Part 2

“Waiter, bring another bottle, and bring me some whisky besides. This stuff doesn’t go to the right spot.” Then, after he had had his drink, he said:

“You don’t wonder, do you, that I don’t play poker any more?”

“No,” said his hearers, “but finish the story.”

“Oh! there isn’t much more to it. At least that is the end of it, as I think about it. The Englishman shook hands with us all, and rode away. We watched him until he fell, and he must have gone fully three miles. A good many Indians fell before he did, for he was a clever shot. Later in the day the company came to our rescue, and I am glad to say a good many more Indians paid for his death with their own.”

A Gambler’s Pistol Play

_ENDING OF A POKER GAME IN FLOOD TIME IN ARKANSAS CITY_

“I notice that the stories of lawlessness and rambunctious violence printed in the papers from time to time are told, as a rule, of places far West or out of the usual run of travel,” said the gray-haired young-looking man who sat in the card-room of an up-town club the other night after the game had broken up. “I don’t mean by that,” he continued, “to question the truth of any of these stories. It only occurs to me that the writers take unnecessary pains in going so far away for their material. I have seen, right along the banks of the Mississippi River--and we call that pretty well East now--some things as exciting as any of the mining-camp yarns. And everything was wide open in some of the towns, too. I haven’t been out there since ’82, but that’s not so long ago, and then it was not uncommon to find a gambling saloon on the main floor of the principal hotel in a flourishing town. You could walk in as freely as you could into the barroom and play faro, keno, or poker at any hour of the day or night.

“The great flood of ’82 rather accentuated the devil-may-care condition of things; partly, I suppose, because there was not so much traveling on the river as usual and none at all by rail. Strangers were scarce in the river towns, and the inhabitants were reduced to the necessity of gambling among themselves. No, there wasn’t what you might call very much shooting, but every man carried a pistol, and occasionally there would be some. There was enough, at all events, to make the citizens of Memphis enforce pretty strictly a city ordinance against carrying concealed weapons.”

“That’s right,” said a drummer who was of the party. “I was in Memphis then, and I remember the Mayor of a Kentucky city being sent to jail for ten days for carrying a pistol. He had plenty of money and plenty of influence, too, but neither could save him from jail.”

“Well, Memphis was the only city I struck on the river,” said the first speaker, “where such a law was observed. I got caught in Arkansas City, I remember, when I was trying to get to Little Rock. I arrived there just after the train had gone, so I had to stay over for forty-eight hours. It’s only about a hundred miles, but there was only one train, and that took all day going up and all next day coming down. It was an accommodation train, and I saw it stop fifteen minutes for a darky who signaled from a distance, with a basket of eggs on his arm which he wanted to ship as freight. The conductor told me, when I asked about it, that that was quite usual, and a little while afterward he stopped the train to let a passenger get off and get a quail that he shot from the car.

“But the stop in Arkansas City was lively enough, if it was only two days. A darky was drowned trying to get across the street, the first day I was there, for the town was so far under water that the railroad track on top of the levee had been washed away. Only the houses on the highest ground were habitable, and there wasn’t such a thing as a sidewalk visible. A few timbers were strung along here and there, and people jumped from one to another of these when they went from house to house, unless they were going far enough to take a skiff. This poor fellow jumped and missed his footing, and was drowned in sight of a dozen people. I asked the man who told me about it whether any effort had been made to save him, and he said no, that there was no boat handy. And when I expressed some horror he seemed surprised and said:

“‘Why, ’twas only a nigger. You couldn’t expect a white man to take chances to save him.’ Niggers were not so valuable then as they were before the war.”

“I don’t know that the color line was so strictly drawn, though,” interrupted the drummer again. “I saw a roustabout fall into the river one night at New Madrid, and he was a white man, too, but no effort was made to save him. The mate stepped to the side of the boat and looked over, but he did no more, and not one of the other rousters stopped work even for a moment. They were unloading freight in a great hurry, and I think they were afraid of the mate. It was dark, to be sure, and the current was swift enough to carry off the strongest swimmer, but still I was surprised to see no effort made to save the poor devil. Before I recovered from my surprise it was too late to do anything, and it didn’t seem to be wise to say anything, either.”

“Good policy, sometimes, not to,” resumed the young-looking gray-haired man. “I learned to keep my mouth shut at a card table a long time ago, and that is why I had no part in a little disturbance that occurred the second day I was in Arkansas City. I don’t think there was more than one other stranger in town when I was. He had come there the day before me, on the train, and was waiting for a boat up the river. I struck up an acquaintance with him, and he told me he was on his way home, after a business trip. I congratulated him and we took a drink on it, next door to the hotel.

“We were both tired waiting, and there was nothing better to do in the place, so we both sauntered to the room just back of the bar. The door was wide open, and we saw card-playing inside. Three men were playing poker, and we stood for a few moments looking on. One of the three was a comical-looking old fellow, evidently a superannuated gambler. He must have been seventy years old, and his hands were very shaky, but I could not make up my mind whether he was palsied or had been drinking, or whether he was assuming decrepitude in order to watch the cards more carefully as he dealt them. The latter seemed likely enough, and I suspected marked cards, so I pleaded ignorance of the game when one of the other players--the proprietor of the place, as I learned later--looked up with a pleasant smile and suggested that perhaps my friend and I would like to join in.

“My ‘friend,’ as he called him--I didn’t even know his name--was willing enough, and he sat in. I stood by, smoking and looking on for a few minutes, though I pretended not to be watching the game very closely. You can’t be too careful about observing the etiquette of the place you’re in, as I have always noticed, no matter what place it is, and the people around a card table are always liable to resent an outsider’s interest if it even borders on inquisitiveness. Where the resentment is liable to be expressed with a knife or a pistol, a wise man avoids showing his interest if he has any.

“In this case I hadn’t a great deal. I saw the game was crooked, but it made no difference to me whether the other stranger knew it or not. If he did it was dog eat dog, and if he didn’t he deserved to lose for playing with strangers in such a place. However, I noticed pretty soon that the old fellow, whom the others called Major, and the proprietor, whom they all addressed as Pete, were looking uneasily at me and at each other from time to time, and that the third player, whose back was turned toward me, was making an ostentatious show of hiding his cards from me, as if he suspected or feared me and wanted me to know it. Accordingly I thought the wisest thing for me was to stroll back to the front room and treat the bartender.

“While we were drinking, another man came in. He wore no coat, vest, or hat. He was, I think, the handsomest man I ever saw, though he was slightly flushed with liquor; not drunk, by any means, but he had evidently been drinking. He was a little above the medium height, with a symmetrical form, magnificent chest and shoulders, and the easy motion and graceful carriage of a skilled athlete. He passed directly to the card-room, nodding to the barkeeper and merely glancing at me, and I heard him say:

“‘Do you want another in the game?’

“The response was pleasant, and he took a seat. Up to this time I had not been greatly interested, as I said, and I continued talking to the man behind the bar, simply because I had nothing else to do. The newcomer, however, was talkative, and, as I noticed in a few moments, inclined to be surly. He seemed to be trying to pick a quarrel with the stranger, and I lingered, with some natural curiosity, to see if he would succeed. Presently the explosion came. He lost a jack-pot which the stranger won on three tens.

“‘You opened that pot on a pair of tens,’ he exclaimed with an oath, ‘and when we catch any cross-roads gambler playing that kind of a game in this town we commonly hang ’em, do you understand?’

“It was said noisily and furiously, and I looked in expecting to see a fight, but the stranger spoke as coolly as though the other had been calling for his draw.

“‘I did nothing of the sort, sir. I came in on a pair of tens, as I had a perfect right to do, after the Major opened it, and I caught the third ten in the draw.’

“‘I say you opened it,’ shouted the newcomer with another oath.

“The stranger looked at him with the most perfect composure and said:

“‘I appeal to the table. Gentlemen, did I open it?’

“‘No, sir,’ said the old Major, promptly enough. ‘I opened it myself, and dropped out after I was raised twice. Jack, shut up! The gentleman is playing all right.’

“But Jack wouldn’t shut up. On the contrary, he became more furious.

“‘This is a hell of a game!’ he shouted, and leaped to his feet like a panther, totally oblivious of the few chips in front of him. He had lost nearly all he had bought on coming in.

“The stranger never moved, though I expected to see weapons drawn. He looked Jack full in the face with a sort of bewilderment on his own face, and said nothing. Jack stood for a moment, and while I was wondering whether the stranger was showing nerve, or was really bewildered, he turned suddenly and dashed out of the room.

“The stranger looked around at the other players, and there was a distinct drawl in his words as he said:

“‘What is the matter with that man?’

“‘Oh, nothing,’ said Pete, carelessly. ‘You mustn’t mind him. He killed a man yesterday, and he’s been drinking a good deal to-day. He’s a little excited, but it doesn’t mean anything.’

“‘But why did he rush out so curiously?’ persisted the stranger.

“‘Well, I suppose he went out to get heeled,’ said Pete; ‘but you needn’t be disturbed. The boys won’t let him come back.’

“‘Well, perhaps they won’t,’ said the stranger, still drawling his words, ‘but it’s just as well to be on the safe side. If you will excuse me for a few minutes I’ll step over to the hotel and get my gun. I left it in my satchel.’

“‘Why, certainly,’ said the others, and he arose, leaving his chips on the table, and went out of the place. He said nothing when he passed me, and I thought it best to say nothing, too, but you couldn’t have dragged me away just then. I suppose every man likes to see a fight, and I thought there was a good chance for one. I don’t drink fast as a rule, but it seemed to be a good time to treat again, and when the glasses were emptied I said:

“‘Did he really kill a man yesterday?’

“‘Yes,’ said the bartender indifferently. ‘There was a fellow tried to get funny with him in his saloon next door, and when Jack ordered him out and he wouldn’t go Jack shot him.’

“‘Wasn’t he arrested?’ I asked.

“‘No, he wasn’t exactly arrested, but he appeared before the Coroner and told how it was, and the Coroner said he’d have to lay the matter before the Grand Jury.’

“‘He wasn’t locked up, then?’ I persisted.

“‘Oh, no. You see, Jack’s very popular around here, and he’s got quite some property, too. I don’t think the boys would have liked it much if he’d been locked up.’

“While I was meditating on this the stranger came back, and, resuming his seat at the table, laid his pistol alongside his chips, which the others had not disturbed. They dealt him a hand, and the game, which had not been interrupted by his absence, went on as before. No one made any remark about the pistol or about the man who had gone out to get heeled, but the old Major pulled out a double-barreled derringer and laid it on the table, and I looked to see the others do the same thing, but they did not. I had no doubt, however, that they were armed, and they were all looking for trouble.

“They had not long to wait. There was a sound of voices outside, presently, and looking out I saw Jack, still furious with anger, apparently, breaking away from two or three men who were evidently trying to detain him, but who had a wholesome respect for the revolver he had in his hand. I looked around. The Major was dealing, and the other players were watching him, apparently, but I was satisfied that they had heard the talk outside, and were all alert. The bartender was safe to drop behind the bar when the shooting began, and I looked for some place where I should be able to see and yet not be in range. There was a window in the partition between the rooms, about twelve feet to one side of the door, and I stepped over there as Jack came in toward the door.

“Through this window I saw the most magnificent display of cool nerve that ever came under my notice. The stranger never changed color, nor moved in his chair, but I could see his eyelids contract and his lips tighten as he quickly and quietly put his hand on his revolver and looked toward the door, at which Jack was just appearing, pistol in hand.

“On the instant Pete drew a bowie knife, with a motion so quick that I could not tell where the knife came from, and drove it square through the stranger’s hand into the table underneath, nailing it fast to the wood.

“If the stranger had even flinched, he would have been dead in another moment, for Jack’s pistol was leveled at him, but with a motion as quick as Pete’s he reached over with his left hand, seized his revolver, and shot Jack through the pistol arm, shattering his elbow, just as he was pulling his trigger. And the next instant he had shot Pete through the heart, and turning to the Major, he shouted, ‘Drop that gun!’

“The old fellow dropped it, and threw up his hands. The other man had gone under the table like a flash, being only anxious to get out of the trouble. And Jack, with a howl of pain and terror, had turned and run. The fight was over before it was fairly begun, and the stranger had not moved from his chair.

“With his left hand he pulled out the knife and wrapped up his right in a handkerchief, and, stepping to the bar, said to the bartender:

“‘You want to have a doctor here damned quick to dress my hand. And while you are about it, you’d better notify the Coroner, if there’s one around. I propose to have this inquest held before the witnesses get away.’

“The Coroner was around; in fact, he was playing cards only four or five doors away, and in half an hour he was holding his inquest. The stranger had shown his good sense in demanding immediate action, for though he was a stranger, the facts were too plain for a dispute, and even one or two of Pete’s friends on the jury were forced to admit that the stranger had killed his man in self-defense.

“He was accordingly informed by the Coroner that he could go on his own recognizance to appear before the Grand Jury, and after treating the crowd at the dead man’s bar, and paying for the treat with the chips he had on the card table, he went over to the levee and boarded a boat that had stopped on her way up river.

“He had given his name to the Coroner as Dick Davis of Tuscumbia, Ala., and I afterward heard that he was really a cross-roads gambler, as traveling card sharps used to be called, and was a famous pistol shot. Why he did not kill Jack as well as Pete I never really understood, for if the stories of his marksmanship were one-half true, he could have done it easily enough. I never knew what the Grand Jury did about it.”

Queer Runs of Luck

_VARIOUS YARNS, INCLUDING ONE OF THE MAN AND THE OPAL_

“I have often heard people say that they do not believe in luck,” said the gray-haired young-looking man, “and they say it in the sense of disbelieving that there is any such thing as luck. To my notion that is very much the same as if they should say that they do not believe in the weather. I believe it was John Oakhurst who said that the only thing that is certain about luck is that it is going to change; but although the saying sounds philosophical, I am inclined to think it is inaccurate. I have known a great many men in the course of my life whose luck did not change. To illustrate this it may be enough to recall the stories that are told once in a great while about sailors who are swept overboard by the waves in a storm at sea and who are swept back on board the same vessel by the return current. The man who escapes drowning in such a way experiences one of the most extraordinary strokes of luck that can possibly occur to a human being. And it is almost inconceivable that such a thing would happen to any one man twice.

“Yet I know a man to whom it has happened three times. Captain Lowden White, of East Rockaway, Long Island, is a veteran seaman. He cannot swim a stroke, and when he is asked why he never learned, he cannot, or at least he does not, give any clear answer, but turns the question with a careless ‘I don’t know’ and a pleasant laugh. I think he is superstitious about it, as many sailors are, and certainly if anybody’s experience justifies superstition his would seem to, for, as I said, he has been washed overboard three times in the course of the last forty years, and each time washed back immediately on board the vessel he had just left. And that does not include the times he has fallen or been knocked overboard and saved in some other way. I, myself, once caught him by the collar after he had fallen into the water by reason of the snapping of the bowsprit foot-rope of the sloop “Martha,” near Wreck Lead. He had rubber boots on, and the current was running like a mill-race. If I had been two seconds slower he would never have come up alive. If it were a legitimate subject for a bet I would wager any reasonable sum that a man with such an experience would never be drowned.

“That is what I call one of the most wonderful runs of luck that I ever heard of. And it is something of a coincidence, perhaps, that Captain White himself is a firm believer in his own luck in other matters, though he does not talk much about his escapes from drowning. He was in his younger days fairly prosperous, and had gathered together a modest competence when he was between forty and fifty years old. Then something happened. I hinted that he was superstitious. What happened was that he killed a cat. That does not seem to the average man to be a very important occurrence, but the Captain firmly believes that it changed the whole course of his life.

“‘I had always been lucky before,’ he says, ‘and I have not had a day’s luck since.’ And the fact is, that whereas he was formerly well-to-do, he is not so now, poor man.

“I suppose everybody who plays poker believes in luck. Certainly I do, and I have seen certain things at the card table that in their way were as remarkable as the runs of a single number at roulette, that make up the pretty little romances that go out from Monte Carlo at times, and that used to be dated Baden Baden. I sat watching a game one night at a friend’s house in St. Nicholas Avenue, in which only intimate friends were playing, and two of them were ladies. I did not join, as there were six at the table, and I don’t like a game with seven in. There was absolutely nothing in the game to distinguish it from any other of the hundreds of games that go on in the family circles of up-to-date New Yorkers every night. The limit was five cents. There wasn’t a player in the game who knew enough of card manipulation to deal a crooked hand, and there wasn’t one there who would have done it under temptation. And, moreover, there wasn’t anything like temptation.

“Yet one woman in that game held a succession of hands that would have made a fortune for an ordinarily good player if he were lucky enough to hold them in a stiff game. She had been playing with indifferent success for perhaps half an hour, and I was amusing myself by noticing her essentially feminine style of play, when she suddenly began holding flushes. Five times in succession she held a flush before any special remark was made. Of course, there was the usual chatter and chaffing, but when she showed down the fifth flush in five deals, there was a general outburst of comment, and a confession by her that it did seem uncanny.

“‘It will give me the shivery creeps if I get any more,’ was the way she expressed it, and I could see that she really was nervous. That, naturally, amused me, for it was not so very extraordinary, though it was certainly unusual.

“The next hand she held nothing. Then she got a four flush and filled. Then she got a pat flush; then, drawing to the ace and king of spades, she got three more spades. The next hand was nothing, and the next was a pat flush. By this time I was excited myself, as was everybody in the game, and I made a memorandum of the last eleven hands, and began jotting down each hand as she held it.

“In thirty-six consecutive hands she held twenty-seven flushes. None of the other nine hands contained even a pair. Five of the twenty-seven were pat hands; nine times she drew one card, eight times she drew two, three times she drew three, and twice she drew four. There seemed to be no distinction of suits. The flush was of one suit as often as another. It was absolutely impossible that there could have been trickery, for there were six dealing in turn. The lady herself was exceedingly nervous about it, and although she became so excited as to continue drawing for flushes, she ceased to try to play them scientifically. Indeed, the other players ceased after a time to bet against her, and the cards were at length dealt more from curiosity than from any interest in the game as a game. At length, however, the lucky lady grew so nearly hysterical that her husband made some excuse to break up the game. I was sorry it had to be done, too, for I wanted to see how long such a run would continue, but the lady has told me since that she never, before or since, had any similar experience, though she plays frequently.