"Why, I turned the one with the corner up," says he.
"No, you did not, for here it is," I said, picking up the winner. The old fellow thought he had made a mistake, and the cow-boy told him he couldn't see well, for he was too old. I then told him to mix them up, and I would bet him $1,000. He did so, and I won. Then the man from Michigan got out what he had left, amounting to $1,200, and said, "This is all I have with me, but I will bet it." He turned a card, but again he lost. He then settled back in his seat as though he was going to stay right there, and I don't believe he would have got out if the car had run off the track.
The cow-boy put his cards back into the dirty rag, and remarked, "I be gol darned if I haint larning to play this 'er' game nigh like them Chicago chaps; and if I hadn't been pranking with you feller with the smart eyes, I reckon I would have been about even." He got up, bid us good-day, and started out.
We sat there talking about the cow-boy's tricks for a short time, when in came my partner, Tripp, all dressed up so that no one would suspicion that he was ever a cow-boy. I introduced him to the old gentleman from Michigan, but he was not near so talkative as he was when we first got acquainted. I did not want to hurt his feelings, so I did not say anything about the game before my partner; and I believe the old fellow was glad of it, for he looked just as if he would rather no one but that d——d cow-boy and myself should know what a sucker he had been. When we changed cars we bid him good-day, and I said, "If you see that fool with the steers in New York, tell him not to go pranking any more new games, or he will lose all his money." He looked at me in such a way that I believe he did not want to see him, although he did not say so.
CAUGHT A DEFAULTER.
It is a singular fact that most of the men who turn out embezzlers, defaulters, and dishonest clerks, sooner or later lose their money gambling. Oftentimes it is their love of cards that induces them to commit the crimes they do. I very well recollect a number of instances of this kind, and one in particular. I was going up the river on board the J. M. White, when I received a card requesting me to call at room No. 14. The name was written in a business hand, so I knew the card was from a gentleman. When I knocked a voice said, "Come in!" Upon entering, I saw a young man that I knew very well, who was a bookkeeper in one of the largest cotton houses in New Orleans. I at once inquired what he was keeping himself locked up in his room for, and he replied, "I am afraid to show up in the cabin, but I will tell you all about it before you get off;" as he knew that I rarely went above Baton Rouge.
Late at night he came out of his state-room so completely disguised that I did not know him. We took several drinks together, until he began to feel jolly; then I asked him what he was up to. "Well," he replied, "I have been playing the bank and poker for some time, and have been several thousand dollars loser, and I knew sooner or later the books would be overhauled, so I collected some money and skipped. Here I am, and what to do I don't know, nor where I shall wind up."
"Oh, there are plenty of people in the same box that you are," I said. "Don't flatter yourself that you are the only one who has taken money; but perhaps they will now go through the books, and, discovering the deficit, arrest you."
"Yes, but I don't intend to be caught. I think I will go to Canada.
I am now traveling under an assumed name."
"Are you sure none of the discharging clerks saw you when you came aboard?"