Читать книгу Stand Pat; Or, Poker Stories from the Mississippi - David A. Curtis - Страница 7

Table of Contents

The one-eyed man sat playing solitaire at a table in the extreme rear of the barroom. This particular room was not the only place in Brownsville where liquor could be had by those bibulously inclined, for whiskey was recognized as one of the staples. There were few of the citizens of the place who allowed themselves to remain destitute of a domestic supply, and there was none so inhospitable as to refuse to share what he had with even a casual passer-by who cared to stop, but the room in which the one-eyed man sat, on this occasion, was known as the barroom. Brownsville was too small a place to encourage competition unduly.

There was the usual crowd in the room, it being early in the evening, and a river boat being expected soon. It was not every time a boat arrived that anybody came ashore to stay, but sometimes it happened that somebody would do so, and, even if it didn’t, there was usually some freight to be landed, and while the roustabouts were bringing that off, the boat would have to stay.

On such occasions, the barroom, being handy to the landing, became not only the social centre of Brownsville, but also the news exchange where all the available intelligence of the happenings of the outside world was to be obtained. It was not that Brownsville cared specially what the outside happenings might be, or might not be, but there was more or less excitement to be had by conversing with strangers who might stroll ashore for even a few minutes, and Brownsville craved excitement.

The usual crowd was unusually noisy this evening. Long Mike, the labour contractor, who had organized a trust in handling of freight, and owned eight mules, representing a goodly proportion of his accumulated capital, had been drinking more than usual ever since the landing of the last boat, and, after his fashion when he drank, his voice was being overworked. Moreover, the small crowd of able-bodied men who were enjoying his hospitality had all of them opinions of their own which they were anxious to express, and so, though Sam, the bartender, was a man of few words, there was no lack of conversation.

The one-eyed man did not drink, and as there was an ill-defined popular prejudice against him, partly for that reason, no one paid much attention to him, or to his game of solitaire.

Suddenly somebody called Long Mike a liar. Opinions differed when the matter was afterward discussed, as to who the person was. Some of them said it was Stumpy, but the only reason why they thought so, as they were obliged to admit when the statement was questioned, was that Stumpy was Irish and also red-headed, and a red-headed Irishman was always liable to make a bad break. Others thought that Gallagher had spoken the word, and this seemed more probable, for Gallagher was of a morose temper at best, and utterly reckless when in his cups. But Gallagher denied it, and nobody excepting the man who spoke ever knew who it was that uttered the word. Several persons were talking at the time, but there was no doubt that somebody exclaimed, “You’re a liar!”

At the word the one-eyed man disappeared under the table at which he had been playing. Had the door been nearer to him, or had there been a window in the rear of the room, there is little doubt that he would have gone outside, but the door was the only available exit, and it would have taken two or three seconds for him to reach that. Two or three seconds form an appreciable interval of time.

The tendency of most persons to shoot too high, rather than too low, is well known to everybody who has had experience in such matters, and the course of action pursued by the one-eyed man in getting under the table is the one generally approved. He never carried a gun himself, and moreover, while he did not distinctly approve of the use of the expression that had been applied to Long Mike, he had sufficient sympathy with the thought expressed to restrain him from any impulse toward resenting it on Mike’s behalf.

The fusilade, though it was furious, was brief. Five revolvers were emptied, and as three of them were seven-shooters, while the other two had only five chambers each, it was readily reckoned up that thirty-one shots were fired. Considering the size of the room, which was not great, and the fact that there were fifteen or sixteen persons present, it seemed a little remarkable that no one was hurt, but after the first volley Sam came out from behind the bar and interfered gently, but firmly, with Long Mike, who was trying in a fumbling sort of way to reload his pistol.

“Put that away,” said Sam, “or I’ll brain you where you stand.”

Long Mike looked at him and then at the bung-starter which he held poised ready for use, and forthwith put his pistol back in his pocket. Being unable, in the confusion of words which followed, to determine who it was that had insulted him, he burst out crying and invited all hands to drink at his expense.

There was a prompt response to the invitation by everybody but the one-eyed man, who had resumed his game of solitaire, and Sam was juggling his glasses with his usual skill when the whistle of the Rosa Lee was heard from the river. Three minutes later Sam and the one-eyed man were alone in the room.

“The boys is pretty lively to-night,” said Sam, but the one-eyed man only grunted.

“I heer’d Jim Wharton was comin’ down the river this week,” said Sam, cheerfully insistent upon conversation. “ ‘Twouldn’t be none surprisin’ if he was on the Rosa Lee.”

The one-eyed man grunted again, but his eye gleamed, and after a moment he said, slowly: “Well, he’ll find me ready for him.” But he kept on playing solitaire as if he had no active interest in anything outside of his game.

Neither did he seem to be paying attention to any outside happening, when, after the noise of considerable confusion outdoors, the crowd came straggling back into the barroom. It was not the same crowd, for the Rosa Lee had brought a considerable load of freight, and Long Mike, though insufficiently sober to bear himself with dignity in social affairs, was not too drunk to attend to business, and he remained outside attending to it. Several of his men, who had been with him in the barroom on terms of equality, were now working for dear life while he stood talking to them with all the emphasis of an army teamster addressing a balky span of mules.

There were several strangers in the incoming party, though, and the room was even more crowded than before. The boat was not likely to start again for an hour or more, and a number of passengers were stretching their legs. Among the newcomers was a tall, swarthy fellow who swaggered like a lumberman, but was dressed like a dandy, and who looked around as he entered as if in search of some familiar face. With him were three others, as well dressed as he, but all of them having the indescribable appearance and manner which marked them as “professional sports”—in other words, gamblers—and all being of the type that was common along the Mississippi River years ago.

The one-eyed man did not look up, but he showed no mark of surprise when the tall stranger, having first called for a bottle of wine, which he shared with his three companions, left them standing at the bar and strolled over toward the card-table.

“Howd’ye, George,” he said, quietly enough, but with a curious suggestion of inquiry in his tone.

“Howd’ye, Jim,” was the one-eyed man’s response.

He did not even look up from his game, and so far as his voice or manner indicated, he was utterly indifferent to the fact of the other man’s presence. He kept on laying down the cards with no show of emotion of any kind, but a close observer might have noticed that he made two mistakes in his play during the short while that the other stood looking on in silence. Presumably the other was a close observer. Gamblers mostly are.

Presently the newcomer spoke again:

“Bygones is bygones, ain’t they, George?” he said.

“Yes,” said the player, for the first time looking straight at his questioner, and speaking very slowly. “Yes, I reckon bygones is bygones. Anyway, my eye is gone.”

“Well, it was a fair fight, George?” said the tall man.

“Yes, it was a fair enough fight,” said the one-eyed man. “If it hadn’t been. I’d ha’ looked you up an’ killed you, ’fore now.”

“So I reckon,” said Wharton; “you was always quick for a fight, George, an’ I don’t remember as I ever shirked one that was coming my way, did I?”

“No, that’s right enough,” said the one-eyed man, indifferently. Then there was another silence and the one-eyed man resumed his game. Presently Wharton spoke again.

“Well,” he said, “I reckon there’s no grudge between us on account of the fight. You talk fair enough, an’ I hain’t nothin’ to say, but there’s another thing that ain’t settled. What do you say to that?”

“What is it?” asked the one-eyed man, shortly.

“There’s a matter o’ seven hundred dollars o’ mine that you got away with in that last game. I called your play crooked an’ I couldn’t prove it, so I don’t hold it against you that you pulled a knife, but I want that money. I hain’t fool enough to think you’re goin’ to hand it over, but I’ll play you a freeze-out for one thousand dollars right now. If I lose, I’ll take back what I said an’ couldn’t prove. If I win I’m satisfied. But God help you if you don’t play straight an’ I do catch you.”

“That kind o’ talk is cheap,” said the one-eyed man, contemptuously. “I don’t reckon the Almighty’s goin’ to help anybody much if he’s caught cheatin’ along the Mississippi River, but you can say your prayers now, Jim Wharton, if you think o’ makin’ any breaks at me, like you did once. I’ll play you the freeze-out, an’ what’s more, I’ll win your money unless you’ve learned to play poker since I seen you last. If it’s play, I’ll play you, an’ if it’s fight, I’ll fight you to the finish.”

Neither man had raised his voice; they were too much in earnest for that. So no one in the room had seemed to pay attention to them. When the one-eyed man called to Sam, however, to bring him cards and chips for the game, a number of bystanders came up to look on, and among them were the three men who came in with Wharton. A looker-on might have thought that they were expecting an invitation to join the game, but none was given, and they said nothing.

The chips were counted out, the two thousand dollars placed in Sam’s hands as payment, and the new deck of cards ripped open and shuffled, and the two men cut for the deal, which fell to Wharton.

It was a fruitless deal, for, finding nothing in his hand, he threw in a red chip to cover the two white ones that the one-eyed man had anted, and declared a jack-pot. The one-eyed man made good and took the cards. As he shuffled and dealt them, the other watched him keenly, but evidently saw nothing wrong, though it was impossible not to see, from the way his fingers moved, that he was dexterous to a degree in their use.

In four or five hands neither man held openers. Then Wharton caught aces, opened the pot, and took it down, the one-eyed man having nothing.

“Your first pot. It’s a bad sign for you, Jim,” he said, jeeringly.

“All right,” said Wharton, “I’ll take all the pots that come. The first is as good as any.”

But for the next twenty minutes it almost seemed that the superstition was to be upheld. Wharton won no more, and the one-eyed man was four hundred dollars ahead when there came a struggle on Wharton’s deal.

Catching two pairs, he made it ten dollars to play, and the one-eyed man promptly raised it ten. Wharton made good and the one-eyed man drew two cards.

It was evident enough that he had threes, having raised back before the draw, so Wharton, instead of standing pat, as he had thought of doing, took one. It proved to be a jack to his jacks up, and, as afterward appeared, the one-eyed man got a pair with his three sevens.

It was Wharton’s bet and he put up a hundred dollars.

“As much more as you have,” said the one-eyed man, pushing his blue chips forward.

“I call you,” said Wharton, and they counted the piles. Wharton had almost six hundred left, so the show-down put him ahead in the game.

“Good dealing,” said the one-eyed man, coolly, as he picked up the deck, but Wharton made no answer. Instead, he watched the deal more narrowly than ever. Something he saw seemed to interest him greatly.

The one-eyed man bet after the draw, but Wharton refused to see him, and he scooped the pot. Then Wharton took the cards.

Running them over rapidly, face down, he threw three cards to one side. Then, picking up the three, he examined their backs carefully and exclaimed with an oath: “By the marks on them I reckon they’re all alike. Maybe they’re aces.”

It was done as quickly as lightning flashes, and he threw down the three cards, face up, before any one had fairly realized what he was doing. They were all aces.

Both men sprang to their feet on the instant, and as they rose Wharton drew a revolver and the one-eyed man a knife.

The revolver spoke as the man with the knife rushed around the table, and, with a yell, he stumbled forward, stabbing viciously at the other as he fell on the floor. Wharton dodged quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid a bad cut in the arm, and shifting his pistol to his left hand, he stood ready to shoot again.

There was no need, however, of another shot.