Part 5

“In the first place, it was a bigger game. They were playing table stakes, and each man had a wad of greenbacks lying alongside his chips. White chips were a dollar, and bets of ten or twenty at once were common. There were several thousand dollars in sight, and it looked as if any moment might bring on a struggle between hands that would draw down big money. Then it did not take long for me to determine that two of the men in this game also were professionals. The third man at the table I knew. He was a cotton-factor from New Orleans, who had been up the river on a business trip investigating some of the advances he and his partner had made to the planters. He was young--not over thirty, I should say--but I knew he had the reputation of being a bold speculator, and it did not seem surprising to see him at cards. The other two men--there were five playing--puzzled me. One was a veteran soldier. You could tell that from his military bearing without waiting to hear him addressed as ‘Major,’ but an ex-soldier of either army might be anything from a gambler to a bank president. The other was a nondescript. There didn’t seem to be any points about him to distinguish him from anybody else, but I afterward learned that he was a cattle-dealer.

“The game lasted far into the night, and was interesting all the way through, but, somewhat to my surprise, there was no very desperate struggle over any single pot. The hands ran fairly well, and some few big ones were held, but no two unusual ones happened to be held in the same deal. So far as I could see, the play was absolutely fair, and I wondered a little that the gamblers should attempt no tricks. Later on I understood it. They were laying the foundation for the second night’s play, and their game was to lose a little at the first sitting. Accordingly they did so, and one pulled out soon after midnight, saying with a laugh that he had lost all he wanted to. The cotton-factor was a loser, too, though not to any very serious extent. The other two were ahead. Altogether it was a pleasant sitting, and it was a foregone conclusion that the game would be renewed, as it was, the next evening. After supper the five seated themselves without loss of time, and the spectators stood, two deep, around the table inside of a few minutes. The clerk of the boat was banker, and furnished the cards and sold the chips, as a matter of course.

“For half an hour or so there was no special play, but the lookers-on were patient, and the excitement grew with every deal. It was the first time I ever saw ladies look on at public gambling, but there were three or four on board who walked in, holding their husbands’ arms, and watched the proceedings with keen interest. Presently, however, ‘Flash Kate’ sauntered up alone, and the ladies seeing her, quietly withdrew. She paid no attention to this, but stood apparently absorbed in the game, and edging forward from time to time till she stood directly behind the cotton-factor.

“The betting grew heavier. The ante was made ten dollars and the bet was often fifty, but still there was no contest between unusual hands. We all knew it was coming, though, and I noticed that three or four of the men near me were breathing hard. ‘Flash Kate’s’ eyes sparkled like a snake’s and her lips were parted, but she was as silent as we all were. Even the players said nothing outside of the few words the game called for.

“Suddenly I heard a sort of gasp from the man next me, and at the same instant I saw the fellow they called Keene hold out an ace. It was cleverly done, and yet I marveled at his nerve in trying such a trick under so many watching eyes. He relied, of course, on his skill, which was really marvelous, but I had studied such things too closely to be mistaken, and as, for an instant, I met the eye of the man who had gasped, I saw that he was equally certain. Neither of us was fool enough to say anything, for interference meant fight, and I wondered for a moment what would follow, or if any of the players had seen it.

“It was the deal of the cattle-dealer, whose name was Downing, next, and as he gathered up the cards he threw them, with a quick motion, on the floor, saying: ‘Bring us a fresh deck, Mr. Clerk, of another color.’ It seemed certain that he had seen Keene’s manœuvre, but if he had he gave no other indication of it, but shuffled and dealt the cards as coolly as if nothing out of the way had happened. Neither could I see any trace of chagrin or disappointment on Keene’s face as he was thus cleverly checkmated. He looked sharply at Downing for an instant, as if to see whether he had really been discovered or not, but that worthy did not return the glance, and the game went on.

“Soon after there was a jack-pot that went around several times before it was opened, and of course there was considerable money up. Presently, on the cotton-factor’s deal, Alcott, the other professional gambler, opened it for a hundred dollars, and all the players came in. That made big money before the draw, and no one was likely to get away with it without a struggle. The Major drew one card, and without waiting for further developments, threw his hand into the discard pile. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to bluff that crowd. Alcott drew three, and threw another hundred into the pot. Downing drew two, and left them lying face down, while he threw in his hundred. Keene also drew two, and studied them carefully before seeing the bet. The cotton-factor drew three, and raised it a hundred. I could not see his cards, but I learned afterward that he had a queen full.

“Alcott had three of a kind and raised back. Downing carefully lifted one corner of one of the cards he had drawn and lifted the pot two hundred. Keene studied a while longer and finally threw down his cards. The cotton-factor was game and raised it five hundred, but Alcott, without a quiver, came back at him with a thousand more. The battle was on, and I looked curiously at Downing. I was more interested in his play than in that of either of the others, and it was a real disappointment to see him pick up his whole hand, give it a quick glance, and throw it down. The cotton-factor studied his hand again, more, it seemed to me, to gain time than to make certain, and then began fingering his roll. At length he spoke a little hesitatingly:

“‘I haven’t as much money here as I’d like to have, but I’ll see your thousand and----’

“‘If Monsieur cares to back his hand and will allow me, I will put up any amount he likes.’

“It was ‘Flash Kate’ who interrupted him--no man would have ventured to do it--and there was a general start of surprise. I was looking at Alcott, and I was sure I saw a gleam of satisfaction, totally unmixed with surprise, on his face. The situation was getting complicated. The cotton-factor flushed.

“‘Thank you,’ he said, coldly, without even looking around, ‘but I never play with borrowed money, and I never borrow from a woman.’

“‘Pardon me,’ said ‘Flash Kate,’ as coolly as he, ‘I hope there is no offense, Monsieur. None was intended.’ She spoke with a villainous affectation of a French accent.

“‘None whatever,’ said the cotton-factor, and he looked at his cards again. He told me afterward that when the woman spoke it flashed upon him that there was a conspiracy somewhere, and that he didn’t care to play against it. Accordingly, he pretended to study a moment longer, and then threw down his cards.

“Alcott raked in the money without a word, and the cotton-factor, putting the remains of his roll in his pocket, picked up his chips and left the table, saying politely as he arose: ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, I think I have had enough.’

“There was a moment’s hush. The four players looked around the spectators, as if to see if any one cared to take the vacated seat, but no one gave a sign, and presently Keene said:

“‘Madame is interested in the game. Perhaps she plays, and would like to take a hand.’

“‘Yes, if there is no objection,’ she said readily, and looked from one to another of the four at the table. Downing said nothing, but there was a grim smile on his face. The Major looked uncomfortable, but he said nothing, either, and as Alcott said, ‘Certainly there can be no objection,’ the woman took the seat and laid a handful of money on the table in front of her.

“From the moment she sat down I felt morally certain that it was a case of three against one, for the Major was not much in evidence. And I was pretty confident that the man from Texas was going to hold his own, as indeed he did triumphantly. For nearly twenty minutes his play was a perfect puzzle, and the trio got actually nervous as he threw down hand after hand that ordinarily he would have betted heavily on. They stacked the cards, not once, but half a dozen times, giving him excellent cards, but he pretended to have lost his nerve, and played now with seeming rashness, and now with cowardice, but never risking any considerable amount, until he had them rattled.

“Then he played a trick that was worthy of the great Herrmann himself. It was at once the boldest and the neatest thing I ever saw at a card table, and although I thought I saw it done, I was not certain about it till he told me of it after we had become well acquainted. It was Keene’s deal and Downing’s cut, and the latter, watching, as he did, every motion around the table, knew that Keene’s nerve had failed him, and that he had not this time undertaken to set up the cards. His time had come, and as he leaned over to cut he substituted another pack for the one Keene had shuffled. It sounds like an impossibility, but wonderful things are possible to a sleight-of-hand performer, and he was the best I ever saw at a card table. Not one of the other players saw it, but he knew that deal every card that every player would hold.

“And they held wonderful cards--all but the Major. It was his first say, and he dropped out. Alcott came in and discarded two cards. Downing was next. He raised it twenty and threw down three cards. Keene raised it fifty, and threw down one. ‘Flash Kate’ came in with threes, but did not raise. Alcott saw the raise, and Downing raised it a hundred. The others all came in, and the draw was dealt.

“They all filled, of course, and it being Keene’s deal, they suspected nothing, but, each being confident of his own strength, they betted wildly. It was almost too quick work to follow, but in a few minutes Keene said: ‘I claim a show for my pile,’ and pushed the money already in the pot a little to one side. The others nodded, and went on betting.

“Presently Alcott also claimed his show, and Downing and ‘Flash Kate’ went on. She must have had five or six thousand with her, for there was over twenty thousand on the table when she called, with what appeared to be the last of her money, and it came to a showdown. Keene had four jacks, Alcott four queens, ‘Flash Kate’ four kings, and Downing four aces.

“For an instant there was perfect silence. Then Alcott and Keene made a movement simultaneously, as if to seize the money; but Downing was quicker than they. It was impossible to say where he drew his revolver from, but it was there in his right hand, while he coolly pulled in the money with his left.

“‘That was no square deal,’ shouted Alcott, though neither he nor Keene made any fight.

“‘Think not?’ drawled Downing. ‘Well, you ought to know. Your pal dealt the cards. But I think you are right. There’s been some queer play here to-night. But there’s one honest player in the party, and he isn’t hurt much. As for me, I reckon this’ll do me, unless some of you want to play any more.’ And he grinned at the discomfited gamblers, who, seeing that they had the worst of it, said no more.

“‘Flash Kate’ took it the best. She looked on with a smile while this was going on, and when it was over, she smiled some more, and rising from her chair, said sarcastically: ‘Monsieur is a most excellent player.’ And she went to her stateroom without another word. I noticed when we reached Vicksburg that she and Alcott left the boat together.

“‘Those three were pretty slick players,’ said Downing to the crowd, as he ordered champagne for everybody who would take it, ‘but they ought to travel in Texas for a time if they want to get on to the safest kind of play.’

“It was only an episode in the old river life, and as nobody was much hurt excepting professionals, nobody thought much about it.”

“Overland Jack”

_HOW A WESTERN CROOK HAD FUN WITH SOME SHARP NEW YORKERS_

“I don’t know how far local pride may color the judgment,” said the gray-haired young-looking man, “but I am satisfied that very few New Yorkers would be willing to admit that an all-round sport could come here from the West and clean up the town, metaphorically speaking. That is, tackle the experts of the city at their own different games and win money from one after another without losing to any of them, and finally depart after a season of riotous success with his pockets laden with spoils. Such a thing does not seem likely. Yet I remember one case in the ’70s when just that thing was done by one of the best-known gamblers in the United States. ‘Overland Jack’ was the name by which he was usually called, but his real name was John McCormick. He cut a very wide swath when he first came to New York, but he made a good many friends here, too, not only among the sporting fraternity, but among actors and men-about-town generally.

“The fact of his having a goodly number of friends was manifest when he came to die afterward in Chicago. He knew, toward the last, that his death was near, but instead of weakening he recalled the incidents of his career with the utmost satisfaction, and declared that he had no regrets for the way he had spent his life, but, on the contrary, considered that he had done excellently well with it. As a token of his feelings, he expressed the wish that his friends should go to his funeral, not with religious ceremonies, but with champagne galore, and that in place of praying for his future they should drink to his memory over his open grave.

“It was just such a crowd as he would have selected that went to his grave and carried out his wishes. Tony Pastor, Jack Studley, Pat Sheedy, Johnny Blaisdell, Mike McDonald, and many others were there. There were enough, at all events, to get away with five baskets of wine before the grave was filled in, and the empty bottles were thrown in on the coffin. It was a memorable occasion, even for Chicago, and it occurred only a few years ago. It was in ’90 or ’91, if I remember aright.

“The time I speak of, however, was before he was known on this side of the continent, excepting by reputation. Overland Jack, the sport, came from San Francisco. Where John McCormick, the man, came from originally no one seemed to know. The first that could be definitely stated was that he was a private in a California cavalry regiment at the time of the Civil War. He never rose from the ranks, but he was always well supplied with money, even when on duty, for he was far and away the best poker player in the regiment. After the war he never did anything but gamble for a living.

“He was a quiet man, who was so uncommunicative about himself that his best friends could not even say with certainty whether he was a well-educated man or not, but he was always smiling and extremely pleasant in his manner. It was said of him that he was never known to be angry, but I have heard this disputed. Certainly he had no reputation as a fighter, though he took his life in his hands often enough in his play, for he was, beyond question, a crook, which makes the fact of his having so many friends all the more remarkable.

“He became well known on the Pacific coast soon after the war, but it was not until ’73 or ’74 that he started East, and then he didn’t come straight through, but stopped at various places. The first I heard of him was at Salt Lake City, where he had a notable adventure. I heard the story from a man who stood in with him in his faro game and helped him to get away with considerable Mormon capital. He traveled with a faro outfit and dealt a brace game always. Of course he had to be skilful to do that, but he was particularly skilful. When he reached Salt Lake he put up at the Townsend House and set up his faro layout in his room, running the game quietly enough to rouse no antagonism on the part of the landlord, but managing, with the aid of my informant, who was an actor, then playing in Brigham Young’s theatre, to rope in several of the wildest sports in the city.

“Among others, Brigham Young’s son, John Young, was informed of the chance to play, and, being eager to do so, was accommodated to the tune of seven hundred or eight hundred dollars the first night. The actor went with him and played with him, and was a loser to a less amount. He was therefore in a proper position to urge Young to try it the second night that they might both get even. Overland Jack, however, let nobody get even when he was manipulating the box, and Young lost about three thousand dollars the second night. He was not a good loser, as was shown long afterward when he came to Chicago and killed a man there in a quarrel in a gambling-house--a matter, by the way, for which he was never tried--and he was furious at his losses this time. Overland Jack was shrewd enough to foresee trouble, and that night he packed his faro layout in the trunk of his friend the actor, and early in the morning started out for a walk. The walk was a long one, and not caring about walking back he took a way train at the next station, and after changing cars once or twice was well on his way to Laramie before John Young went back to the Townsend House with police force enough to take in four faro banks and all their attendants.

“The actor tarried in Salt Lake for a discreet interval and then went to Laramie himself. For some reason it was not thought wise to deal faro there, and they lay around idle till they got a chance to play together in a pretty heavy poker game that was going on. They had not spoken to each other there till they met at the table, and supposed that no one in the place knew that they were acquainted, so the chance seemed a good one to play in the way they had arranged, which was for Overland Jack to do the dealing and the other man to hold the cards. Among the other players was a rich plainsman who had come to town for a racket and was having it to his complete satisfaction. He was not a particularly good player, and the game looked like a good thing.

“It came Overland Jack’s deal, and his confederate looked confidently at his cards, expecting to find winners, but, instead, he found nothing at all. Overland Jack had seen what he had not, that the landlord of the hotel, who was in the room but not in the game, was watching the actor’s play, as if he had an inkling of the truth. Instantly changing his plan, he dealt himself the hand he had stacked for the actor, which was four aces, while he gave the plainsman his four kings as he had intended.

“There was the raise before the draw and after it, and the pile on the table grew rapidly, while the other players dropped out, and the two hands were being played for all they were worth. Overland Jack’s nerve was perfectly good, and he was playing for the other man’s pile, when he heard a click under the table, just as the plainsman had raised him five hundred dollars. Without an instant’s hesitation, and without the slightest change of expression, he exclaimed, ‘That’s good,’ and threw his four aces into the discard pile. Neither did he show any emotion of any kind as he saw the plainsman, with a look of considerable surprise, rake in the pile. He had cold feet soon after, however, as did the actor also, and they left the room and went straight to the bar.

“While they were chewing their whisky the landlord and the plainsman came in together, and Overland Jack instantly called to them both to come over and have a drink. They came, and the plainsman put out his hand, laughing.

“‘You are a good one,’ he said. ‘What did you throw down four aces for?’

“‘My friend,’ said Overland Jack, ‘when you have played cards as much as I have you will know that there are times when four aces are not worth four cents. And when you have been through what I have you will know that it is damned foolish to pull the second gun. When you hear a click, and your own gun is not out, it is time to quit the game.’

“‘Well, you are a good one,’ said the plainsman again, and they all drank.

“At that time the old Morton House was the center of a good deal of the excitement of various kinds that was going on in this city, and it was natural enough that Overland Jack should put up there when he arrived in New York. He did so, and looked around quietly enough for a few days without making himself known. It was not hard for him to strike up a hotel acquaintance with Jim Morton, who was then running the house alone, after Ryan’s death, and it was not long before Overland Jack managed to be in the room as a spectator when there was a tolerably stiff game of poker going on. He hadn’t been invited to play, and he was not making proposals. He was simply awaiting his chance, and it came suddenly.

“Morton was in the game. So was Shed Shook, and so were the late General Owens, Ed Gilmore, and a Senator from Albany who spent considerable time in the city. They were betting pretty well and playing table stakes. Morton was called away by a summons from the office, and, not caring to quit the game, he looked around for somebody to take his hand while he should go downstairs for a few minutes. It happened that he saw Overland Jack first among the lookers-on, and he asked him if he would keep the seat warm for him.

“Naturally Overland Jack didn’t refuse, but as he sat down he said: ‘If you want me to play for you, you’d better leave me some more money, for I shall play your cards for all they are worth.’

“Morton had two or three hundred on the table at the time, but he didn’t hesitate an instant. Putting his hand in his pocket, he pulled out a roll and tossed it down in front of Overland Jack, who did not even count it, but nodded and shoved the money all together and waited for his cards. He never made any charge afterward that anybody was trying to play tricks in that game, but he did say that he was satisfied in his own mind that a certain man in that party was likely to hold four of a kind soon after he began playing, and as it happened that man did hold four deuces the next time it came Overland Jack’s deal. It was a jack-pot, and the deuce man opened it for fifty dollars. The others came in, and Overland Jack raised it fifty. The deuce man raised it fifty more, and all stayed.

“On the draw the deuce man called for one, the next man stood pat on a flush, the next drew two cards and didn’t fill, the next drew to two pairs and didn’t better, and the dealer took three. The opener proceeded to make merry at his expense. ‘You raised it on a pair, eh!’ he exclaimed. ‘Well, you have a nerve, to be sure. Do they play that kind of poker where you came from? If they do you have come to a good place to learn the game. Why, I have you beaten without a struggle.’ And he shoved one hundred dollars into the pot.

“‘Yes,’ said Overland Jack, coolly. ‘I raised it on a pair of queens,’ and he turned them over, while he let the three he had drawn lie where they had fallen, without looking at them himself. ‘A pair of queens is a good hand to draw to,’ he continued, speaking with calm indifference to the open amusement of all the others. ‘There are more queens in the pack, I suppose, and I may get some of them.’

“‘Yes, you may,’ said the opener, with a sneer. ‘You may get struck by lightning, but I’m not looking for it to happen this evening.’