for somebody,
I reckon. It’s certain death for all of us, though, if something ain’t
done.’ We asked him what it was, and he said:
“‘If one man can make his way south-east far enough, so that the noise
of the firing will reach the company, the Captain will send a searching
party. It all depends on how far the man gets before he is killed. If
we all ride out, we will all be killed. If one man goes, the others may
stand a chance.’
“We all looked at one another in silence for a good while. My blood ran
cold at the idea of riding out alone into that pack of fiends, but I
realized that our only chance was for somebody to go, and I knew life
was as sweet to the others as it was to me. Instinctively we began
first talking about the way the man who should go should manœuvre to
best advantage, before raising the question who should be the man. It
took only a few minutes, though, for the scout to give his advice,
which was for one to ride out, waving a white handkerchief. He was to
keep to the eastward and ride as far as he dared toward the Indians,
looking sharply for the weakest point in their line toward his right.
He should then make a dash and ride as hard as possible until it was
all over, firing as often as he could. Then we had to decide who should
go, and I supposed, of course, that we would draw lots, but one of the
men spoke up unexpectedly:
“‘Whoever goes,’ he said, ‘doesn’t want to start for some hours. The
scout says just after daybreak is the best time. What is the matter
with settling this thing with poker? We can play freeze-out, and three
games will settle it, the winner dropping out each time.’
“The proposition caught me. You know I used to pride myself on my
poker. After a little hesitation the others agreed. The man who
proposed it had the cards, and we counted out six hundred coffee beans
for chips and began playing on a blanket folded and laid on the ground.
You would think the details of a game like that would fix themselves in
the memory, so that I would be able to tell you every hand I held and
every bet I made, wouldn’t you? Well, I can’t. In fact, I can’t tell
anything about the first game excepting that I was the first man to
lose all his chips. I had played often enough for what I thought were
high stakes, but the thought that I was playing for my life rattled
me completely, and I really believe I bet at random. Whatever I did I
lost, and the man who had proposed the game won out. He was shot in a
gambling house three months later--had an extra ace in his sleeve, I
believe, or something like that.
“The next freeze-out, between three of us, was a comparatively short
one. It did not take more than twenty minutes for the scout to gather
in all the chips, but short as it was, I managed to get myself together
a little, though I was still full of the thought of the value of the
stakes--a thing which, I have noticed, always interferes with my play.
When I consider the value of a chip it always influences my betting one
way or the other, even though I try not to allow it to do so, and in
this case I said to myself that each bean represented the one hundred
and fiftieth part of my life. In other words, I was gambling away
months and years instead of money.
“When the third game began, however, I pulled myself together with a
most tremendous effort, and really became as cool as I ever had been
before at a game of cards. The man I played against this time was a
young Englishman whom I had grown to esteem highly in the short time
I had known him. He was a gentleman clear through, and as cheery and
companionable a man as I ever met. His people at home never heard this
story, and I hope they never will. They know he was killed by the
Indians and that he was on a hunting trip, but they never heard of his
last game of cards, nor of the way he rode to his death. We had each
three hundred beans, and half a dozen hands were dealt before either of
us got cards to bet on. Then on my deal I caught three deuces and made
it fifty to play. He looked at his cards and raised me fifty, which I
covered. He drew one card and let it lie without looking at it, while
he watched me. I saw him looking, of course, and I am more glad than
I am of almost anything else I ever did in an almost useless life to
think that I made the worst play I ever saw made. I liked the man well,
as I said, and some impulse that I couldn’t understand then, and can’t
explain now, told me to leave the thing to chance, and to give him
a little the better chance. I had played with him before, and I was
certain that he had not come back at me the way he did on two pair. He
was drawing to a flush, and somehow I felt that he had filled it. Of
course I should have drawn to the strength of my hand, but I didn’t. I
drew one card only, holding up an eight spot to my deuces, and I shoved
all my beans into the pot without looking at my draw.
“He gave me one look, in which I read a perfect appreciation of what
I had done, and without a word and without lifting his fifth card he
pushed his chips forward. Then my nerve gave out. I grew as white as
death, I know, though no one ever told me so, and I actually could not
lift my cards. His nerve never shook, though, apparently, and he turned
his fifth card over as he laid the other four on the blanket. They
were all clubs. He looked at me, and I swear I saw regret in his eyes.
I tell you, he was a man. Then I managed to control myself to turn my
hand over. I had drawn the other eight.”
The Westerner stopped. He drained his glass and then said:
“Waiter, bring another bottle, and bring me some whisky besides. This
stuff doesn’t go to the right spot.” Then, after he had had his drink,
he said:
“You don’t wonder, do you, that I don’t play poker any more?”
“No,” said his hearers, “but finish the story.”
“Oh! there isn’t much more to it. At least that is the end of it, as I
think about it. The Englishman shook hands with us all, and rode away.
We watched him until he fell, and he must have gone fully three miles.
A good many Indians fell before he did, for he was a clever shot. Later
in the day the company came to our rescue, and I am glad to say a good
many more Indians paid for his death with their own.”
A Gambler’s Pistol Play
_ENDING OF A POKER GAME IN FLOOD TIME IN ARKANSAS CITY_
“I notice that the stories of lawlessness and rambunctious violence
printed in the papers from time to time are told, as a rule, of places
far West or out of the usual run of travel,” said the gray-haired
young-looking man who sat in the card-room of an up-town club the
other night after the game had broken up. “I don’t mean by that,” he
continued, “to question the truth of any of these stories. It only
occurs to me that the writers take unnecessary pains in going so far
away for their material. I have seen, right along the banks of the
Mississippi River--and we call that pretty well East now--some things
as exciting as any of the mining-camp yarns. And everything was wide
open in some of the towns, too. I haven’t been out there since ’82, but
that’s not so long ago, and then it was not uncommon to find a gambling
saloon on the main floor of the principal hotel in a flourishing town.
You could walk in as freely as you could into the barroom and play
faro, keno, or poker at any hour of the day or night.
“The great flood of ’82 rather accentuated the devil-may-care condition
of things; partly, I suppose, because there was not so much traveling
on the river as usual and none at all by rail. Strangers were scarce in
the river towns, and the inhabitants were reduced to the necessity of
gambling among themselves. No, there wasn’t what you might call very
much shooting, but every man carried a pistol, and occasionally there
would be some. There was enough, at all events, to make the citizens
of Memphis enforce pretty strictly a city ordinance against carrying
concealed weapons.”
“That’s right,” said a drummer who was of the party. “I was in Memphis
then, and I remember the Mayor of a Kentucky city being sent to jail
for ten days for carrying a pistol. He had plenty of money and plenty
of influence, too, but neither could save him from jail.”
“Well, Memphis was the only city I struck on the river,” said the first
speaker, “where such a law was observed. I got caught in Arkansas City,
I remember, when I was trying to get to Little Rock. I arrived there
just after the train had gone, so I had to stay over for forty-eight
hours. It’s only about a hundred miles, but there was only one train,
and that took all day going up and all next day coming down. It was an
accommodation train, and I saw it stop fifteen minutes for a darky who
signaled from a distance, with a basket of eggs on his arm which he
wanted to ship as freight. The conductor told me, when I asked about
it, that that was quite usual, and a little while afterward he stopped
the train to let a passenger get off and get a quail that he shot from
the car.
“But the stop in Arkansas City was lively enough, if it was only two
days. A darky was drowned trying to get across the street, the first
day I was there, for the town was so far under water that the railroad
track on top of the levee had been washed away. Only the houses on
the highest ground were habitable, and there wasn’t such a thing as a
sidewalk visible. A few timbers were strung along here and there, and
people jumped from one to another of these when they went from house
to house, unless they were going far enough to take a skiff. This poor
fellow jumped and missed his footing, and was drowned in sight of a
dozen people. I asked the man who told me about it whether any effort
had been made to save him, and he said no, that there was no boat
handy. And when I expressed some horror he seemed surprised and said:
“‘Why, ’twas only a nigger. You couldn’t expect a white man to take
chances to save him.’ Niggers were not so valuable then as they were
before the war.”
“I don’t know that the color line was so strictly drawn, though,”
interrupted the drummer again. “I saw a roustabout fall into the river
one night at New Madrid, and he was a white man, too, but no effort was
made to save him. The mate stepped to the side of the boat and looked
over, but he did no more, and not one of the other rousters stopped
work even for a moment. They were unloading freight in a great hurry,
and I think they were afraid of the mate. It was dark, to be sure, and
the current was swift enough to carry off the strongest swimmer, but
still I was surprised to see no effort made to save the poor devil.
Before I recovered from my surprise it was too late to do anything, and
it didn’t seem to be wise to say anything, either.”
“Good policy, sometimes, not to,” resumed the young-looking gray-haired
man. “I learned to keep my mouth shut at a card table a long time ago,
and that is why I had no part in a little disturbance that occurred the
second day I was in Arkansas City. I don’t think there was more than
one other stranger in town when I was. He had come there the day before
me, on the train, and was waiting for a boat up the river. I struck up
an acquaintance with him, and he told me he was on his way home, after
a business trip. I congratulated him and we took a drink on it, next
door to the hotel.
“We were both tired waiting, and there was nothing better to do in the
place, so we both sauntered to the room just back of the bar. The door
was wide open, and we saw card-playing inside. Three men were playing
poker, and we stood for a few moments looking on. One of the three
was a comical-looking old fellow, evidently a superannuated gambler.
He must have been seventy years old, and his hands were very shaky,
but I could not make up my mind whether he was palsied or had been
drinking, or whether he was assuming decrepitude in order to watch the
cards more carefully as he dealt them. The latter seemed likely enough,
and I suspected marked cards, so I pleaded ignorance of the game when
one of the other players--the proprietor of the place, as I learned
later--looked up with a pleasant smile and suggested that perhaps my
friend and I would like to join in.
“My ‘friend,’ as he called him--I didn’t even know his name--was
willing enough, and he sat in. I stood by, smoking and looking on for
a few minutes, though I pretended not to be watching the game very
closely. You can’t be too careful about observing the etiquette of the
place you’re in, as I have always noticed, no matter what place it
is, and the people around a card table are always liable to resent an
outsider’s interest if it even borders on inquisitiveness. Where the
resentment is liable to be expressed with a knife or a pistol, a wise
man avoids showing his interest if he has any.
“In this case I hadn’t a great deal. I saw the game was crooked, but
it made no difference to me whether the other stranger knew it or not.
If he did it was dog eat dog, and if he didn’t he deserved to lose for
playing with strangers in such a place. However, I noticed pretty soon
that the old fellow, whom the others called Major, and the proprietor,
whom they all addressed as Pete, were looking uneasily at me and at
each other from time to time, and that the third player, whose back was
turned toward me, was making an ostentatious show of hiding his cards
from me, as if he suspected or feared me and wanted me to know it.
Accordingly I thought the wisest thing for me was to stroll back to the
front room and treat the bartender.
“While we were drinking, another man came in. He wore no coat, vest,
or hat. He was, I think, the handsomest man I ever saw, though he was
slightly flushed with liquor; not drunk, by any means, but he had
evidently been drinking. He was a little above the medium height, with
a symmetrical form, magnificent chest and shoulders, and the easy
motion and graceful carriage of a skilled athlete. He passed directly
to the card-room, nodding to the barkeeper and merely glancing at me,
and I heard him say:
“‘Do you want another in the game?’
“The response was pleasant, and he took a seat. Up to this time I had
not been greatly interested, as I said, and I continued talking to
the man behind the bar, simply because I had nothing else to do. The
newcomer, however, was talkative, and, as I noticed in a few moments,
inclined to be surly. He seemed to be trying to pick a quarrel with the
stranger, and I lingered, with some natural curiosity, to see if he
would succeed. Presently the explosion came. He lost a jack-pot which
the stranger won on three tens.
“‘You opened that pot on a pair of tens,’ he exclaimed with an oath, ‘and
when we catch any cross-roads gambler playing that kind of a game in
this town we commonly hang ’em, do you understand?’
“It was said noisily and furiously, and I looked in expecting to see a
fight, but the stranger spoke as coolly as though the other had been
calling for his draw.
“‘I did nothing of the sort, sir. I came in on a pair of tens, as I had
a perfect right to do, after the Major opened it, and I caught the
third ten in the draw.’
“‘I say you opened it,’ shouted the newcomer with another oath.
“The stranger looked at him with the most perfect composure and said:
“‘I appeal to the table. Gentlemen, did I open it?’
“‘No, sir,’ said the old Major, promptly enough. ‘I opened it myself,
and dropped out after I was raised twice. Jack, shut up! The gentleman
is playing all right.’
“But Jack wouldn’t shut up. On the contrary, he became more furious.
“‘This is a hell of a game!’ he shouted, and leaped to his feet like
a panther, totally oblivious of the few chips in front of him. He had
lost nearly all he had bought on coming in.
“The stranger never moved, though I expected to see weapons drawn.
He looked Jack full in the face with a sort of bewilderment on his
own face, and said nothing. Jack stood for a moment, and while I
was wondering whether the stranger was showing nerve, or was really
bewildered, he turned suddenly and dashed out of the room.
“The stranger looked around at the other players, and there was a
distinct drawl in his words as he said:
“‘What is the matter with that man?’
“‘Oh, nothing,’ said Pete, carelessly. ‘You mustn’t mind him. He killed
a man yesterday, and he’s been drinking a good deal to-day. He’s a
little excited, but it doesn’t mean anything.’
“‘But why did he rush out so curiously?’ persisted the stranger.
“‘Well, I suppose he went out to get heeled,’ said Pete; ‘but you
needn’t be disturbed. The boys won’t let him come back.’
“‘Well, perhaps they won’t,’ said the stranger, still drawling his
words, ‘but it’s just as well to be on the safe side. If you will
excuse me for a few minutes I’ll step over to the hotel and get my gun.
I left it in my satchel.’
“‘Why, certainly,’ said the others, and he arose, leaving his chips on
the table, and went out of the place. He said nothing when he passed
me, and I thought it best to say nothing, too, but you couldn’t have
dragged me away just then. I suppose every man likes to see a fight,
and I thought there was a good chance for one. I don’t drink fast as
a rule, but it seemed to be a good time to treat again, and when the
glasses were emptied I said:
“‘Did he really kill a man yesterday?’
“‘Yes,’ said the bartender indifferently. ‘There was a fellow tried to
get funny with him in his saloon next door, and when Jack ordered him
out and he wouldn’t go Jack shot him.’
“‘Wasn’t he arrested?’ I asked.
“‘No, he wasn’t exactly arrested, but he appeared before the Coroner
and told how it was, and the Coroner said he’d have to lay the matter
before the Grand Jury.’
“‘He wasn’t locked up, then?’ I persisted.
“‘Oh, no. You see, Jack’s very popular around here, and he’s got quite
some property, too. I don’t think the boys would have liked it much if
he’d been locked up.’
“While I was meditating on this the stranger came back, and, resuming
his seat at the table, laid his pistol alongside his chips, which the
others had not disturbed. They dealt him a hand, and the game, which
had not been interrupted by his absence, went on as before. No one
made any remark about the pistol or about the man who had gone out to
get heeled, but the old Major pulled out a double-barreled derringer
and laid it on the table, and I looked to see the others do the same
thing, but they did not. I had no doubt, however, that they were
armed, and they were all looking for trouble.
“They had not long to wait. There was a sound of voices outside,
presently, and looking out I saw Jack, still furious with anger,
apparently, breaking away from two or three men who were evidently
trying to detain him, but who had a wholesome respect for the revolver
he had in his hand. I looked around. The Major was dealing, and the
other players were watching him, apparently, but I was satisfied that
they had heard the talk outside, and were all alert. The bartender was
safe to drop behind the bar when the shooting began, and I looked for
some place where I should be able to see and yet not be in range. There
was a window in the partition between the rooms, about twelve feet to
one side of the door, and I stepped over there as Jack came in toward
the door.
“Through this window I saw the most magnificent display of cool nerve
that ever came under my notice. The stranger never changed color, nor
moved in his chair, but I could see his eyelids contract and his lips
tighten as he quickly and quietly put his hand on his revolver and
looked toward the door, at which Jack was just appearing, pistol in
hand.
“On the instant Pete drew a bowie knife, with a motion so quick that I
could not tell where the knife came from, and drove it square through
the stranger’s hand into the table underneath, nailing it fast to the
wood.
“If the stranger had even flinched, he would have been dead in another
moment, for Jack’s pistol was leveled at him, but with a motion
as quick as Pete’s he reached over with his left hand, seized his
revolver, and shot Jack through the pistol arm, shattering his elbow,
just as he was pulling his trigger. And the next instant he had shot
Pete through the heart, and turning to the Major, he shouted, ‘Drop
that gun!’
“The old fellow dropped it, and threw up his hands. The other man had
gone under the table like a flash, being only anxious to get out of the
trouble. And Jack, with a howl of pain and terror, had turned and run.
The fight was over before it was fairly begun, and the stranger had not
moved from his chair.
“With his left hand he pulled out the knife and wrapped up his right in
a handkerchief, and, stepping to the bar, said to the bartender:
“‘You want to have a doctor here damned quick to dress my hand. And
while you are about it, you’d better notify the Coroner, if there’s one
around. I propose to have this inquest held before the witnesses get
away.’
“The Coroner was around; in fact, he was playing cards only four or
five doors away, and in half an hour he was holding his inquest. The
stranger had shown his good sense in demanding immediate action, for
though he was a stranger, the facts were too plain for a dispute, and
even one or two of Pete’s friends on the jury were forced to admit that
the stranger had killed his man in self-defense.
“He was accordingly informed by the Coroner that he could go on his own
recognizance to appear before the Grand Jury, and after treating the
crowd at the dead man’s bar, and paying for the treat with the chips
he had on the card table, he went over to the levee and boarded a boat
that had stopped on her way up river.
“He had given his name to the Coroner as Dick Davis of Tuscumbia, Ala.,
and I afterward heard that he was really a cross-roads gambler, as
traveling card sharps used to be called, and was a famous pistol shot.
Why he did not kill Jack as well as Pete I never really understood, for
if the stories of his marksmanship were one-half true, he could have
done it easily enough. I never knew what the Grand Jury did about it.”
Queer Runs of Luck
_VARIOUS YARNS, INCLUDING ONE OF THE MAN AND THE OPAL_
“I have often heard people say that they do not believe in luck,” said
the gray-haired young-looking man, “and they say it in the sense of
disbelieving that there is any such thing as luck. To my notion that
is very much the same as if they should say that they do not believe
in the weather. I believe it was John Oakhurst who said that the
only thing that is certain about luck is that it is going to change;
but although the saying sounds philosophical, I am inclined to think
it is inaccurate. I have known a great many men in the course of my
life whose luck did not change. To illustrate this it may be enough
to recall the stories that are told once in a great while about
sailors who are swept overboard by the waves in a storm at sea and who
are swept back on board the same vessel by the return current. The
man who escapes drowning in such a way experiences one of the most
extraordinary strokes of luck that can possibly occur to a human being.
And it is almost inconceivable that such a thing would happen to any
one man twice.
“Yet I know a man to whom it has happened three times. Captain Lowden
White, of East Rockaway, Long Island, is a veteran seaman. He cannot
swim a stroke, and when he is asked why he never learned, he cannot,
or at least he does not, give any clear answer, but turns the question
with a careless ‘I don’t know’ and a pleasant laugh. I think he is
superstitious about it, as many sailors are, and certainly if anybody’s
experience justifies superstition his would seem to, for, as I said,
he has been washed overboard three times in the course of the last
forty years, and each time washed back immediately on board the vessel
he had just left. And that does not include the times he has fallen or
been knocked overboard and saved in some other way. I, myself, once
caught him by the collar after he had fallen into the water by reason
of the snapping of the bowsprit foot-rope of the sloop “Martha,” near
Wreck Lead. He had rubber boots on, and the current was running like a
mill-race. If I had been two seconds slower he would never have come
up alive. If it were a legitimate subject for a bet I would wager
any reasonable sum that a man with such an experience would never be
drowned.
“That is what I call one of the most wonderful runs of luck that I ever
heard of. And it is something of a coincidence, perhaps, that Captain
White himself is a firm believer in his own luck in other matters,
though he does not talk much about his escapes from drowning. He was
in his younger days fairly prosperous, and had gathered together a
modest competence when he was between forty and fifty years old. Then
something happened. I hinted that he was superstitious. What happened
was that he killed a cat. That does not seem to the average man to be
a very important occurrence, but the Captain firmly believes that it
changed the whole course of his life.
“‘I had always been lucky before,’ he says, ‘and I have not had a day’s
luck since.’ And the fact is, that whereas he was formerly well-to-do,
he is not so now, poor man.
“I suppose everybody who plays poker believes in luck. Certainly I do,
and I have seen certain things at the card table that in their way were
as remarkable as the runs of a single number at roulette, that make up
the pretty little romances that go out from Monte Carlo at times, and
that used to be dated Baden Baden. I sat watching a game one night at a
friend’s house in St. Nicholas Avenue, in which only intimate friends
were playing, and two of them were ladies. I did not join, as there
were six at the table, and I don’t like a game with seven in. There was
absolutely nothing in the game to distinguish it from any other of the
hundreds of games that go on in the family circles of up-to-date New
Yorkers every night. The limit was five cents. There wasn’t a player in
the game who knew enough of card manipulation to deal a crooked hand,
and there wasn’t one there who would have done it under temptation.
And, moreover, there wasn’t anything like temptation.
“Yet one woman in that game held a succession of hands that would have
made a fortune for an ordinarily good player if he were lucky enough
to hold them in a stiff game. She had been playing with indifferent
success for perhaps half an hour, and I was amusing myself by noticing
her essentially feminine style of play, when she suddenly began holding
flushes. Five times in succession she held a flush before any special
remark was made. Of course, there was the usual chatter and chaffing,
but when she showed down the fifth flush in five deals, there was a
general outburst of comment, and a confession by her that it did seem
uncanny.
“‘It will give me the shivery creeps if I get any more,’ was the way
she expressed it, and I could see that she really was nervous. That,
naturally, amused me, for it was not so very extraordinary, though it
was certainly unusual.
“The next hand she held nothing. Then she got a four flush and filled.
Then she got a pat flush; then, drawing to the ace and king of spades,
she got three more spades. The next hand was nothing, and the next was
a pat flush. By this time I was excited myself, as was everybody in
the game, and I made a memorandum of the last eleven hands, and began
jotting down each hand as she held it.
“In thirty-six consecutive hands she held twenty-seven flushes. None of
the other nine hands contained even a pair. Five of the twenty-seven
were pat hands; nine times she drew one card, eight times she drew two,
three times she drew three, and twice she drew four. There seemed to be
no distinction of suits. The flush was of one suit as often as another.
It was absolutely impossible that there could have been trickery,
for there were six dealing in turn. The lady herself was exceedingly
nervous about it, and although she became so excited as to continue
drawing for flushes, she ceased to try to play them scientifically.
Indeed, the other players ceased after a time to bet against her,
and the cards were at length dealt more from curiosity than from any
interest in the game as a game. At length, however, the lucky lady grew
so nearly hysterical that her husband made some excuse to break up the
game. I was sorry it had to be done, too, for I wanted to see how long
such a run would continue, but the lady has told me since that she
never, before or since, had any similar experience, though she plays
frequently.
“I never saw anything exactly similar to that, but I had a run of
luck once myself that seemed to me almost as curious. I went to visit
a friend and there was invited to sit down at a poker game with some
men I had never met before. The fact of not knowing the other players
did not worry me, for I assumed that they were all friends of Harry’s,
but it was not long before the fact that they did not know me began
to worry me most confoundedly, for I never had such cards in my life
before, and I don’t dare even to hope that I will ever hold them again.
If the circumstances had been different and I could have felt free
to play to win, I could have won big money, for they were playing an
open game, and the limit was two dollars. At first I played my hands
for what they were worth, and I won more than half the pots I played
for--a big percentage when six are playing. But after a little I began
to worry. It seemed to me that they must mistrust me, and I hesitated
about betting as I ordinarily would. Still I kept winning and my pile
of chips grew till I was positively ashamed of myself.
“Then I started to try to lose money. Fancy a man doing that at poker!
I threw down a number of hands that were well worth betting on, and bet
rather heavily on some that I was convinced were losers. Even at that
I got fooled once or twice and took in pots that were not contested,
when the other players would have won them if they had not grown
cautious of my luck. Still, I was reducing my pile slowly, in spite of
the cards I was getting, and would have reduced it still further if the
ladies had not grown tired of their own society and come out to look
at the game. One or two casual remarks by their husbands about my luck
excited their curiosity, and two or three began looking at my cards.
“I don’t know what they thought of my playing, for I still refused to
press my luck as even the most cowardly player would have done, but
I know they were fairly astonished at the way the cards came to me.
Over and over again I filled full hands, drawing to a pair; twice I
held fours, and the flushes were as common as two pairs ever were when
I played before. I played at random. I made wild draws and foolish
bets, and threw down winning hands, but the chips kept coming my way
till the situation became positively painful. That luck held till the
game broke up, and, though I had honestly tried to keep from winning, I
had seventy-five dollars cash to the good, over and above the stack I
bought on entering the game. To make matters worse, one of the players
had given me some unmistakably black looks, and in my embarrassment I
felt certain that he took me for a card sharp, and I thought that the
others would be likely to share his opinion.
“When we were all saying good-night, however, one of the players drew
me one side and whispered:
“‘We were very glad to see you win that money.’ I was puzzled for fair,
but I said:
“‘Well, I’m glad you’re glad, but why should you be? I didn’t exactly
like it myself.’