STAND PAT
[Illustration: "THERE WAS NO NEED, HOWEVER, OF ANOTHER SHOT.”
(_See page 36._)]
Stand Pat
Or
Poker Stories from the Mississippi
By
David A. Curtis
Illustrated by
Henry Roth
[Illustration]
Boston L. C. PAGE &
COMPANY Mdccccvi
_Copyright, 1900, 1901, 1902_
BY THE SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION
_Copyright, 1906_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, May, 1906
Colonial Press
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U. S. A.
PREFACE
The things that I saw, that seemed worthy of note, I have set down
without prejudice to the little town of Brownsville, which has grown
since I was there. Let no citizen of the place pursue me vindictively
because I found him less interesting than Stumpy. And let no one’s civic
pride suffer because I noted in the town only what seemed to me
picturesque. I have no quarrel with Brownsville. I got away from there.
What I saw while there seems worth the telling. Much of it I have told
in the _Sunday Sun_. That, and more will be found in this book.
DAVID A. CURTIS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A NEW POKER DECK 1
II. THREE KINGS 11
III. FINISH OF THE ONE-EYED MAN 23
IV. LOOKING FOR GALLAGHER 37
V. STUMPY’S DILEMMA 53
VI. GALLAGHER’S RETURN 67
VII. GALLAGHER STRIPPED 80
VIII. A TRIAL OF SKILL 93
IX. A SOCIAL CALL 103
X. STUMPY VIOLATES ETIQUETTE 115
XI. THE NEW POKER RULE MADE IN ARKANSAS 128
XII. A STRANGER AND FOND OF POKER 143
XIII. ON HAND JUST ONCE 155
XIV. IT WAS A GREAT DEAL 168
XV. HE SAT IN WITH A V 183
XVI. HIS QUEER SYSTEM 198
XVII. AN EXTRA ACE 213
XVIII. PLAYED BY THE BOOK 227
XIX. ONLY ONE SURE WAY TO WIN 243
XX. KENNEY’S ROYAL FLUSH 253
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“THERE WAS NO NEED, HOWEVER, OF ANOTHER SHOT”
(_See page 36_) _Frontispiece_
“JUST THEN THE REPORT OF A PISTOL-SHOT RANG OUT” 56
“‘YE HAVE SIX CARDS IN YER HAND, YE SPALPEEN’” 112
“IN PAYING FOR THE DRINKS STUMPY SHOWED A
ROLL OF RESPECTABLE SIZE” 150
“‘WITH ONE HAND HE GRABBED WINTERBOTTOM’S
GUN WHILE HE PUT THE MONEY IN HIS POCKET WITH THE OTHER’” 210
“‘BUT CERTAINLY YOU AIN’T GOIN’ TO BET ON THAT HAND?’” 268
STAND PAT
I
A NEW POKER DECK
It was with entire unanimity, though without haste or undue excitement,
that the male population of Brownsville emerged from the various
buildings on the street when the hoarse whistle of the _Rosa Lee_ was
heard at about five o’clock one afternoon in June of 1881. The feminine
portion of the community was seldom in evidence, but such glimpses as a
stranger might enjoy were to be had at the same time, for the women came
to their doors and looked out, listlessly, indeed, but with as much
interest as they ever displayed in anything short of a fight such as
occasionally disturbed the normal quietude of the place.
It was noticeable that the men who came forth and who made their way
toward the landing all paused at the barroom near the wharf. There was
ample time to attend to such business as the boat might bring, for she
would not arrive for half an hour, at least, and the barroom was handily
located for a meeting-place.
No great amount of money had been squandered on the decorations of this
particular temple of Bacchus, but such furniture as was deemed essential
had been provided, and the main piece of it, outside of the bar itself,
was a circular table about four feet in diameter, covered with what had
once been green baize. It had suffered long from rough usage, but was
still serviceable.
Around this table, as the citizens of Brownsville straggled in, they saw
four men sitting with cards in their hands and chips in front of them.
One was Long Mike, whose nickname was no mark of disrespect, since he
was the richest and most influential man in town, but whose enormous
height and general appearance made it impossible to call him anything
else, once the nickname was uttered. Wherefore, his surname, if he had
one, had been by general consent, forgotten.
Another was Gallagher, his foreman. A third was a man with one eye only,
who dealt cards with singular deftness, and was never known to do any
manual labour.
And the fourth was a short, but very thick man, usually known as Stumpy,
because of his figure. His hair was of a vivid and gorgeous red colour,
and he had no quarrel on the ground of nationality with either Gallagher
or Long Mike.
The game was not a big one. People seldom played for very large stakes
in Brownsville, except on occasions when strangers came to town, when
sometimes there would be real gambling, for Long Mike had sporting
proclivities, as well as means, and the one-eyed man had never been
known to decline any sort of proposition involving a game of chance.
This afternoon they were playing a dime limit, but with as much spirit
as if the game was for blood, and they had just called on Sam, the
bartender, for a new deck of cards.
“I’ll have time to take in about three more pots,” said Long Mike,
“afore the boat lands, so I’ll make ’em as large as I can,” and he
opened the jack-pot for the limit.
“Well, ye may take three pots,” said Stumpy, who came next, “but I’m
thinkin’ ye’ll not take this wan. Av ye do, ye’ll get more than that.”
And he boosted it the limit.
The one-eyed man said nothing--he never wasted words--but he put up
thirty cents.
“Here’s where I get a chanst o’ pickin’ up money,” said Gallagher, who
was dealing. And he put up forty cents.
“Once more,” said Long Mike. And he raised again.
“As often as ye like,” said Stumpy, and his forty cents went in
promptly.
The one-eyed man also raised it, and Gallagher fairly whooped with joy
at the opportunity he had to make it ten more to play.
“I reckon it’s no good givin’ yez b’yes good advice,” said Long Mike as
it came his turn again. “The best thing I can do for yez’ll be to take
your money. Yez may learn that way, when to lay down.” And once more he
raised it the limit.
“It’s all right y’ are,” said Stumpy. “Sure it’s downright dishonest to
be lettin’ thim play furder. Let’s kape thim out.” And he raised again.
But the others wouldn’t be kept out. The one-eyed man raised, and
Gallagher, getting his turn again, said:
“I’ll give yez all warnin’. I’ll raise this pot ivery toime it cooms to
me. Kape on now. Ruin yersel’s av ye loike.” And his money went in with
a bang.
Long Mike looked puzzled.
“Sure yez ahl must have straights or flushes or such trash, an’ guns
wudn’t kape yez out. Wudn’t it be best to take off the limit? We’re
losin’ time this way and th’ boat’ll be in soon. What d’ yez say?”
“That’d suit me fine,” said Stumpy. “I have yez all bated a mile, an’
the sooner I get th’ money the betther for me.”
“Take it off,” said the one-eyed man, and Gallagher, who had been
growing more and more excited, declared that his pile would go on his
hand in one bet.
“Well,” said Long Mike, “it’s five dollars more I’ll make it.” And he
put up the money.
“I have siventeen dollars an’ fifty cents here,” said Stumpy, producing
an old wallet and counting out the bills. The odd half-dollar he fished
out of his pocket, and placing the whole amount in the middle of the
table, together with a few chips that he still had left, he said:
“That’s my pile. Av yez want to see my hand, ye’ll match thot.”
The one-eyed man was as quiet as ever, but he carefully counted out the
equivalent of Stumpy’s bet, and added ten dollars to it, shoving the
entire sum into the pot.
Not even at that was Gallagher daunted, but after exploring his pockets
carefully he declared he was all in with about twelve dollars. He made
bigger wages than Stumpy, but spent his money more freely.
Long Mike said nothing until he had carefully portioned out the pot,
putting the share in which Gallagher had an interest in one pile, and
that which Stumpy expected to win in another. Then he made good, up to
the amount of the one-eyed man’s wager, and raised him twenty dollars.
That worthy appeared entirely undisturbed. All the chips on the table
were already in the pot, and he produced a small roll of bills from an
inside pocket which he proceeded to count. Finding some sixty dollars in
it, he threw it all on the table.
Long Mike covered it, and raised one hundred dollars.
“Well,” said the one-eyed man, “I reckon that will be about enough till
after the draw,” and he made good.
“How many?” said Gallagher, as he picked up the deck.
“Well, ye moight give me wan,” said Long Mike, with ostentatious
indifference. And when Gallagher dealt it to him, he let it lie face
down.
“These’ll do me,” said Stumpy, and it was observable that the ring of
confidence was lacking in the tone of his voice.
The one-eyed man skinned his cards carefully before calling for any, and
for just one instant an expression of bewilderment might have been noted
on his face, but after a moment’s hesitation he also called for one
card.
As a matter of fact he had discovered that two of his queens were clubs,
but he had quickly resolved to say nothing and trust to the chance of
the others not noticing it.
“Well,” said Gallagher, “I’ll take wan messilf, just to kape yez
company,” and he dealt himself one.
“It’s your bet,” he said to Long Mike, who then picked up the card he
had drawn.
When he saw it his eyes seemed to bulge out suddenly, and his mouth
opened wide with astonishment.
“Pfwat the divil!” he exclaimed, and then he burst out laughing so
loudly that no one paid any attention to the toot-toot-toot of the
_Rosa Lee’s_ whistle, which, had they heard it, would have told them
that the boat was approaching the landing.
The others looked in wonder while he laughed--all but the one-eyed man,
who seemed to have an inkling of the truth, and he grinned, though
rather sorrowfully, as if he thought of the money he had felt sure of
winning.
“Well, b’yes, yez can’t bate that hand, anyhow,” said Long Mike as soon
as he could speak, and he threw down five aces.
They all stared--Stumpy the hardest of all. Then he joined in the laugh.
“Sure there do be aces to burn in thot pack,” he said. “I have two of
thim me own silf, wid three kings.” And he showed them down.
“Sure I have you bate, anyhow,” said Gallagher, who was as surprised as
any one else, but who seemed to cherish the idea of winning something,
somehow. “I have four jacks,” and he showed them, but they were all red.
“Let’s have a look at the deck,” said the one-eyed man, and he spread
the cards out, face up.
A most surprising number of face cards remained, despite the eleven that
had been distributed in the deal, and there was a conspicuous absence of
small cards.
“Wat sort of a divil’s game is this, I don’t know?” asked Stumpy.
The one-eyed man picked up the case that had held the deck, from the
corner where it had been thrown, and read the word “Pinochle” on it.
“It’s a game the Dutchmen play in the East,” he said. “I’ve heard of it,
but I’ve never seen it played. But it does give a man good poker hands,
doesn’t it?”
There was nothing to do but divide the pot, and by the time each man had
drawn down his money the _Rosa Lee_ was screeching a continuous toot for
rousters to catch her lines, and the barroom was quickly emptied.
II
THREE KINGS
After the river was frozen up and the boats could no longer ply the
upper Mississippi, the only approach to Brownsville from the other river
towns was by the stage-sleigh that came from La Crosse. This crossed
three times a week each way, and occasionally brought some stranger to
the town, though why a stranger should come, unless he arrived on a boat
that would presently carry him farther along on his way, was a thing
Brownsville could not readily understand.
It was therefore with mild surprise that the citizens of the place saw
one Jack Britton jump out of the low box sleigh one evening in the
middle of winter. Nothing was said to him when he alighted. It was not
Brownsville’s way to greet newcomers with enthusiasm.
But such of the citizens as happened to be near lined up expectantly in
front of Sam’s bar, when Mr. Britton, after stamping his feet a few
times, and thrashing his arms across his chest to get his blood in
circulation, entered the barroom and walked over to the stove to warm
his fingers.
After he had stood there for a few minutes, and had, presumably,
recovered from the chill of the long ride, he stepped up to the bar and
called for some whiskey. His manner was that of a man who is immersed in
thought, and for the moment he seemed not to observe that there were
others present.
Sam produced a bottle and a glass and set them on the bar, and Mr.
Britton poured out a drink for a grown man. He did not know it, or it
seemed as if he did not, but the eyes of the community were fixed upon
him.
That is, eyes belonging to some eight or nine representative citizens of
Brownsville were so fixed, and for one critical moment there appeared
to be a strong probability that Mr. Britton would fail to establish
himself on any footing which would entitle him to favourable
consideration.
In some mysterious way he became aware of this without anything being
said. Being, as he was, the focus of eight distinct glares of surprise,
he became aware that something was wrong, and, pausing in the very act
of lifting his glass, he looked slowly around, and then said, heartily
enough:
“Excuse me, gentlemen. Won’t you join me?”
They would and they did, and it remained possible for Mr. Britton to
make a good impression. The mere fact that he was unusual would not, of
itself, damn him hopelessly, but the curious behaviour of a man who
would come so near a fatal breach of etiquette in apparent
unconsciousness, was enough to raise a doubt, and while the doubt
remained Brownsville was not likely to make overtures.
Jim Bixby, the stage-driver, had swallowed his liquor and gone outside
to attend to his horses, and, after an interchange of glances among
some of the others in the room, Larry Hennessy slouched out through the
door and was lost to sight.
Making his way to the stable, where Bixby was rubbing his horses down,
he stood for a few moments looking on. Presently he said:
“Thot mon inside, yonder. Is he a La Crosse man, I don’t know?”
Bixby finished with one horse and began on the other before he answered.
Then he said:
“He’s on’y been around f’r about a week. Come f’m somewheres East. Been
playin’ cards a good bit in Russell’s place. Left kind o’ sudden. Didn’t
hear much about it, but they was some kind of a mix-up in a game last
night. Didn’t have nothin’ to say comin’ over.”
This marvel of succinctness being duly absorbed by Hennessy and reported
to the community in a much enlarged form, was sufficient to prepare
Brownsville for the campaign which Mr. Jack Britton entered upon
forthwith.
Having once shaken off the preoccupied and abstracted air which he wore
when he arrived in town, he developed into a jovial, free-handed man of
convivial tendencies, though sparing in his own consumption of Sam’s
liquor, and was accepted readily enough as a nomad whose occupation was
that of a professional gambler.
It might have been supposed, because of certain previous experiences,
that Brownsville would be reluctant to afford Mr. Britton an opportunity
to exercise his skill, but Brownsville, in some respects, was like the
rest of the world, and Long Mike and McCarthy were both resident in the
place.
“Sure, I do be thinkin’ that McCarthy can play more poker an’ win less
money than any other mon in Iowa,” said Stumpy, when he came into the
barroom that night and found a game in progress, as he had, indeed,
shrewdly suspected would be the case.
Long Mike was also in the game, but Long Mike sometimes won, having
remarkable streaks of luck, such as McCarthy never seemed to get. And
the one-eyed man was playing, too, so that there was really no reason
to suppose that the stranger was the only man at the table who
understood all the tricks of the game.
Hennessy had bought a stack of chips, and even Stumpy, though he was a
prudent man usually, was soon interested enough to ask for a hand. As
there was no objection, he took the sixth seat.
It cost him only five dollars for a stack, and as the game was table
stakes, there was a chance for him either to go broke speedily, or to
win considerable money. At first, it seemed likely that he might do the
latter, for the very first hand he picked up had three kings.
Long Mike was dealing and it was Hennessy’s age, so Stumpy had first
say, he having sat down between Hennessy and McCarthy.
“I’ll play,” he said, throwing in his red chip with the two whites that
Hennessy had put up for an ante.
McCarthy played also. It was to be expected that he would, for it was as
hard for him to stay out as it was to win. The one-eyed man came in,
Britton raised it, and Long Mike and Hennessy laid down.
“Sure I’ll raise that,” said Stumpy, making it one dollar more.
McCarthy swore, but even his optimism was not enough to induce him to
see a double raise on two nines, and he threw down his cards. The
one-eyed man and Britton both made good, however, and they called for
cards.
Stumpy took two, which proved to be a small pair. The one-eyed man took
one, and Britton stood pat.
Stumpy threw in a white chip, being sure of a raise, but the one-eyed
man dropped. He had not bettered his two pairs. Britton raised it one
dollar, and Stumpy pushed all his chips forward. A king full seemed
worth backing, and, when Britton called, he showed them down
triumphantly.
“Give me another stack,” was all that Britton said as he threw down his
cards.
It may have been part of his plan to lose at first, and in any case the
loss was not heavy enough to daunt him, but he smiled as cheerfully as
if he had won.
There was no play on Hennessy’s deal, and a jack-pot was made. Stumpy
dealt next and caught three kings again.
No one opened until it came to him and he put up the size of the pot,
hardly expecting any stayers. Britton, however, came in, taking a chance
on a red and a black eight, and Long Mike decided to speculate on a four
flush.
Neither of them bettered, and Stumpy showed his kings and took the pot.
“Lucky cards,” said Britton, and no other comment was made.
Again there was no play and another jack-pot was made. It was not opened
for two deals, but when the cards came to Long Mike in turn, Stumpy was
fairly amazed to find that once more he had three kings.
It did not look right, and if it had been Britton’s deal he would have
hesitated about playing them, but Long Mike was above suspicion, so he
opened the pot with cheerful confidence.
Again Britton was among those who came in, McCarthy and Long Mike both
finding enough to justify a play, but they all took three excepting
Stumpy, and he was quite easy in his mind when he bet two dollars.
Britton was the only one to call, and he said, with a laugh:
“I’ve a notion to raise you, but maybe you have them three kings again.”
“I have,” said Stumpy, and scooped the pot again.
They all stared, but Britton was the only one to speak.
“If I was you,” he said, in a nasty way, “I wouldn’t play them kings so
frequent. You might get beat on ’em next.”
Now there are men to whom a remark of this sort may be made without
immediate trouble, but such men are not Irishmen of the peculiar redness
as to hair and beard that Stumpy had. He flared in an instant.
“Oi’ll play thim cards whiniver Oi do be gettin’ thim to play,” he said,
with great heat. “An’ if ony gintleman i’ th’ room, f’m La Crosse or any
other place, has anything to say, Oi’d loike t’ hear what it is.”
“Oh, well,” said Britton, “I said what I had to say. It don’t look well
for any man to hold three kings all the time.”
“Av it’s a question o’ looks,” said Stumpy, very coolly, but with
evident wrath, “Oi don’t loike th’ looks o’ that nose you do be carryin’
round wid youse.”
Britton looked around, but seeing that no one else at the table was
likely to side with him in case of trouble, he controlled himself with
an effort.
“‘Tain’t as good-lookin’ as I’d like to have it,” he said, with a forced
laugh, “but it’s the only one--”
“An’ Oi do be thinkin’,” interrupted Stumpy, “it ud look a dom sight
betther av it was longer.”
“Perhaps it would,” said Britton, still reluctant to accept the quarrel,
“but--”
“But nothin’,” shouted Stumpy, reaching over and grasping the feature he
had mentioned. “Maybe pullin’ it a little moight do it good.” And he
gave it a mighty tweak.
Two things only were possible after that, in Brownsville, and
unfortunately for Mr. Britton he chose the wrong one. A stand-up fight
with nature’s weapons would have established him as a person worthy of
consideration, even though he had been well licked, but he was not in
the habit of fighting in that fashion, and he reached for his gun.
It was an unlucky movement. Long Mike sat next to him, and as they all
rose to their feet in the excitement, the big man seized him by the
wrist and the neck, and shaking him as a dog shakes a rat, he exclaimed:
“Ye’ll pull no gun in Brownsville, ye double-jointed spalpeen, ye. An’
ye’ll understhand that any gintlemon in this town that wants to play
kings, can play as many as he loikes, an’ as often as he loikes. An’ the
loikes o’ yez can get back to La Crosse whin ye loike.”
And after he had shaken Britton sufficiently, he threw him into the
corner of the room.
When the stage-sleigh was well out on the frozen river surface next day,
Jim Bixby turned to his passenger and said, briefly:
“Them fellers in Brownsville kind o’ stands by each other most
generally.”
But the passenger made no reply.
III
FINISH OF THE ONE-EYED MAN
The one-eyed man sat playing solitaire at a table in the extreme rear of
the barroom. This particular room was not the only place in Brownsville
where liquor could be had by those bibulously inclined, for whiskey was
recognized as one of the staples. There were few of the citizens of the
place who allowed themselves to remain destitute of a domestic supply,
and there was none so inhospitable as to refuse to share what he had
with even a casual passer-by who cared to stop, but the room in which
the one-eyed man sat, on this occasion, was known as the barroom.
Brownsville was too small a place to encourage competition unduly.
There was the usual crowd in the room, it being early in the evening,
and a river boat being expected soon. It was not every time a boat
arrived that anybody came ashore to stay, but sometimes it happened that
somebody would do so, and, even if it didn’t, there was usually some
freight to be landed, and while the roustabouts were bringing that off,
the boat would have to stay.
On such occasions, the barroom, being handy to the landing, became not
only the social centre of Brownsville, but also the news exchange where
all the available intelligence of the happenings of the outside world
was to be obtained. It was not that Brownsville cared specially what the
outside happenings might be, or might not be, but there was more or less
excitement to be had by conversing with strangers who might stroll
ashore for even a few minutes, and Brownsville craved excitement.
The usual crowd was unusually noisy this evening. Long Mike, the labour
contractor, who had organized a trust in handling of freight, and owned
eight mules, representing a goodly proportion of his accumulated
capital, had been drinking more than usual ever since the landing of the
last boat, and, after his fashion when he drank, his voice was being
overworked. Moreover, the small crowd of able-bodied men who were
enjoying his hospitality had all of them opinions of their own which
they were anxious to express, and so, though Sam, the bartender, was a
man of few words, there was no lack of conversation.
The one-eyed man did not drink, and as there was an ill-defined popular
prejudice against him, partly for that reason, no one paid much
attention to him, or to his game of solitaire.
Suddenly somebody called Long Mike a liar. Opinions differed when the
matter was afterward discussed, as to who the person was. Some of them
said it was Stumpy, but the only reason why they thought so, as they
were obliged to admit when the statement was questioned, was that Stumpy
was Irish and also red-headed, and a red-headed Irishman was always
liable to make a bad break. Others thought that Gallagher had spoken the
word, and this seemed more probable, for Gallagher was of a morose
temper at best, and utterly reckless when in his cups. But Gallagher
denied it, and nobody excepting the man who spoke ever knew who it was
that uttered the word. Several persons were talking at the time, but
there was no doubt that somebody exclaimed, “You’re a liar!”
At the word the one-eyed man disappeared under the table at which he had
been playing. Had the door been nearer to him, or had there been a
window in the rear of the room, there is little doubt that he would have
gone outside, but the door was the only available exit, and it would
have taken two or three seconds for him to reach that. Two or three
seconds form an appreciable interval of time.
The tendency of most persons to shoot too high, rather than too low, is
well known to everybody who has had experience in such matters, and the
course of action pursued by the one-eyed man in getting under the table
is the one generally approved. He never carried a gun himself, and
moreover, while he did not distinctly approve of the use of the
expression that had been applied to Long Mike, he had sufficient
sympathy with the thought expressed to restrain him from any impulse
toward resenting it on Mike’s behalf.
The fusilade, though it was furious, was brief. Five revolvers were
emptied, and as three of them were seven-shooters, while the other two
had only five chambers each, it was readily reckoned up that thirty-one
shots were fired. Considering the size of the room, which was not great,
and the fact that there were fifteen or sixteen persons present, it
seemed a little remarkable that no one was hurt, but after the first
volley Sam came out from behind the bar and interfered gently, but
firmly, with Long Mike, who was trying in a fumbling sort of way to
reload his pistol.
“Put that away,” said Sam, “or I’ll brain you where you stand.”
Long Mike looked at him and then at the bung-starter which he held
poised ready for use, and forthwith put his pistol back in his pocket.
Being unable, in the confusion of words which followed, to determine
who it was that had insulted him, he burst out crying and invited all
hands to drink at his expense.
There was a prompt response to the invitation by everybody but the
one-eyed man, who had resumed his game of solitaire, and Sam was
juggling his glasses with his usual skill when the whistle of the _Rosa
Lee_ was heard from the river. Three minutes later Sam and the one-eyed
man were alone in the room.
“The boys is pretty lively to-night,” said Sam, but the one-eyed man
only grunted.
“I heer’d Jim Wharton was comin’ down the river this week,” said Sam,
cheerfully insistent upon conversation. “‘Twouldn’t be none surprisin’
if he was on the _Rosa Lee_.”
The one-eyed man grunted again, but his eye gleamed, and after a moment
he said, slowly: “Well, he’ll find me ready for him.” But he kept on
playing solitaire as if he had no active interest in anything outside of
his game.
Neither did he seem to be paying attention to any outside happening,
when, after the noise of considerable confusion outdoors, the crowd
came straggling back into the barroom. It was not the same crowd, for
the _Rosa Lee_ had brought a considerable load of freight, and Long
Mike, though insufficiently sober to bear himself with dignity in social
affairs, was not too drunk to attend to business, and he remained
outside attending to it. Several of his men, who had been with him in
the barroom on terms of equality, were now working for dear life while
he stood talking to them with all the emphasis of an army teamster
addressing a balky span of mules.
There were several strangers in the incoming party, though, and the room
was even more crowded than before. The boat was not likely to start
again for an hour or more, and a number of passengers were stretching
their legs. Among the newcomers was a tall, swarthy fellow who swaggered
like a lumberman, but was dressed like a dandy, and who looked around as
he entered as if in search of some familiar face. With him were three
others, as well dressed as he, but all of them having the indescribable
appearance and manner which marked them as “professional sports”--in
other words, gamblers--and all being of the type that was common along
the Mississippi River years ago.
The one-eyed man did not look up, but he showed no mark of surprise when
the tall stranger, having first called for a bottle of wine, which he
shared with his three companions, left them standing at the bar and
strolled over toward the card-table.
“Howd’ye, George,” he said, quietly enough, but with a curious
suggestion of inquiry in his tone.
“Howd’ye, Jim,” was the one-eyed man’s response.
He did not even look up from his game, and so far as his voice or manner
indicated, he was utterly indifferent to the fact of the other man’s
presence. He kept on laying down the cards with no show of emotion of
any kind, but a close observer might have noticed that he made two
mistakes in his play during the short while that the other stood
looking on in silence. Presumably the other was a close observer.
Gamblers mostly are.
Presently the newcomer spoke again:
“Bygones is bygones, ain’t they, George?” he said.
“Yes,” said the player, for the first time looking straight at his
questioner, and speaking very slowly. “Yes, I reckon bygones is bygones.
Anyway, my eye is gone.”
“Well, it was a fair fight, George?” said the tall man.
“Yes, it was a fair enough fight,” said the one-eyed man. “If it hadn’t
been. I’d ha’ looked you up an’ killed you, ’fore now.”
“So I reckon,” said Wharton; “you was always quick for a fight, George,
an’ I don’t remember as I ever shirked one that was coming my way, did
I?”
“No, that’s right enough,” said the one-eyed man, indifferently. Then
there was another silence and the one-eyed man resumed his game.
Presently Wharton spoke again.
“Well,” he said, “I reckon there’s no grudge between us on account of
the fight. You talk fair enough, an’ I hain’t nothin’ to say, but
there’s another thing that ain’t settled. What do you say to that?”
“What is it?” asked the one-eyed man, shortly.
“There’s a matter o’ seven hundred dollars o’ mine that you got away
with in that last game. I called your play crooked an’ I couldn’t prove
it, so I don’t hold it against you that you pulled a knife, but I want
that money. I hain’t fool enough to think you’re goin’ to hand it over,
but I’ll play you a freeze-out for one thousand dollars right now. If I
lose, I’ll take back what I said an’ couldn’t prove. If I win I’m
satisfied. But God help you if you don’t play straight an’ I do catch
you.”
“That kind o’ talk is cheap,” said the one-eyed man, contemptuously. “I
don’t reckon the Almighty’s goin’ to help anybody much if he’s caught
cheatin’ along the Mississippi River, but you can say your prayers now,
Jim Wharton, if you think o’ makin’ any breaks at me, like you did once.
I’ll play you the freeze-out, an’ what’s more, I’ll win your money
unless you’ve learned to play poker since I seen you last. If it’s play,
I’ll play you, an’ if it’s fight, I’ll fight you to the finish.”
Neither man had raised his voice; they were too much in earnest for
that. So no one in the room had seemed to pay attention to them. When
the one-eyed man called to Sam, however, to bring him cards and chips
for the game, a number of bystanders came up to look on, and among them
were the three men who came in with Wharton. A looker-on might have
thought that they were expecting an invitation to join the game, but
none was given, and they said nothing.
The chips were counted out, the two thousand dollars placed in Sam’s
hands as payment, and the new deck of cards ripped open and shuffled,
and the two men cut for the deal, which fell to Wharton.
It was a fruitless deal, for, finding nothing in his hand, he threw in a
red chip to cover the two white ones that the one-eyed man had anted,
and declared a jack-pot. The one-eyed man made good and took the cards.
As he shuffled and dealt them, the other watched him keenly, but
evidently saw nothing wrong, though it was impossible not to see, from
the way his fingers moved, that he was dexterous to a degree in their
use.
In four or five hands neither man held openers. Then Wharton caught
aces, opened the pot, and took it down, the one-eyed man having nothing.
“Your first pot. It’s a bad sign for you, Jim,” he said, jeeringly.
“All right,” said Wharton, “I’ll take all the pots that come. The first
is as good as any.”
But for the next twenty minutes it almost seemed that the superstition
was to be upheld. Wharton won no more, and the one-eyed man was four
hundred dollars ahead when there came a struggle on Wharton’s deal.
Catching two pairs, he made it ten dollars to play, and the one-eyed man
promptly raised it ten. Wharton made good and the one-eyed man drew two
cards.
It was evident enough that he had threes, having raised back before the
draw, so Wharton, instead of standing pat, as he had thought of doing,
took one. It proved to be a jack to his jacks up, and, as afterward
appeared, the one-eyed man got a pair with his three sevens.
It was Wharton’s bet and he put up a hundred dollars.
“As much more as you have,” said the one-eyed man, pushing his blue
chips forward.
“I call you,” said Wharton, and they counted the piles. Wharton had
almost six hundred left, so the show-down put him ahead in the game.
“Good dealing,” said the one-eyed man, coolly, as he picked up the deck,
but Wharton made no answer. Instead, he watched the deal more narrowly
than ever. Something he saw seemed to interest him greatly.
The one-eyed man bet after the draw, but Wharton refused to see him, and
he scooped the pot. Then Wharton took the cards.
Running them over rapidly, face down, he threw three cards to one side.
Then, picking up the three, he examined their backs carefully and
exclaimed with an oath: “By the marks on them I reckon they’re all
alike. Maybe they’re aces.”
It was done as quickly as lightning flashes, and he threw down the three
cards, face up, before any one had fairly realized what he was doing.
They were all aces.
Both men sprang to their feet on the instant, and as they rose Wharton
drew a revolver and the one-eyed man a knife.
The revolver spoke as the man with the knife rushed around the table,
and, with a yell, he stumbled forward, stabbing viciously at the other
as he fell on the floor. Wharton dodged quickly, but not quickly enough
to avoid a bad cut in the arm, and shifting his pistol to his left hand,
he stood ready to shoot again.
There was no need, however, of another shot.
IV
LOOKING FOR GALLAGHER
Brownsville was disturbed. It can hardly be said that the industries of
the place were interrupted, for there were no industries in Brownsville
that were liable to interruption, except at such times as one of the
river steamboats was lying at the levee, either loading or unloading.
Outside of Brownsville the prairie stretched indefinitely to the north,
west, and south, and there were persons who cultivated the soil with a
minimum of labour and obtained a maximum of results, and so far as
planting, harvesting, and marketing the products constituted an
industry, these persons were industrious.
Inside the town, people mostly sat around. Except, as aforesaid, when
there was a boat at the levee.
To a stranger no visible signs of disturbance would have been apparent.
Looking up and down the long street that constituted the main portion of
Brownsville, he might have noticed that there were no women to be seen,
but the feminine fraction of the population, insignificant in number,
was at no time obtrusive.
Such social functions as were in vogue with the female sex consisted
mostly of long-range conversations between women who stood, each at her
own door, or leaned out, each at her own window. And the subject-matter
of these conversations would have been totally devoid of interest to the
stranger.
At the moment when the action of this tale was about to begin, there was
no sound of conversation, nor appearance of a petticoat. There was,
instead, an ominous hush, though the stranger might not have recognized
the omen.
It was yet early in the forenoon, and the only interruption to the
unwonted silence of the morning had come from a crash in Long Mike’s
house half-way up the street. It was such a noise as might have been
made by an angry man who should survey his breakfast-table, and, finding
nothing on it to his liking, should upset it with such violence as to
send some of the dishes against the walls of the room and others through
the front window.
The strained attention of Brownsville had caught no further sound for
half an hour, and though at every other door but his and one other, men
stood as if prepared for observation or action, as the case might be,
they had heard nothing further, nor seen anything.
Suddenly Long Mike’s door flew open. What force impelled it cannot be
stated positively, but Stumpy, whose house was almost opposite, saw the
recumbent figure of a man several feet back from the doorway, where it
might have fallen after an energetic kick and a sudden recoil.
Slowly and with evident effort the man arose to his feet, and after some
minutes stepped uncertainly forward. Steadying himself by the lintels,
he gazed out, as if dubious of the result of further effort.
Up and down the street he looked for a long time, with as much
earnestness as was compatible with a confusion of ideas that seemed to
be buzzing around his head, seeking entrance as bees might endeavour to
enter a sealed hive.
Presently his eyes fell on the one doorway, not far from his own, where
no man stood. The faces he saw at the other doors were all mistily
familiar to him, but he gave no sign of recognition, and no man spoke to
him. The alert but motionless figures might have been graven images, so
far as any emotion could be detected, and they stirred him not.
But the empty doorway fixed his unsteady look. His eye cleared, and with
a mighty lurch he sallied forth, saying nothing when he started but
gurgitating violently as he strove to arouse his vocal organs to action.
“Mother of Moses!” muttered Stumpy, grimly observant. “He’s lookin’ for
Gallagher. Now if Gallagher was home what a broth of a shindy there’d
be! Saints be! but it’s good he’s took a sneak.”
Deviously, and with many pauses and new starts, Long Mike made his way
toward Gallagher’s house. Arriving in front of it he paused, and cleared
his throat with a yell, the like of which Brownsville had never heard,
save from the exhaust-pipe of some steamboat.
Following this came a monstrous cataract of vituperation, Homeric in
strength, Gargantuan in explicit epithets, shameless in profanity, and
seemingly endless in continuance, but bibulously uncertain as to its
exact purport. The general tenor of it seemed to indicate a strong
desire for a personal encounter with one Gallagher.
When, after a long period of this, silence ensued, Long Mike waited for
awhile, but no answer came. The door remained closed, and no sign of
life came from within. Standing forward at length, he raised his foot,
and Gallagher’s door flew in.
“Glory be!” muttered Stumpy again, “it’s little use he has for latches
and locks the mornin’. And it’s little good Gallagher’ll get of his
furniture from now.”
This last statement was undeniably true, for Long Mike, finding no
living being in the house, seized a chair and painstakingly demolished
everything destructible on the premises. Then he came out, and after
whooping wildly a few times at the uttermost pitch of his powerful
voice, made his way slowly and crookedly to the barroom. And after him,
one by one, the heads of the households in Brownsville came slowly.
Now Gallagher, as all Brownsville knew, was Long Mike’s foreman, and
Long Mike’s ownership of all the mules in Brownsville was hardly more
absolute than his proprietorship in all the available human labour of
the place, and, moreover, the imperious character that had enabled him
to conquer his position in the community made him its autocrat.
The reflected glory of such a man, to be enjoyed by one fortunate enough
to be his foreman, would be enough for any ordinary person, but
Gallagher was not ordinary. Debarred by nature from the possibility of
attaining the highest eminence, he was still covetous of distinction,
and the satisfaction he derived from the hearty hatred of the men he
tyrannized over, was poisoned by the reflection that the good-natured
giant who tyrannized over him held him in contempt.
Because of these things there was frequent friction between the two.
Gallagher could extract more work from a mule or a man than any one
else, and Long Mike valued him accordingly. Nevertheless, there were
times when the foreman’s unruly tongue would so stir up the temper of
his employer as to secure his immediate discharge. Having little
confidence in anything that Long Mike said, Gallagher would proceed with
his work, serenely indifferent to his dismissal, and would collect his
wages as usual at the close of the week.
It had happened, however, that ever since the night when the one-eyed
man had suddenly perished in a controversy with one Wharton, which
controversy touched on points of etiquette appertaining to the game of
draw-poker, Long Mike had been unable to steady his nerves, despite his
persistent efforts to do so by a liberal use of the one specific in
which he had faith. Being unusually irritable, therefore, he had
resented Gallagher’s latest impertinence more bitterly than usual, and,
in addition to discharging him, had attempted also to kill him.
This he would undoubtedly have succeeded in doing with his bare hands,
for he had the strength of seven men, but, fortunately for the foreman,
there was considerable uncertainty in his movements, and his intended
victim had eluded him by a quick movement which was continued in a
panicky flight. The flight had taken him across the gangplank of the
_Pride of the River_, just as the deck-hands were hauling it aboard, and
he had gone down the river on the boat, a fact not yet known to his
employer.
There was a Mrs. Gallagher, but she had found refuge with a sympathetic
neighbour, and took no part in the events of the day.
In the barroom there was an atmosphere of doubtful expectancy. Just
what Long Mike would do when he found his rage balked in the direction
of Gallagher, no one could tell, and in truth none was anxious to see.
The consequences of any fresh accession of fury might be decidedly
unpleasant.
It was therefore with considerable anxiety that the crowd listened for
Sam’s answer, Sam being the bartender, when Long Mike questioned him.
“Where is that man Gallagher?” he demanded, thickly.
“I’m lookin’ for him every minute,” said Sam, in a matter-of-fact way,
as he placed bottles and glasses on the bar. No order had been given,
but Long Mike’s ways were known, and a round of drinks at his expense
seemed to be an appropriate ceremony.
The due performance of this engrossed the general attention for a few
minutes, and then Long Mike again demanded to know where Gallagher was.
“I’m lookin’ for him every minute,” said Sam in the same tone as before.
And to the same question, repeated at irregular intervals for the next
quarter of an hour, he replied in the same words.
After each answer Long Mike stood, apparently satisfied, looking as
steadily as he was able to do toward the door, with the evident
expectation of seeing his foe appear, but abstaining from speech.
Slowly, however, he seemed to gather the idea that he was being trifled
with, and presently he said, with a violent hiccough:
“Where is that man Gallagher?”
“I’m lookin’ for him every minute,” said Sam, imperturbably.
Long Mike turned and look at him with a scowl.
“Ye said that before,” he exclaimed.
“I was lookin’ for him before,” said Sam.
This seemed to divert the big man’s mind to a new channel of thought,
and he pondered it awhile, uncertain whether to laugh or be angry.
At length he leaned over the bar and shook a huge forefinger in Sam’s
face.
“You’re a fool,” he said, and glared.
Sam made no reply, but Stumpy, judging that something must be done,
interposed:
“Ye’ll all have a drink with me,” he said.
Ordinarily this form of speech was unchallenged by any critic in
Brownsville, and Long Mike was possibly the one citizen least likely to
offer any objection, but on this occasion he turned to the speaker, and,
shaking his forefinger at him, exclaimed again:
“You’re a fool.”
Stumpy stepped back a little. Long Mike faced the crowd and said with
additional emphasis:
“You’re all fools.” Then he broke out with a roar of fury. “Will ye tell
me where is that man Gallagher?” but no man dared make answer.
“In just about a minute, now,” said Joe Thorp in an undertone to his
nearest neighbour, “there’ll be a ten-acre fight in this here barroom if
nothin’ ain’t done to get the old man’s mind off’n Gallagher.”
“I reckon you’re about right,” replied Jim Hunnewell, “but there ain’t
nobody here as cares about fightin’ ’cept him. An’ when he’s loaded,
he’d a heap rather fight than do anything else, ’thouten it’s play
poker.”
“That’s the idee,” exclaimed Thorp, struck with an inspiration. Then,
raising his voice, he continued: “Who’ll play a game of poker? Speak up,
quick, you chump,” he whispered, and Hunnewell spoke.
“I will,” he said, eagerly.
“And I,” “And I,” “And I,” said Baxter and Wilson and Cosgrove almost as
quickly. They had caught the whispered words, and appreciated the
emergency.
“Give us the chips, Sam,” called Thorp, bustling toward the card-table
in the rear of the room. “Will you take a hand, Mike?” he added,
carelessly, as the others followed him with more noise than seemed
necessary.
Long Mike considered the matter for a moment, but, finding that he no
longer held public attention, he wavered and then said:
“I will.”
“It’s like picking his pockets,” said Cosgrove, with some compunction,
as they all took their seats. Even in Brownsville the code prohibits
playing with a man who is hopelessly drunk if he happens to be your
neighbour and friend.
“Isn’t it better than to have him kill somebody before he sobers up?”
said Thorp, and the argument was sufficient for all of them.
But the picking of Long Mike’s pockets did not proceed with any alarming
speed. They played the usual game, table stakes, and each man took five
dollars in chips at the start. The first pot was a jack.
Cosgrove dealt. Thorp passed. Baxter passed. Wilson opened it for a
dollar and a half. Hunnewell threw down. Long Mike raised it two
dollars. Cosgrove stayed. Thorp stayed and Wilson stayed.
When they came to draw cards, Thorp took one, Wilson took two, and Long
Mike was found to be fast asleep. They roused him with some difficulty,
and after scanning his cards with every appearance of dissatisfaction,
he called for four. Cosgrove took three.
Wilson bet a white chip. Long Mike chipped. Cosgrove shoved in his pile,
having caught a third ace. The others all stayed, and Wilson showed
three tens. Thorp had a small straight, and Long Mike had a king-high
flush.
It was quick action and called for another jack. As three of the
conspirators bought more chips, they consoled themselves as well as they
could with the thought that sheer luck like that seldom comes to one
player frequently in one sitting.
This time Baxter opened it under the guns. Wilson passed. Hunnewell
raised it one dollar on a small straight. Long Mike stayed on a pair of
deuces. Cosgrove and Thorp laid down and Baxter saw the raise, having
kings up.
In the draw Long Mike caught the three aces Cosgrove had had the deal
before. After Baxter and Hunnewell had bought again, there was
fifty-five dollars on the table, of which over thirty was in Long Mike’s
pile.
In the next deal he caught nothing and promptly went to sleep again.
They woke him up in time to look at his next hand, and that failed also
to interest him. In the following deal, however, he caught three sevens.
It had been his ante, and the money had been put up out of his pile
without waking him, but even under existing circumstances no one cared
to go so far as to play his hand for him, the more especially as they
all had pretty good cards and saw his raise when he made it two dollars
to play.
Catching the fourth seven in the draw, he made good on two raises that
had been made before it came to him, and threw in five dollars more.
Thorp and Wilson both called for their piles, one having a flush and the
other a full.