“When I found out how Jim had saved my life, y’u kin bet I didn’t lose no time a looking him up an’ squarin’ myself. I’d heard er Jim afore, an’ I knowed he was a gambler by perfession, but he played a game that night, that made a big winnin’ fer yores trooly, an’ I’ve jest bin layin’ fer a chance ter do him a good turn ever since. He may be a gambler, but he plays a squar’ game—an’ poker at that—that’s why they call him ‘Poker Jim.’ He’s a gentleman born an’ bred, that’s dead sartin, an’ he’s got more eddication an’ squar’ness than a hull lot er people whut never gambled in ther lives. When Poker Jim makes a promise, it’s kept. If he shud borrer a thousan’ dollars uv me—an’ he could hev it too, if I hed it, you bet! an’ he shud say, ‘Lookee hyar, Toppy, I’ll give this back to yer nex’ Monday et five o’clock,’ an’ he wasn’t on han’ with the stuff, w’y, then I’d know that suthin had happened to him. Poker Jim’ll keep enny promise that he makes, if he’s alive when the time fer squar’in things comes.”
“You have excellent reasons for loyalty to your friend Jim,” I said. “He certainly deserves your friendship and respect, no matter what his occupation may be. I have met him before, and under circumstances that proved him to be a truly noble character. But tell me, Toppy, how does it happen that you and Jim drifted apart?”
“Well, ye see, Doc, ’twas this way. The folks up at Angel’s got so virtoous arter a while, that gamblers was too rich fer ’em, an’ they ordered all the gams ter vamoose. Jim got ketched in the round-up ’long with the rest, an’ hed ter git out ’twixt the light uv two days. He couldn’t lick ’em all, less’n they’d come on one at a time, so he jest played git up an’ git with t’other sports. He went to Frisco ter play higher stakes than Angel’s Camp could put up, an’ I came down hyar. Ye see, I wasn’t none too pop’lar, on account er standin’ up fer Jim, an’ ez I don’t gin’rally fergit ter say my say, I got inter a little argyment with one uv the prominent citizens uv Angel’s one day. I was sober on that erkasyun an’, well—I come down ter Jacksonville fer my health. I writ ter Jim ez soon ez I got hyar, an’ told him whar I was, an’ ez soon ez he got inter trouble he knowed whar ter find a fren’ whut’ll stan’ by him ez long ez ther’s a shot in ther locker—savvy?”
“Well,” I said, “Poker Jim will soon be able to take care of himself again, and I hope he will not experience any annoyance from his recent duelling experience. He certainly is possessed of great courage, and I should dislike to see his bravery get him into further trouble.”
“Y’u kin jest bet Jim’s got sand! Y’u air all right on that pint, Doc. Thar ain’t no braver man livin’. D’ye know whut I seed him do one night up ter Sonora? Well, thar was eight of us fellers went up thar ter a fandango, an’ Jim went along ter kinder give the thing a little tone, ye know.
“‘Mericans aint none too pop’lar with the greasers nohow, ’cept with their women folks, an’ them fellers up thar was jes’ bilin’, when they seed us come inter ther ole fandango. When we got ter cuttin’ ’em out with their black eyed senoritas, they was ugly enough ter slit our throats, en it was jest our blind luck that fin’ly kep’ ’em from doin’ it.
“Jim don’t often drink enny licker, but he was a feelin’ purty good that night, an’ jest spilin’ fer a row with the d—d greasers. Things was goin’ too slow fer him, so he takes a piece er chalk, goes out inter the middle of the hall an’ draws a great big ’Merican eagle on the floor. Then he pulled his gun an’ called for some d—d greaser ter step on the bird! We seed he was in for it, an’ gathered ’round him ready fer the music ter begin. Each side was waitin’ fer t’other ter open the ball, when the feller what run the hall blowed the lights out. We grabbed Jim an’ hustled him out, an’ made him take leg bail ’long with the rest uv us. He wanted ter go back, but we wouldn’t hev it—the game was jest a little too stiff fer us, y’u bet! Oh, yes, Poker Jim is dead game, all right.
“An’ now, Doc, I’m goin’ ter tell ye suthin’ on the dead quiet. Jim’s got a wife an’ child down in Frisco. He married a little Spanish gal about two years ago, an’ she was a bute, I kin tell ye! They’ve got a little baby a year ole, an’ Jim’s the proudes’ feller y’u ever seed. Ez soon ez that Frisco scrape is through with, he’s goin’ ter send fer his family, an’ I’m goin’ ter quit my cabin an’ let Jim an’ his folks hev it. My place is kinder outer the way an’ private like, an’ that’ll jest suit Jim.”
“Well, Toppy,” I said, “I am more interested in your friend than ever, and I hope that you may soon consummate your plans to domicile him and his family among us.”
Day was now breaking, and the voice of the devout Dave Smuggins could be heard ringing through the halls and vibrating the very roof of the hotel, as he hoarsely shouted his pious appeal to the slumbering boarders.