“I wish we knowed whut Jim’s States’ name was, but thar aint nobody hyar ter tell us, an’ ez we hev allus knowed him as Poker Jim, w’y that’s the name we’ll bury him by. It was good ’nuff fer him, livin’, an’ it’s good ’nuff fer us, now that he’s dead.
“I aint no speechifier, ez y’u all know, an’ Doc, hyar, hez done the hansum thing by Jim in that line, so I aint a goin’ ter spile a good thing, but I’m jes’ goin’ ter say one thing, an’ say it plain. We all made mistakes on the diseased. He mout hev been a gambler—I don’t say ez he wasn’t—but, my fren’s, Poker Jim was a gentleman, an’ he died like one, d—d ef he didn’t!” And Dixie looked about him defiantly, as though challenging dissent and stamping it as hazardous.
A white head-board, rather more pretentious than was the prevailing fashion in Jacksonville, was erected at Jim’s grave. I was consulted regarding an epitaph, but could find no fault with the rudely carved inscription suggested by Dixie—
“HERE LIES THE BODY
OF
POKER JIM—GENTLEMAN.”
A few days later, the flood had subsided sufficiently to warrant an attempt at crossing the river. Having succeeded in procuring a large boat from one of the neighboring towns, a party of us crossed over to Toppy’s cabin in quest of Jim’s family.
There had been no sign of life about the place since the day of Jim’s death, hence I was not surprised to find the cabin empty. Not a trace of the dead man’s wife or child could be found! Nor were they ever heard of again. Whether the poor little woman had witnessed the disaster that made her a widow, and the raging Tuolumne had received the sorrowing, despairing mother and her innocent child, we never knew. I have always entertained a vague hope that Jim had already conveyed them to a place of safety when he met his death.
As our party was searching the cabin for clews to the disappearance of Jim’s family, Big Brown found upon a shelf in the little cupboard where Toppy’s rather primitive supply of dishes was kept, a letter, carefully sealed, and addressed to me. He handed me the letter, and I fancied his voice trembled a little as he said—
“Well, Doc, Jim never forgot his fren’s. I don’t know what Toppy’ll say when he gits back ter town.”
“Poor Toppy,” I said, “It will grieve him sorely, when he learns that the gallant Jim is gone forever.”
The burly miner watched me curiously as I opened and read the letter. The expression of my face as I read must have startled him, for he grasped me by the arm and exclaimed, “What’s the matter, Doc; air y’u sick?” I handed him the letter and staggered to a chair.