before it was opened, and of course there was considerable money up.
Presently, on the cotton-factor’s deal, Alcott, the other professional
gambler, opened it for a hundred dollars, and all the players came
in. That made big money before the draw, and no one was likely to get
away with it without a struggle. The Major drew one card, and without
waiting for further developments, threw his hand into the discard pile.
He knew he wasn’t strong enough to bluff that crowd. Alcott drew three,
and threw another hundred into the pot. Downing drew two, and left them
lying face down, while he threw in his hundred. Keene also drew two,
and studied them carefully before seeing the bet. The cotton-factor
drew three, and raised it a hundred. I could not see his cards, but I
learned afterward that he had a queen full.
“Alcott had three of a kind and raised back. Downing carefully lifted
one corner of one of the cards he had drawn and lifted the pot two
hundred. Keene studied a while longer and finally threw down his cards.
The cotton-factor was game and raised it five hundred, but Alcott,
without a quiver, came back at him with a thousand more. The battle
was on, and I looked curiously at Downing. I was more interested in
his play than in that of either of the others, and it was a real
disappointment to see him pick up his whole hand, give it a quick
glance, and throw it down. The cotton-factor studied his hand again,
more, it seemed to me, to gain time than to make certain, and then
began fingering his roll. At length he spoke a little hesitatingly:
“‘I haven’t as much money here as I’d like to have, but I’ll see your
thousand and----’
“‘If Monsieur cares to back his hand and will allow me, I will put up
any amount he likes.’
“It was ‘Flash Kate’ who interrupted him--no man would have ventured
to do it--and there was a general start of surprise. I was looking at
Alcott, and I was sure I saw a gleam of satisfaction, totally unmixed
with surprise, on his face. The situation was getting complicated. The
cotton-factor flushed.
“‘Thank you,’ he said, coldly, without even looking around, ‘but I
never play with borrowed money, and I never borrow from a woman.’
“‘Pardon me,’ said ‘Flash Kate,’ as coolly as he, ‘I hope there is no
offense, Monsieur. None was intended.’ She spoke with a villainous
affectation of a French accent.
“‘None whatever,’ said the cotton-factor, and he looked at his cards
again. He told me afterward that when the woman spoke it flashed upon
him that there was a conspiracy somewhere, and that he didn’t care to
play against it. Accordingly, he pretended to study a moment longer,
and then threw down his cards.
“Alcott raked in the money without a word, and the cotton-factor,
putting the remains of his roll in his pocket, picked up his chips and
left the table, saying politely as he arose: ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, I
think I have had enough.’
“There was a moment’s hush. The four players looked around the
spectators, as if to see if any one cared to take the vacated seat, but
no one gave a sign, and presently Keene said:
“‘Madame is interested in the game. Perhaps she plays, and would like
to take a hand.’
“‘Yes, if there is no objection,’ she said readily, and looked from one
to another of the four at the table. Downing said nothing, but there
was a grim smile on his face. The Major looked uncomfortable, but he
said nothing, either, and as Alcott said, ‘Certainly there can be no
objection,’ the woman took the seat and laid a handful of money on the
table in front of her.
“From the moment she sat down I felt morally certain that it was a
case of three against one, for the Major was not much in evidence. And
I was pretty confident that the man from Texas was going to hold his
own, as indeed he did triumphantly. For nearly twenty minutes his play
was a perfect puzzle, and the trio got actually nervous as he threw
down hand after hand that ordinarily he would have betted heavily on.
They stacked the cards, not once, but half a dozen times, giving him
excellent cards, but he pretended to have lost his nerve, and played
now with seeming rashness, and now with cowardice, but never risking
any considerable amount, until he had them rattled.
“Then he played a trick that was worthy of the great Herrmann himself.
It was at once the boldest and the neatest thing I ever saw at a card
table, and although I thought I saw it done, I was not certain about
it till he told me of it after we had become well acquainted. It was
Keene’s deal and Downing’s cut, and the latter, watching, as he did,
every motion around the table, knew that Keene’s nerve had failed him,
and that he had not this time undertaken to set up the cards. His time
had come, and as he leaned over to cut he substituted another pack
for the one Keene had shuffled. It sounds like an impossibility, but
wonderful things are possible to a sleight-of-hand performer, and he
was the best I ever saw at a card table. Not one of the other players
saw it, but he knew that deal every card that every player would hold.
“And they held wonderful cards--all but the Major. It was his first
say, and he dropped out. Alcott came in and discarded two cards.
Downing was next. He raised it twenty and threw down three cards.
Keene raised it fifty, and threw down one. ‘Flash Kate’ came in with
threes, but did not raise. Alcott saw the raise, and Downing raised it
a hundred. The others all came in, and the draw was dealt.
“They all filled, of course, and it being Keene’s deal, they suspected
nothing, but, each being confident of his own strength, they betted
wildly. It was almost too quick work to follow, but in a few minutes
Keene said: ‘I claim a show for my pile,’ and pushed the money already
in the pot a little to one side. The others nodded, and went on betting.
“Presently Alcott also claimed his show, and Downing and ‘Flash Kate’
went on. She must have had five or six thousand with her, for there was
over twenty thousand on the table when she called, with what appeared
to be the last of her money, and it came to a showdown. Keene had four
jacks, Alcott four queens, ‘Flash Kate’ four kings, and Downing four
aces.
“For an instant there was perfect silence. Then Alcott and Keene made
a movement simultaneously, as if to seize the money; but Downing was
quicker than they. It was impossible to say where he drew his revolver
from, but it was there in his right hand, while he coolly pulled in the
money with his left.
“‘That was no square deal,’ shouted Alcott, though neither he nor Keene
made any fight.
“‘Think not?’ drawled Downing. ‘Well, you ought to know. Your pal dealt
the cards. But I think you are right. There’s been some queer play here
to-night. But there’s one honest player in the party, and he isn’t
hurt much. As for me, I reckon this’ll do me, unless some of you want
to play any more.’ And he grinned at the discomfited gamblers, who,
seeing that they had the worst of it, said no more.
“‘Flash Kate’ took it the best. She looked on with a smile while this
was going on, and when it was over, she smiled some more, and rising
from her chair, said sarcastically: ‘Monsieur is a most excellent
player.’ And she went to her stateroom without another word. I noticed
when we reached Vicksburg that she and Alcott left the boat together.
“‘Those three were pretty slick players,’ said Downing to the crowd, as
he ordered champagne for everybody who would take it, ‘but they ought
to travel in Texas for a time if they want to get on to the safest kind
of play.’
“It was only an episode in the old river life, and as nobody was much
hurt excepting professionals, nobody thought much about it.”
“Overland Jack”
_HOW A WESTERN CROOK HAD FUN WITH SOME SHARP NEW YORKERS_
“I don’t know how far local pride may color the judgment,” said the
gray-haired young-looking man, “but I am satisfied that very few New
Yorkers would be willing to admit that an all-round sport could come
here from the West and clean up the town, metaphorically speaking. That
is, tackle the experts of the city at their own different games and
win money from one after another without losing to any of them, and
finally depart after a season of riotous success with his pockets laden
with spoils. Such a thing does not seem likely. Yet I remember one case
in the ’70s when just that thing was done by one of the best-known
gamblers in the United States. ‘Overland Jack’ was the name by which
he was usually called, but his real name was John McCormick. He cut a
very wide swath when he first came to New York, but he made a good many
friends here, too, not only among the sporting fraternity, but among
actors and men-about-town generally.
“The fact of his having a goodly number of friends was manifest when
he came to die afterward in Chicago. He knew, toward the last, that
his death was near, but instead of weakening he recalled the incidents
of his career with the utmost satisfaction, and declared that he had
no regrets for the way he had spent his life, but, on the contrary,
considered that he had done excellently well with it. As a token of
his feelings, he expressed the wish that his friends should go to his
funeral, not with religious ceremonies, but with champagne galore, and
that in place of praying for his future they should drink to his memory
over his open grave.
“It was just such a crowd as he would have selected that went to his
grave and carried out his wishes. Tony Pastor, Jack Studley, Pat
Sheedy, Johnny Blaisdell, Mike McDonald, and many others were there.
There were enough, at all events, to get away with five baskets of
wine before the grave was filled in, and the empty bottles were thrown
in on the coffin. It was a memorable occasion, even for Chicago, and
it occurred only a few years ago. It was in ’90 or ’91, if I remember
aright.
“The time I speak of, however, was before he was known on this side of
the continent, excepting by reputation. Overland Jack, the sport, came
from San Francisco. Where John McCormick, the man, came from originally
no one seemed to know. The first that could be definitely stated was
that he was a private in a California cavalry regiment at the time of
the Civil War. He never rose from the ranks, but he was always well
supplied with money, even when on duty, for he was far and away the
best poker player in the regiment. After the war he never did anything
but gamble for a living.
“He was a quiet man, who was so uncommunicative about himself that
his best friends could not even say with certainty whether he was a
well-educated man or not, but he was always smiling and extremely
pleasant in his manner. It was said of him that he was never known
to be angry, but I have heard this disputed. Certainly he had no
reputation as a fighter, though he took his life in his hands often
enough in his play, for he was, beyond question, a crook, which makes
the fact of his having so many friends all the more remarkable.
“He became well known on the Pacific coast soon after the war, but it
was not until ’73 or ’74 that he started East, and then he didn’t come
straight through, but stopped at various places. The first I heard of
him was at Salt Lake City, where he had a notable adventure. I heard
the story from a man who stood in with him in his faro game and helped
him to get away with considerable Mormon capital. He traveled with
a faro outfit and dealt a brace game always. Of course he had to be
skilful to do that, but he was particularly skilful. When he reached
Salt Lake he put up at the Townsend House and set up his faro layout
in his room, running the game quietly enough to rouse no antagonism on
the part of the landlord, but managing, with the aid of my informant,
who was an actor, then playing in Brigham Young’s theatre, to rope in
several of the wildest sports in the city.
“Among others, Brigham Young’s son, John Young, was informed of the
chance to play, and, being eager to do so, was accommodated to the
tune of seven hundred or eight hundred dollars the first night. The
actor went with him and played with him, and was a loser to a less
amount. He was therefore in a proper position to urge Young to try it
the second night that they might both get even. Overland Jack, however,
let nobody get even when he was manipulating the box, and Young lost
about three thousand dollars the second night. He was not a good loser,
as was shown long afterward when he came to Chicago and killed a man
there in a quarrel in a gambling-house--a matter, by the way, for
which he was never tried--and he was furious at his losses this time.
Overland Jack was shrewd enough to foresee trouble, and that night he
packed his faro layout in the trunk of his friend the actor, and early
in the morning started out for a walk. The walk was a long one, and
not caring about walking back he took a way train at the next station,
and after changing cars once or twice was well on his way to Laramie
before John Young went back to the Townsend House with police force
enough to take in four faro banks and all their attendants.
“The actor tarried in Salt Lake for a discreet interval and then went
to Laramie himself. For some reason it was not thought wise to deal
faro there, and they lay around idle till they got a chance to play
together in a pretty heavy poker game that was going on. They had not
spoken to each other there till they met at the table, and supposed
that no one in the place knew that they were acquainted, so the chance
seemed a good one to play in the way they had arranged, which was for
Overland Jack to do the dealing and the other man to hold the cards.
Among the other players was a rich plainsman who had come to town for
a racket and was having it to his complete satisfaction. He was not a
particularly good player, and the game looked like a good thing.
“It came Overland Jack’s deal, and his confederate looked confidently
at his cards, expecting to find winners, but, instead, he found nothing
at all. Overland Jack had seen what he had not, that the landlord of
the hotel, who was in the room but not in the game, was watching the
actor’s play, as if he had an inkling of the truth. Instantly changing
his plan, he dealt himself the hand he had stacked for the actor, which
was four aces, while he gave the plainsman his four kings as he had
intended.
“There was the raise before the draw and after it, and the pile on the
table grew rapidly, while the other players dropped out, and the two
hands were being played for all they were worth. Overland Jack’s nerve
was perfectly good, and he was playing for the other man’s pile, when
he heard a click under the table, just as the plainsman had raised him
five hundred dollars. Without an instant’s hesitation, and without the
slightest change of expression, he exclaimed, ‘That’s good,’ and threw
his four aces into the discard pile. Neither did he show any emotion of
any kind as he saw the plainsman, with a look of considerable surprise,
rake in the pile. He had cold feet soon after, however, as did the
actor also, and they left the room and went straight to the bar.
“While they were chewing their whisky the landlord and the plainsman
came in together, and Overland Jack instantly called to them both to
come over and have a drink. They came, and the plainsman put out his
hand, laughing.
“‘You are a good one,’ he said. ‘What did you throw down four aces for?’
“‘My friend,’ said Overland Jack, ‘when you have played cards as much
as I have you will know that there are times when four aces are not
worth four cents. And when you have been through what I have you will
know that it is damned foolish to pull the second gun. When you hear a
click, and your own gun is not out, it is time to quit the game.’
“‘Well, you are a good one,’ said the plainsman again, and they all
drank.
“At that time the old Morton House was the center of a good deal of the
excitement of various kinds that was going on in this city, and it was
natural enough that Overland Jack should put up there when he arrived
in New York. He did so, and looked around quietly enough for a few days
without making himself known. It was not hard for him to strike up a
hotel acquaintance with Jim Morton, who was then running the house
alone, after Ryan’s death, and it was not long before Overland Jack
managed to be in the room as a spectator when there was a tolerably
stiff game of poker going on. He hadn’t been invited to play, and he
was not making proposals. He was simply awaiting his chance, and it
came suddenly.
“Morton was in the game. So was Shed Shook, and so were the late
General Owens, Ed Gilmore, and a Senator from Albany who spent
considerable time in the city. They were betting pretty well and
playing table stakes. Morton was called away by a summons from the
office, and, not caring to quit the game, he looked around for somebody
to take his hand while he should go downstairs for a few minutes. It
happened that he saw Overland Jack first among the lookers-on, and he
asked him if he would keep the seat warm for him.
“Naturally Overland Jack didn’t refuse, but as he sat down he said: ‘If
you want me to play for you, you’d better leave me some more money, for
I shall play your cards for all they are worth.’
“Morton had two or three hundred on the table at the time, but he
didn’t hesitate an instant. Putting his hand in his pocket, he pulled
out a roll and tossed it down in front of Overland Jack, who did
not even count it, but nodded and shoved the money all together and
waited for his cards. He never made any charge afterward that anybody
was trying to play tricks in that game, but he did say that he was
satisfied in his own mind that a certain man in that party was likely
to hold four of a kind soon after he began playing, and as it happened
that man did hold four deuces the next time it came Overland Jack’s
deal. It was a jack-pot, and the deuce man opened it for fifty dollars.
The others came in, and Overland Jack raised it fifty. The deuce man
raised it fifty more, and all stayed.
“On the draw the deuce man called for one, the next man stood pat on
a flush, the next drew two cards and didn’t fill, the next drew to
two pairs and didn’t better, and the dealer took three. The opener
proceeded to make merry at his expense. ‘You raised it on a pair, eh!’
he exclaimed. ‘Well, you have a nerve, to be sure. Do they play that
kind of poker where you came from? If they do you have come to a good
place to learn the game. Why, I have you beaten without a struggle.’
And he shoved one hundred dollars into the pot.
“‘Yes,’ said Overland Jack, coolly. ‘I raised it on a pair of queens,’
and he turned them over, while he let the three he had drawn lie where
they had fallen, without looking at them himself. ‘A pair of queens is
a good hand to draw to,’ he continued, speaking with calm indifference
to the open amusement of all the others. ‘There are more queens in the
pack, I suppose, and I may get some of them.’
“‘Yes, you may,’ said the opener, with a sneer. ‘You may get struck by
lightning, but I’m not looking for it to happen this evening.’
“The flush man stayed, and the next two dropped out. Then Overland Jack
saw the hundred and raised it a hundred, still without looking at his
cards.
“The opener skinned through his hand to make sure that he still had
all his deuces, and then said with paternal severity: ‘Young man, I’m
sorry for you, but you certainly ought to be taught something of the
rudiments of this game. If you are determined to bet, I’ll give you a
chance. I’ll see your hundred and raise you two hundred and fifty.’
“It was too rich for the man with a flush, and he threw down his cards.
Then it was Overland Jack’s turn. He pretended to be greatly provoked,
and said hotly: ‘I may be a younger man than you are, sir, but where I
came from we call two queens, with a chance for two more, good for a
small bet, anyhow. So I’ll just cover your two-fifty and bet you the
balance of the pile.’ And he shoved the whole of Morton’s money to the
center of the table, still without counting it.
“The others were astounded, but he had made the play and there was only
the opener to talk. He counted the money. It was eleven hundred and odd
dollars. Then he counted his own. He had only five hundred with him,
and he began to sputter.
“‘If you’ll take a check,’ he began, but Overland Jack stopped him.
“‘No checks,’ he said excitedly. ‘This is table stakes.’
“‘Well, if you’ll wait till I go downstairs and----’
“‘Oh, yes,’ sneered Overland Jack. ‘Go out of the room and gather up
four of a kind, I suppose.’
“And there was more talk that resulted in the opener getting angry for
fair and calling the bet for the amount of his pile. He slammed down
his four deuces as he did so and exclaimed: ‘There! Is that good, or do
you think you have drawn the other two queens?’
“‘Well, I don’t know,’ drawled Overland Jack. ‘Maybe I have. Let’s
see,’ and he turned over two queens and an ace.
“Everybody else in the room saw the point, but the opener was furious.
‘They’re not good,’ he shouted. ‘You never got that hand honestly.’
“‘Oh, yes, they’re good,’ said Overland Jack, with still more of a
drawl. ‘Four of a kind is good--when you get ’em out of the pack.’
“There was a shout of laughter as the opener grew purple with rage, and
Overland Jack raked in the pot.
“That was only one of his adventures in this city. He had a number, and
naturally made a good many enemies, but, as in this case, he made more
friends than foes, so that he was really a popular man despite the fact
that he was known to be a sharper.
“Crooked poker and brace faro were his favorite games, but he was also
a billiard sharp, who gave pointers as well as points to the many
others of that ilk who made a living around the billiard saloons in
those days. One of the first places where he distinguished himself was
in Chris Conner’s place in Fourteenth Street, where there were always
gentlemen of leisure ready to play almost anybody for a small bet or a
large one, provided they could settle the odds. Overland Jack always
had confederates in the room ready to make side bets while he was
playing, and he was pretty sure to get one or two himself in addition
to the nominal stakes of the game. There was one young fellow who
played in Conner’s place a great deal who really played a marvelous
game, and was as steady as a rock. Conner thought he couldn’t be beaten
if the odds were fixed anywhere near right, so Overland Jack studied
his play for a couple of nights and then sailed in himself.
“He acted the usual part of a fairly skilful amateur excited with the
game and anxious to display his skill and win or lose his money, and
managed, without trouble, to get himself picked up as a sucker by this
particular fellow. Conner himself settled the odds after seeing the
stranger play, and bet considerable money himself on the outside, but
Overland Jack won, hands down.
“In fact, he won at everything he touched while he was here, but as a
matter of course he soon became known, as a first-class crook is sure
to, and he was obliged after a while to seek new pastures. So it came
that the man who came and had fun with the New York sports for a season
drifted away again without exciting any regrets by his departure.”
His Last Sunday Game
_HE WAS BETTING ON A JACK-POT WHEN THE YACHT UPSET_
“The closest call I ever had,” said the gray-haired young-looking man,
“was in a game of poker, and, curiously enough, nobody called in that
particular deal in which it occurred. In fact, nobody thought about it
after the interruption until it was too late for a showdown and the
chips had all disappeared, nobody knew where. It takes a pretty serious
happening to destroy all interest in a game of poker just at the moment
when somebody has raised the limit in a big jack-pot and each player is
confident of winning. But this was a serious happening. It was about
the most serious that I ever knew, and came near being a tragedy.
“Perhaps you remember one summer about ten years ago when a succession
of tremendous squalls struck the south side of Long Island on four
successive Sundays. I think it was just ten years ago.
“We had a club-house, eight or ten of us, that summer, which was
located on Hicks’s Beach, on the extreme western end of the Great
South Bay, not far from the Long Beach Hotel. It was about as
unpretentious as any club-house need be, being only a shanty, but
it was weather-proof, and with cots and hammocks we made ourselves
thoroughly comfortable when we slept ashore. More often we would sleep
on board the little sloop yacht that we had chartered for the summer,
for we used to cruise through the entire day, using the club-house as
a rendezvous. It was one of the jolliest and most economical seasons I
ever enjoyed.
“We all knew something about sailing--I least of all--but the
Commodore, as we all called him, was the best amateur sailor I ever
knew, so, naturally, we made him skipper, and nobody else assumed or
felt any responsibility when he was aboard.