CHAPTER X.

GAMBLING STORIES AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.

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RUINED BY A FUNERAL.

As illustrating the inherent uncertainty of betting, the following story of the adventure of an old negro slave in Alabama during the days before the war may serve at once to “point a moral and adorn a tale.” “Old Mose” was a tried and faithful servant whose inclination towards amusement his mistress was disposed to indulge. One day the aged African became possessed with the demon of gambling, and confided his desires to his mistress. Finding that remonstrance was in vain, she finally determined to give the old man five dollars, with which he might amuse himself in any way that he saw proper. The negroe’s eyes brightened and his ivories were displayed from ear to ear as he grinned his thanks and disappeared. A few hours later he returned, with the same expression of supreme satisfaction still illuminating his black face. “Well, Mose,” said his mistress, “did you have a good time gambling?” “Laws, Missus, I’se done had heaps o’ fun out o’ dem five dollahs dat you gib me.” “How much money did you win, Mose?” asked his patroness. “Won lots,” was the reply; “you jes’ wait an’ let dis chile tell you. You see, I goes down de street an’ I meets a white gem’man, and we gambles on de kind o’ folks what comes ’long. I took de white people, an’ he took de black fo’ks. Fust dere comes ’long a white gem’man, an’ he gibs me a dollah. (Now, Missus, you jes’ count an’ ses how much I wins.) Den dere comes ’long two mo’ white gem’men, an’ he done gib me two mo’ dollahs. Dat makes free?” “Yes, Mose.” “Den comes free mo’, an’ he gibs me free mo’ dollars; how many’s dat, Missus?” “Six, Mose.” “Den dere was four mo’ white folks, an’ I gets four mo’ dollars; how many was dat, Missus?” “Ten dollars. Mose; you did very well; give me your money and I will take care of it for you.” “Hol’ on, Missus,” said the old darkey, “de game didn’t close right dar’. Me an’ de white gem’man stood dar fo’ about five minutes, an’ ’long comes a cullud fun’ral, and wiped dis heah niggah right off de face of de yarth.”

At this point in the conversation, Moses’ master made his appearance on the veranda, entering through an open window. He had overheard the narrative of the negro and thought that it would be a favorable opportunity for him to offer a little friendly advice. “Mose,” said he, “that man knew that funeral was bound to pass that spot inside of twenty minutes after you got there. My boy, never attempt to gamble with a professional, for he is sure to ‘ring in’ a cold deck on you every time.”

“” ‘’

“FLY LOO.”

A typical Western gambler, well known among the profession but whose name it is unnecessary to mention, tells the following story of his experience at a game which is not generally known to the public. It is designated by the euphonious appellation of “fly loo,” and was first played in this country either in Texas or New Mexico. The method of play is simplicity itself. Each man lays a piece of sugar on the table and the first one that gets a fly loses the drinks or stakes. The gambler in question was one day sitting in a resort at Denver, when a smooth-faced gentleman from the East walked in and suggested “fly loo.” His proposition was accepted, and two lumps of sugar having been procured from the bartender, the pair sat down to await the result. It had been stipulated that the owner of the lump on which the first fly rested was to be considered the loser and should pay the other a dollar. The first fly alighted on the lump of the gambler, as did also the next eight. It began to dawn upon him that the man from the Atlantic coast must have doctored his lump, inasmuch as not a solitary fly would approach within a foot of it. He felt sore, but just then he conceived a brilliant idea. He proposed that they try ten “goes” at $10 a-piece. The stranger assented and the money was put up. The loser then insisted upon a change in the rule, and that the man on whose lump the first fly alighted should win instead of lose. To his great surprise the smooth-faced stranger readily assented. No sooner, however, had the lump been placed upon the table than the flies began to swarm all over the latter’s lump for ten straight times, not one coming near that of the man who had proposed the change. Of course the Eastern man pocketed the stakes and the other was probably the maddest man in Colorado. He knew he had been fleeced, but he was utterly unable to tell how it had been done. Finally he called the stranger aside and said, “My friend, don’t think I am impudent or inquisitive, but I have a curiosity to know how you wound me up. If you will put me on, I’ll promise not to work the game in your territory, and buy a bottle of wine.” He laughed and said, “Well, I don’t mind telling you that I put a drop of stuff on my lump that will make a fly hunt for the next county mighty quick.” I thought as much,” answered the loser, “but how about the last time we played?” “Oh, I supposed you would want to switch, so I just changed lumps on you.”

THE “TOP STOCK” BEATEN.

The most astute professionals sometimes over-reach themselves. I was once playing poker with a young man, an entire stranger to me before the commencement of the game, whom I soon discovered to be a practiced gambler. It did not take me long to discover the particular species of the trick which he was playing. I recognized what is known among the “profession” as the “top stock.” An explanation of this trick may be found in the chapter relating to poker. It is enough to say here that it consists in so arranging the hands, that the proposed victim, when he asks for fresh cards, shall receive a good hand, while the dealer himself, who of course takes the second draw, gets a better one. After a little experimenting, I found that when I asked for three cards on the draw, I usually received three of a kind. While my opponent would always draw three or more, but invariably succeeded in getting three of a higher denomination than mine. After thoroughly satisfying myself as to his tactics, I continued playing until I thought that the time had come for me to act. I had resort to a little policy, whereby I succeeded in winning all the money which he had with him beside a silver watch, the value of which, however, scarcely exceeded $1.25. After the deal, when he asked me how many cards I wanted, I replied that I had made a mistake in my hand; that I supposed I had a pair, but found that I had not. Throwing down my cards upon the table, I asked for five. Any old poker player will understand the effect of such a demand upon the arrangement of the cards by the dealer. For the benefit of those who have never played poker, I may explain that the six upper cards had been previously “fixed” in such a way that I should receive three of a kind, while he would get another set of three but of a higher denomination. By drawing five cards I completely overturned his scheme. As a matter of course, I drew what is known as a “full house,” i. e. three of one denomination with a pair of another. My unfortunate adversary had been rash enough to make his wager before the draft, feeling confident that I would either “stand pat,” i. e. bet on the hand which I originally received, or draw one, two, or perhaps three cards.

He cherished a conviction that in any event he would be able, through the aid of his “top stock” to hold a hand superior to mine. When he perceived that I had seen through his little game and had secured five of the cards which he had cunningly arranged, he was well aware that I held a “full.” His face turned all the colors of the rainbow, and he made no objection whatever to my gathering in the stakes. At his earnest request, I returned to him his watch, but accompanied this friendly act by a bit of advice to the effect that the next time he tried to play “top stock” on a stranger he had better make himself tolerably certain that his antagonist had not seen the same game played before.

A WOODMAN IS KNOWN BY HIS CHIPS.

The confidence which some men possess in their own ability to play card games which they know nothing about would be sublime if it were not so amusing. I was sitting one evening in a gaming house watching a number of men playing poker. While thus employed a broken-down gambler approached me and asked me if I would lend him $5.00 with which he might play against the faro bank. He added that he would much rather that I should loan him $20.00 in order that he might sit in the poker game. I asked him if he was “dead broke,” and he replied that he was. I next asked him if he was a good poker player, and he made answer that he was the best bottom dealer in the country. I looked at him a moment and said, “It seems rather strange to me that an expert like yourself should be without any money. I used to travel a good deal in Arkansas, where the people managed to support themselves in part by killing ’coons and selling the skins. These skins they generally hung up on the outside of the house to dry. When I came across a cabin, the outer walls of which were covered with skins, I made up my mind that the occupant was a good hunter. When I saw only one or two hanging out, I felt satisfied that the owner was either very shiftless or a very poor shot. Now Bob,” I continued, “if you are as good a poker player as you claim to be, where are your ’coon skins?’”

The same question might be asked of many men who make great pretensions to ability in higher walks of life than gambling. Whenever I hear a man loudly boasting of his own ability who cannot point to any one great thing which he has achieved, I always feel like asking him “where are your coon skins?”

THE “MORNING” PRINCIPLE.

On general principles it is usually safe not to lend money to a man who promises to “pay you in the morning.” Professional gamblers form no exception to the general operation of the rule. A blackleg, who was known among the fraternity as “Stuttering Jim,” once fell into misfortune in St. Louis, while I was a resident of that city. Just what fraud he had been guilty of, I do not now recall; but I remember that the police justice fined him five dollars. “Jim” had no money, and appealed to the clemency of the court for a suspension of the fine. The justice asked him if he was willing to leave town, and if so how long he would require to get beyond the territorial limits of the State of Missouri. The culprit eagerly grasped at the prospect of freedom, and turning to the magistrate with a beaming smile, said: “J-j-judge, wh- what’s the b-best time ever m-made over the b-bridge?” His appeal was not without effect, and the judge allowed him six hours in which to take his final departure from the western shore of the Mississippi. I was among the first men whom he met after his exit from the court house. Concealing the fact of his trial and sentence, he asked me for a loan of $10 “t-till m-morning.” I saw that he was in distress and at once made up my mind to give him the money which he needed. However, I determined to make use of caution. “Jim,” said I, “are you sure that I will see you in the morning?” “W-well, John,” said he, “n-n-not if I see you f- first.” It remains to be added that “Jim” has up to this time scrupulously kept his promise. I have never seen him from that day to this; probably when I meet him he will take great pleasure in redeeming his word.

A FRIEND’S BAD FAITH.

Among the common devices of faro gamblers to entrap victims, few are more common than to suggest to the proposed dupe that he enter a gambling house and play against the bank, at the same time receiving the secret assistance and co-operation of the dealer. That is to say, the latter individual, who works for a salary, will so manipulate the cards that the outside player shall win the proprietor’s money, after which the dealer and the winner will divide the profits. This scheme usually works well and even old gamblers are sometimes entrapped by it. A veteran dealer of New York City is authority for the following statement, a reminiscence of his own experience:

“A few years ago I was one of the dealers in a faro bank up town, and an acquaintance whom I liked very much was a dealer in a similar bank in the next block. Both were reputed to be, and undoubtedly were, ‘square’ games. The proprietor of the game my friend dealt for, however, was known to be extremely close and mean in money matters, and everybody disliked him, but as his game was trustworthy, his place was well patronized.

“I was not surprised one day when my friend came and told me that ‘Old Nick’ (that’ll do for the proprietor’s name) owed him $5,000, representing his interest in the game in lieu of a salary, which he refused to pay over. My friend proposed that I should come to his bank and play while he was dealing, and he would fix the deck so that I could win out what ‘Old Nick’ owed him and something over for myself. Being a dealer myself, and knowing that a sign from my friend would indicate just how the cards were to run through a deal, I saw that it was possible for me to right my friend’s wrongs and make a few hundred out of ‘Old Nick.’

“The first night everything seemed to go wrong. I got the sign to play ‘single out’ and the cards ran ‘double out,’ and when I played ‘double out’ they ‘singled out.’ I lost $1,000 and left the place, as mad a man as you ever saw. The next day I met my friend, who declared that it was the most astonishing thing he ever heard of, that he had acted squarely all through, and that somebody must have changed the decks in the drawer of the table so that he got hold of the wrong one. He offered to make my loss good if I did not win out the full stake at the next sitting. He seemed square and I believed him. The next night I lost $2,000 more, and when I left the place I was crazy mad. I didn’t dare say anything there, for it would have hurt me at my own place to have it known that I was in a ‘brace’ at another man’s game. I decided to wait until the next day and give the false friend a thrashing at least.

“The next day, however, the bank was closed and the dealer had skipped. ‘Old Nick’ had lost money on the races, had grown desperate, had ‘plunged’ and ‘gone broke.’ His partner, my friend, the dealer, knew that the bank would close and roped me in for a ‘stake’ to get away with. I was terribly angry, for I had been influenced almost entirely by my sympathy for my friend and I wanted to help him out.

“Did I ever get my money back? Well, I should say I did! I was out West two years ago, and one night strolled into a game in Kansas City. Just as I was about to buy a stack of chips, I noticed my friend in the look- out’s chair. He saw me at the same time, and motioned for me to come to him. As I approached he drew out a roll of money and said, ‘Here’s the dust you loaned me some time ago; much obliged, old man.’ I counted it and found it correct. Calling another man to the chair, he led me aside and explained that he had been in a desperate strait at the time and had always intended to repay me. He was now prosperous, he said, and making a fortune rapidly. I played at his game all that night and lost just the $3,000 he had paid me. I felt very queer when I went away, but I felt too cheap to say or do anything. I have come to the conclusion that there’s no money in ‘bucking the tiger,’ unless you are behind the game. I never play in front of the table any more. I can’t afford it.”

THE INFLUENCE OF MONEY ON PARENTAL DISAPPROBATION.

There exists a class of people—and its members are far too numerous—who, while condemning gambling in the abstract, and particularly outspoken in their denunciation of the vice when practiced by members of their own family, nevertheless have such a respect for money, that “lucre,” even when won at the gaming table, is not too filthy to command respect for its owner. The motto of such people seems to be: “Get money—honestly if you can, but get it.” An old acquaintance of mine once told me the following story, which is an illustration of the foregoing reflection, for the truth of which he vouched:

The young man, whom we will call James, once lived in a small Western city. His fondness for amusement led him into bad company, and he plunged into all sorts of dissipation, soon becoming a devotee of the green cloth. His parents deplored his lapse from morality, and frequently consulted together as to the best means of effecting his reformation. To deny him admission to the house might be to send him to ruin; persuasion they had found to be utterly without avail; example he derided and threats were a subject for mockery. Accordingly, they decided to adopt an attitude of what might be called, for want of a better name, “armed neutrality.” They determined to allow him to occupy his room and take his meals at home, but never to speak to him. The wayward son used to return to the paternal roof at all hours of the early morning, and after a few hours of sleep would make his appearance at the breakfast table. His father filled his plate and his mother poured his coffee. The rest of the family carried on a conversation, but no one spoke to James. One night the youth had been “playing in great luck,” and had returned home a winner to the amount of several hundred dollars. The following morning at the breakfast table his little sister asked her mother for half-a-dollar, with which to buy a school book. The old lady referred her to her father, who looked sour and querulously said that he saw no reason why he should buy it. The prodigal had heard what had been said, and drawing a roll of bills from his pocket handed the little one a five dollar bank note, saying: “Here, sis, get your book and keep the change.” His mother looked at the old man, and the latter stared at his son. Raising her spectacles and looking at her erring boy with a glance of mingled affection and pride, she asked in honied tones: “James, son, dear, is your coffee sweet enough?”

TIMIDITY OF PROFESSIONAL GAMBLERS.

In various chapters throughout this work, I have related experiences of my own in which I have exhibited myself in the light of being naturally rather timid. I do not think that my inborn proclivities were towards physical cowardice, however much they may have inclined me toward vice. The truth is, that “conscience doth make cowards of us all.” A few incidents in my own career may serve to illustrate the truth of this principle.

I was once playing poker with a partner and a stranger. My confederate and myself had succeeded in winning a large amount of money from the greenhorn who had been rash enough to try his luck against us. Success had so far emboldened me that I lost all regard for ordinary prudence. I dealt the greenhorn four kings and gave myself four aces. He was irritated in no small degree by his losses and determined to bring matters to a focus. When he looked at his cards and saw that he had four kings, he drew a Remington six shooter from his pocket, and laying it upon the table announced his intention of shooting any man at the board who had a hand to beat his. My partner was struck with terror and signalled me to allow the man to win. I felt rather uneasy myself, but determined that if I must die I would at least pass out of this life with the best grace possible under the circumstances. Looking at my adversary with a bland expression I said, in dulcet tones, “you don’t mean before the draw, do you, sir? I would rather look for a free lunch than for a fight any day.” This remark appeared to mollify him somewhat, and I asked him how many cards he wanted. He looked at me grimly and said, “None.” “Well,” said I, “I believe that I shall have to take two.” Having said this, I discarded two aces, drawing in exchange the first two chance cards which happened to lie upon the top of pack. Of course, this ruined my hand, but I am inclined even to this day, to believe that it saved my life.

“OLD BLACK DAN.”

I recall another incident which illustrates the same principle. In almost every country town there are many men who like to be regarded as “sports.” They consider themselves champion card players, and are fully convinced of their own ability to get the best of any stranger who may put in an appearance. When they find that they have “caught a Tartar” and are losing money, they not infrequently resort to the expedient of calling in some local bully, whose brawny arms and ponderous fists may accomplish, through brute force, what they have failed to effect through skill. I once found an illustration of this fact in a small Missouri village. I was playing poker in a room at the hostelry, with about as unsavory a lot of country “bummers” as it was ever my bad fortune to meet. Among them were men whose physiognomy indicated that for many years they had held their own through the aid of sling shots, jimmies and other “implements of modern warfare.” The nose and cheeks of most of them testified to their devotion to the pleasures of the wine cup,—or perhaps I should say their fondness for the consumption of corn whiskey. I was playing with marked cards, and was gradually but surely winning all their money. Their disgust knew no bounds. It was not long before there entered upon the scene an American citizen of African descent upon whose ebony skin charcoal would have made a white mark. His scarred and battered face gave him the appearance of a veteran of the prize ring who had returned home for purposes of recuperation and repairs. He modestly took his seat in a corner of the room, and half closing his eyes began to sing this plaintive ditty:

“Give me some of dat, or I’ll brok up your game, I guess you ‘gams.’ knows who I is. Old Black Dan—dat is my name; If you ’siders me in, go on with your biz.”

I had heard of “old black Dan” from men of my profession who had visited the same town before. He was an amateur prize-fighter, who, with proper training, might have made his mark as an athlete. To pick a quarrel with him was the last ambition that I had on earth. I thought it was best to meet him on his own ground. Accordingly, I counted up the value of the pile of chips which I had before me, in order that I might know just how the game stood at the moment of his entrance. Without betraying any apparent emotion, I began to sing the following impromptu doggerel:

“Consider yourself in from this time on; I am always square with every man; You’ve no more need to sing that song, For I want no trouble with old black Dan.”

It is hardly necessary to add that “Dan” got his full proportion of the winnings.

EFFECT OF A SENSITIVE CONSCIENCE.

In “skin” gambling houses of a low order, it is not an uncommon practice for those around the table to steal the chips of a player whose attention is temporarily diverted from the game. I once had an experience of this character in Wichita, Kansas. I had a considerable “stack” lying before me on the table and turned away my head for some purpose or other, to find on again looking at my pile that my chips had been abstracted. I was aware of the character of the house in which I was playing and knew that stringent measures must be adopted if I expected to recover my stolen property. Accordingly, drawing a pistol (which, by the way, was not loaded) from my hip pocket, I stated in a loud tone of voice that if the man who had taken my chips did not return them to me at once I would shoot him on the spot. My action produced a profound sensation. Not less than a half dozen men sitting near at once handed me chips, the result being that when I returned my revolver to my hip pocket and resumed my seat I had more than when I had turned away my face from the table. As the game proceeded, I observed that a typical Westerner was watching me very closely with a look the reverse of friendly. When I had finished playing I arose from the table, cashed my chips, pocketed my money and walked out of the room and down stairs. On reaching the side-walk I found the unpleasant looking stranger close at my heels. “Look here,” said he, “you said something upstairs about somebody stealing some of your chips. I reckon that you meant me. You’re kind o’ handy with your shooting iron; I’m going to give you a chance to use it.” At the same time he drew his own pistol. I perceived that I was in a dilemma. My weapon was not loaded and the stranger’s manner left no doubt as to the sincerity of his intentions. “How are we going to settle this?” he went on. I suggested that we should shake hands, turn back to back, each walk fifteen paces, and then turn and fire. To this he agreed. We carried out the programme up to the point of turning back to back and starting to walk the prescribed number of paces. With solemn and stately tread he measured off his portion of the stipulated distance, but when he turned around I was no longer visible to the naked eye. While he had been stepping off fifteen paces, I had contrived to cover two hundred.

HOW AN OLD SCOUT HELD AN “ACE FULL.”

One of the best known characters around Sioux City in 1876 was a scout known as “Wild Bill.” He had a weakness for poker, though he knew no more about the game than a baby. The consequence was that he was “picnic for the sports,” and they fleeced him right and left. He was repeatedly warned that he was being robbed, but he always replied that he was able to take care of himself. One night he sat down to play with a fellow named McDonald, a “fine-worker” and expert. McDonald did as he pleased, and the scout found his pile getting smaller and smaller as the game progressed. As he lost he began drinking, and midnight found him in a state of intense but suppressed excitement, a condition that made him one of the most dangerous men in the West. It was at this juncture that McDonald, smart gambler as he was, made his mistake. He should have quit. However, “Wild Bill’s” apparent coolness deceived him. Finally the scout seemed to get an unusual hand and began to bet high and heavy. McDonald raised him back every time, until finally the top of the table was out of sight. At last there was a call. “I’ve got three jacks,” said McDonald, throwing down his hand. “I have an ace full on sixes,” replied Bill. “Ace full on sixes is good,” said McDonald cooly, turning over his opponent’s cards, “But I see only two aces and a six.” Whipping out a navy revolver, the greenhorn said in a tone of determination, “here’s your sixes, and here,” drawing a bowie-knife, “is the one spot.” “That hand is good,” said McDonald blandly, arising, “take the pot.”

THE FAILURE OF A TELEGRAPH WIRE.

The “telegraph,” as explained in the chapter on Poker, is a favorite resource of professionals. It is not always easy to employ this stratagem, but when it can be employed successfully the results are of a sort extremely satisfactory to the manipulators. While I was running a saloon in Columbia, Missouri—which was in fact, but a cloak for secret “brace” gambling—I had an apparatus of this sort attached to a peep-hole in such a manner that I could readily signal to my confederate when it was safe for him to bet high. Of all victims in the world the “skin” gambler is especially rejoiced to meet a man who is in the habit of drinking to excess. During my entire career as a gambler I always felt reasonably sure of winning the money of such a man. On the particular occasion to which I am about to refer, two individuals, both somewhat inebriated, dropped into the saloon, and it was by no means difficult to engage them in a game of poker. My partner, whose name was Forshay, sat at the table together with the strangers, while I retired to a convenient spot in order to work the telegraph apparatus. The device succeeded admirably. Forshay experienced no difficulty in winning the money of the chance visitors, but in his exhilaration over his success he forgot prudence. The wire went through the floor; two casual customers entered the place and called for drinks; Forshay jumped up from his seat to wait on them, and forgetting in his excitement that the secret wire was attached to the bottom of his trouser’s leg by means of a fish-hook, omitted to detach the same. The result was that he went sprawling full length upon the floor, the entire mechanism of the machine being exposed to the curious eyes of any member of the vulgar herd who might have happened to be about. The situation was a critical one, but Forshay rose equal to it. One glance towards the table satisfied him that the two “suckers” were so far gone in their cups that any man of average intelligence might have driven a royal Bengal tiger across the table without attracting their attention. Forshay himself was so far gone under the influence of the “ardent” that a small object, such as a jack rabbit, might have escaped his notice, but his fall had a sobering effect upon him. When he arose from the floor his clothes were covered with sawdust, and he was altogether as disreputable an object as one would wish to see. Brushing the dirt from his knees and apologizing for the torn condition of his nether habiliments, he resumed his seat at the table, which he occupied just long enough to detach the hook from his clothing. He waited upon the customers and returned to his place without having attracted the attention of the greenhorns. This anecdote has a moral of its own. In the first place, it is in itself a condensed temperance lecture; in the second, it may serve to convince the reader that however attractive a saloon may be, he can never determine by himself what sort of risk he runs by engaging in a “friendly” game, at any of the tables which the hospitable proprietor offers for his use.

A QUEER STAKE.

The excitement of play has prompted men to wager almost everything that they possess, and sometimes a good deal that they did not own, but it is doubtful whether any game was ever played for quite as strange a stake as that once indulged in by a professional gambler who was temporarily “under a cloud” in Georgia. The blackleg in question had become involved in a dispute with one of the natives over a game of cards, and the disagreement had resulted in the Georgian going to the hospital and the gambler to jail. Popular prejudice against gambling ran high in the community at the time, and the professional was advised by his counsel that he was likely to have a rather hard time in getting out of the scrape. While a prisoner, he cultivated the acquaintance of the sheriff, whom he found to be a good-natured, jovial sort of a fellow. One day he discovered, by accident, that his custodian was a devotee of faro. It appeared that he had been moderately wealthy at one time, but had lost nearly all his property in playing against faro banks, and would still walk ten miles through a swamp to get a chance to play again. The gambler saw his opportunity. He chalked out a layout on the floor of his cell, procured an old pack of cards and proceeded to deal faro for the sheriff. Buttons were used for chips, and the officer of the law would squat outside the grated door of the cell and tell the prisoner where to place his bets. In a few days the gambler had all of his ready cash. Then he sold a mule and lost the proceeds. Head by head of the sheriff’s live stock went the same way. Then he put up his watch and chain and a suit of clothes. The professional won them and insisted upon their delivery to him. In a week the prisoner’s cell presented the appearance of a country store. It contained boots, hams, a pair of scales, all the sheriff’s stationery, a barrel of flour, a saddle and a feather bed. At last the Chief Executive Officer of the county came to the cell to interview his prisoner. “John,” said he, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You have won everything I can move except the old woman and the kids. Now I’ll play you a game of seven-up for all that I have lost against your liberty.” The prisoner promptly assented. They played through the grated door, and it was probably the most exciting game to both parties that either of them had ever indulged in. At last the score stood six to six. The gambler turned up a jack. “That puts you out,” said the sheriff and he unlocked the door; “now get out.” The blackleg lost no time in taking advantage of the permission. The Sheriff fired a shot at his retreating form, undoubtedly claiming that this right was reserved to him by the terms of the wager. Probably his excitement rendered him nervous; at all events the charge passed over the head of the fleeing ex-prisoner and crippled a darkey in an adjoining corn-field. The gambler who narrates this bit of experience always assures his auditors that only the pressing nature of his business prevented him from stopping to inquire how seriously the negro was hurt.

‘’

DAN RICE’S BIG POKER GAME.

The following story relative to “Uncle Dan Rice,” the veteran showman, has appeared before, but will certainly bear repetition. The following version of it is given, as nearly as possible, in his own language.

“When they talk about winnin’ money at cards,” he said, “they make me tired. Why they don’t bet big money nowadays. They ain’t got the money in the first place, and if they have they ain’t got the nerve to put it up. What’s $30,000? Sho! Why I won $280,000 one night playin’ poker. I won it from two smart gamblers, too—Canada Bill and George B. Pettibone. O! they were cunnin’ but your ‘Uncle’ Dan was too smart for ’em. George Pettibone taught me to play chuck-a-luck and won my money, but I got even with him.

“It was this way: I had my circus in Cincinnati in 1851. The cholera broke out and we had to get away quick. So I loaded the whole durned circus onto a boat and started for Pittsburg, drew all my money from the bank and put aboard. I had about $350,000 in cash. Carried it in a safe in my state-room. People was a-dyin’ on the lower decks, and Canada Bill, Pettibone, my ringmaster, named Fowler, and I went upstairs to play poker. Did that to keep our minds off the cholera, don’t you see? We started in at a quarter limit. Then we got to playin’ a no-limit game, and I had ’em then. I had dollars to their buttons. About 4 o’clock in the mornin’ we got to bettin’ on a hand. All had big hands. We played with a short deck. Took everything below the tens out and threw ’em overboard. Bill and Pettibone had everything on the table—money, watches, diamonds, and everything. I told Fowler to watch ’em, and I went back to my state-room and got $250,000 out o’ the safe. My wife says—good woman, my wife—she says:

“‘Where are you goin’ with that money?’

(“I had it in canvas bags. It made an armful.) ‘I’m goin’ to bet it,’ says I.

“‘No you ain’t,’ she says.

“‘Yes, I am,’ I says, and I slammed the door.

“I threw it on the table. ‘There,’ I says to Bill and Pettibone, ‘I raise you that.’ They demanded a sight. I wouldn’t give it to ’em. It was a no-limit game, don’t you see, and they couldn’t see my hand without putting up the money. They didn’t have any more.

“They drew bowie knives. Yes, sir, bowie knives—great big long fellers. I whispers to Fowler. I says: ‘Swipe the swag and sherry your nibs.’ That’s slang you know. Then I says to Bill and Pettibone, I says: ‘Hold on, hold on; don’t let’s have any trouble,’ and while I was sayin’ that, I picks up a chair and hits ’em both. O, I lammed ’em good. Lord, I was a strong young feller then. People came runnin’ out in their night clos’—great excitement. The cap’n wanted to throw Bill and Pettibone overboard but I wouldn’t let him. I gave ’em their watches back. I handed my wife a big diamond ring. That shut her up. Then I promised her I’d never gamble any more, and I never have.”

A DISCOURAGED SPECULATOR.

I have always regarded faro dealing as being but a very few degrees less respectable than operating upon the floor of the stock or produce exchange. The same essential elements are present in both cases—a disposition to obtain something for nothing, a rash venture by an inexperienced player, and a determination on the part of a practiced veteran to win the money of his antagonist. As illustrative of this point I might recount a narrative told of a certain gambler who once visited Chicago. For two or three days he played poker with decided success, and found himself the winner of several hundred dollars. Elated by his good fortune the idea occurred to him that he possessed all the qualifications necessary to operate upon a wider scale. He determined to try his luck upon the Chicago Board of Trade. One of his friends suggested to him that however much he might know about dealing or “holding out” a poker hand, he was utterly ignorant of the course and manipulation of the wheat market. His friend also urged that a capital as small as his would not go far toward the control of a “corner.” However, serenely confident of his own sagacity, the poker player determined to take the chances. Employing a broker, he made a purchase. For a day or two the market went in his favor, and he smiled at the contemplation of his own superior wisdom. He wrote to his father, who lived in a country town not more than a hundred miles away, to meet him at the depot with a carriage the following Saturday; that he was about to return home loaded down with presents for all members of the family. But, “woe betide the cruel fate!” In less than twenty-four hours after sending this exultant message a decline in grain wiped out all his margins and left him comparatively penniless. His next message to his father was of a decidedly different tenor. It ran thus: “Dear father; meet me at the nearest railroad crossing with a hat and pair of shoes. I have a blanket myself.”

THE LUCK OF A ONE-EYED MAN.

One of the most bare-faced, yet at the same time most successful confidence tricks which I ever saw perpetrated was played upon an individual who prided himself on the strength of his eyesight. Going into a bar-room one day, he offered to wager that he could look directly at the sun longer than any other living man. There were three or four professional sports sitting around, one of whom promptly offered to cover any amount which he might wish to put up, provided he was allowed ten minutes to produce a contestant. The terms having been accepted, the stakes were put in the hands of a third party. The “sport” went out of the room, and soon returned, accompanied by a rather dilapidated looking individual who said that he “reckoned he could look right smart.” At the same time, he stated that he did not wish to risk blindness in both eyes, but was willing to venture one of his optics in any good cause. The party went out into the sunlight, and the man who had proposed the wager looked steadily at the orb of day for a number of seconds that was actually surprising. When pain compelled him to lower his gaze, the “dark horse” which the gambler had brought forward covered one of his eyes with his hand, and, raising his head, apparently looked at the sun without being in the slightest degree affected. He easily surpassed the record of the first gazer, and the confidence man claimed and received the stakes. The stranger reluctantly acknowledged that he had fairly lost his money and departed much chagrined. Probably he is not aware to this day that the man who had excelled him had only one eye and was looking at the sun through a glass substitute for the one which had been removed.

BOTTOM DEALING.

This term, as understood among gamblers, refers to that method of dealing which consists of drawing a card from the bottom of the pack instead of, or at the same time with, one from the top. I once met a gentleman at St. Louis, who had been a physician of some standing, but who had yielded to his gambling instincts to such a degree that he had lost not only his money, but also his self-respect. We will call him Doctor Rodman. As an illustration of the inveteracy of his passion for play, I need only mention the fact that one night, while engaged in a game of poker, I saw him draw from his mouth his artificial teeth, which were attached to a gold plate, and offer to stake them for $2.00. He claimed to be a professional, and undertook to enter into a partnership with me. I asked him to indicate what was his “strong-hold” in the line of a professional card sharper. He said that he was as good a “bottom dealer” as there was in the country. I sat in a room while he was playing and watched him closely with a view to ascertaining how much he knew about running the cards from the bottom of the pack. I soon saw that while he could draw two cards at the same time, one from the top and the other from the bottom, he did it so clumsily that the operation was accompanied by a resounding thwack, sufficiently loud to attract the attention of every player at the board. When he left the table and came into the open air, I told him that an idea had just occurred to me, through working which he and I together might beat the world at playing poker. I added that I knew it to be a “sure thing.” His interest was awakened at once, and he impatiently asked me to tell him what my project was. “Well,” said I, “Doctor, I have a horse pistol right here in my pocket. I’ve noticed your skill as a bottom dealer, and I believe if you will only give me a signal when you intend to draw a card from the bottom of the pack, I’ll fire off my gun at the same time, and so fully attract the attention of every man in the room that nobody will notice what you are doing. At all events nobody will hear that horrible noise that you make in practicing your little game.” The doctor’s face fell, and I have never been able to tell why, from that moment forward, he always appeared to avoid my company.

A WHIFF FOR A NICKEL.

I was once traveling through the country with a partner named Barnes. He was not without some good traits, but he was unquestionably the smallest pattern of a man in money matters that I ever had the misfortune to meet. I used to twit him with this fact, and he was accustomed to account for a peculiarity which he did not attempt to deny by saying that he owed it to his grandfather, who had brought him up. He was fond of telling stories of his ancestor’s meanness. When the old gentleman used to send him down stairs, of a winter night, after apples, he used to insist upon his whistling all the time, in order that there might not be any doubt as to the fact that he was not eating any on his way back to the kitchen. Another narrative which he was fond of relating about his grandfather was to the effect that the old man once hired him to go supperless to bed in consideration of the payment of five cents. The next morning his affectionate grandparent, finding that he was exceedingly hungry, insisted upon the return of the five cents before allowing him to eat his breakfast. How much truth there may have been in these stories of Barnes I cannot tell, but I had an opportunity once of observing the closeness of his calculations. We were stopping together at a hotel. He was going out to visit a young woman that evening, and, being engaged in making his toilet and wanting some perfumery, he asked me if I would take a good-sized bottle which was standing upon the dressing case, and repair to a drug store to buy five cents worth of attar of roses. It occurred to me that five cents was not much money to invest in perfumery, but as I knew nothing of the value of attar of roses, I took the bottle, together with the nickel which he handed me, and started for the drug store. When I arrived there I handed the bottle to the man behind the counter, and told him that I would like to get some attar of roses. He smiled graciously, and asked me how much I wanted. In an off-hand way, for I felt rather ashamed of the mission with which I had been charged, I replied: “Oh, give me a nickel’s worth.” I shall never forget the expression that came into that man’s eyes. He glared at me for a full minute without a word. Then, in a commiserating tone he said: “My friend, attar of roses is worth twenty- five cents a drop, but if you’ll hand me your nickel I’ll let you smell of the bottle.”

It is not necessary to say that from that time forward I did not undertake to execute any commissions for Barnes of a precisely similar character. As I have said before, like a yellow dog, he was not without his good points, but to discover them required more patient assiduity than I possessed.

A GOOD SWIMMER.

As is explained in another chapter, a favorite device of confidence operators is to induce a victim to back a good runner for a race which it has been previously arranged that he shall lose. The method in which the trick is played is one set forth at that part of the work above indicated and need not be more fully described. One of this class of gentry once undertook to “work” a similar trick upon a wealthy man in a western town. He succeeded in making his dupe believe that he was an expert skater. The “sucker” was fond of athletic sports and much given to betting, and in the hope that he had a fair prospect of winning a large sum during the following winter, after the ice had formed and the weather was propitious, he supported him all through the summer. The sharper lived in clover until the cold blasts of winter had touched the lakes and streams with an icy kiss. The smooth, glassy surface being well adapted to the use of skaters, his patron suggested that they should talk business; _i.e._, make arrangements for the skating contest. The confidence man saw that the “jig was up,” and placidly looking his host in the eye, said: “Well, Colonel, to tell the plain truth, I don’t know much about skating nohow, but I’m the doggondest best swimmer in the country.”

A HUNGRY TRIO.

The preference which some men give to whisky over food is not only surprising, but at times, decidedly embarrassing to those who do not share in the same disposition. A striking illustration of this assertion once happened in my own experience. In company with two partners I was operating a game on the fair-grounds at Macon, Missouri. Luck had not been particularly propitious to us during the day, and night fell upon three hungry and tired gamblers, whose combined resources did not exceed $7. To get something to eat was the main trouble with us all. One of the party was deputed to go into town and purchase some provender, the fact that we were all camping on the grounds preventing our visiting a hotel or restaurant in the village. Unfortunately, the man selected for this all-important duty was one who never hesitated between a glass of liquor and a loaf of bread. I am fully aware that the same statement might be predicated concerning many a consistent prohibitionist; the difference between the prohibitionist and our messenger, however, was that while the former would take the bread, the latter invariably chose the stimulant. We waited long and patiently for his return, and as the hours passed away our hunger increased. We began to doubt whether he might not have deserted us, and the question presented itself, should we ever see him again? At last, in the glimmering darkness we discerned his form approaching with rather uncertain tread. As soon as he came within hailing distance, he accosted us. “Boys,” said he, “I’m all there.” To say that we felt relieved is to state the case mildly. From the length of time which he had taken to execute his commission, we felt he must have provided a “lay-out” which might have tempted Epicurus himself. The reader may judge of our disappointment when he put down a package which he evidently regarded as the most precious object of life, and on opening which, we found it to contain precisely three bottles of “appetite bitters,” for which he had paid $2.00 per bottle. We said nothing; we felt that language was inadequate to express our feelings. The hour was near midnight, and we retired to our beds upon the ground, in the hope that the sweet oblivion of sleep might bring to us a happiness, equal in degree, if differing in kind, from that which was enjoyed by our companion.

A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY.

Much is said in this volume regarding the venality of the police. An efficient municipal administration can always suppress gambling, if the task is undertaken in genuine sincerity of purpose and with an inflexible resolution to succeed. As tending to show how susceptible is the average policeman to the influence of a bribe I might relate stories which would fill a work of considerably larger size than this. I have had an extensive and varied experience with the officers of the law. I was once arrested in a Missouri city for having perpetrated a scheme of fraud upon a verdant and gullible stranger. When the policeman placed his hand upon my shoulder and informed me that I was under arrest, my first impulse was to get away, and I twisted my body into as many contortions as are discernible upon the face of a man who is shaving himself with a dull razor. I soon found that escape was impossible. The blue-coated minion of authority held me with a tenacious grip. Then I began to appeal to the finer instincts of his nature. I told him that I was innocent; he laughed at me. I told him of my poverty, talked to him of my family, and otherwise appealed to the gentler side of his character. He listened to all I had to say in silence, and with a smile that Artemus Ward would have described as “coldly cynical.” Inserting the thumb and forefinger of my right hand in my vest I drew out a ten dollar treasury note, which I quietly slipped into the hand of the protector of public morals. His large fingers closed over it with the same firm grasp with which they had prevented my escape. Stepping back from me one or two paces, he looked earnestly into my face and exclaimed, “Well, begorrah, an’ Oi believe Oi’ve got the wrong man.”

THE WOULD-BE CONFEDERATE DISAPPOINTED.

There is a class of amateur gamblers who are always ready to fasten themselves upon men whom they discover to be professionals, with a view to induce or to compel them to divide their winnings. They are wont to claim that without their assistance the blackleg would not have been able to have won anything. These men are as essentially dishonest as any confidence man either inside or outside the penitentiary, but they are not usually particularly astute. I was once playing in a poker game in an Indiana town, where one of these gentry sat directly over my left hand. As the game progressed and the gentleman from the rural district perceived that I was winning largely, he began to kick me under the table. I at once perceived what he wanted and returned his kicks with great vigor. When the play was over and we had left the room, the unsophisticated individual approached me and inquired how much I thought was his share of the money which I had won. I was not at all surprised, and answered him in the blandest tone, “nothing.” “Why,” said he, “didn’t I kick you under the table that I was in with you?” “Yes,” I replied, “and didn’t I kick you right back that you weren’t?”

FIVE EQUAL HANDS.

One evening, while I was running a saloon at Columbia, Missouri, in the absence of business I began carefully to study the characteristics of the loungers about the place. They were all broken-down “bums,” men who claimed to be gamblers, but who were never known to have a dollar in their pockets. As I have said, trade during the day had been very quiet, and I felt that something must be done to enliven the proceedings. Taking the gamblers apart, one by one, I lent each one of the four two dollars, with which to sit in a poker game which I told them I was about to open and in which I proposed to take a hand myself. To an old and penniless gambler, the prospect of enjoying all the excitement of poker playing without any risk is an alluring prospect. After I had “staked” them all, I produced a deck of cards and we all sat around the table to play. I had previously prepared a “cold deck,” with precisely similar backs, by taking all the aces from five packs, and abstracting sixteen cards from the original deck, to make the correct number. After playing a few rounds, the deal coming to me, I gave to each man at the table, including myself, four aces. To see the smile of satisfaction which lighted up each one of those four faces was worth all the money that it cost. Every man believed that he had a “sure thing.” Betting began and the limit of each man’s pile was soon reached. One player became so excited that he took off his coat and vest, and placing them on the table said, “let ’em go for what they’re worth; I’ll bet all I’m worth on this hand.” When the hands were “shown down” each man around the board displayed four aces. It did not take long for the true inwardness of the situation to dawn upon the minds of the crowd. A general “guffaw” followed, and I invited all hands to repair to the bar and indulge in a little liquid refreshment. My joke had cost me just $8.00, but the story was soon noised about town, and the following day I did the largest saloon business on record in the town since the first white man erected the little log cabin which marked the site of the present thriving city.

A CHANGE OF DEMEANOR.

Once, while I was in partnership with a gambler named Martin, to whom I have frequently referred, I received a telegram from a lawyer in Jefferson City, Missouri, urging me to come to the latter place with a view to winning some money at poker. The source from which the invitation proceeded, left no doubt in our minds that it was possible to make a snug little sum, and we accordingly went. My partner represented himself as a drummer for a wholesale liquor house, while I posed as a traveling representative of a concern engaged in the manufacture of playing cards. We were introduced into the poker party without difficulty and with but very little ceremony. We found that there were seven players, and that the ante was five cents. They called it “playing for amusement.” We concluded that it would not be policy on our part to manifest the slightest anxiety to sit in the game, and therefore when invited to play we declined. One of the party repeatedly urged me to take a hand, saying that “it was only a five cent ante game which they were playing just for fun.” By way of reply I told him of an infatuated card player who had once entered a gaming house and was accosted with a similar invitation. Shivering and trembling, he declined the invitation, saying that a previous indulgence in the same sort of “fun” had compelled him to wear his summer clothes all through the winter.

Among the players was an individual whose dignified mien I shall never forget. When I was introduced to him he recognized my existence only by the most distant nod. I at once made up my mind that he was a member of that numerous class who, having a little money in their possession, consider themselves the superiors in point of wealth, intelligence and respectability to all the rest of mankind. I made no effort to force my company upon him, nor did I seek to cultivate his acquaintance.

Within a day or two, after much solicitation, Martin and I consented to play. Day by day the demeanor of the arrogant stranger became more and more cordial toward me. At first he condescended to speak to me by name, gradually he so far forgot himself as to offer me his hand, and finally grew so familiar that he used to slap me on the back on any and all occasions, however inopportune. The secret of this change of conduct on his part was that my partner and myself had succeeded in winning between $800 and $1,000.

This sum, however, did not represent a net gain to us, inasmuch as we were obliged to pay the distinguished member of the bar who had introduced us into the game, the sum of $200 as a commission for his services. The limb of the law was so elated over his sudden acquisition of this ill-gotten wealth that in a moment of confidence induced by a too free indulgence in the cup that both cheers and inebriates, he disclosed the secret. The result of this imprudence on his part was that an icy barrier was raised between him and his acquaintances. The stilted individual to whom I have already referred assured me that the attorney little thought that his fingers were “involuntarily contracting in a desire to grasp his throat in a suffocating clutch.” Martin and I left Jefferson City with damaged reputations, but with tolerably well filled pockets. We afterwards learned that the lawyer had been “barred out” from playing poker in any decent circle. This may have proved to have been a blessing in disguise, inasmuch as of all the poker players that I ever saw I think that he knew the least about the game.