S t a n d P a t Or Poker Stories from the Mississippi

By D a v i d A. C u r t i s

Illustrated by H e n r y R o t h

B o s t o n L. C. P A G E & C O M P A N Y Mdccccvi

Copyright, 1900, 1901, 1902 By the Sun Printing and Publishing Association ——— Copyright, 1906 By L. C. Page & Company (INCORPORATED) ——— All rights reserved First Impression, May, 1906 Colonial Press Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, U. S. A.

PREFACE

The things that I saw, that seemed worthy of note, I have set down without prejudice to the little town of Brownsville, which has grown since I was there. Let no citizen of the place pursue me vindictively because I found him less interesting than Stumpy. And let no one’s civic pride suffer because I noted in the town only what seemed to me picturesque. I have no quarrel with Brownsville. I got away from there. What I saw while there seems worth the telling. Much of it I have told in the Sunday Sun. That, and more will be found in this book.

David A. Curtis.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

{1}

I A NEW POKER DECK

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{2} 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{3} 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{4} 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{5} 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?{6}”

“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.{7} 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.{8} 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-{9}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{10} 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.{11}

II THREE KINGS

After the river was frozen up and the boats could no longer ply the upper Mississippi, the only approach to Brownsville from the other river towns was by the stage-sleigh that came from La Crosse. This crossed three times a week each way, and occasionally brought some stranger to the town, though why a stranger should come, unless he arrived on a boat that would presently carry him farther along on his way, was a thing Brownsville could not readily understand.

It was therefore with mild surprise that the citizens of the place saw one Jack Britton jump out of the low box sleigh one evening in the middle of winter. Nothing was said to him when he alighted. It was not{12} Brownsville’s way to greet newcomers with enthusiasm.

But such of the citizens as happened to be near lined up expectantly in front of Sam’s bar, when Mr. Britton, after stamping his feet a few times, and thrashing his arms across his chest to get his blood in circulation, entered the barroom and walked over to the stove to warm his fingers.

After he had stood there for a few minutes, and had, presumably, recovered from the chill of the long ride, he stepped up to the bar and called for some whiskey. His manner was that of a man who is immersed in thought, and for the moment he seemed not to observe that there were others present.

Sam produced a bottle and a glass and set them on the bar, and Mr. Britton poured out a drink for a grown man. He did not know it, or it seemed as if he did not, but the eyes of the community were fixed upon him.

That is, eyes belonging to some eight or nine representative citizens of Brownsville were so fixed, and for one critical moment{13} there appeared to be a strong probability that Mr. Britton would fail to establish himself on any footing which would entitle him to favourable consideration.

In some mysterious way he became aware of this without anything being said. Being, as he was, the focus of eight distinct glares of surprise, he became aware that something was wrong, and, pausing in the very act of lifting his glass, he looked slowly around, and then said, heartily enough:

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Won’t you join me?”

They would and they did, and it remained possible for Mr. Britton to make a good impression. The mere fact that he was unusual would not, of itself, damn him hopelessly, but the curious behaviour of a man who would come so near a fatal breach of etiquette in apparent unconsciousness, was enough to raise a doubt, and while the doubt remained Brownsville was not likely to make overtures.

Jim Bixby, the stage-driver, had swallowed his liquor and gone outside to attend{14} to his horses, and, after an interchange of glances among some of the others in the room, Larry Hennessy slouched out through the door and was lost to sight.

Making his way to the stable, where Bixby was rubbing his horses down, he stood for a few moments looking on. Presently he said:

“Thot mon inside, yonder. Is he a La Crosse man, I don’t know?”

Bixby finished with one horse and began on the other before he answered. Then he said:

“He’s on’y been around f’r about a week. Come f’m somewheres East. Been playin’ cards a good bit in Russell’s place. Left kind o’ sudden. Didn’t hear much about it, but they was some kind of a mix-up in a game last night. Didn’t have nothin’ to say comin’ over.”

This marvel of succinctness being duly absorbed by Hennessy and reported to the community in a much enlarged form, was sufficient to prepare Brownsville for the campaign which Mr. Jack Britton entered upon forthwith.{15}

Having once shaken off the preoccupied and abstracted air which he wore when he arrived in town, he developed into a jovial, free-handed man of convivial tendencies, though sparing in his own consumption of Sam’s liquor, and was accepted readily enough as a nomad whose occupation was that of a professional gambler.

It might have been supposed, because of certain previous experiences, that Brownsville would be reluctant to afford Mr. Britton an opportunity to exercise his skill, but Brownsville, in some respects, was like the rest of the world, and Long Mike and McCarthy were both resident in the place.

“Sure, I do be thinkin’ that McCarthy can play more poker an’ win less money than any other mon in Iowa,” said Stumpy, when he came into the barroom that night and found a game in progress, as he had, indeed, shrewdly suspected would be the case.

Long Mike was also in the game, but Long Mike sometimes won, having remarkable streaks of luck, such as McCarthy never seemed to get. And the one-eyed man was{16} playing, too, so that there was really no reason to suppose that the stranger was the only man at the table who understood all the tricks of the game.

Hennessy had bought a stack of chips, and even Stumpy, though he was a prudent man usually, was soon interested enough to ask for a hand. As there was no objection, he took the sixth seat.

It cost him only five dollars for a stack, and as the game was table stakes, there was a chance for him either to go broke speedily, or to win considerable money. At first, it seemed likely that he might do the latter, for the very first hand he picked up had three kings.

Long Mike was dealing and it was Hennessy’s age, so Stumpy had first say, he having sat down between Hennessy and McCarthy.

“I’ll play,” he said, throwing in his red chip with the two whites that Hennessy had put up for an ante.

McCarthy played also. It was to be expected that he would, for it was as hard for{17} him to stay out as it was to win. The one-eyed man came in, Britton raised it, and Long Mike and Hennessy laid down.

“Sure I’ll raise that,” said Stumpy, making it one dollar more.

McCarthy swore, but even his optimism was not enough to induce him to see a double raise on two nines, and he threw down his cards. The one-eyed man and Britton both made good, however, and they called for cards.

Stumpy took two, which proved to be a small pair. The one-eyed man took one, and Britton stood pat.

Stumpy threw in a white chip, being sure of a raise, but the one-eyed man dropped. He had not bettered his two pairs. Britton raised it one dollar, and Stumpy pushed all his chips forward. A king full seemed worth backing, and, when Britton called, he showed them down triumphantly.

“Give me another stack,” was all that Britton said as he threw down his cards.

It may have been part of his plan to lose at first, and in any case the loss was not heavy{18} enough to daunt him, but he smiled as cheerfully as if he had won.

There was no play on Hennessy’s deal, and a jack-pot was made. Stumpy dealt next and caught three kings again.

No one opened until it came to him and he put up the size of the pot, hardly expecting any stayers. Britton, however, came in, taking a chance on a red and a black eight, and Long Mike decided to speculate on a four flush.

Neither of them bettered, and Stumpy showed his kings and took the pot.

“Lucky cards,” said Britton, and no other comment was made.

Again there was no play and another jack-pot was made. It was not opened for two deals, but when the cards came to Long Mike in turn, Stumpy was fairly amazed to find that once more he had three kings.

It did not look right, and if it had been Britton’s deal he would have hesitated about playing them, but Long Mike was above suspicion, so he opened the pot with cheerful confidence.{19}

Again Britton was among those who came in, McCarthy and Long Mike both finding enough to justify a play, but they all took three excepting Stumpy, and he was quite easy in his mind when he bet two dollars. Britton was the only one to call, and he said, with a laugh:

“I’ve a notion to raise you, but maybe you have them three kings again.”

“I have,” said Stumpy, and scooped the pot again.

They all stared, but Britton was the only one to speak.

“If I was you,” he said, in a nasty way, “I wouldn’t play them kings so frequent. You might get beat on ’em next.”

Now there are men to whom a remark of this sort may be made without immediate trouble, but such men are not Irishmen of the peculiar redness as to hair and beard that Stumpy had. He flared in an instant.

“Oi’ll play thim cards whiniver Oi do be gettin’ thim to play,” he said, with great heat. “An’ if ony gintleman i’ th’ room, f’m La Crosse or any other place, has anything{20} to say, Oi’d loike t’ hear what it is.”

“Oh, well,” said Britton, “I said what I had to say. It don’t look well for any man to hold three kings all the time.”

“Av it’s a question o’ looks,” said Stumpy, very coolly, but with evident wrath, “Oi don’t loike th’ looks o’ that nose you do be carryin’ round wid youse.”

Britton looked around, but seeing that no one else at the table was likely to side with him in case of trouble, he controlled himself with an effort.

“ ‘Tain’t as good-lookin’ as I’d like to have it,” he said, with a forced laugh, “but it’s the only one—”

“An’ Oi do be thinkin’,” interrupted Stumpy, “it ud look a dom sight betther av it was longer.”

“Perhaps it would,” said Britton, still reluctant to accept the quarrel, “but—”

“But nothin’,” shouted Stumpy, reaching over and grasping the feature he had mentioned. “Maybe pullin’ it a little moight{21} do it good.” And he gave it a mighty tweak.

Two things only were possible after that, in Brownsville, and unfortunately for Mr. Britton he chose the wrong one. A stand-up fight with nature’s weapons would have established him as a person worthy of consideration, even though he had been well licked, but he was not in the habit of fighting in that fashion, and he reached for his gun.