Part 17

"'Well, I'll tell you what I'll do to give you a start in life, Tim,' said Carmody finally. 'You've got my checks for $11,000. Supposing you call those two contracts worth $70,000, return me those checks for $11,000, and say that the two contracts I've got in my pocket are worth $59,000 as they stand. Then I'll give you a chance to take as big a fall out of the contracts as you think you can.'

"That idea suited Feeney to a T, and I stood by to begin dealing again. The two contracts were pushed into the center of the table by Carmody, and it was an additional part of my business, besides dealing, to make note of the changing value of the contracts as the game progressed.

"Well, the game continued to go Feeney's way, and Carmody just looked at his contracts as Feeney began to edge them nearer and nearer to his end of the table. Carmody, while he figured that the contracts were so much velvet, didn't look happy when Feeney picked $12,000 more out of them, leaving their value to Dan only an approximate $47,000, but he played on in the hope of better luck. Finally a queer hand came around. Carmody caught two queens, an eight and a seven. So did Feeney. This thing made Carmody mad.

"'Of all the niggering out I ever saw,' he exclaimed, 'this is the worst. But it's about time I had the best of it when it comes to pure bull-head luck.'

"So he bet the limit that he had a better card in the hole than Feeney. Feeney came back at him every clip, and when I interposed a remonstrance over the heftiness of the game, expressing the opinion that both of them would probably be sorry they had gone into the thing so heavily when the gray dawn came around, they said they knew they'd be sorry, and went right ahead.

"'This is surely the hottest case of a stand-off in a deal in stud that I've seen yet,' said Feeney, 'and I shouldn't be surprised if we had to split the pot when the show-down comes. But I'm as good as you, Carmody, on the four that show, and I'm with you all night if you're going to keep it up that long.'

"When my tab of the shifting value of the contracts showed that Carmody's interest therein was only an even $30,000, Carmody looked up at the ceiling of the card-room and reflected.

"'Here,' he said, 'is where I get my contracts back and break even, or where I have to go into partnership with a slow-witted Irishman on those buildings at The Dalles. Feeney, I call you.'

"Feeney turned over a six spot. Carmody's card in the hole was a five. Feeney was the possessor of a half interest in Carmody's fine contracts at The Dalles, and that's how it happened that these two builders, who had always gone it singly and alone, built up The Dalles in partnership. They got along so well together at The Dalles work that three years later they went into a general contracting partnership and they've been getting rich ever since. But it was their stud game on The Dalles boat that induced me to conclude that old-fashioned draw was good enough for me."

THIS MAN WON TOO OFTEN.

_With the Result That His Clothes Finally Went into a Pot, and Fortune Scowled upon Him._

"When a man arrives at that pitch where he'll bet the clothes off his back over a jackpot, it's about up to him to let the game of draw alone, in my opinion," said a traveling special agent of the Treasury Department. "I'm talking about a game of draw that happened last fall down in the Territory, on the south bank of the Canadian River, in the Chickasaw country, between four St. Louis men. They were on their annual hunting trip down there. They were well-known business men of old St. Loo, pals of a half a lifetime, and they had been after bear, deer, feathered game, or any old thing shootable down in the Territory every year together for more than a decade. They always played poker on these outings, too, and the bank president always got all the money. The other three couldn't do anything whatever with the bank president's brand of poker. They'd been digging at him on these excursions for ten years, trying every conceivable scheme to get his money, and even playing in combination against him, but when it came time to strike camp he always had all the money in the crowd, owned all the camp fixtures, and served out smoking tobacco to his three chums in a lordly way only when he felt generous. It made 'em hot, but they had to accept his alms if they wanted to smoke.

"The three of 'em determined when the party set out from St. Louis in their special car last autumn that the bank president wasn't going to come back from the hunting trip with all the money, even if they had to leave his bones to bleach on the banks of the Canadian. They declared together that the bank president's sassiness for the remainder of the year after eating them up at poker down in the Territory was something unbearable, and they didn't intend to stand for it any more.

"They played a little poker in their car on the trip down from St. Louis, and this gave one of the three conspirators a chance to get hold of the bank president's two decks of cards. The conspirators carefully marked these two decks of cards--marked 'em both just the same way--and then, during the temporary absence of the bank president in another part of the car, he elaborately explained to his two companions in infamy how he had done it, the three going over the bank president's two decks in detail, so as to master the markings. Then the two decks were returned furtively to the bank president's grip, and the rest of the playing on the trip down was done with ordinary packs. They never played big on these journeys, anyhow, but reserved their stiff games for the bad-weather days in camp.

"When they got to their point of debarkation on the line, they left their car on a siding and struck out for their regular camp, about seventy-five miles from the railroad. They stuck to the bagging of pelts and antlers for a week or so; then a threatening morning came along and the bank president suggested poker.

"'What's the use?' they all demurred, eying the bank president gloomily. 'You always get the whole works, and then you're insufferable for the rest of the year. We don't think you're on the level, anyhow.'

"'Oh, I'll give you all a chance this time,' said the bank president, grinning. 'I won't be hard upon you. Then, you see, the more you fellows play with me in the game, why, the more you learn about poker, and I'm sure the instruction you get helps you a lot in your games with the dubs up in St. Loo. I'm noted, anyhow, for my generosity in giving others the benefit of my wisdom.'

"'Well,' said the spokesman and arch-conspirator of the three, 'we'll play a little game of table-stakes, but checks don't go; this thing of the three of us writing you checks that keep your large family in opulence for a year is'----

"'All right, let it be table stakes,' replied the bank president amiably. 'I'm not a man to take bread out of the mouths of the impoverished,' and with more of such badinage the game started.

"An ordinary deck was used at first--a deck out of the satchel of the real estate man, the infamous member of the conspiring trio who had marked the bank president's cards. The bank president, as usual, had all of the luck from the jump. He seemed to rake down every pot. The three glared at him and made all sorts of insinuating remarks about the phenomenal luck of the bank president that had continued for a dozen years. The bank president regarded them indulgently, and told them they'd learn the elementary principles of the game after they'd camped with him for another ten years or so.

"After an hour's play the bank president beat the real estate man--the other two had dropped out--out of a stiff jackpot with a pair of better threes, and the real estate man simulated great rage and tore the deck of cards into many pieces.

"'For heaven's sake, give us another deck!' he exclaimed, passionately, with a furtive wink at his two companions in crime.

"The bank president reached back of him, collared his grip, and produced one of his decks with a bland smile. They surely were scientifically marked, for this bank president had an eye in his head, and he didn't get next.

"'Well, we'll try one of my decks,' said the bank president. 'Of course, it'll be a shame to plug you with a new musket--none of my decks has been riffled yet--but maybe my unfamiliarity with the range of the fresh gun'll give you all a show at me.' Oh, this bank president was arrogant in victory, all right.

"Well, he wasn't one, two, three, from then on, of course. It was done mighty well, and not so as to excite the bank president's suspicions in the least, but he found himself topped practically every time, and his face grew long. He was quite heavily in the hole at the end of an hour's play with his own deck.

"'Oh, we've got on to your bluffing style of play, that's all,' said the real estate man complaisantly. 'You just had us scared together for the past ten years, but you're as clear a proposition now as a mountain creek. I always thought you were more or less of a counterfeit and a four-flusher, anyhow, didn't you, fellows?'

"Of course the other two thought so, too, and the bank president's brow clouded as, time after time, after he had bet hard on hands that looked to him to be worth every dollar he ventured on them, he found himself topped, niggered out. The real estate man increased the bank president's worry by flashing a nine-high straight against the financier's eight-high straight, and then the latter did a card-tearing stunt himself. He ripped his deck into ribbons with a running commentary of strong talk.

"'It must be a rank deck that'll permit of a set of amateur skates like you fellows putting it on me,' he said. Then he dug into his grip again and produced the other 'phony deck, his three companions warning him against letting his angry passions rise, and so on.

"The three conspirators let the bank president pull down a couple of sizable pots with this deck just for the sake of enjoying his renewed impertinence, and then they went at him good and hard. At the end of an hour they had the bank president's supply of ready cash--about $500--badly wilted. He had only $100 left when it came around the real estate man's turn to dish out a jackpot round. The bank president was under the gun, as they say out there of the man who's to the left of the dealer of a jackpot, and he cracked the pot open for the limit. The other two stayed, and when it got up to the real estate man he raised it the limit. This knocked his two confederates out of it--as a matter of fact the arch-conspirator winked them out of it--but the limit was just what the bank president wanted with his four bullets.

"The bank president took one card with a crafty, I'll-make-him-think-I'm-four-flushing expression of countenance. The real estate man, with a queen-high sequence flush of hearts remarked that the bunch he had was good enough for him. Then they got to betting, and it was no time at all before the bank president had done the apology act with the remains of his $500. He pulled out a check-book then and was fumbling around for a fountain pen when the real estate man called him down.

"'Not on your life,' he said. 'Agreement was that checks don't go, you'll remember.'

"'But this hand'----the bank president started to say.

"'Makes no difference about that hand,' interrupted the real estate man. 'Agreement was for table stakes.'

"'But, great Caesar, man,' pleaded the bank president. 'I want to get some kind of a decent run for this hand. Why, I'd bet the clothes right off my back on it.'

"'Well,' said the real estate man calmly, 'we didn't make any stipulation about clothes and personal possessions, and you can get the clothes off your back if you want to. But no checks.'

"'Well,' said the bank president, peeling off a big solitaire ring, 'this stone's worth $400, and I'll raise you that much.'

"'I see you,' said the real estate man. 'What else have you got that I can raise against?'

"'Well,' replied the bank president, 'this watch is worth $300 and'----

"'Skate it in,' interrupted the real estate man. 'Raise you $300 then, your valuation of the ticker.'

"'Dog-gone the luck,' said the bank president, 'I don't want to call you. I know I've got you beat. I'd be willing to bet my corduroys, shoes and hat that I've got you soaked, for'----

"'Rush 'em to the center, then,' calmly replied the real estate man. 'Supposing I appraise the corduroys, shoes and hat at $50 for the bundle. That satisfactory?'

"'It's got to be,' replied the bank president mournfully.

"'All right, then, put 'em in the pot and I'll consider that you've called me,' said the real estate man.

"The bank president stood up, peeled off his coat and waistcoat and hunting breeches and dropped them on the blanket that served for a table. Then he removed his pair of high hunting shoes and placed them on top of the clothes, and tossed his fore-and-aft cap on the heap. Then he sat down in his underclothes, picked up his four aces, and said:

"'Now, dern you, put down your little straight or full and I'll show you what you're up against.'

"The wealthy depositors of the St. Louis bank of which he was the head would have enjoyed seeing his face when the real estate man calmly laid down his sequence flush and hauled down the pot, togs and all, without a word.

"'You're a good thing, ain't you?' said the other two, who had been taking the play in with a positive knowledge of how it was going to come out.

"The bank president looked pretty forlorn as the three sat there and guyed him. Finally he stood up.

"'Well,' said he to the real estate man. 'I'll just write you a check for the fifty you allowed on those togs of mine,' and he started to reach for the clothes in order to dress himself. The real estate man held the suit, shoes and hat out of the bank president's reach.

"'These things ain't for sale,' he said. 'They'll all just about fit me,' trying on the hat, 'and I guess I'll just hang on to them as a sort of No. 2 outfit.'

"'But, great Scott, man!' exclaimed the bank president, 'don't you know that I haven't got another stitch in camp--that that rig-out's the only one I brought from the car?'

"'Too bad,' said the real estate man. 'You hadn't ought to've skated the togs into the pot, then. Sorry, old man, but honest, I really couldn't think of parting with these things for any amount of money. I've only got one suit along with me, too, and only one hat and pair of shoes, and if they get wet what am I going to do? Got to have a change, you know. I really feel very deeply for you in your predicament, and so do the other boys--don't you fellows?--but I need this outfit in my business.'

"The other two men nodded their heads in grave endorsement of this stand and the bank president frothed at the mouth.

"'What the devil do you expect me to do, you blamed idiot?' he shouted at the real estate man. 'Stand around the tent and shiver, or cut across the trail in my underclothes for the car to get another set of togs?'

"'I wish I could think of some plan to help you out, old man,' answered the real estate man with commiseration in his countenance, 'but I really couldn't think, under any consideration, of giving up these things,' and he made the suit, the shoes and the hat up into a neat bundle as he spoke. Just then one of the other men, who had been prowling outside, came running into the tent breathless.

"'Say, fellows,' he exclaimed, 'there's some fresh bear tracks right over there in the clearing,' and he grabbed his gun. So did the other two. The bank president made as if to pick up his rifle, too, when his eye fell on his lack of raiment. By that time the real estate man was fifty yards from the tent, at a lope with the other two.

"'Hey, come back here, you confounded cut-throat!' the financier yelled after the real estate man, who had the bank president's clothes, shoes and hat slung in a neat bundle over his shoulder. But the three men were out of voice range in a jiffy.

"They came back, beaming, along toward nightfall, with the pelts of two nice young black bears. They found the bank president moping around, wrapped up in a blanket and sulphurizing the air when they reached the tent. Then they sat around him in a circle and expressed their sincere sympathy with him and told him his case was only one more instance of the awful evil of gambling. After supper and a pipe they all turned in, leaving the bank president still sulking and uttering terrible maledictions under his breath.

"The real estate man and the other two went out early the next morning--the bank president's clothes along with them--and when they got back they found the blanketed financier on the verge of apoplexy from sheer wrath. The real estate man then made a great show of charity by giving up the togs, and the bank president was in a state of good-nature by the time camp was struck. The three conspirators united in a letter of explanation, inclosing all of their winnings, to the bank president when they got back to St. Louis, and when the bank president got the letter and his disgorged losings he was most tickled to death and instantly became as perky and impudent as ever.

"'I knew you couldn't have done it if you'd played on the square,' said he, the first time he met them. 'Wait till next year, that's all.'"

THE NERVE OF GAMBLERS AT CRITICAL MOMENTS.

_Wherein It Is Shown That It Is Easy Enough to Be Cool When Playing with Another Man's Money._

"I happen to know that a considerable number of the most famous professional gamblers in this country made their reputation with other men's money," said a Rocky Mountain man of large experience. "These men have had their names heralded far and wide as the stakers of thousands, and even hundreds of thousands, upon the turn of a card, and innumerable yarns have been spun as to their cool, John Oakhurst-like manner of scooping in a table full of money upon the smashing of a bank, or of calmly lighting their cigars and strolling out when fortune went against them. So far as the stories themselves are concerned, some of them are undoubtedly right; but all of them leave out the very essential fact that the men were simply players of other men's money--'table touts,' we call 'em out West. I suppose it is a reasonable proposition that it is a whole lot easier to risk another man's money at the table than it is to endanger your own. Of all the men I am telling you about hardly a one had enough luck at the tables to keep himself warm when putting up his own coin; perhaps it was owing to the extreme caution of their play under these conditions and the far greater strain involved in the hazarding of their own money. They could take another man's money--the money of a man who probably did not know the difference between 00 and 33 in a wheel layout, but who could afford to venture almost an unlimited amount of money on a game--and in at least eight cases out of ten they could run the initial stake into a pile that would mean for themselves a rake-off or percentage of thousands or tens of thousands; but in venturing their own money I have seen few of them who were any good in the matter of keeping their nerve under rein.

"Back in the sixties Tom Naseby was generally considered the most dangerous man at a faro table on the Pacific Slope. Bank after bank, from Portland to San Diego, went to the wall under his system of play--or lack of system, I ought to say--and at the end the San Francisco banks shut him out altogether, so that he was compelled to start a layout of his own. Among Naseby's smashes that were famous on the coast was that of breaking Byron McGregor's Kearny street institution to the tune of $150,000; of hitting up Tillottson's $10,000 limit game in San Francisco for $100,000 and closing the doors, and of banging Ned Jordan's bank in Portland for $125,000, all within the space of three months. Yet Naseby told me himself that on none of these plays was he venturing a _sou marque_ of his own money--that it had all been handed over to him, the initial stakes for each big play, that is, by Ralston, the millionaire San Francisco banker, who committed suicide. Out of each winning Naseby of course got a big cut of the money, for Ralston went into the thing for the sport of it and was a very generous man. Naseby, who belonged to the tribe of savers for a rainy day, hung onto these rolls. Naseby played faro with just about as much skill as a Zulu wields a war club, and he frankly confessed that his coups were simply the result of unlimited confidence and unlimited backing allied to bull-head luck.

"Frank Burbridge, the most famous poker player that Portland has ever brought out, was another man who made his reputation as a gambler upon the strength of the vast winnings he hauled out upon stakes furnished by wealthy men. Some of these rich backers of Burbridge remained behind the screen and only received Frank's reports as to how he made out in the games for which they staked him, but others came out into the open and sat alongside Burbridge when he was playing with their money--not for the purpose of watching him, for he was strictly on the level, but just for the fun of watching the game. One of the big contractors for the building of the Oregon Short Line, a man worth many millions of dollars, was one of Burbridge's clients who liked to watch the expert poker player play the hands. He was constantly staking Burbridge for big games with dangerous opponents. If Frank won, all right; he got most of the money himself. If he lost, all right, too; the contractor simply went into the thing for the mental distraction it afforded him.

"I was a witness of one of those big games in which Burbridge engaged with a stake furnished by the contractor. It was played at the old Willamette House in Portland, and it was a two-handed game. The other player was a very wealthy Portland man who was said to have made a big pot of money by simply making the suggestion that he intended to parallel the Oregon Short Line. This rich man thought he knew how to play poker until his friend, the contractor of the Short Line who was Burbridge's staker, put him up against the latter--partly for the interest of watching the game, and partly, perhaps, for other reasons. Anyhow, the Portland man had a whole heap of an opinion of what he knew about poker, and played the game incessantly for pastime. He had never happened to sit in a game with Burbridge, and Burbridge's backer finally suggested to the Portland man that he have a try at what he could do with the man who was known to be the most expert player of poker in the Northwest.

"'Oh, he's a professional,' said the Portland man, 'and I don't play cards with professionals in a contest of skill such as I see you want to make this. I play with 'em once in a while just to study their games, but not for big money. I wouldn't trust them under such circumstances.'

"'Well, you trust me, I suppose, don't you?' said the contractor.

"'Certainly,' was the reply.

"'All right, my friend,' said the contractor, 'I'd just like to find out to satisfy my own curiosity how good you can play poker. I don't amount to much at it myself, and I don't think you're any better than I am. Very well. You sit into a game with Burbridge, and I'll deal all the hands myself, and sit by to see fair play--though Burbridge plays just as fairly as I would myself under the same circumstances. Does that proposition suit you?'

"'Yes,' said the Portland man, 'I'd just like to give Burbridge a whirl under those circumstances.'