conspicuous among them, as Long Mike was the principal figure in
Brownsville, was one Tom Krags, a man of more than local fame, who had
amassed a competence on the Mississippi boats by his success at the
card-table, and had settled in La Crosse as the proprietor of what he
called the “only first-class second-rate hotel in Wisconsin.” It was a
flourishing hostelry, with a large cardroom adjoining the barroom.
Krags was a quiet man, usually, with pleasant manners and a large chest
measurement. At least a foot shorter than the big man of Brownsville, he
was, in all his other dimensions, a worthy match, and one of the dreams
of delight among the river men was the thought that sometime there might
be a physical encounter between the two.
No set programme having been arranged for the festivities, the first
ceremony was the usual tender of liquid hospitality. Sam became busy
without special instructions, and for a long half-hour exerted himself
manfully in response to the demands that came in rapid succession from
this one and that who felt eager to uphold his part of the burden of
hospitality or pay his share of the tax of reciprocity.
A temporary lull in this exercise was filled with conversation, in which
the dearth of news in both communities was duly discussed, and the day
wore on toward a close with no special outbreak of excitement. It
appeared, however, that three of the guests had brought certain pet
game-cocks with them, so a series of cock-fights was arranged after a
long discussion of terms, and by nightfall the floor of the barroom was
sadly in need of a thorough cleansing. Then, after the lamps were
lighted, and a hearty supper had been discussed, a game of draw-poker
was proposed.
This, it was felt, was, after all, the main event of the day.
Brownsville was not especially addicted to poker except on occasions
when outside talent appeared, but there was enough local pride to
justify a contest when a challenge was issued. And there was an
overweening confidence in Brownsville in Long Mike’s luck.
The two leaders arranged the terms and virtually chose the players, so
that the game was table stakes, each man to buy a hundred dollars’ worth
of chips for a starter, and six men to constitute the party. Long Mike
took Stumpy and Hennessy, and Krags named Smithers, a beetle-browed
Englishman in his party, and Jack Bains, a capable-looking lumberman
from the upper river, to represent the visiting talent. Sam set out the
chips and cards and served a preliminary drink, and the game was on.
For the first half-dozen hands there was little doing. The ante was a
dime calling a quarter, no one caring to hurry the game, and all
realizing that a hundred dollars was enough to give him a considerable
run unless his luck was phenomenally bad. Presently, however, Hennessy
saw what looked like an excellent opening and he opened a jack-pot.
To his intense joy he got three stayers, for he had three tens and a lot
of confidence. It was Stumpy’s deal, and he and Smithers had stayed out.
In the draw Bains took three cards, Long Mike one, Hennessy one,
holding up an ace to his tens, and Krags called for two.
It was hard to figure chances on a draw like that, but Hennessy reckoned
they would size him up for two pairs and he threw in ten dollars,
thinking that he would call any raise he might get. He hadn’t looked at
his draw, but did not count on having bettered.
Krags saw the ten, having three sevens which he had not bettered, and a
proper respect for Long Mike’s one-card draw. Bains surrendered, and
Long Mike raised it ten, having bettered his hand with a six spot that
made a small straight.
Hennessy investigated and found he had caught another ace, which was, of
course, enough to go back on; but Long Mike was not the player he was
after, so he simply saw the raise, hoping for nothing more than a call
from Krags. That gentleman, however, folded his cards. He had the name
of knowing extremely well how to lay down when he was beaten. So nobody
was badly hurt.
The next chance fell to Smithers on Long Mike’s deal, there being
another jack-pot, and he opened for one dollar and a half, there being
that amount in the pot. The struggle was longer this time, for everybody
stayed and three men bettered. He threw in a white chip for a feeler,
and Hennessy raised it five dollars on three queens. Krags stayed,
having aces up, and Stumpy raised again with a flush. Bains made good,
having filled a straight, and Long Mike lay down. He had three little
ones, but a double raise scared him out.
Smithers looked at his hand doubtfully. He had opened it on kings and
fours and had caught a seven in the draw, but deciding, whether it was
good poker or not, to make a bluff, he came back with twenty dollars
more. It was almost good, too, for it looked as if he had made a full
house, and Hennessy dropped his three queens without a whimper, though
he would have called if Stumpy had not raised him on the round before.
Krags lay down, and Stumpy did some thinking. It took nerve to call even
with a flush, but finally he said: “Ye may have it, I don’t know, but
Oi’ll see it annyhow,” and threw in his chips.
“That’s good,” said Bains, and Smithers had to show his two pairs.
“Tried to blow me, hey?” said Stumpy, tauntingly, as he raked in the
chips. “Ye may do that in La Crosse, but it don’t go here.” And Smithers
had nothing to say.
The next two deals were uneventful, and then Krags took the deck. His
thick muscular fingers were well kept and white, after the usual rule as
touching the hands of professional gamesters, and one who looked closely
would have seen that they were singularly deft as well. As it happened
there were three men at the table who were looking closely, and when he
passed the cards over to Hennessy for the cut, that player riffled them
three times before cutting them, whereat Stumpy grinned with glee, and
Long Mike looked serene and satisfied.
Krags could say nothing, for Hennessy was within his rights, but he
leaned a little over toward the left side as he dealt, leaving his
right-hand hip pocket a little easier to get at. It was only a slight
indication of the possibilities, but there was not a man at the table
who failed to notice it.
From that time on the tension increased. After Krags’s deal Stumpy
called for a new deck of another colour, and when that had been used
twice, Long Mike ran over it carefully, and called for still another
deck. “There’s an ace o’ hearts here,” he said, “that a man can tell
across the room.” No charge of crooked play had been made, but the
visitors saw that they were suspected, and they were well prepared for
the row that was coming.
Long Mike it was that precipitated it. He was watching Krags intently,
and suddenly, as that player was discarding after serving the others
with the draw in his own deal, Long Mike reached over and seized both
his wrists with a lightning-like movement.
“Ye have six cards in yer hand, ye spalpeen, an’ two in yer sleeve,” and
twisting Krags’s hands remorselessly, he proved that he was right.
Instantly the room was in an uproar, and
[Illustration: “‘YE HAVE SIX CARDS IN YER HAND, YE SPALPEEN.’”]
every one of the ten visitors had his gun out, excepting Krags, who was
struggling violently but ineffectually to free his hands. The
Brownsville men were as quick as the strangers, but, although three or
four shots were heard, none reached a mark. And after a little time,
Long Mike’s voice commanded attention.
“Av we did the roight thing,” he shouted, “we’d chop holes in th’ oice,
an’ send yez ahl shwimmin’ down th’ river. But Oi’m thinkin’ we can have
more fun nor that. Yez’ll ahl give yer guns to Sam, an’ Oi’ll take this
omadhaun out-o’-doors an’ woipe th’ ground up wid him. An’ Bixby’ll
hitch up an’ carry what’s left back to La Crosse the noight widout
waitin’ f’r sun-up.”
No one dissented, for Krags and his followers were as confident as the
Brownsville men, and moreover counted themselves lucky to get off as
they did after the exposé. And then Smithers gave a new turn to the
situation by saying, “I’ll bet even money that Krags’ll lick him.”
In about three minutes all the available cash in the party was staked
on the contest and the two gladiators stripped for the fray.
Then was Brownsville glorified within three minutes more, for Long Mike
stood with his hands down, waiting the other’s onslaught. It came with a
fury that would have demolished an ordinary man, but he took two blows
that seemed enough to break his bones, and then wrapped his arms around
Krags in such fashion as to hold him helpless. For a moment he stood
thus, tightening his grip slowly, and then said, coolly:
“Ye’ll tell me when ye have enough.”
The other made no answer, but struggled like a wildcat, while Long Mike
stood smiling and slowly tightening his awful grip. Not until the bones
began to crack did the defeated man give up, but presently he gasped
“Enough,” and fell, half-dead, to the ground as the other released his
hold.
“Oi’m thinkin’, belike,” said Stumpy, as they watched the stage start
off, “thot we might have a party up here from Dubuque next week, I don’t
know. Thim social visits is foine divarsion.”
X
STUMPY VIOLATES ETIQUETTE
The fate of the one-eyed man had not been forgotten in Brownsville, but
the lapse of time since his taking off had been sufficient to allay the
excitement which it had occasioned.
This excitement, it may be said, was not the result of any fervent
esteem which the one-eyed man might have enjoyed among his fellow
citizens if he had been a person of more congenial temperament than he
was. As a matter of fact, he had various traits of character which had
distinctly failed to commend him to the hearty liking of the community,
and while he lived there were not a few citizens who counted him among
the least desirable of their number.
Brownsville, however, was not habituated to homicide. Fights there were
in Brownsville not infrequently, and a good shindy was commonly reckoned
among the pleasurable variations to the monotony that characterized life
in the little river town for something like three hundred and sixty days
in the year.
Such fights, however, were usually carried to a more or less
satisfactory conclusion without loss of life, and the sudden demise of
the one-eyed man had aroused some horror, as well as a strong feeling of
antipathy for the man who shot him. This feeling was also tempered by
the lukewarmness of the sentiment of the community toward the one-eyed
man, but the prevailing opinion was that Wharton had gone a little too
far in shooting.
There was no disputing the fact, however, that it was a fair fight, and
that the one-eyed man had brought it on himself, so there had been no
attempt made to put Wharton on trial for the killing. He had gone away
from Brownsville, and the general satisfaction at that had, of itself,
tempered the hostility he had provoked, which hostility was indeed no
very powerful sentiment.
When the _Creole Belle_, however, tied up at the Brownsville landing,
just at the edge of a summer evening, some months after the shooting,
and Mr. Wharton stepped ashore, he failed to receive any enthusiastic
welcome. Strangers who came ashore at Brownsville were not so numerous
as to allow of his escaping recognition, and most of those whom he
greeted on his way from the landing to the barroom responded with a cool
“Howdy,” but no one proffered a handshake, and none gave him spontaneous
greeting.
It was not observed, however, that any of those in the barroom made any
strenuous effort to avoid his invitation to partake of such refreshment
as Sam had in readiness. It was therefore to be fairly inferred that
time had mellowed the resentment which Mr. Wharton’s violent action had
originally provoked.
Perhaps no clearer statement of the actual condition of public sentiment
could be made than that which Stumpy put in words, speaking to
Gallagher, as they returned to their work on the landing after they had
followed the crowd into the barroom.
“I do be thinkin’ this here Wharton ’ud be betther loiked,” he said, “av
he’d shtop some place where they knowed less about him. Av he shtays
here, belike there’ll be doin’s.”
“Maybe,” said Gallagher, “but I reckon there’s them here that’ll kape
him from too much killin’, an’ the most o’ the houses is nailed down.”
“Shure, it’s not the likes o’ that I’m thinkin’. ’Tain’t likely he’ll
steal the town, nor yet the river,” returned Stumpy, somewhat nettled at
the other’s indifference, “but he’s not the koind o’ man I loike to see.
“Shure, he’s a gambler, an’ he’s too almighty free with his gun, I’m
thinkin’. He’ll carry away the money that belongs in the town, an’ av
there’s anny row--an’ belike there will be if Long Mike sits in wid him,
it’s not fightin’ wid fists we’ll see, but a shootin’ scrape.
“Shure, I don’t mind a bit o’ a shindy, or a sociable game o’
dhraw-poker, but thim kind is the wrong cattle to play wid.”
“We’ll see,” said Gallagher, shortly, as he turned to his work.
He was an enthusiastic gambler himself, though a most unlucky one, and
the notion of playing with a professional had no terrors for him.
Moreover, the scent of a battle, even afar, was sweeter to him than
newmown hay. Stumpy, however, though by no means averse to excitement of
any kind, was more conservative and had his forebodings.
Later in the evening, after the _Creole Belle_ had discharged her
freight and taken on that which was waiting for her, and had gone on
down the Mississippi, leaving Mr. Wharton still in the barroom, it
appeared altogether probable that some, at least, of these forebodings
would be justified.
Sam had been kept tolerably busy in the meantime, Mr. Wharton having
realized what was expected of him as a stranger, and being evidently
disposed to fulfil his obligations. Possibly in consequence of this the
crowd around him, when Brownsville resumed its normal inactivity after
the departure of the boat, was conversationally disposed.
Not less than four persons were talking at once, most of the time, and
though Mr. Wharton did comparatively little talking and did not appear
to have taken enough red liquor to affect his nerves in the least, it
was noticeable that he was doing all he could to promote the general
hilarity.
There could hardly be a doubt of his object. At all events, Stumpy
entertained none, and though he did his duty conscientiously in seeing
that none of Sam’s liquor should go begging, as became one who was
conversant with Brownsville’s customs, he yet maintained a constant
watchfulness, as one who feared the worst. When, presently, he heard
Wharton propose a game of cards, he muttered:
“I knew it. Now for a battle, murder an’ sudden death, I don’t know. Av
Long Mike sits in, an’ the saints above cudn’t kape him out, there’ll
be doin’s. Sure it’s me for to shtand by.”
Stand by, accordingly, he did. Wharton’s proposal was seconded and
adopted with alacrity, and Long Mike and Gallagher took their seats at
the table eagerly. Hennessy also declared his willingness to buy chips,
and the fifth hand was taken by a man named Cutler, who had been in town
for some weeks, and was, therefore, known to them all excepting Wharton,
but who had failed to arouse any feeling of liking or respect among the
citizens.
Just why he was there he did not explain, nor did any demand an
explanation; but it seemed so utterly unreasonable for a stranger to
remain in Brownsville indefinitely that he was already an object of
suspicion. He flashed his money with the others, however, and no one
made objection to his playing.
The game was for table stakes, and, as each player bought a hundred to
start, no one else in the room felt rich enough to take a hand. They all
stood around looking on, however, so Stumpy attracted no attention when
he took his stand directly behind Wharton’s chair, getting as close to
it as he conveniently could without touching it. It so happened,
moreover, that Cutler sat nearly opposite to him, being the third man to
Wharton’s left.
For a considerable time the play was uneventful, and the luck appeared
to run more evenly than was to be expected. Even Gallagher did not lose
as rapidly as usual, and Long Mike’s proverbial good luck failed to
appear.
In less than half an hour, however, the big hands began to come, and the
play became strenuous enough to put an end to general conversation.
Nothing was heard but the few stock phrases which ordinarily announce
the play at poker, and not only the players, but the onlookers, became
more and more excited.
A full hand that Gallagher caught pat on Long Mike’s deal gave him the
opportunity to open a jack-pot under the guns, which he did for five
dollars, there being that amount in the pot. Cutler came in, and so did
Hennessy, whereupon Wharton raised it ten dollars.
Long Mike skinned his cards down, and finding three sevens, concluded
they were worth playing, so he saw the raise, and Gallagher promptly
came back with ten more. Cutler hesitated a little, but saw the double
raise, and Hennessy dropped out.
Wharton studied a bit, but finally made it ten more to play, and Long
Mike shoved his money forward with a dogged air, as if he knew, as he
did, that he was overplaying his hand, but was determined not to be
driven out.
Gallagher still had some fifty dollars in front of him, and he pushed
that forward eagerly, whereupon Cutler dropped, and Wharton simply made
good. Then Long Mike made a few remarks.
They were profane rather than pertinent, being of the nature of a
reflection on his own discretion in playing further, but his
characteristic dislike to being driven out made him put up his money,
and he asked the others what they wanted in the draw. Neither of them
took cards, so, with considerable more bad language, Long Mike took two
for himself.
“I’m all in,” said Gallagher, and Wharton threw in a white chip
carelessly, with the evident thought that Long Mike had no show and
would not see any considerable bet.
To his surprise and disgust, however, Long Mike not only saw his side
bet, but shoved his whole pile forward. It was clear that he had made
fours, or a full, or was bluffing outrageously, but as Wharton himself
had four fives, he felt compelled to call.
Gallagher had struck his usual luck, and Long Mike had found his, for
his last card was the fourth seven. It put Gallagher out of the game,
for he had only twenty dollars more in his pocket, and they refused to
let him buy in again for so little. Wharton, however, took another
hundred, having only a few chips left.
The next two deals were uneventful, but when Wharton took the cards,
there being a jack-pot on, Long Mike opened it. The other two stayed,
and again Wharton raised.
No one came back at him, but they all stayed, and on the draw they took
two cards apiece. It looked like three of a kind all round.
Long Mike bet a chip. Cutler and Hennessy trailed and Wharton raised.
Long Mike stayed and Cutler raised back.
Hennessy, who had been playing cautiously from the beginning, threw down
his cards, and Wharton raised again. Still Long Mike stayed, and Cutler
raised once more.
Once more Wharton went back at him, and though no single raise had been
more than five dollars, Long Mike seemed suddenly suspicious. He looked
from one to the other keenly, and then studied his hand carefully.
Suddenly he pushed fifty dollars forward, and it was up to Cutler.
That worthy hesitated and looked at Wharton. Whether it was a look of
inquiry is doubtful, but Stumpy chose to consider it so, and he
violated all poker etiquette unhesitatingly.
“Why don’t ye play yer own hand, ye omadhaun,” he demanded, fiercely,
“an’ not be lookin’ at yer pal for insthructions?”
The uproar came on the instant. The players all sprang to their feet,
upsetting the table, and Wharton and Cutler both reached for their guns.
Hennessy, however, grabbed Cutler, and Stumpy seized Wharton’s wrist in
a grip of iron.
“Ye’ll not shoot,” he said. “Ye’ve kilt wan man in Brownsville already,
an’ that’s enough. We foight different here. Av ye feel yerself
aggrieved, Oi’ll front ye, man to man, but there’ll be no gun in yer
hand. Sure I saw yez passin’ signals to yer pal, so I’m thinkin’ ye’ll
play no more poker here, ayther.”
The hubbub was indescribable, but when it became possible to distinguish
voices it appeared that popular sentiment was on Stumpy’s side. Wharton
and Cutler refused to fight with nature’s weapons, and, since they were
not allowed possession of their pistols again, they retired in as good
order as possible to the landing-place, where another boat was just
coming in.
After they had gone up the river together, Stumpy said confidentially to
his dog Peter:
“Sure, I saw nothin’ out o’ way, Peter, but ye’ll not mention that same.
Thim gamblers is pizen, an’ the quickest way o’ gettin’ rid o’ thim was
the best.”
And Peter barked loudly and wagged the remains of his tail.
XI
THE NEW POKER RULE MADE IN ARKANSAS
It seemed a pity, after peace had prevailed so long in Brownsville, to
have Long Mike and Gallagher at odds again. The big man had made no
attempt for fully a year and a half to kill his foreman, and men had
thought the feud was past, yet once again the smaller man was now
seeking safety while Long Mike raged like a lion in his quest for his
old-time foe.
“Sure I do be thinkin’ we’ll niver have peace in th’ place widout a
firsht-class killin’. ’Tis th’ only thing as’ll shtill th’ atmoshphere,”
said Stumpy.
It had broken out over a game of poker, but no man knew whether the
smouldering embers of hatred had blazed up at a chance word, or whether
some fresh spark had been kindled by the friction of the game.
Jim Titherton had been greatly astonished. Titherton was a gentleman of
more or less elegant leisure, who spent much of his time travelling up
and down the Mississippi River, stopping frequently at the smaller towns
where the boats landed, but very seldom at any of the cities. Ashore he
was never known to busy himself in any recognized commercial pursuit,
but he was always ready and willing to play a game of cards with anybody
who was properly qualified to play.
He had been in Brownsville for two days, and had already begun to look
for the arrival of the next boat, finding that Brownsville was not
overanxious to play cards with strangers, when somewhat to his surprise
Long Mike invited him to play.
Of itself, this was a fact requiring explanation, but the further fact
that Long Mike had started in made it unnecessary to seek any
explanation for anything he might do. There was only one thing certain
about Long Mike’s actions once he started in, and that was that he
would do whatever would naturally be least expected.
When he challenged Mr. Titherton to a game of draw-poker, however,
something like consternation was immediately manifest among the other
occupants of the barroom. One evidence of the simplicity of life in
Brownsville was that Sam had never found it necessary to adopt a name
for his saloon. It did not have to be distinguished from the other
barrooms, because there were no others.
In consequence, the main part of the male population of Brownsville sat
in Sam’s place evenings, and when the leading citizen of the place,
being not too completely in command of all his faculties, proposed to
play poker with a stranger who was known to have suspicious ability as a
player, to say the least, it was realized that a common peril impended;
for Long Mike was not only the chief capitalist and the sole employer of
labour in the place, but he was also known to be entirely reckless when
he was well started, and capable of playing away his entire earthly
possessions. Mr. Titherton, therefore, stood to win practically all the
money in Brownsville unless something was done promptly.
It was true that Long Mike was lucky. It was one of the traditions of
Brownsville, and the story had travelled both up and down the river,
that nobody could win money from Long Mike in a square game, provided
that gentleman kept sober enough to count his chips. But Brownsville
realized that luck alone was not likely to avail much to the man who
played single-handed with Mr. Titherton.