Читать книгу Stand Pat; Or, Poker Stories from the Mississippi - David A. Curtis - Страница 5

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It was with entire unanimity, though without haste or undue excitement, that the male population of Brownsville emerged from the various buildings on the street when the hoarse whistle of the Rosa Lee was heard at about five o’clock one afternoon in June of 1881. The feminine portion of the community was seldom in evidence, but such glimpses as a stranger might enjoy were to be had at the same time, for the women came to their doors and looked out, listlessly, indeed, but with as much interest as they ever displayed in anything short of a fight such as occasionally disturbed the normal quietude of the place.

It was noticeable that the men who came forth and who made their way toward the landing all paused at the barroom near the wharf. There was ample time to attend to such business as the boat might bring, for she would not arrive for half an hour, at least, and the barroom was handily located for a meeting-place.

No great amount of money had been squandered on the decorations of this particular temple of Bacchus, but such furniture as was deemed essential had been provided, and the main piece of it, outside of the bar itself, was a circular table about four feet in diameter, covered with what had once been green baize. It had suffered long from rough usage, but was still serviceable.

Around this table, as the citizens of Brownsville straggled in, they saw four men sitting with cards in their hands and chips in front of them. One was Long Mike, whose nickname was no mark of disrespect, since he was the richest and most influential man in town, but whose enormous height and general appearance made it impossible to call him anything else, once the nickname was uttered. Wherefore, his surname, if he had one, had been by general consent, forgotten.

Another was Gallagher, his foreman. A third was a man with one eye only, who dealt cards with singular deftness, and was never known to do any manual labour.

And the fourth was a short, but very thick man, usually known as Stumpy, because of his figure. His hair was of a vivid and gorgeous red colour, and he had no quarrel on the ground of nationality with either Gallagher or Long Mike.

The game was not a big one. People seldom played for very large stakes in Brownsville, except on occasions when strangers came to town, when sometimes there would be real gambling, for Long Mike had sporting proclivities, as well as means, and the one-eyed man had never been known to decline any sort of proposition involving a game of chance.

This afternoon they were playing a dime limit, but with as much spirit as if the game was for blood, and they had just called on Sam, the bartender, for a new deck of cards.

“I’ll have time to take in about three more pots,” said Long Mike, “afore the boat lands, so I’ll make ’em as large as I can,” and he opened the jack-pot for the limit.

“Well, ye may take three pots,” said Stumpy, who came next, “but I’m thinkin’ ye’ll not take this wan. Av ye do, ye’ll get more than that.” And he boosted it the limit.

The one-eyed man said nothing—he never wasted words—but he put up thirty cents.

“Here’s where I get a chanst o’ pickin’ up money,” said Gallagher, who was dealing. And he put up forty cents.

“Once more,” said Long Mike. And he raised again.

“As often as ye like,” said Stumpy, and his forty cents went in promptly.

The one-eyed man also raised it, and Gallagher fairly whooped with joy at the opportunity he had to make it ten more to play.

“I reckon it’s no good givin’ yez b’yes good advice,” said Long Mike as it came his turn again. “The best thing I can do for yez’ll be to take your money. Yez may learn that way, when to lay down.” And once more he raised it the limit.

“It’s all right y’ are,” said Stumpy. “Sure it’s downright dishonest to be lettin’ thim play furder. Let’s kape thim out.” And he raised again.

But the others wouldn’t be kept out. The one-eyed man raised, and Gallagher, getting his turn again, said:

“I’ll give yez all warnin’. I’ll raise this pot ivery toime it cooms to me. Kape on now. Ruin yersel’s av ye loike.” And his money went in with a bang.

Long Mike looked puzzled.

“Sure yez ahl must have straights or flushes or such trash, an’ guns wudn’t kape yez out. Wudn’t it be best to take off the limit? We’re losin’ time this way and th’ boat’ll be in soon. What d’ yez say?”

“That’d suit me fine,” said Stumpy. “I have yez all bated a mile, an’ the sooner I get th’ money the betther for me.”

“Take it off,” said the one-eyed man, and Gallagher, who had been growing more and more excited, declared that his pile would go on his hand in one bet.

“Well,” said Long Mike, “it’s five dollars more I’ll make it.” And he put up the money.

“I have siventeen dollars an’ fifty cents here,” said Stumpy, producing an old wallet and counting out the bills. The odd half-dollar he fished out of his pocket, and placing the whole amount in the middle of the table, together with a few chips that he still had left, he said: “That’s my pile. Av yez want to see my hand, ye’ll match thot.”

The one-eyed man was as quiet as ever, but he carefully counted out the equivalent of Stumpy’s bet, and added ten dollars to it, shoving the entire sum into the pot.

Not even at that was Gallagher daunted, but after exploring his pockets carefully he declared he was all in with about twelve dollars. He made bigger wages than Stumpy, but spent his money more freely.

Long Mike said nothing until he had carefully portioned out the pot, putting the share in which Gallagher had an interest in one pile, and that which Stumpy expected to win in another. Then he made good, up to the amount of the one-eyed man’s wager, and raised him twenty dollars.

That worthy appeared entirely undisturbed. All the chips on the table were already in the pot, and he produced a small roll of bills from an inside pocket which he proceeded to count. Finding some sixty dollars in it, he threw it all on the table.

Long Mike covered it, and raised one hundred dollars.

“Well,” said the one-eyed man, “I reckon that will be about enough till after the draw,” and he made good.

“How many?” said Gallagher, as he picked up the deck.

“Well, ye moight give me wan,” said Long Mike, with ostentatious indifference. And when Gallagher dealt it to him, he let it lie face down.

“These’ll do me,” said Stumpy, and it was observable that the ring of confidence was lacking in the tone of his voice.

The one-eyed man skinned his cards carefully before calling for any, and for just one instant an expression of bewilderment might have been noted on his face, but after a moment’s hesitation he also called for one card.

As a matter of fact he had discovered that two of his queens were clubs, but he had quickly resolved to say nothing and trust to the chance of the others not noticing it.

“Well,” said Gallagher, “I’ll take wan messilf, just to kape yez company,” and he dealt himself one.

“It’s your bet,” he said to Long Mike, who then picked up the card he had drawn.

When he saw it his eyes seemed to bulge out suddenly, and his mouth opened wide with astonishment.

“Pfwat the divil!” he exclaimed, and then he burst out laughing so loudly that no one paid any attention to the toot-toot-toot of the Rosa Lee’s whistle, which, had they heard it, would have told them that the boat was approaching the landing.

The others looked in wonder while he laughed—all but the one-eyed man, who seemed to have an inkling of the truth, and he grinned, though rather sorrowfully, as if he thought of the money he had felt sure of winning.

“Well, b’yes, yez can’t bate that hand, anyhow,” said Long Mike as soon as he could speak, and he threw down five aces.

They all stared—Stumpy the hardest of all. Then he joined in the laugh.

“Sure there do be aces to burn in thot pack,” he said. “I have two of thim me own silf, wid three kings.” And he showed them down.

“Sure I have you bate, anyhow,” said Gallagher, who was as surprised as any one else, but who seemed to cherish the idea of winning something, somehow. “I have four jacks,” and he showed them, but they were all red.

“Let’s have a look at the deck,” said the one-eyed man, and he spread the cards out, face up.

A most surprising number of face cards remained, despite the eleven that had been distributed in the deal, and there was a conspicuous absence of small cards.

“Wat sort of a divil’s game is this, I don’t know?” asked Stumpy.

The one-eyed man picked up the case that had held the deck, from the corner where it had been thrown, and read the word “Pinochle” on it.

“It’s a game the Dutchmen play in the East,” he said. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it played. But it does give a man good poker hands, doesn’t it?”

There was nothing to do but divide the pot, and by the time each man had drawn down his money the Rosa Lee was screeching a continuous toot for rousters to catch her lines, and the barroom was quickly emptied.