in the game. It seemed certain that if Titherton and Long Mike played a
two-handed game, disaster would befall, but if several others should sit
in, there would at least be the chance of frustrating any schemes of
iniquitous play that might be instituted, and there would be the further
possibility of breaking the game up by force of arms in case the
disaster should become imminent.
It was usually Stumpy who spoke first, and this occasion proved to be
no exception. Knowing the uncertain temper of his boss, he realized the
necessity for diplomacy, and therefore spoke as one who might address
the entire atmosphere:
“Av it wasn’t for me bein’ th’ cr-rack player in Brownsville, maybe it’s
me ’ud be as’t for to take a hand, I don’t know. Sure, it’d be loike
takin’ a bottle o’ milk from a babby. It’d be a sin f’r me to play.”
Long Mike looked at him uncertainly for a time. Then he laughed
contemptuously.
“Since when did ye l’arn the game, Stumpy?” he said. “Sure, it was last
week I bluffed ye out on a pair o’ deuces.”
“There’s ne’er a man this side o’ Memphis,” replied Stumpy, steadily,
“can bate me at th’ game, barrin’ it’s Gallagher, yander, an’ maybe
Ferguson, av he have the luck.”
“It’s Gallagher, is it?” said Long Mike, his face darkening at the
mention of the name. “An’ Ferguson. An’ you. Sure it’s a foine pair the
three av yez is. Belike anny wan o’ yez ’d play betther blindfold. But
there, then, the more o’ yez cooms in, the more money there’ll be in th’
game. We’ll play five-handed.”
It took no diagram of the situation to explain matters to Gallagher and
Ferguson, and it is proper to say that they saw their duty and did it
like men, though it is certain that neither of them had any more relish
for the undertaking than had Stumpy. Their loyalty to Long Mike was
greatly stimulated by the realization of the peril to the common
interest involved in his playing single-handed against Mr. Titherton,
and they took their places at the card-table unhesitatingly.
Moreover, they took their places beside one another, and so contrived,
without seeming to contrive, that Long Mike should sit on Titherton’s
left, leaving the latter gentleman, to say the least, with no advantage
of position. It would be his say in each round before Long Mike’s, so
that he could not model his play on the latter’s.
For, it should be explained, Brownsville’s dislike to playing with
strangers came from no lack of science, or skill, or courage. It arose
merely from the fact that manual dexterity in the deal was the one thing
which Brownsville could not boast. In all other respects, the
Brownsville game of poker was well up to the Mississippi River standard.
They made the game table stakes, and each man flashed fifty dollars for
a starter. They were used to a moderate game, but they all knew that it
was liable to grow to much greater dimensions if Long Mike should become
excited.
For the first few rounds, however, there was no great excitement. The
hands ran tolerably well, two flushes and a full being shown inside of
twenty minutes, with a straight and several threes, but no strong hands
were out together, and there was no contest of any importance.
Then came what looked at first like a struggle. It was Stumpy’s deal,
and Ferguson had put up the ante, fifty call a dollar.
Titherton came in, and so did Long Mike. Gallagher raised it two
dollars. Stumpy and Ferguson dropped, and Titherton made it three more.
That was a sufficient indication to Long Mike, and he passed it up to
Gallagher, who promptly raised it five.
Titherton threw in his five and called for two cards. Gallagher called
for one, and Titherton threw in a white chip. Gallagher looked at his
draw carefully, and pushed his entire pile into the pot.
Thereupon Titherton studied for a full minute. He looked keenly at his
antagonist’s face, and then he looked at his own hand again. And lastly
he counted his chips, as if intending to call, keeping his head bent
down, but watching Gallagher meantime out of the corner of his eye. Then
suddenly he threw down his cards.
Gallagher said nothing as he drew in the pot, but there was a slight
twitching at one corner of his mouth which led those who knew him best
to suspect that he had not filled his flush. As this was no longer a
matter of any importance nothing was said about it.
Ferguson dealt next, and as no one caught a hand, the cards passed to
Titherton, and he dealt for a jack-pot.
It had not escaped Mr. Titherton’s notice, previous to this deal, that
his manner of handling the cards had been the subject of close scrutiny,
but he had not deemed it expedient to say anything about it. Now,
however, as he began to serve the cards after the cut, he was somewhat
astonished to see three of the players lean suddenly forward, so that
their faces were within a foot of the table, and to notice that three
pairs of eyes seemed to be fixed intently on his fingers.
“What the ----?” he exclaimed in surprise, and, stopping the deal, he
glared for a moment at each of the three in turn.
They looked at him blandly in return, but volunteered no explanation,
and he went on dealing, red with anger, but saying nothing more.
Long Mike had apparently taken no notice of all this, being occupied
with some red liquor that Sam had brought to him in response to his
rather boisterous demand, but when he had received his cards he looked
at them carelessly and promptly opened the pot for the size of it.
When the others had seen their cards, they all came in, up to the
dealer, and he raised it ten dollars. Long Mike hesitated, as if about
to raise it back, but evidently decided that he was not in a good place
for that play, so he merely made good.
Gallagher and Stumpy both came in on the raise, but Ferguson dropped.
Long Mike then called for two cards, and as Titherton picked up the deck
to serve him the three leaned forward again and watched the dealer’s
fingers as they had done before.
Again Titherton paused, as if he had in mind to resent the insult, and
again he thought better of it, and went on with the deal. Gallagher took
one card and Stumpy took two, but they did not move to pick them up,
keeping their eyes fixed on Titherton.
“The dealer takes one,” said Titherton, and he dropped one card
alongside his hand, which lay in front of him.
Then the three straightened up and looked at one another, as if greatly
astonished.
“Is thot the reg’lar game?” asked Gallagher.
“It is,” said Stumpy. “Thot is, it’s the new rule they’ve made in
Arkansas. Maybe it’s rig’lar on th’ river now, I don’t know. In Arkansas
the dealer has th’ privilege o’ ta-akin’ a card from the bottom or the
top, av ye don’t see ut.”
“But how if you see ut?” asked Gallagher.
“Thot depinds,” said Stumpy. “On th’ boats they shoot, but on shore the
dealer gen’ly goes over the levee, an’ all hangs on how he can shwim.”
“I’ll bet ten dollars,” said Long Mike, throwing the money in the pot.
He had been looking rather confusedly at his cards while the others
talked, not paying attention to what they said. But Titherton
interposed.
“Hold on a minute,” he exclaimed, laying his hand down in front of him
and putting some chips on the five cards.
He moved and spoke very deliberately.
“Will you gentlemen be good enough to explain what you are talking
about?” he demanded.
“We will,” said Stumpy. “We was discussin’ a new rule in dhraw-poker.”
“Ut were called to moind,” said Gallagher, “by a slight pecooliarity av
yer digital manœuvres.”
They said that Gallagher had once been a schoolmaster.
“You’re a liar,” said Titherton, that being the next regular move in the
game, and, as custom required, he pulled his gun at the same instant and
covered Gallagher.
Three other revolvers appeared at the same instant, and if Long Mike had
not been a person of almost preternatural promptness, there would have
been gun-play if not bloodshed in the room. He moved like a cat,
however, and Titherton’s gun went spinning across the room before he
could pull the trigger. Long Mike had seized his wrist and shaken it,
and the bones came near snapping.
“Ye’ll cease yer palaver, an’ play the hand,” said the big man, as angry
as the others. “Av there’s foightin’ to do, ye’ll do it afther. An’ if
ye’re afther takin’ a card from the bottom o’ the deck, ye’ll kape it
an’ Oi’ll play ye annyhow. But that omadhaun there, he’s no liar. Oi’ll
say that for him. But he’ll settle wi’ me later for breakin’ up this
play.”
But this amazing proposition met with no favour from any one. Titherton
struggled like a wild beast in his rage, but was unable to free himself,
though he began to bite at Long Mike’s fingers, and the others sprang to
their feet.
“Don’t shoot,” said Stumpy, putting away his gun. “Let’s run the
spalpeen into the river.” And the other two started to help him.
But Long Mike was aroused by the pain of a sharp bite, and his temper
gave way. His strength was as the strength of seven men, and he, too,
arose, knocking the table over as he lunged forward. Seizing Titherton
with both hands he lifted him high in the air and threw him violently
against the wall, whence he fell unconscious to the floor.
Then the big man made a rush for Gallagher.
“Oi’ll kill yez this time!” he exclaimed, and Gallagher knew that he
would.
It was, therefore, small wonder that he dodged under Long Mike’s arm and
made a flying leap through the window, carrying sash and all with him.
There was a frantic pursuit, but Gallagher had gained a few seconds of a
start and was nowhere to be found. After a good part of the night had
been spent in fruitless search, they bethought them of Titherton, and
went back to look for him, but he had recovered consciousness and had
made his escape also.
“Sure it’s a pity we didn’t throw him in the river whin he were stunned,
an’ he’d niver ha’ knowed th’ difference,” said Stumpy, discontentedly.
But Long Mike raged as was his fashion, and called for red liquor many
times, breathing out threats of what he would do on the morrow, till the
others saw that it was necessary to encourage him in his effort to get
a sufficiency of liquor.
And when they had finally accomplished this, and had put him safely in
his own bed, Stumpy said again:
“Sure there’ll be no such thing as livin’ quiet an’ peaceable in
Brownsville till we have a firsht-class killin’. But Oi do be thinkin’
it’ll not be Gallagher. He do get away too often.”
XII
A STRANGER AND FOND OF POKER
The Mississippi River packet _City of Natchez_ had been tied up at the
levee in Arkansas City for possibly half an hour. The passengers who
wanted to go ashore had gone, all but one, and the roustabouts were
struggling with the freight under the inspiring influence of the mate’s
energetic comments.
Possibly because of their terrified condition, resulting from the mate’s
flow of language, but more probably because of their total indifference
to consequences, they paid no attention whatever to a short, red-headed
gentleman who might perhaps have been born in Ireland, and who came
strolling from the direction of the boat’s barroom toward the single
gangplank, now in use by the freight department.
Even as they paid no attention to him, he paid none to them, but
approached the gangplank somewhat unsteadily, with the evident intention
of going ashore. The mate’s attention for the moment was fixed on some
point at the other side of the deck, or it is a moral certainty that he
would have interposed language of sufficient strength to arrest the
belated passenger’s progress.
As it happened, however, there was none to warn him of his danger, and
he stepped in debonair fashion on the sloping gangplank, serenely
unconscious of the fact that four huge darkies were coming behind him,
bearing a case of goods on their shoulders that must have weighed
something like a thousand pounds.
It is an open question whether they saw that he was in their way, but it
is absolutely certain that they recognized no obligation on their part
to shout a warning. On they came, jog-trotting along till they were only
a single pace behind him, when he either tripped or slipped, and,
staggering, seemed about to fall. Had he fallen and so tripped the
rousters, the matter would have been serious indeed.
Just as he lost his balance, a sinewy hand was stretched forth from
somewhere in the darkness, for it was late at night, and catching the
tottering gentleman by the lapel of his coat, gave him such a mighty and
overmastering yank that he darted forward on the double-quick for thirty
or forty feet, and fell all in a heap on the levee. As he lay there, he
was hopelessly undignified in appearance, but he was out of the path of
the roustabouts.
Quite as if nothing whatever had happened, he looked up at his unknown
preserver, who could now be seen indistinctly, and said in a
conversational tone:
“Sure, Oi do be think (hic) thinkin’ the citizens o’ this (hic) this
town is domned hard oop fer popu (hic) population. Does yez git ivery
(hic) iverybody ashore, loike (hic) iverybody (hic) does yez--”
Here his voice trailed off to a murmur, and it seemed probable to the
tall, powerful man who stood over him that he was likely to go to sleep
where he lay if something were not done promptly. Promptness, however,
was a prominent characteristic of Mr. Joseph Bassett, the sheriff of the
county, and the stranger speedily arose, a wetter and a soberer
man--likewise an angrier.
With these various considerations Joe Bassett was no whit concerned
excepting that the fact of the stranger having been aroused made his own
duty somewhat easier of performance. As the short man began sputtering
in a peculiarly red-headed fashion, Joe calmly interrupted him.
“It’s ag’in the law, stranger, f’r any galoot f’m off’n a boat fer to go
an’ git hisself killed on the levee in Arkansas City by a packin’-case
or any other murderous weepin in the hands o’ roustabouts or anybody
else. ’Pears to me you must be a stranger in these parts. Ever been into
a town of any size afore?”
The short man continued to sputter as if nothing had been said, so Joe
looked at him with mild curiosity for a moment, and then said:
“Hyer now. That’ll be about enough. I’d ought for to arrest you for
disturbin’ the peace o’ them roustabouts, but if you’ve got money enough
to settle a hotel bill, I reckon I might better take you there. Have
ye?”
“Oi have,” said the little man.
“What’s your name?” asked the sheriff, presuming on his official
position to disregard a point of strict etiquette in the community.
“Mostly they do be callin’ me Stumpy, whin Oi’m at home in Brownsville,”
said the little man, whose wrath seemed to have cooled as the water
dripped off his face. “Av thot’s a good enough name for Brownsville,
sure it’ll do here.”
“Come along then, Stumpy,” said the sheriff, good-naturedly, as he
linked his arm in the little man’s and steadied his steps toward the
hotel across the street.
The landlord had no scruples against dispensing red liquor to any man
who was in the company of the sheriff, and it came about that the three
had sundry drinks which Stumpy paid for with great cheerfulness before
going to bed.
Soon after he had done this, Mr. Bassett dropped in at old man
Greenhut’s saloon, and after some irrelevant remarks reported the
presence of a stranger in town.
“What’s he like?” demanded Greenhut.
“Well, he’s red-headed an’ I reckon he’s Irish, but ’pears like he had
some money. He didn’t flash no wad, but he ain’t no ways mean with his
loose change.”
“You can’t al’ays tell,” said old man Greenhut. “The Good Book says,
‘Him that hath, keeps, an’ f’m him that hath not, the loose change
ofttimes leaks.’ Still, it’s worth lookin’ into. Some o’ you boys had
better be up to the hotel when he gets round. Maybe he might have a
likin’ f’r draw-poker.”
Accordingly, it happened that when Stumpy came down to the hotel barroom
next morning in search of an appetite, he discovered a couple of
strangers there who were by no means unsociably disposed. Further, he
discovered that they were Jake Winterbottom and Sam Pearsall by name,
citizens of Arkansas City, who esteemed it a privilege to make strangers
acquainted with the resources of the place in the way of sports and
pastimes.
Several of these were mentioned, but it appeared that horse-racing was
out of season, and there had been no cock-fights arranged for the day.
In fact, the only amusement available, so far as these two could say,
was a quiet game of draw which was likely to be started at any hour in
Greenhut’s back room.
“Gintlemen, Oi’m wid yez,” said Stumpy. “We do be playin’ dhraw-poker in
Brownsville whiles, but it’s more f’r th’ spoort we play nor the money.”
Mr. Winterbottom and Mr. Pearsall heartily agreed that the game ought
always to be played for sport rather than for money. In fact, they said,
the game was always played in Greenhut’s place for sport. Sometimes,
when the players got warmed up, the stakes grew rather large, but
usually it was a small game carried on for amusement and the promotion
of Greenhut’s bar trade.
“Has he a bar?” demanded Stumpy.
They assured him that he had an excellent bar, and Stumpy demanded that
they should all three go forthwith to Greenhut’s. As neither of the
others had any objection, they were soon sampling Greenhut’s liquor.
In paying for the drinks Stumpy showed a roll of respectable size
containing at least a few fives and tens, so no one showed any
reluctance in joining the game which Stumpy himself proposed, and five
players presently bought chips in the back room, Bassett and Plunkitt
joining the two who had invited the stranger in.
“One o’ th’ most interestin’ stories in the Good Book,” remarked old man
Greenhut to the little group that remained with him in the front of the
saloon, “is that there yarn about the ravens that fetched food to Joseph
when his brethren pitched him in a pit. Nobody knowed where them ravens
come from, but they fetched Joseph so much
[Illustration: “IN PAYING FOR THE DRINKS STUMPY SHOWED A ROLL OF
RESPECTABLE SIZE.”]
corn inside o’ seven year’t him an’ his family fed on it f’r seven year
more.
“‘Pears like there’s ravens comin’ f’m up the river, an’ f’m down the
river, to feed Arkansas City. This here bird is a trifle off colour for
a raven, but his wad looks good.”
In the back room things were not quite satisfactory. A table stakes game
was started and each man bought five dollars’ worth of chips. The local
talent considered this small, but Stumpy said they always began the game
that way in Brownsville, and they deferred to his preference,
remembering that it was always possible to buy more chips and so
increase the size of the possible bet.
Presently, however, it appeared that there were other peculiarities in
the Brownsville game, or at least in the game Stumpy played. He refused
to come in, hand after hand, with no apparent impatience at the chipping
out process, even when he was forced to buy his second five. Then,
suddenly, he came in without looking at his hand, and when he was
raised, pushed his whole pile into the pot.
Winterbottom had three sevens, and he saw the bet unhesitatingly.
Pearsall had nothing, but he put in his money on the theory that his
chance was as good as any man’s who had not looked at his hand. The
sheriff, with one pair, considered it a fair gamble, and Plunkitt came
in to be sociable.
On the draw Stumpy stood pat, still without looking at his cards, which
lay face down in front of him. Winterbottom drew two without bettering,
and neither of the others improved his hand.
As Winterbottom had opened, he bet a blue chip on the side, which the
sheriff called, having kings, and the other two laid down. Stumpy, being
all in, was not affected by the side betting, and let his cards remain
on the table.
Winterbottom, being called, showed his three sevens.
“That’s good,” said the sheriff, showing his kings, and they all looked
at Stumpy.
“Sure, Oi don’t know,” he said, drolly, “but Oi do be thinkin’ maybe
Oi’ll bate thim others,” and he turned his cards over one at a time.
The first four were diamonds, and he looked at Winterbottom.
“Have yez anny propositions?” he asked, with a grin.
“I reckon not,” said Winterbottom.
“Oi thought maybe ye’d be afther wantin’ to shplit th’ pot. Sure, thim
diamonds is mighty pretty.”
“Go on,” said Jake, impatiently.
“Oh! Very well,” said Stumpy, and he turned another diamond.
It gave him nearly sixteen dollars as against the ten he had put in, and
after counting it carefully he said he guessed he’d quit.
At this there was a chorus of protest. “Do you mean to say you’ve got
four North American citizens to waste half an hour for you to win six
dollars?” demanded Pearsall.
“It’s what I call a dirty trick,” said Plunkitt.
“Aisy, now, aisy,” said Stumpy. “Oi told yez Oi play this game fer
spoort, an’ Oi’ve had all the spoort Oi’m loikely to have. Thim things
don’t happen twice. Yez needn’t look dangerous. Oi’ll not foight yez,
on’y wan at a toime. Oi’m Oirish, but Oi’m not Oirish enough for that.
Yez’ll all have another dhrink with me.”
And that was all the Arkansas City players accomplished with Stumpy.
After he had gone on his hilarious way, old man Greenhut looked after
him indignantly, and said:
“I reckon them ravens that fed Joseph must ha’ been some other breed.
They sure wa’n’t red-headed blackbirds.”
XIII
ON HAND JUST ONCE
“It certainly is really amazin’,” said old man Greenhut, “how folks
keeps on a-missin’ of it, all their lives, by not bein’ on the spot. ’N
I’ve noticed always that the folks that ain’t thar all the time ain’t
never thar. Once a feller gits the habit o’ bein’ thar, he’s always
thar, but once he gits out o’ the habit, or if he never gits it, he
ain’t never round when the grand opportunity comes, and just naturally
he misses it. Don’t seem to make no difference how likely a man is, or
how hard he may try to git a holt o’ the persimmons o’ luck that the
good Lord keeps a-growin’ all the time for everybody that’s got the
gumption to knock ’em off the bushes, he don’t never get none of ’em
’thout he’s thar, an’ as I said, such folks ain’t never thar.
“Now thar’s Tenspot Ike. Thar ain’t no capabler feller ’n him in town
’n’ everybody likes him. If a man wants to stand treat, thar ain’t
nobody that’d be more likely to get ’nvited than him, an’ yet Ike, he’ll
set around here day in an’ day out, waitin’ for some good angel to step
down an’ trouble the pool o’ Siloam, the same bein’ a bottle o’ good old
rye for the purpose of illustration, an’ thar won’t be nobody. But just
as sartin as some open-hearted friend o’ humanity comes along with a
ragin’ thirst an’ the price for two, Ike ain’t around. I call it wicked
an’ bad for trade for a man to fly in the face o’ Providence like that.”
The old man looked again at the battered half-dollar he had just taken
in, and bit on it to make sure it was good. Then looking once more into
his cash-drawer to make sure that he had given out the lead quarter in
change that had come back to him so often, he came out from behind the
bar and took his favourite seat by the window.
“D’ye ever hear how Ike come to be called Tenspot?” he asked in a
general sort of way, after he had carefully inspected the stump of a
cigar that was between his teeth as usual, and had lighted it up again.
If anybody had ever heard the story, he forbore to speak, and the old
man kept right on talking.
“There wasn’t never nothin’ the matter with Ike,” he said, “except that
pesky habit o’ his o’ bein’ always somewheres else. You could always
count on him with a copper. ’F you wanted him anywheres special, he
wasn’t there. I remember one time we’d ketched a hoss thief right here
in town, ’n’ had everythin’ ready to send him off to glory sudden like,
exceptin’ for a Testament to swear the witnesses on, an’ Ike had the
on’y copy o’ the Good Book there was in town.
“Some o’ the boys was in favour o’ swingin’ him right up without
formalities, arguin’ that as long as we’d ketched him in the act, an’
there wa’n’t no doubt o’ what he was tryin’ to do, there wa’n’t no use
o’ wastin’ time on a trial, but I says, ‘No; to do that’d degrade
Arkansas City to the level o’ barbarism,’ I says, ‘or a second-class
minin’ settlement. Sich things is all right,’ I says, ‘whar ther ain’t
no civilization, nor none o’ the refinin’ influences o’ religion, but
Arkansas City ain’t no such place. Let’s hang him decent-like an’
’cordin’ to law,’ I says, ’s’long’s we’ve got it to do. An’ ther ain’t
no such thing as legal testimony,’ I says, ‘’thout it’s sworn to on the
Good Book.’