Queer Luck

Queer Luck

Poker Stories from the New York Sun

By
David A. Curtis

❦

New York
Brentano’s
1899

Copyright, 1896, 1897, 1898, by
THE SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION

Copyright, 1899, by
BRENTANO’S

Contents

Why he Quit the Game
THE EXCITEMENT OF A PHENOMENAL STRUGGLE TOOK HIM TO THE VERGE OF DISHONOR

Five men of better nerve never dealt cards than the five who sat playing poker the other night in one of those up-town club-rooms that are so quietly kept as to be entirely unknown to the police and the general public. The game proved to be phenomenal.

The play was high. The party had played together once a week, for a long time, and the limit had always been one dollar at the beginning of the evening, though occasionally it had gone as high as ten before morning. This particular night, however, the cards ran remarkably well, and by midnight the limit was ignored if not forgotten. Two of the players had laid their pocketbooks alongside their chips. They had not played so before, but the gambling fever had come upon them with the excitement of good hands, one against another, until the friendly contest had become a struggle for blood. Fours had been shown several times since midnight, and beaten once, while straight flushes had twice won important money. Deck after deck had been called for, and tossed aside in turn after a few deals, till the carpet was strewn thickly with the discarded pasteboards, but there was no change in the remarkable run of the cards. Pat fulls and flushes showed in deal after deal, and the luck in the draw was so extraordinary and so evenly distributed that they all grew cautious of betting on any ordinary hand, and a bluff had not been tried for an hour. Yet no one had offered a remark, though the play grew higher and harder. It was as if each man feared to break the run by mentioning it. At length the Colonel spoke.

“The devil himself is playing with his picture books to-night, I think,” he said, with a short laugh, as he lost two stacks of blues on a seven full.

It had been the Doctor’s deal, and he looked up quickly. Gazing at the Colonel, he said:

“The hands are certainly remarkable. I never saw so many big ones at one sitting.” The words were simple, but there was a curious tone, half of question, in his voice. There had not been such nervous tension in the party before, but they were all men of experience, and had seen trouble between friends resulting from careless words on many different occasions.

The Colonel detected the tone and answered quickly and gracefully:

“That’s so, Doc. I’ve beaten some strong hands myself to-night.”

“A new pack, Sam,” said the Editor, who was the next to deal. The imperturbable darky by the sideboard produced one instantly, and the Editor shuffled it carefully. Then he offered it to the other players in turn. They all refused to touch it, and, shuffling the deck himself once more, he laid it down for the cut and began to deal. It was a little thing, but so far out of the ordinary as to mark the fact that they were fencing now with bare blades, and from that on, there was a strict observance of the punctilio of the game.

One by one the cards fell in five symmetrical little piles, as perfect as Herrmann could have made them, for the Editor was deft with his fingers, but one after another of the players passed out and a jack pot was made. The big hands had failed to appear.

It was the Congressman’s deal, and he doubled his ante and took the cards. The Colonel sat next and pushed out four blue chips—twenty dollars. The others all came in, the Congressman making good and dealing without a word. There was a hundred dollars in the pot, and there came that curious certainty to all of them which sometimes comes to experienced players, that a mighty struggle was at hand.

The Colonel made a pretense of looking at his hand, but in reality looked only at the first two cards. They were both aces. He passed.

The Lawyer sat next. He found a four flush and a pair of tens; so he passed.

The Doctor was next player. He held a pat straight, king high. He opened the pot for twenty dollars.

The Editor came in on three deuces, and the Congressman with a pair of queens put up his money. The others came up promptly.

The Colonel, having first call, looked over his hand carefully. The last card was an ace also, and he called for one, holding up a seven. The four hearts in the Lawyer’s hand were the queen, ten, nine, and eight. He promptly discarded the other ten, and drew one card. The Doctor, of course, stood pat, and the Editor drew two. The Congressman also drew to the strength of his hand.

With all the players in, the Doctor felt that a straight was a doubtful hand, but he put up twenty and waited. The Editor looked anxiously for the fourth deuce, but, finding neither that nor a pair, laid down his cards.

Three sixes had fallen to the Congressman’s queens, and he raised it twenty. Thereupon they all looked keenly at the Colonel. Not a muscle moved in his stern, handsome face, as he saw the raise, and went fifty better.

It was ninety dollars for the Lawyer to come in. He simply made good, and looked anxiously to see if there would be another raise. They criticised his play afterward, claiming that he should have raised back, but he defended it by saying that there were two players yet to hear from. The first of these resigned. A king straight was no hand for that struggle. The Congressman was still confident of his full hand, however, for he had drawn three sixes, and he came back at the Colonel with fifty more.

The Colonel raised him a hundred. It looked as if it would be a duel between him and the Congressman, but the Lawyer was still to hear from. He raised it a hundred. The Congressman made good, and the Colonel raised again.

The Lawyer counted his chips carefully, and finding exactly the right amount, covered the last raise. Then, opening his pocketbook, he drew out a hundred-dollar bill and pushed that to the middle of the table.

Once more the Congressman made good, and the Colonel raised it a hundred. The Lawyer came back, and the Congressman dropped out.

The Colonel raised it a hundred. The Lawyer made it another, and there was over twenty-five hundred dollars on the table.

The struggle of the evening had come, and the three who had dropped out were not less excited than the two players. To all appearance they were far more so, for the Colonel looked as calm as if on parade, and the Lawyer’s only sign of agitation was his heightened color. None of them thought much of that, for he was of plethoric habit and flushed easily.

The Colonel raised it a hundred. The Lawyer fumbled in his pocketbook for a moment, and, drawing out a fresh roll of bills, raised it two hundred. The Colonel raised it five hundred. The Lawyer came back at him with five hundred more. The Colonel raised it a thousand. The Lawyer flipped up the ends of the bills he was holding in his hand, and, counting them rapidly, found a little over two thousand dollars. Separating the odd money, he extended his hand with the twenty centuries in it, and was in the act of speaking, when he checked himself as suddenly as if he had been shot.

“I raise—” he began, and then was stricken dumb. The bills were still in his grasp, and, instead of laying them down, he sat for a moment as rigid as a statue, while his face grew white.

The silence was intense. The Colonel was the only one in the party who showed no excitement, but the Lawyer, who had watched him up to that moment with the most acute scrutiny, no longer looked at him at all. Instead, he slowly withdrew his hand, picked up his cards, which he had laid, face down, before him, and looked them over again.

“What is that for?” thought the Editor. “He is not looking to see what he holds. He knows perfectly well. And he hasn’t been bluffing. What stopped him, I wonder?”

No one spoke, however, as the Lawyer laid his cards down again and looked once more into his pocketbook.

“Aha!” thought the Editor. “It’s the amount that staggers him. That’s queer, too. I’ve seen him play higher than this at the tables.”

It seemed to be the amount, however; for the Lawyer, finding no more money in his pocketbook, counted out a thousand dollars from the roll in his hand and, laying that on the pile in the middle of the table, said:

“I call you.”

His hand shook perceptibly, and for the first time the Colonel’s face relaxed. He smiled grimly as he laid down four aces.

The Lawyer’s face had been pale, but it grew almost ghastly as he showed his hand. He had caught the jack of hearts in the draw and had won the pot.

The Doctor watched him curiously, even more so than the others, though the entire party was surprised. To his professional eye it looked as if the excitement would culminate in a fainting fit. That for a moment was indeed imminent; then the magnificent nerve which had made the Lawyer famous stood him in good stead, and he rallied by a supreme effort. Once more his hand was as steady as clockwork as he reached out and drew the great pile of chips and gold and bank bills toward him.

It was not, however, until after he had done a strange thing that he could command himself sufficiently to speak. And while he was doing it the others looked on in silence. They had seen four aces beaten by a straight flush, but even the excitement of that was in abeyance. Some strange climax was coming, and none could even guess what it would be.

First he counted out from the pile twenty one-hundred-dollar bills, and, folding them together with the money he had held back on the last bet, he placed the roll in his pocketbook, and, closing that carefully, put it into his inside pocket and drew a long breath—almost a gasp—as if of relief. Next he counted out two thousand more and pushed it over toward the Colonel, who looked at it and at him in wonder. The remainder of the pot—a goodly sum—lay in a confused heap in front of him, and before speaking he looked at it steadily for a space wherein one might count fifty. At length he said, raising his hand, as if registering an oath:

“I am done with poker. I have nothing to say against the game. You all know how well I love to play. To my mind there is no other sport that equals it. None, I believe, so shows the skill and the mettle of a man as this does. Yet, loving the game as well and admiring it as much as I do, I give it up from this moment, forever. I have stepped across the border line of dishonor to-night. The money I have just put back in my pocket was given to me last evening by a client to be paid out this morning, and if I had lost I could not immediately have replaced it. I had it in my possession simply because I had not had the opportunity to deposit it, and in the excitement of the game I forgot that it was not my own. The fascination that could make me do a thing like that is one that I dare not risk again. Then, as the last two thousand I bet was not my own, I cannot touch the money I won with it. I have returned it to the Colonel, and, as you, sir, would never have betted against dishonest money, it is as if it had never been at stake, and consequently it is yours.”

The Colonel bowed and picked up the bills.

“As to the rest of this,” continued the Lawyer, pointing to the pile which he had not yet disturbed, “I am in doubt. I certainly won it, but I am embarrassed at quitting a friendly game with such heavy winnings. It is not a question of right, but of delicacy, and I prefer to put it to you, as to a jury, whether I owe you satisfaction in any way.”

He paused, and still no other man spoke. It was as if each one was waiting for the others. So the Lawyer spoke again.

“What am I to do?” he said. “I am in the hands of my friends.”

They all looked at the Colonel. He was the oldest in the party.

“I am no man’s censor,” said he, seeing that he was expected to speak. “Neither do I care to consider the morals of the question, but I have seen a man blow his brains out over a card table after he had done what you have done, and lost, as you, fortunately, did not. I said then that he did well, and I say now that you have done well. Having won with money that was not your own, even though you did it inadvertently, you could not touch your winnings. But as to that which you won with your own money—Are you very sure that you will never play again?”

“Absolutely,” said the Lawyer.

“Then pocket your money. We have played together, we five, for more than a year now, and I doubt if you are much ahead of the game, even counting your winnings to-night.”

He extended his hand, and the Lawyer grasped it nervously. One after another, the three others shook hands with him also, and the game was over.

Freeze-out for a Life
AN OLD GAME UNDER NEW CIRCUMSTANCES

“No, I don’t play poker any more,” said a big Westerner, who came into an up-town club-house the other night with some friends who had been showing him the town. He spoke rather seriously, although he had been chatting and laughing in a loud, breezy way until the very moment when somebody suggested a little game of draw as an appropriate wind-up of the night’s diversion.

“Why, how is that?” exclaimed one of his friends. “You used to play a stiff game. You haven’t sworn off, have you?”

“N-no,” said the Westerner, still serious. “I have not sworn off, but there is no excitement in the game for me now. The last game I played was too exciting.

“It was a dozen years ago, when I was a tenderfoot, with the usual allowance of freshness and ignorance of frontier perils. We used to call it brashness, and I was certainly brash. I roamed around the country for the better part of a year, with a more or less vague purpose of settling somewhere, but not caring much where. I had money enough to start with, whenever I should find an opening to suit me, but I was not in a hurry, and was enjoying the freedom and adventurous life of the plains as only a youngster can who is not obliged to put up with the hardships, but looks on them as mere incidents.

“I was well down toward New Mexico when there was a rumor of Indian troubles, and I heard that a company of United States troops were on the march toward one of the principal villages, where the redskins were particularly sullen. I had been out hunting for a week with a couple of fellows I had met in one of the towns, when we got the news from a stranger who came into our camp late at night and asked for supper. He admitted when we questioned him—not too closely, for inquisitiveness is at a large discount on the plains, but casually—that he was a scout in the government employ, and was on his way to join this company.

“‘There’s likely to be some pretty warm work,’ he said when we asked a little more, ‘for if the red devils are not on the warpath now they will be in a day or two, and you fellows will do a smart trick if you turn back.’

“Turning back, however, didn’t seem very attractive to me when there was so much excitement ahead. I promptly remarked that I thought I would go on with the scout and offer my services to the Captain in command. I told you I was pretty brash at the time, and I had no knowledge of military affairs. My notion was that the Captain would be glad of a recruit, or, at least, that he would make no objection to my going with him.

“I noticed that the scout looked at me a little curiously, but he evidently thought it was not his business to educate tenderfeet, and he only grunted. My two companions were as fresh as I was, and we told the scout we would go along if he had no objection.

“‘It’s a free country, and I reckon you can travel wherever you like,’ he said with a grin that I understood better afterward.

“We started before dawn, and had some thirty odd miles to go to strike the trail where the company was expected to camp that night. There were still some ten miles to go when, as we were rounding a small hill, the scout suddenly leaped from his horse and called to us to do the same.

“He had seen Indians, and, to cut it short, we camped that night in a place where the scout said that four men could hold out for a while, even against the hundred or so in the party that had surrounded us. It was a certainty, though, that we would all lose our scalps unless help came, for there was no water to be had, and the Indians knew it and made themselves comfortable just out of range of our rifles. The scout didn’t say much for a long time, but we could see that he was thinking as hard as any of us, and we were all pretty busy at it. There didn’t seem to be anything to suggest, or at least there was nothing that I could think of excepting to make a dash and try to break through. Nobody said anything in reply when I spoke of that, and the scout gave me a look of disgust that made me angry enough, but shut me up all the same. Finally he said:

“‘It’s just this way. These devils have caught us, and they know it. They won’t make a rush, for they know we will shoot, and an Indian will never risk being shot if he can get his man without. We can’t fight our way out. There’s too many of ’em. And we can’t stay here any longer than we can live without water.’

“I asked him if the Captain wouldn’t make a search for him, and he said the Captain didn’t know he was coming. ‘He’s on his way south,’ he said, ‘and the trail he is on is ten miles to the east of us. There’s only one thing that I see, and that means certain death for somebody, I reckon. It’s certain death for all of us, though, if something ain’t done.’ We asked him what it was, and he said:

“‘If one man can make his way south-east far enough, so that the noise of the firing will reach the company, the Captain will send a searching party. It all depends on how far the man gets before he is killed. If we all ride out, we will all be killed. If one man goes, the others may stand a chance.’

“We all looked at one another in silence for a good while. My blood ran cold at the idea of riding out alone into that pack of fiends, but I realized that our only chance was for somebody to go, and I knew life was as sweet to the others as it was to me. Instinctively we began first talking about the way the man who should go should manœuvre to best advantage, before raising the question who should be the man. It took only a few minutes, though, for the scout to give his advice, which was for one to ride out, waving a white handkerchief. He was to keep to the eastward and ride as far as he dared toward the Indians, looking sharply for the weakest point in their line toward his right. He should then make a dash and ride as hard as possible until it was all over, firing as often as he could. Then we had to decide who should go, and I supposed, of course, that we would draw lots, but one of the men spoke up unexpectedly:

“‘Whoever goes,’ he said, ‘doesn’t want to start for some hours. The scout says just after daybreak is the best time. What is the matter with settling this thing with poker? We can play freeze-out, and three games will settle it, the winner dropping out each time.’

“The proposition caught me. You know I used to pride myself on my poker. After a little hesitation the others agreed. The man who proposed it had the cards, and we counted out six hundred coffee beans for chips and began playing on a blanket folded and laid on the ground. You would think the details of a game like that would fix themselves in the memory, so that I would be able to tell you every hand I held and every bet I made, wouldn’t you? Well, I can’t. In fact, I can’t tell anything about the first game excepting that I was the first man to lose all his chips. I had played often enough for what I thought were high stakes, but the thought that I was playing for my life rattled me completely, and I really believe I bet at random. Whatever I did I lost, and the man who had proposed the game won out. He was shot in a gambling house three months later—had an extra ace in his sleeve, I believe, or something like that.

“The next freeze-out, between three of us, was a comparatively short one. It did not take more than twenty minutes for the scout to gather in all the chips, but short as it was, I managed to get myself together a little, though I was still full of the thought of the value of the stakes—a thing which, I have noticed, always interferes with my play. When I consider the value of a chip it always influences my betting one way or the other, even though I try not to allow it to do so, and in this case I said to myself that each bean represented the one hundred and fiftieth part of my life. In other words, I was gambling away months and years instead of money.

“When the third game began, however, I pulled myself together with a most tremendous effort, and really became as cool as I ever had been before at a game of cards. The man I played against this time was a young Englishman whom I had grown to esteem highly in the short time I had known him. He was a gentleman clear through, and as cheery and companionable a man as I ever met. His people at home never heard this story, and I hope they never will. They know he was killed by the Indians and that he was on a hunting trip, but they never heard of his last game of cards, nor of the way he rode to his death. We had each three hundred beans, and half a dozen hands were dealt before either of us got cards to bet on. Then on my deal I caught three deuces and made it fifty to play. He looked at his cards and raised me fifty, which I covered. He drew one card and let it lie without looking at it, while he watched me. I saw him looking, of course, and I am more glad than I am of almost anything else I ever did in an almost useless life to think that I made the worst play I ever saw made. I liked the man well, as I said, and some impulse that I couldn’t understand then, and can’t explain now, told me to leave the thing to chance, and to give him a little the better chance. I had played with him before, and I was certain that he had not come back at me the way he did on two pair. He was drawing to a flush, and somehow I felt that he had filled it. Of course I should have drawn to the strength of my hand, but I didn’t. I drew one card only, holding up an eight spot to my deuces, and I shoved all my beans into the pot without looking at my draw.

“He gave me one look, in which I read a perfect appreciation of what I had done, and without a word and without lifting his fifth card he pushed his chips forward. Then my nerve gave out. I grew as white as death, I know, though no one ever told me so, and I actually could not lift my cards. His nerve never shook, though, apparently, and he turned his fifth card over as he laid the other four on the blanket. They were all clubs. He looked at me, and I swear I saw regret in his eyes. I tell you, he was a man. Then I managed to control myself to turn my hand over. I had drawn the other eight.”

The Westerner stopped. He drained his glass and then said:

“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.

“I never saw anything exactly similar to that, but I had a run of luck once myself that seemed to me almost as curious. I went to visit a friend and there was invited to sit down at a poker game with some men I had never met before. The fact of not knowing the other players did not worry me, for I assumed that they were all friends of Harry’s, but it was not long before the fact that they did not know me began to worry me most confoundedly, for I never had such cards in my life before, and I don’t dare even to hope that I will ever hold them again. If the circumstances had been different and I could have felt free to play to win, I could have won big money, for they were playing an open game, and the limit was two dollars. At first I played my hands for what they were worth, and I won more than half the pots I played for—a big percentage when six are playing. But after a little I began to worry. It seemed to me that they must mistrust me, and I hesitated about betting as I ordinarily would. Still I kept winning and my pile of chips grew till I was positively ashamed of myself.

“Then I started to try to lose money. Fancy a man doing that at poker! I threw down a number of hands that were well worth betting on, and bet rather heavily on some that I was convinced were losers. Even at that I got fooled once or twice and took in pots that were not contested, when the other players would have won them if they had not grown cautious of my luck. Still, I was reducing my pile slowly, in spite of the cards I was getting, and would have reduced it still further if the ladies had not grown tired of their own society and come out to look at the game. One or two casual remarks by their husbands about my luck excited their curiosity, and two or three began looking at my cards.

“I don’t know what they thought of my playing, for I still refused to press my luck as even the most cowardly player would have done, but I know they were fairly astonished at the way the cards came to me. Over and over again I filled full hands, drawing to a pair; twice I held fours, and the flushes were as common as two pairs ever were when I played before. I played at random. I made wild draws and foolish bets, and threw down winning hands, but the chips kept coming my way till the situation became positively painful. That luck held till the game broke up, and, though I had honestly tried to keep from winning, I had seventy-five dollars cash to the good, over and above the stack I bought on entering the game. To make matters worse, one of the players had given me some unmistakably black looks, and in my embarrassment I felt certain that he took me for a card sharp, and I thought that the others would be likely to share his opinion.

“When we were all saying good-night, however, one of the players drew me one side and whispered:

“‘We were very glad to see you win that money.’ I was puzzled for fair, but I said:

“‘Well, I’m glad you’re glad, but why should you be? I didn’t exactly like it myself.’

“‘No,’ he replied. ‘I saw you didn’t. But didn’t you notice that the man that lost the most lost his temper also?’

“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I did notice that.’

“‘Well,’ he chuckled, ‘he is the fellow we have been trying all winter to catch.’

“That was a relief, but I never got over my regret that the easiest winnings I ever made at poker should have come when I was trying my best to lose.”

“I quite believe, as you do,” said one of his listeners, “that there is such a thing as luck, but do you think that it is affected by anything that we can possess?”

“Meaning a rabbit’s foot or a child’s caul, I suppose,” said the gray-haired young-looking man with a smile. “Well, I wouldn’t like to declare myself on that point, but I can tell you one more story that is true within my own knowledge. About five years ago I met a man on Broadway, whom I had formerly known as a speculator and a roving character in the West. He was a good fellow, with a reputation for being square that I had never heard questioned, and he had, when I knew him well, been unusually successful, so that he was very well off for a young man. I was therefore surprised to see that he looked very seedy. Moreover, he had a discouraged look which I had never seen on his face before.

“I questioned him, and he frankly declared that he was ‘dead broke’ and in trouble. He had tried New York in the hope of mending matters, but had decided that his best chance was to go West again. I offered to help him, but he would not borrow more than a trifle, which he needed toward his fare to Chicago. While he talked I noticed that he wore a small but very brilliant opal in his scarf-pin, and half-laughingly I asked him if he ever expected to have any luck while he wore that. It was not an expensive stone, but it was a very pretty one. He looked at me, half surprised, for a moment, and then he took the pin out and looked at it thoughtfully for several moments before speaking. At length he said:

“‘I don’t know that I ever had any superstition. In fact, I don’t know that I have now, but it is certainly curious. I bought that stone about two years ago, and everything I have done in a business way since then has resulted in a loss. I have lost some thousands more than I had, and have still to pay the debts. I think I’ll throw it away. The setting is worth the price of a dinner, I guess, so I’ll keep that.’ And he pried the jewel out with his pen-knife and tossed it into the gutter.

“I met him again last week, and he returned the loan, taking the bills off a roll that it would do you good to look at. He told me that his luck had changed the day he threw the stone away, for he received a letter that afternoon which put him on the track of a contract by which he made twenty thousand within a year, and that since then everything had prospered as it always had before he bought the opal.

“I don’t feel called on to say what I think about it, but those are the facts, and, to say the least, they are curious.”

Storms’s Straight Flush
IT CAME NEAR COSTING HIS LIFE AND ANOTHER’S

“I am not one who is disposed to quarrel with the inevitable,” said the gray-haired young-looking man as he lighted his pipe in the club smoking-room. There had been considerable discussion in the club as to the propriety of allowing pipes, but he had taken no part in it. He had simply kept on smoking his pipe till the others had settled the question, and when it was settled he continued to have nothing whatever to say.

“I don’t quarrel with the inevitable,” he remarked, “and I realize that changes of all sorts are among the things that are inevitable. Modern progress cannot be stayed, and modern improvements cannot be ignored. We have new business methods, new political doctrines, new translations of the Bible, and even the new woman, and there does not seem to be any possibility of ignoring them, or even getting away from them. I therefore make no objection to change of any sort, further than to cling to the old order of things myself, as far as I can. Aside from that I am strongly in favor of new-fangled ways—for those that like them. Indeed, I always think of what President Lincoln said: ‘For people that like that sort of——’”

“Oh! forget it,” said the man with his heels on the fender. “Excuse me,” he added, as the other looked at him in mild surprise, “but that is such an awful chestnut. What has provoked you to philosophizing?”

“Was I philosophizing? Well, perhaps I was. One of the youngsters asked me to join in a game of poker a little while ago, and I was going to do it, for I like poker when the stakes are not too heavy, but he told me they were playing with a joker.

“Now, they may get up a game of poker one of these days with high, low, big and little casino, and the right and left bowers in it, and it may prove to be a game that will be much liked by those who play it. Certainly, I will have nothing against it. But when I sit in at the game I want to play it as I learned it. So I declined the invitation.”

“Do you play it as you learned it?” asked the other. “When I learned, four aces couldn’t be beaten.”

“I must admit that point to be well taken,” said the gray-haired young-looking man, “for I can remember, myself, when a straight flush was an unknown hand. In fact, the first one I ever saw came near costing two lives. But the straight flush, though it was in its day a modern improvement, was a legitimate development and not a change in the game. The principle underlying draw poker is that a hand is valuable exactly in proportion to the difficulty encountered in getting it—that is, according to the smallness of the chance you have of holding it. Fours were supposed to be the hand that was the hardest to get, and so fours were the winning hand. When somebody discovered that the chances of holding a straight flush were fewer than the chances of holding fours, the straight flush took its place strictly in accordance with the rules of the game as already formulated. The only reason it was not played from the first was that it had not been recognized as a distinct hand before. If somebody should discover a new hand—that is, a new combination of cards with a positive, individual character of its own, sharply distinguishing it from any other combination—that new hand might be admitted at its proper value without changing the rules.”

“There is a certain amount of interest in what you say, no doubt,” said the man with his heels on the fender, “but it occurs to me that there may be even more in the narration of the circumstances under which you made the acquaintance of a straight flush.”

“Now a ‘blaze,’” continued the other, “is certainly a distinct hand, but it seems to be a characterless sort of a thing, and not entitled to much respect. And the same may be said of the alternated straight. It is true that an effort was made to introduce the blaze, but it didn’t meet with much favor. I don’t think it is played anywhere now, and I never heard of anybody seriously proposing to play alternated straights. Come to think of it, the straight was not a part of the old original game, and was not universally played until within a few years. I don’t imagine, though I never figured on it, that it is any harder to get than an alternated straight, but it has a stronger character of its own. That proves what I said, doesn’t it?”

“About those two lives,” said the other, lazily moving his heels a little further apart.

“It was up in the pine woods of Minnesota. I went there one winter to escape a galloping consumption that my doctor predicted, and had secured a job with Brown & Martin, a firm that had several lumber camps in the woods. There was a gang of about forty men in our camp, and there was nothing particularly unusual about them, excepting perhaps that there was rather more card playing at night than the bosses liked to have. I don’t know that it is prohibited in any of the camps—certainly it was not in those days; but gambling is discouraged, for the men’s sakes as well as for the bosses’, and as a rule there isn’t much going on.

“The lumbermen are very impatient of restraint, though, and no intelligent foreman interferes with them much outside of working hours, and as there were half a dozen men in our camp who were inveterate gamblers, the infection spread until there were four or five poker games going on every night. Our foreman was a Yankee from Maine, a strapping big fellow, who did not play himself, and strongly disapproved of it, but he had a great amount of discretion, and beyond speaking his mind freely he did not try to stop it.

“This was thirty years ago, mind you, and, as I said a moment ago, the straight was not played everywhere. We played it, however, for there were a good many there who had become familiar with it, and they insisted on it, and the few who were disposed to grumble at it as a new-fangled notion submitted, though not with the best grace. If you remember, the straight, as played then, only beat two pairs. Its value as the lowest complete hand had not yet been recognized.”

The other man nodded.

“One of the men in the party I usually played with was Will Davison, a big, overbearing sort of man, who grew sarcastic whenever a straight was played, and who made it a point to throw down his own hand rather than draw to a sequence of four, calling attention to what he did.

“‘I have no use for a boy’s game,’ he used to say with a sneer, but the rest of the party overruled him, and he liked the game too well to stay out.

“One night a young law student from Columbia, who had gone West as I had for his health, joined our game, taking the sixth hand. Davison didn’t like that, either, as I noticed by his expression, but Harry Storms, the student, was a general favorite, and the rest of us all welcomed him, although we were a little surprised when he offered to play, for he generally spent his evenings poring over a law book, and we had thought he didn’t know the cards.

“We speedily found out that he did, though, and that he was not afraid to back his hand for what he thought it was worth. We played only a quarter limit, and as a rule we kept pretty well inside of the limit, too, so that it was not often that there was more than two or three dollars, even in a jack-pot. Storms, however, generally bet the limit when he bet at all, and as the boldest player generally sets the pace, we were soon playing a stiffer game than had been seen before in the camp.

“It was stiffer than I was used to, then, for I was only a youngster, and hadn’t played much, so I was naturally too much absorbed to notice for some time that we had attracted the attention of a number of other men, who crowded around us, watching the play in silence. When I did look up I saw Aleck White, our foreman, looking on with an expression of profound dissatisfaction, but as he said nothing I did not feel like quitting the game, especially as the luck was a little in my favor just then.

“Presently there was a jack-pot of one dollar and fifty cents on the table, and as it went over three or four deals without an open, it was sweetened up to three dollars and odd before Storms threw in a quarter, saying, ‘I open.’ I sat next to him, and, looking at my hand, I saw that I had aces up, so I stayed, of course. The next man stayed also, and then Davison, who was next, raised it a quarter. There seemed to be some good hands around, for everybody stayed, even after the raise, and there was nearly five dollars on the board before the betting began. It does not sound very exciting now, but, as I tell you, we did not play heavily. There were no professional gamblers among us, and the men were all working for day’s wages. A dollar meant more then than it does now to me, and it was a respectable sum to any of us.

“Before anybody drew cards Storms said: ‘Is there any reason why we shouldn’t raise the limit for this one hand?’

“I had suspected him of bluffing once or twice before that, and I thought this was surely a bluff. Moreover, I had a fool sort of confidence that I was going to get another ace, so I said promptly: ‘I haven’t any objections.’ Davison spoke quickly, too. ‘Suits me,’ he said, and the others, with a little hesitation, agreed: ‘Make it fifty cents for this hand only,’ said one.

“‘Oh, hell!’ growled Davison. ‘Make it a dollar while you are about it.’ I felt that this was too heavy for me, but I was too excited to object, and, as I said, the hands must have been pretty good all around, for no one else remonstrated, and a dollar it was.

“I did no better in the draw, and I had sense enough to lay down when Storms threw in a dollar, for he had stood pat, and I didn’t feel like holding up a bluff from where I sat. The next man had drawn two, and he hesitated, but finally put up his dollar. Davison held his hand pat also, and raised Storms a dollar. The next two laid down.

“Storms raised back, and my left-hand neighbor laid down, leaving the struggle to the two men. Davison raised it five dollars, and one of the men who had pulled out exclaimed: ‘I thought it was a dollar limit?’

“‘Well, what business is it of yours?’ said Davison savagely. ‘Storms is the only one that has a right to kick. If he is afraid to bet I’ll stick to the limit,’ he added with a sneer.

“Storms laughed. ‘I’ll see your five and raise you ten’ he said, putting up the money.

“Davison pulled out a wallet and, putting a ten-dollar bill on the table, said: ‘That’s all the money I have with me, but I’ll give you an order on my pay and raise you ten.’

“‘And I’ll see that the order is not paid,’ said the foreman, quietly.

“There was a moment’s silence, and then the foreman spoke again. ‘I don’t propose to interfere with anything you fellows do within reason, but I am not going to see you robbing your families.’

“‘He is right,’ said Storms. ‘I don’t want to play out of reason. Perhaps we have gone far enough.’

“‘Oh, well, if you are afraid,’ said Davison, insultingly, ‘I just make it a call.’

“Storms laughed again good-naturedly, and said: ‘Well, let it go at that,’ and he laid his cards down, face up.

“‘A flush, eh?’ shouted Davison. ‘That’s what I thought you had,’ and showing down a king full on aces, he reached for the pot. ‘That’ll beat anything but fours.’

“‘But my hand beats fours,’ said Storms, also reaching for the money. ‘It’s a straight flush.’ And so it was, jack high. It was the first one I ever saw in play.

“‘Straight flush be damned!’ exclaimed Davison. ‘Who ever heard of beating fours?’ And as Storms still attempted to take the money, Davison grappled him across the table, shouting and cursing violently.

“Storms struck one or two blows, and good ones, before any of us could interfere, but as Davison had him in a close grip he could not spar, and he seized the other’s throat, choking off his wind instantly.

“The foreman jumped in, of course, as did two or three others, but Davison had a knife out in an instant, and if he hadn’t been caught in time would have stabbed his antagonist. As it was, it was a difficult thing to pull them apart, for their blood was up, and they would certainly have killed each other if they hadn’t been stopped. When we dragged them apart they struggled like two wild beasts. And that broke up poker playing in that camp for the winter, for the foreman put his foot down hard.”

“And who took the pot?” asked the man with his feet on the fender.

“The foreman made them divide it. I don’t know as he had any right to, but his word was law with us then.”

For a Senate Seat
A POKER GAME IN MINNESOTA THAT HAD POLITICAL IMPORTANCE

“Poker has often been called the national game,” said the gray-haired young-looking man in the club smoking-room, “but I fancy there are few citizens who fully appreciate how much influence it has exerted on the destinies of the nation in one way and another. We hear stories now and again of the winning and losing of fortunes, and sometimes how large estates and mining properties have been staked on the chances lying between two hands. And every lobbyist in the country is familiar with the old device of losing large sums in a friendly game with a legislator whose vote is desired on one side or the other. Such things, naturally enough, sway public interests as well as private to no small extent, but I have seen a seat in the United States Senate lost on four queens.”

“Of course you are not talking seriously,” said one of the party.

“But I am,” was the answer, “seriously and literally. It happened in Minnesota soon after the war. Political conditions in that part of the West were very different to what they are now, and in fact all other conditions were, too. It was at about the beginning of the real growth of the North-west. The value of the wheat fields had been learned, but the Swedish and Norwegian immigration was in its infancy, and the lumber industry, that afterward grew to such enormous proportions, was then making comparatively few men rich. Minneapolis was a small town on the south side of the river, and St. Anthony was a town of the same size on the other side. Now it’s all one city, but at that time nobody dreamed of St. Paul being eclipsed in size or importance.

“I was knocking about late one summer at that period, and had made many friends around St. Paul and Minneapolis, some of whom were State officials, and I had heard much talk of the struggle there was to be in the next Legislature over the election of a Senator. Two men were in the race, and as they were both popular the contest was likely to be a close one. Party questions did not enter in, for the State was strongly Republican, and no Democrat stood a show. But which of the two Republicans would carry the Legislature was a matter of great doubt, and I saw bets made on the issue as early as the first of September. As the time of election drew near, it was evident that the choice for Senator was going to govern the nomination of candidates for the Legislature, and as both the Senatorial aspirants were long of head as well as long of purse they were using all the influence they had in the county conventions which were to be held early in October.

“Right there was where the importance of the lumber industry came in. The money on which the lumbermen in the upper counties lived came to them mostly through Minneapolis and St. Anthony, and the perfectly legitimate business relations between them and the business men of those two cities naturally gave the latter much influence among the former. There was a rollicking, happy-go-lucky man in Minneapolis whom everybody called Doc Martin, for no reason that I could discover except that he wasn’t a doctor. He was part owner of a saw-mill, and spent the most of each winter in the woods with his men. He was credited with being as influential as any one there was, among voters, but he had a rival in another man named Gilmartin, who was a logger himself, but had for a dozen seasons been foreman of one gang or another. Martin was a rich man, but Gilmartin was seldom flush, excepting in the spring, when he had drawn his winter’s pay. These two men were known to be strong partisans, one favoring one of the would-be Senators, and the other the other, and it was generally thought that they would both go electioneering when the county conventions were held.

“The week before that was to happen I was one of a party who drove from Minneapolis to a road-house on the Fort Snelling road near the Minnehaha Falls, partly for the enjoyment of the moonlight and partly for a game supper such as the house was famous for providing. Martin was one of the party, and as there were two or three other high rollers with us, I had made up my mind that it would be daybreak before we would get back.

“I was right, but before the night was over we had more excitement than I had expected. We had had the supper and an abundance of good wine with it, and were sitting around the table enjoying some rarely good punch when somebody proposed poker. No one objected, and in a few minutes there were two games in progress, for there were eleven in the party. Six played at one table, and Martin and I and three others were at the other. The game was a fairly stiff one, ten dollars being the limit, and the cards ran well enough to build up some heavy pots. We had all indulged freely enough to give ourselves thoroughly to the enjoyment of the hour, though we had not been drinking heavily, and there wasn’t a man there under the influence. Altogether it was a delightful occasion. Suddenly the door opened, and Gilmartin looked in.

“‘I don’t want to “rough in,” boys,’ he said, ‘but I stopped here to get supper on the way home, and the landlord told me you were here, so I thought I’d ask you to drink with me.’

“He was greeted heartily, for everybody knew and liked him, and a bumper of punch was poured out for him forthwith, his invitation being peremptorily laid on the table. Then, as a matter of course, it was suggested that he take a hand in the game, and he being more than willing, he sat at our table.

“‘We’re playing ten-dollar limit, Gil,’ said one of the party, who knew that money was not always plentiful with the big fellow. But he laughed carelessly and said: ‘That’s all right,’ as he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and bought chips.

“Martin looked at him rather keenly, as I thought, for an instant, and said:

“‘Been out to St. Paul to-night, Gil?’

“‘Yes, I have,’ said Gilmartin, and I was sure that I saw a half-laughing look of defiance on his face as he answered. It puzzled me at the moment, but I understood the question and answer afterward. Martin, it seemed, suspected that Gilmartin had perfected his arrangements to go electioneering, and that he had the money in his pocket with which he was expected to do his work. It was this that he had asked by implication, and Gilmartin, understanding him perfectly, and knowing that he could not keep his secret long from the other, had admitted it. As it proved, he had five thousand dollars in greenbacks with him.

“The game went on without any special development for perhaps half an hour before I noticed that Martin was playing against Gilmartin as heavily as he could, and only trying to hold his own against the rest of us. Gilmartin held his end up fairly, and was not far from even when Martin got his first good chance at him. It was a pretty play, too, for Gilmartin thought, as the rest of us did, that Martin was bluffing when he stood pat, and contented himself with coming in without a raise every time it came his bet, until the rest of us had dropped out. Then he raised Gilmartin the limit. Gilmartin had a jack-high flush and was confident, so they had it back and forth till Gilmartin called and gave up four hundred dollars to an ace flush.

“That was the heaviest pot for a long time, but presently the two got together again, and Gilmartin lost two hundred more. Then he grew a little nervous and Martin grew cooler. Then Gilmartin became angry, though he controlled himself tolerably well, and I was sure that Martin would beat him. So it proved. It came my deal soon after in a jack-pot, and Gilmartin opened it. We all came in, standing Martin’s raise. I had aces, but didn’t better in the draw, so I laid down after one raise. Martin drew three cards, as did each of the others, excepting Gilmartin, who drew two. He bet the limit, and the next man laid down. Martin raised it the limit, and another man and myself dropped out. Gilmartin raised, and the fourth man threw down his cards. That left the two alone again, and Martin raised back.

“‘Ten better than you,’ said Gilmartin savagely, and then with a short laugh he added, ‘You won’t get away with me this time.’

“‘If you think so,’ said Martin quietly, ‘what do you say to taking off the limit?’

“‘That will suit me exactly,’ said Gilmartin, and Martin pushed up his last blue chip and a hundred-dollar bill.

“‘I’ll see that and go you five hundred better,’ said Gilmartin eagerly, and he skinned the bills off from a big roll that he drew from an inside pocket.

“‘Does my check go?’ asked Martin. ‘I haven’t so much money with me.’ “‘It’s good for fifty thousand, and you know it,’ said Gilmartin.

“‘I raise you a thousand,’ said Martin.

“‘And I’ll go you a thousand better,’ exclaimed the other. He was getting excited, but nobody dared to speak. It was a serious matter to interfere in a game like that.

“‘A thousand better,’ was the response.

“Gilmartin hesitated. He looked at his cards and thought for a moment. Then he counted his money.

“‘I’ll have to call you,’ he said finally, ‘for I’ve only got twelve hundred left.’

“Martin’s face was perfectly impassive. He, too, hesitated a moment, and then he spoke.

“‘I’ll put up five thousand more, if you want to play for it,’ he said.

“‘But how can I? I tell you I haven’t any more money,’ said Gilmartin, looking puzzled.

“‘If you will give me your promise to go as far south as St. Louis for sixty days, and tell nobody that you are going, I’ll take that as an equivalent for the five thousand,’ said Martin very slowly and distinctly.

“Gilmartin flushed. He knew that everybody in the room understood the proposition. He was asked to sell out his honor, for going away in that fashion meant betraying his employer and running away with his money, as well as leaving him in the lurch. I expected to hear an indignant outburst of invective and abuse, and indeed the man was about to speak when another thought seemed to strike him, and he grew deathly white. The gambling fever had seized him, and he looked at his cards again.

“While he was hesitating Martin spoke again, and the devilish coolness of his speech made me shudder.

“‘I need not say anything to impress on the minds of all the gentlemen present that this is a private party,’ he said, ‘and that nothing which happens here can be told outside while it can by any possibility work injury to any one concerned.’

“Gilmartin looked round at every man in the room, and seeing by our faces that we all recognized the obligation, he seemed nerved, as Martin had meant that he should be, to take the risk.

“‘I’ll take the bet,’ he said at length, and he spoke desperately. ‘But God help you, Martin, if you win it. I don’t believe you can, for I’ve got almost a sure hand.’

“‘If you lose,’ said Martin, ‘you have no cause of quarrel with me. I am not forcing you to play. But if you mean enmity, all right. I’ll gamble your friendship, too, along with the rest, if you like.’

“‘So be it,’ said Gilmartin. ‘It’s a call, then. If you lose you pay me five thousand. If I lose I leave.’

“‘Correct,’ said Martin, and the hands were shown.

“Martin had drawn to kings and caught the other two. Gilmartin had drawn to three queens and drawn the other.

“His face as he left the room was such a picture as I hope never to see again, but he kept to his bargain. At least, I imagine he did, for he was not seen again in that part of the country while I was there. I never spoke to Martin again, but his friend was elected Senator at the next session of the Legislature by a majority of two votes. Both men are dead, or I would not have told the story.”

The Bill Went Through
THE USE THE LOBBY USED TO MAKE OF POKER

“It is no news to the average newspaper reader,” said the gray-haired young-looking man, “that there has been a vast deal of heavy gambling done in Washington since the capital of the nation was established in that city. Stories without number have been told and retold about famous statesmen who have bucked the tiger in this and that resort, whichever one happened to be famous in its day, and who have won and lost enormous sums as coolly as Englishmen of equally high rank are said to have done when Pitt and Fox played in the London clubs. For one, I have little doubt that many of these stories are substantially true, though most of them are probably embroidered around the edges. Men who make national politics the game of their lives learn to love excitement, and next to politics, gambling is about the most exciting thing out. Some people even put it ahead of politics.

“I am the more inclined to believe these stories, too, because I remember a good deal about what happened in a certain poker club in that city a little while before the Crédit Mobilier scandal. I was a youngster then, but I had some reputation as a cool-headed player, and I was fond of the game, so it was not strange that after I had been properly introduced and had sat in once or twice, I got in the way of dropping in frequently, and finally of spending most of my evenings in this particular club-house until after Congress adjourned and the season was over. My business there was accomplished at about the same time, and I left the city, not to return for several years.

“The place was a modest-looking house, just off Pennsylvania Avenue. It had been designed for a private residence, and was used as such by the proprietor, for, though it was called a club, it was nothing more than a private gambling-house. No one could get admittance without a personal introduction by some one whom the proprietor knew and trusted, but once inside, a visitor was made to feel as if he almost owned the place.

“I never saw anything but poker played in the house, but the game was sometimes for tremendous stakes. Everybody seemed to have almost unlimited money who came there to play, for money was plentiful in Washington that year, and a thousand-dollar bet was no more an occasion for surprise than one of fifty dollars, though a five- or ten-dollar limit game was common enough, too. You could play a modest game if you liked, for there were several tables going every night, but if you preferred, you could generally get into a table stakes game and flash any sort of a roll you saw fit. I never saw a professional gambler in the house, excepting the proprietor. He was one, but he never played in his own place, and so far as I know, there was never a suspicion of a crooked play in any of the games that I saw.

“And as to the men who played? Oh! well, it would do no good to name names. Some were men whom nothing could injure in reputation. Some are dead. Others are out of politics. And not a few would be sorry indeed to be mentioned in connection with high play at a time when their ostensible income was not sufficient to warrant it. It was a season, however, in which no man prominent in official circles was obliged to be without money, provided he could be induced to accept it. It is enough to say that one of the unwritten rules of the ‘club’—it had no written ones—was that any man’s I. O. U. was good, but that it must be taken up within forty-eight hours. And I never heard of an infraction of the rule.

“In one or two cases I would have been glad to hear that the man giving his paper thus, had had the nerve to repudiate it and quit the game. One Congressman in particular I remember who might have been a man of distinction according to all indications, if he had been willing to shoulder the odium of an unpaid ‘debt of honor’ instead of lending himself to the lobby and accepting money for his vote. How do I know it? How does a man know anything he doesn’t actually see? I knew the circumstances leading up to his ruin well enough.

“What I did see was the way the lobby tried him night after night, for it was an open secret that this particular poker club was one of the channels through which the crack lobbyists of the season reached their men. A good many games were played to lose, in the big parlor, and more, I reckon, in some of the small rooms, but the man who won in such a game was always a man who was wanted for something. Of course, when it came to handing over the cold cash as a specified payment for a particular service, it was done in private, but different men have to be approached in different ways, and poker affords some peculiar opportunities.

“This Congressman—call him Smith for short—was particularly wanted in one scheme that hung fire for a long time in the committee-room. He was a member of the committee, and for local reasons connected with his home district could have decided the matter either way, but being a conscientious fellow, he had held it up in a way that exasperated the lobby greatly. He had been approached in various ways, but had proved obdurate, and not until he had been introduced at the club did there seem to be any chance of winning him.

“Even then it was not easy, for he refused at first to play for any considerable money, but he was fond of the game and it undid him at the last. He was led on by degrees—the finesse and astuteness of a really gifted lobbyist is something almost diabolical—until, being a fairly skilful player, he found himself encouraged to plunge. Then the real game began.

“At first he was allowed to win. I say allowed, because the men against him were far better players than he, though they did not let him suspect it. One night he won so heavily that at the conclusion of the game he had Jones’s I. O. U. for over seven thousand dollars. Jones was the man the lobby had put against him, and what he had to do was to meet Smith privately next day and hand him the money, and at the same time urge the passage of the bill they wanted. Of course the money could not be considered in any sense a bribe, but Smith, in taking it, could not possibly refuse conversation, and would, it was thought, be inclined to listen favorably to a man who lost money to him as gracefully as Jones did. He couldn’t be expected to know, and as a fact, he did not know, how easy it was for Jones to lose gracefully, since the money was furnished to him for the purpose.

“It was the most delicate sort of diplomacy, but it failed completely. Smith was gentleman enough to feel the temptation, and man enough to withstand it. The loss of the money was not considered for a moment by the lobby. They had money to burn. But the failure to get Smith was important, so other tactics were employed.

“There was no necessity for asking him to give Jones his revenge at the game, for he was by this time in the fever of play, and he was at the club every night, looking for the opportunity that somebody was always ready to give him. It did seem almost pitiful to see a man of his talents and character fluttering like a big fool moth around a flame that was almost certain to destroy him, but it didn’t seem to be anybody’s business to tell him what he ought to have known for himself. At any rate, nobody made it his business. I, for one, considered that it was the part of wisdom to say nothing. It’s a good safe rule generally, and I was too young a man to play mentor to one who had reached his rank.

“Nothing was done hastily. The lobby never makes mistakes of that sort. Smith was allowed to play along for perhaps a week before Jones was put at him again. I don’t know exactly, but I think a part of the calculation was to wait till his luck should turn, for he had been winning before he made his big stake from Jones, and he continued to win for several nights, though he got no very important money after that.

“Luck does change, though, and in a week he was losing, not heavily, but enough to whet his desire, and it was noticeable that he grew more and more eager for high play. The time had come for the decisive stroke, and Jones, of course, was on hand at the proper time to deliver it.

“There were only four players in the game that night, and it was played in the big parlor. The lobby never made the mistake of seeking privacy unnecessarily, and Smith, though he was infatuated with the game, was the sort of man to take alarm quickly at anything that looked suspicious. So it happened that I was one of the lookers-on at a memorable contest.

“Smith didn’t know it, but there were three against him that night, although one of them was a fellow-Congressman who was not known to be interested in the scheme, and another was a Westerner, who had only been introduced at the club two or three nights before, and had only played there once. The fourth man, of course, was Jones.

“The play went on for half an hour before anything serious happened. Occasionally there would be some pretty big bets, but they all won and lost so nearly even that no one was much ahead. Then to an outsider it became evident that each of the other three was playing for Smith’s money, although Smith himself did not, I believe, suspect anything of the sort. As I said, the play was straight enough, but three first-class players can bring any ordinary player to grief easily enough in a four-handed game without any crooked manipulation of the cards, if they work in concert, and Smith was soon losing heavily.

“They knew the size of his pile pretty accurately, for they had kept tabs on him closely ever since he began playing, and there wasn’t a detail of his outside business that hadn’t been studied carefully beforehand. So when he had been coaxed along to a ten-dollar ante, with occasional bets of as much as five hundred, they knew that they could reach his uttermost limit easily enough, for he couldn’t have raised much over twelve thousand dollars in cash to save his life, without getting outside help somewhere. Twelve thousand dollars isn’t much of a wad to sit in a game with, if there is unlimited money against you, and the betting runs up into the hundreds, so Smith was on pretty thin ice all the time, though he didn’t realize it until it was too late.

“He had four or five thousand with him in money, but when that was gone the rule of the place made it fatally easy for him to go on, and I really believe that he lost his head as the play went on, and he gave check after check in payment for more chips. The proprietor understood well enough what was going on, and he took the checks with perfect readiness, knowing that he would be protected. Smith bought again and again, keeping no memorandum, until he was in it for over ten thousand.

“Then came the deciding hand. We did not play straight flushes then, so fours of any denomination made even a stronger hand than they do now, and Smith caught four eights. There isn’t a poker player on earth who wouldn’t look on that as a chance to recoup, and very few who wouldn’t risk their pile on the chance. Smith did it anyhow, and came to grief. He risked more than his pile, for, as it happened, the other Congressman held a good hand, too, and bet freely for a little while. Jones had four queens and scooped the pot. The Westerner wasn’t in it.

“All the chips were in the center when Smith raised it a thousand, putting up a marker in the shape of an I. O. U., hastily scribbled. The other Congressman dropped out, and Jones came back with another thousand. Smith was fairly white, but he reached over and changed the figures on his I. O. U. from $1,000 to $4,000, saying quietly, ‘Two better.’

“‘Two more than you,’ said Jones, just as quietly, laying four one-thousand-dollar bills on the table. And then there was dead silence in the room.

“Smith paused, and it seemed to me that I could read his thoughts. He was eager enough to go on with the play, but though he did not know, and could not stop just then to reckon how deeply he was dipped, he knew he was over his head. Moreover, four eights, strong as it was, was not an invincible hand, and his better sense urged him to call.

“Finally he did, and when the showdown came, I thought for a moment he would faint. He rallied, however, and like the gallant fellow he was, made some light remark with a half-laugh as he rose from the table.

“‘I’ve got enough for to-night,’ he said, and the game was over. I never knew all the circumstances of the settlement, but I know the bill was reported favorably by the committee within a week, and that Smith used to hang around the club-house more persistently than ever for the rest of the season. As for Jones, I never saw him after that night.”

Poker for High Stakes
A BOUT WITH CARD SHARPERS ON A MISSISSIPPI BOAT

“I have always found it hard to believe the stories I used to read about the luxury of travel and the magnificence of the appointments on the great Mississippi River steamboats,” said the gray-haired young-looking man in the club smoking-room. “It seems to be the generally accepted belief that forty years ago or so people went up and down on the bosom of the Father of Waters in floating palaces, enjoying something like the extreme of sumptuous luxury. Maybe that is true. I didn’t travel the river so long ago as that, and, of course, I can’t say what the condition of things may or may not have been when I wasn’t there to see. What I can say positively is that if it was true in those days, the war or some other disturbing cause changed things very materially before I became as familiar as I did afterward with the river boats. My notion is that the whole thing is a tradition, resting on very little foundation excepting comparison. The mere fact of having a stateroom to sleep in, with only one stranger as a room-mate, and a seat at a table with room for a waiter to pass behind you, served to make travelers at that time think they were in luxury, because they hadn’t experienced it before. And I imagine, from what I know of a later period, that that was about the extent of the luxury. Certainly none of the boats I was ever on, in the ’60s and ’70s, compared with the North River or the Sound boats of the same time. And even those would not seem very luxurious to travelers of the present day.

“But there were a good many stories told about the old-time Mississippi boats that I am fully prepared to believe. That the game of poker flourished on the river as it never has elsewhere, before or since, seems entirely probable. I have seen games that made me hold my breath because of the size of the stakes, and because of the fact that I knew the players were all armed, and a shot or a stab was certain to follow a hasty word or a suspicious act.

“It was on a trip from Memphis to Natchez that I first saw a woman gamble in public. The boat wasn’t crowded, but there were perhaps fifty passengers on board, and among them were six or eight ladies and this woman. That she was a social outlaw was evident enough at a glance. Not only were her clothes of a fashion too pronounced for respectability and her jewelry too ostentatious for daylight wear, but there was a frank devilry in her eye, and a defiant swing—almost a swagger—in her carriage that told the story all too plainly. Her behavior was correct enough. She was, or seemed to be, traveling alone, and she took the somewhat too ostentatious avoidance of the ladies in perfectly good part, pretending to be utterly unconscious of it, and ignoring them as completely as they did her. Neither did she give any overt encouragement to the efforts that some of the men made to cultivate her acquaintance. It was evident that while she took no pains to conceal her character, she did not propose to make herself obnoxious. Naturally every one was curious to know who she was, and I soon learned, as I supposed the other passengers all did, that she was a notorious character in New Orleans, where she was known as ‘Flash Kate.’ What her business had been in Memphis I did not hear, but a dozen stories were told of her recklessness and general cussedness, and among other things it was said that she was a confirmed gambler.

“After supper the first evening we were on board, the tables in the main saloon were cleared, and, as if it were a matter of course, two games of poker were soon in progress. It was plain enough that two of the men in the game that I watched at first were professionals, but the game was small, and I found no great excitement in it, though it was, in a way, interesting to notice how easily the others were being fleeced. Tiring, after a time, of watching so bold a fraud, I sauntered over to the other table, and found a very different game in progress.

“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.