“Consider yourself in from this time on;
I am always square with every man;
You’ve no more need to sing that song,
For I want no trouble with old black Dan.”
It is hardly necessary to add that “Dan” got his full proportion of the winnings.
EFFECT OF A SENSITIVE CONSCIENCE.
In “skin” gambling houses of a low order, it is not an uncommon practice for those around the table to steal the chips of a player whose attention is temporarily diverted from the game. I once had an experience of this character in Wichita, Kansas. I had a considerable “stack” lying before me on the table and turned away my head for some purpose or other, to find on again looking at my pile that my chips had been abstracted. I was aware of the character of the house in which I was playing and knew that stringent measures must be adopted if I expected to recover my stolen property. Accordingly, drawing a pistol (which, by the way, was not loaded) from my hip pocket, I stated in a loud tone of voice that if the man who had taken my chips did not return them to me at once I would shoot him on the spot. My action produced a profound sensation. Not less than a half dozen men sitting near at once handed me chips, the result being that when I returned my revolver to my hip pocket and resumed my seat I had more than when I had turned away my face from the table. As the game proceeded, I observed that a typical Westerner was watching me very closely with a look the reverse of friendly. When I had finished playing I arose from the table, cashed my chips, pocketed my money and walked out of the room and down stairs. On reaching the side-walk I found the unpleasant looking stranger close at my heels. “Look here,” said he, “you said something upstairs about somebody stealing some of your chips. I reckon that you meant me. You’re kind o’ handy with your shooting iron; I’m going to give you a chance to use it.” At the same time he drew his own pistol. I perceived that I was in a dilemma. My weapon was not loaded and the stranger’s manner left no doubt as to the sincerity of his intentions. “How are we going to settle this?” he went on. I suggested that we should shake hands, turn back to back, each walk fifteen paces, and then turn and fire. To this he agreed. We carried out the programme up to the point of turning back to back and starting to walk the prescribed number of paces. With solemn and stately tread he measured off his portion of the stipulated distance, but when he turned around I was no longer visible to the naked eye. While he had been stepping off fifteen paces, I had contrived to cover two hundred.
HOW AN OLD SCOUT HELD AN “ACE FULL.”
One of the best known characters around Sioux City in 1876 was a scout known as “Wild Bill.” He had a weakness for poker, though he knew no more about the game than a baby. The consequence was that he was “picnic for the sports,” and they fleeced him right and left. He was repeatedly warned that he was being robbed, but he always replied that he was able to take care of himself. One night he sat down to play with a fellow named McDonald, a “fine-worker” and expert. McDonald did as he pleased, and the scout found his pile getting smaller and smaller as the game progressed. As he lost he began drinking, and midnight found him in a state of intense but suppressed excitement, a condition that made him one of the most dangerous men in the West. It was at this juncture that McDonald, smart gambler as he was, made his mistake. He should have quit. However, “Wild Bill’s” apparent coolness deceived him. Finally the scout seemed to get an unusual hand and began to bet high and heavy. McDonald raised him back every time, until finally the top of the table was out of sight. At last there was a call. “I’ve got three jacks,” said McDonald, throwing down his hand. “I have an ace full on sixes,” replied Bill. “Ace full on sixes is good,” said McDonald cooly, turning over his opponent’s cards, “But I see only two aces and a six.” Whipping out a navy revolver, the greenhorn said in a tone of determination, “here’s your sixes, and here,” drawing a bowie-knife, “is the one spot.” “That hand is good,” said McDonald blandly, arising, “take the pot.”
THE FAILURE OF A TELEGRAPH WIRE.