V

STUMPY’S DILEMMA

It was possibly characteristic of the breed of Peter, which was considered in Brownsville to be some sort of terrier—and it was certainly characteristic of Peter that he did not sit down by the crevice to watch for that rat, but ran back and forth continually, barking, meanwhile, with cheerful disregard of the effort involved. He did not wag his tail, being possessed of a totally insufficient amount of tail to be wagged. “Sure his tail was never cut off,” Stumpy used to say, “it was drove in.” But he wagged the entire hinder portion of his body, as he ran, with an enthusiasm that frequently sent two of his legs high in the air.

While he was engaged in this fashion one otherwise peaceful Sabbath day, his master appeared in view, and the two were soon in conversation.

“Thim two spalpeens that kim off the boat last night, I’m thinkin’, is goin’ to do up the town, I do’ know,” said Stumpy, whose habit it was to discuss matters with Peter when he found them too difficult to understand easily.

Peter looked at him anxiously, but finding that Stumpy had paused for reflection, he barked once, and waited.

“That’s just it,” said Stumpy, eagerly. “The divil’s own cousin cudn’t tell if they was Mormon missionaries or retail grocers on a holiday trip. If it was down the river, now, they’d be cotton factors maybe, but whhat’d a cotton factor be doin’ in Brownsville, I do’ know. An’ the drink! Glory be, but they’re divils for drink. An’ Long Mike on’y a week after the last wan.”

This last remark called for no explanation in Brownsville, where Long Mike’s sprees were events in municipal history. Peter whined lugubriously.

“An’ it’s right ye are, Peter,” said Stumpy. “If he starts in again now there’ll be an end. Didn’t he wipe out Gallagher’s place from door to door, wid the glory o’ drink in him, two weeks ago? It’s none too peaceful at the best, that Brownsville is, but wid him drunk it’s hell. An’ it’s drunk he’ll be again if thim two strangers stays. An’ I do be thinkin’, Peter, that if he’s drunk again afore the change o’ the moon, he’ll sober up in the life everlastin’.”

At this Peter howled long and loud, and Stumpy lapsed into silence.

To them presently appeared Sam. The exigencies of business required Sam’s presence in the barroom, as a usual thing, regardless of the day, or time of day, he being the only dispenser of potable necessities in Brownsville, but the stress of Saturday nights was commonly followed by an interval of calm on Sabbath mornings, and his custom was to go abroad for air on those occasions.

Seating himself on a piece of driftwood, he chewed the end of his cigar for a time, and then observed: “It was a large night.”

“It was,” said Stumpy. “Is thim two strangers stayin’ here long, I don’t know?” Stumpy’s brogue defied spelling.

“They’ll be dead if they do,” said Sam. “I’ve saw wild men afore, but I never seen two men try to pull up the Mississippi River by the roots.”

“If it was thim ’ud die,” said Stumpy, gloomily. “An’ Hennessy. We c’d do widout Hennessy an’ wan or more others. But I do be thinkin’ Long Mike is off again.”

“Looks like it,” said Sam.

Just then the report of a pistol-shot rang

out, and Peter leaped in the air. He was not hurt, but the bullet had struck between his fore paws, and he was frightened.

Stumpy turned like a flash. The two strangers were approaching, laughing heartily, and one of them was about to shoot again. Stumpy was a small man, probably a foot shorter than either of the newcomers, but his hair was very red. He sprang to his feet.

“That’s my dog,” he said, pulling off his coat, and the man who was poising his revolver lowered it.

“No offence, friend,” he said, pleasantly. “I just wanted to see the dog dance.”

“Dance, is it?” shouted Stumpy, in a fine rage. “That dog’s no circus. If it’s dancin’ ye want, I’ll dance, but it’s on your ugly face it’ll be, wid you on the flat o’ your back.” And he squared off in excellent style.

“There, there,” said the big man, soothingly, “I’ll not fight you, and I’ll not bother your dog, if it’s yours. Come and have a drink.”

It was not easy to placate the little Irishman, but the two strangers finally accomplished it, and the entire party went over to the barroom. Peter, however, refused to enter the place, and showed his teeth viciously when the sportive pistol-player, whose name was Carruthers, offered to pat his head by way of apology.

As the day wore on, the male population of Brownsville, one by one, appeared in the barroom, and Carruthers and his mate, Hopper, played the part of hosts with great assiduity, so that the general condition of hilarity that had prevailed on Saturday night, but which had been greatly modified in the early morning hours, was fully reëstablished before nightfall.

The two men told about themselves without reserve, and there seemed to be no reason to doubt their story. They were sports, they said, frankly, it being fully understood that the word sport was a mere euphemism for professional gambler, and, having “made a killing” in La Crosse a few days before, they were enjoying a trip down the river with the ultimate purpose of getting into a big game at Vicksburg or New Orleans. Things being too slow to suit them on the boat on which they started, they had stopped off at the first landing-place to wait for another. Being thus in Brownsville, they proposed to enjoy themselves as heartily as possible, so what was the matter with all hands having another drink?

Whatever latent prejudice there was in the minds of Stumpy and one or two others who recognized an element of peril in the situation, was of little force against the popular enthusiasm the two strangers evoked by their liberality. Being men of seemingly unlimited capacity themselves, they soon discovered that Brownsville had also a few mighty drinkers, and, while now and again some less gifted man dropped out of the bout and made his uncertain way to some hiding-place, there were others on whom even Sam’s brands of red liquors had no appreciable effect.

Long Mike, indeed, seemed in his element. Glass for glass with anybody and everybody he tossed off his tipple as if it were filtered water, and his eye grew brighter, his hand steadier, and his tongue more nimble with each potation, so that only those who knew the awful cumulative effect drink had on him when his limit was actually reached, could realize that the commercial standing of Brownsville was at stake, for without Long Mike there was no head to the community, and no prospect of carrying on any business of importance. Therefore Stumpy—and others—had misgivings.

Not all the boats that ply the Mississippi stop at Brownsville, and the intervals at which some do stop are uncertain, so that Carruthers and Hopper had no means of calculating the length of their stay. It did not appear to trouble them much, but toward evening, no boat having appeared, and none being expected that night, Carruthers remarked, casually, that he could wish for a little excitement.

“Your liquor is all right,” he said, “and your society here is pleasant enough to suit anybody, but don’t you ever do anything in Brownsville?”

“We had a cock-fight here last month,” said Hennessy, “but there’s only one cock in town now. That was Gallagher’s afore Gallagher lit out, but even if he was to come home there’s no way o’ fightin’ one cock. That is, there’s no way I know on, ’thouten you put him front of a lookin’-glass,” he added, with a foolish laugh that no one echoed.

“Don’t nobody ever play poker here?” asked Hopper.

“I knowed it,” said Stumpy, under his breath, to Sam, who nodded understandingly.

People did play poker in Brownsville, quite a number of them, but they had a wholesome respect for travelling sports, realizing that the domestic variety of the game was by no means up to the standard established on the boats by gentlemen who made a business of playing. Liquor, however, played the mischief with Long Mike’s bump of caution, and he was fond of poker anyhow.

It turned out as Stumpy feared, and as Hopper expressed his disdain of a limit game, and nobody else was strong enough to put up a hundred dollars, Long Mike was presently engaged in playing table stakes with the two sports, each of the three having produced that sum.

“It’s not the hundred’ll break him,” said Stumpy, while Sam was getting the chips and cards, “but he’ll buy and buy, by and by, till the divil himself couldn’t save him.”

And this was the prevailing opinion among the score or more of men who clustered around to watch the game. No man, however, cared to raise his voice in protest. It would hardly have been done in any case, for a wholesome respect obtains on the Mississippi River for the right of the individual to go to the devil in his own chosen way, but, in the case of Long Mike, there was an additional feeling that he would make it extremely uncomfortable for any one who might presume to remonstrate with him for anything.

The game was not, at first, a notable one. No particularly sensational play marked the loss of Long Mike’s first hundred, though it went pretty fast, and with the second hundred he managed to secure some good pots, so that he ran up, almost even, for a few moments. But a series of losses reduced his pile again to less than forty dollars, when he caught a flush against Hopper’s full house, and called on Sam for two hundred more in chips.

It was evident, then, that he had the fever, and Stumpy groaned in spirit. There was no telling what the end would be, but he felt that it was among the possibilities for Long Mike to ruin himself in an hour or two, and his ruin would be disastrous to more than one in the room.

Suddenly he saw something which set his brain in a whirl. If he could have been positive and could have given proof, he would have declared that he saw Hopper deal himself a card from the bottom of the deck. He knew, however, what the accusation of cheating would mean, and he hesitated. Possibly he might have been mistaken, he thought, and anyhow it would be his word against one other’s. It was altogether uncertain what the result would be.

He watched the game, however, even more keenly than before, determined to speak, regardless of consequences, if he should see anything he was sure of. What he did not notice was that Carruthers had seen the gasp of astonishment that he had himself been unconscious of, and was watching him carefully. He stood opposite where Carruthers sat.

Presently there came a jack-pot that Hopper opened for five dollars. Carruthers passed, but did not immediately throw his cards on the table. Long Mike raised it ten dollars, it being his deal. Hopper came back at him with ten more, and Long Mike stayed.

Hopper called for two cards, and, as he did so, Stumpy distinctly saw Carruthers show Hopper his hand as he threw it on the table in the discard. One of the five was an ace, and Stumpy saw it.

Watching Hopper as he moved to pick up the cards dealt to him in the draw, he saw further that Hopper took one of them and one from the discarded pile. It was deftly done, but he was certain this time.

Long Mike stood pat, and when Hopper pushed his whole pile forward, Long Mike called him for all he had in front of him, a hundred and odd dollars. Then he showed a pat straight and Hopper showed four aces.

“Hold on!” shouted Stumpy. “There’s foul play here. That—” and then he paused.

Every man in the room was looking at him, and he was the only one who saw the muzzle of Carruther’s pistol just above the edge of the table. It was pointed directly at him, and the barrel looked to him as large around as a nail-keg.

It was not necessary to explain to him that Carruthers had the drop on him. Moreover, he knew that if he tried to finish his sentence he would be shot before he got the words out. It was small wonder he paused.

Nobody spoke for a moment, Stumpy for the excellent reason just stated, and the others because of their surprise. Then Carruthers said: “Evidently the gentleman never saw four aces held before. Is that what you meant when you spoke of foul play?”

Still all eyes were on Stumpy. No one else had seen the revolver, but he knew that on his answer depended the question whether Carruthers should shoot or not. Drops of sweat came out on his forehead. He drew a long breath.

Then he saw something else, and he answered Carruthers curiously.

“Yes-s-s,” he said, prolonging the word into a curious hiss which he knew that Peter understood.

At the instant that Carruthers, with an evil smile, was relaxing his aim, a small, brown dog landed on his shoulders and fastened his teeth in his throat.

No man was ever able to recall all the details of the mix-up that followed, but after two badly damaged strangers had departed from Brownsville on the next boat, Stumpy observed to Sam: “Sure, it would ha’ been betther to kill thim, I don’t know.”

VI

GALLAGHER’S RETURN

The idea of a brass band and a display of fireworks tooting and blazing in his honour had never entered his head. The most he hoped for was to be able to sneak across the gangplank unnoticed, and to make his way under the friendly obscurity of darkness, in case it should happen to be after nightfall, along the edge of the levee to the neighbourhood of his own house, where he might remain in seclusion until such time as he should learn what the disposition of the community might be, and more especially what Long Mike’s attitude toward him was.

The recollection of all the circumstances attending his departure from Brownsville was sufficiently vivid in his mind to fill him with apprehension, and the utmost caution seemed absolutely necessary when he determined to return. He recalled distinctly that, after he had tried Long Mike’s temper to the point at which further endurance became impossible, that usually good-natured person became suddenly furious with rage, and not only discharged him from his employ—that, Gallagher was accustomed to—but strove earnestly to preclude the possibility of hiring him again, by the simple but effective expedient of killing him.

It should be said that Long Mike seldom attempted to kill anybody. Murder was not his habit, he being usually a tolerant person, albeit he required a full equivalent of labour in return for the wages he paid.

On such occasions, however, as he had deemed serious enough to demand extreme action, he had never been known to fail to get his man, until Gallagher had eluded him by a flight that took him far from Brownsville. Some months had elapsed since then, but Gallagher had no means of knowing whether his boss’s wrath had cooled or not.

The caution he displayed in eluding observation when he went ashore from the river boat was not, therefore, uncalled for. Knowing the ground perfectly, even in the darkness, he picked his way carefully to the door of his own house, but before lifting the latch he stopped and listened, as one who was in great doubt. As he continued to listen he passed through many phases and degrees of doubt, perplexity, and amazement.

It was his own house beyond a question, but many things had happened since his sudden departure. Long Mike was impetuous, but not devoid of generous impulses, or of a prejudice in favour of fair play. When he realized that he had wrought injustice to Mrs. Gallagher in the fervour of his pursuit of her husband, he had taken effective and characteristic measures to remedy the wrong.

This was largely due to the personality of Stumpy, whose Irish blood boiled on slight provocation, and who entertained no fear, even of his boss, when he was moved to remonstrate against any happening which failed to comport with his ideas of propriety. Stumpy it was who said:

“Sure, it was a blackguard’s thrick to lave Misthress Gallagher widout a bed to lie on, or a shtove or a taable to her back.”

“Did Gallagher do that?” demanded Long Mike, indignantly.

“He did not,” said Stumpy, “but there’s them that did.”

“Who did it?” asked Long Mike.

“It was yoursilf,” said Stumpy, and stood immediately on the defensive.

The look of blank astonishment that Long Mike gave at the accusation was at least presumptive proof that he did not realize his offence, and seeing it, Stumpy’s wrath was somewhat assuaged. It did not right the wrong, however, and Stumpy wanted that done.

“It was whin ye was lukkin’ f’r Gallagher,” he explained. “Belike ye was confused wid the rage that was in ye, an’ maybe a thrifle o’ liquor, too, but ye found his house, an’ him not bein’ there, by the mercy o’ God, ye smashed, and smashed, an’ there’s nothin’ left.”

“Did I, now?” said Long Mike, and he chuckled, whereat Stumpy’s wrath blazed up again.

“Ye did,” he said, briefly, “an’ ’twas a blackguard act for to lave a lone woman deshtitoot.”

“Aisy now, Stumpy, aisy now,” said Long Mike, good-naturedly. “Av that pirut, Gallagher, has left his woman deshtitoot—”

“ ‘Twas you drove him away,” interrupted Stumpy.

“Yis, an’ a good job. Av he cooms back, I’ll break ivery dommed bone in his body,” exclaimed Long Mike, with sudden fury. “But I’ll have no woman suffer in Brownsville, Stumpy. Av that dirty pirut lift her deshtitoot, as ye say, she’ll be took care of. Mind that.”

Taken care of, she had been, in Brownsville fashion. New furniture had replaced the stuff that Long Mike destroyed, and, as the house contained two rooms, or one more than Mrs. Gallagher required to live in, the sporting element of Brownsville had established the custom of using her extra space for a card-room.

Whenever a game was in progress, the good lady retired to her own apartment, but after the players had departed she always found that the kitty, established for her benefit, remained on the table. And inasmuch as the income she derived from this source was much larger, and no more irregular, than that which she enjoyed from Gallagher, it had come about that she no longer felt any very keen anxiety for his return.

All this was, of course, unknown to Gallagher, as he listened, and his surprise at the unexpected sounds he heard was natural enough.

One Harrison had been in Brownsville for two or three days, in company with his side partner, Davis, the two being on one of their occasional business trips down the Mississippi Valley. They had been known to play in some of the principal cities, but for the most part they preferred the smaller places, being of the variety of sports commonly known as crossroads gamblers, and Brownsville was one of their favourite stopping-places.

They had at first been inclined to question the use of a private house for their purposes, but after the circumstances were explained, they had acquiesced readily enough, and on this occasion they were sitting in.

Long Mike was there. It would have taken more than one Gatling gun to keep him out of a game when one was in progress and he was in the neighbourhood. McCarthy had a hand also, and Billy Flynn.

McCarthy was a character. He loved the game of poker with a fervour that would have made him a large winner if he could only have learned how to play the game. As it was, he only sat in at such times as he had sufficient money saved up from his wages to buy a stack. And he never sat long.

Flynn was a good player, and Long Mike was better than the average, but neither of them knew enough of the game to detect the peculiarities of play that gave Harrison and Davis a large percentage in their favour.

They had been playing for half an hour, and only the remnants of his stack remained to McCarthy, when he caught a king full, pat, on Flynn’s deal. It was a jack-pot, and Harrison, having first say, opened it for the size of it, which was a dollar and a quarter. The game was a small one.

McCarthy raised it all he had, which was about seven dollars more, and the others all laid down, including the opener, who showed jacks. McCarthy took down his two dollars and a quarter winnings, and proceeded to make the only additional blunder that was possible under the circumstances. He showed his hand and exulted in his winning.

It was nobody’s business to instruct him, and the others smiled grimly as Harrison took the cards to deal. He was impatient at the smallness and the slowness of the game and made ready for a killing.

Shuffling with extra care, he dealt good hands to everybody, making sure of the aces at the bottom of the deck that he could utilize in the draw. It would have been pitiful, had there been anybody there to see, to note the way in which everybody backed his cards, and the fact that Harrison’s full of tens on aces scooped the pot.

McCarthy was out of it, and Flynn and Long Mike had to buy again, but they were brave, if foolish, and being well supplied with money, they played on. McCarthy sat by watching. The fascination held him, even though he could play no longer.

Suddenly he saw that which made his eyelids contract and his jaw set itself like a bulldog’s. He said nothing at the moment, but watched carefully until it came Harrison’s turn to deal again. Then he leaned a little forward and looked a little more intently.

Again it was a jack-pot, and Long Mike opened it. Davis and Flynn dropped, but Harrison raised it, and Long Mike stayed. When it came to the draw he called for one card, and McCarthy spoke up.

“If it’s two pairs ye’re drawin’ to, you’d better split ’em an’ draw three cards,” he said, and Long Mike stared at him in amazement.

“An’ what for should I do that, I don’t know?” he said, but Harrison broke in with an oath and an angry:

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said McCarthy, very distinctly, “that you’ve stacked the cards and—”

Further than that he did not speak, for Harrison’s gun was out and almost in position before McCarthy could grapple him and seize his wrist. At the same moment Flynn grabbed the pistol itself and strove to wrench it from his fingers.

Even with two men holding him, and they were both powerful men, the gambler struggled mightily, and for a moment seemed about to wrench himself free. The three were all over the room.

It was harder to keep Long Mike out of a fight than to drag him away from a bar or poker game. Moreover, though he held McCarthy in contempt as a gambler, he knew him for a man who spoke the truth, and leaping to his feet he started forward.

Davis, however, sprang up at the same instant, and, stretching out his foot, he tripped the big man and threw him headlong on the floor. Drawing a knife from his belt, he threw himself on the prostrate form and raised his arm for a blow. In the excitement nobody noticed that the door had been opened.

“Whurroo!” said Gallagher, and threw himself into the fray.

There was no time to find a weapon, and he carried none, but he was handy with his feet, and a well-directed kick not only lamed Davis’s elbow for a week, but knocked the knife from his hand half-way across the room. It would have been between Long Mike’s ribs but for the kick. Disarmed and disabled, the desperado was no match for the two men, one of whom was grappling him from beneath while the other was continuing to kick from above.

At this moment the pistol went off and Gallagher fell to the floor. Flynn had got possession of the weapon, but it had been discharged in the transfer and Gallagher’s head was directly in line. Having it, however, Flynn used it promptly and stunned Harrison with a single blow, practically ending the shindy, for Long Mike made short work of Davis when he realized the situation.

“Is he kilt?” he inquired, anxiously, as Flynn and McCarthy bent over Gallagher. “Sure he saved my life when this blackguard was shtickin’ me like a pig.”

“I think he is,” said McCarthy. “There’s a hole in his head the size of a shtove door.”

But the bullet had glanced, and Gallagher was only stunned. Sitting up a moment later he said:

“Will ye’s all get out o’ my house? I have confidential affairs to discuss wid Misthress Gallagher.”

“We will,” said the three friends, as they departed, dragging the gamblers with them.

Then the other door opened.

“Is it you, Pat?” said a female voice.

“It is,” said Gallagher, “an’ I’d like my supper. But first ye’ll give me a bit o’ a wet rag till I wipe my head.”

VII

GALLAGHER STRIPPED

“All of us,” said Stumpy. “Iv’ry marnin’ we do put in, loike the suckers that buys thim little printed bits o’ paper wid a big number on ’em, an’ lies. An’ thin we set around, like bumps on a log, waitin’ for to see what the drawin’ ’ll be, the same as thim same suckers does. Mostly it’s blanks. Sildom it is that anythin’ happens in Brownsville. But now an’ again, some wan’ll dhraw a proize. Maybe it’s a chanst at th’ red liquor, an’ maybe it’s a shindy, an’ sometimes it’s a game of dhraw-poker, but annyhow it’s a proize, such as it may be.”

“It’s right y’ are,” said Deaf Dan. “An’ lately it’s all blanks. Sure, there’s nothin’ do be doin’ in th’ place since the night that Gallagher got back.”

“Sure, that was a fine foight,” said Stumpy.

“They tell me that same,” responded Deaf Dan, “but Gallagher an’—Howly mother o’ Moses, phwat’s that?”

“That” appeared at first to be a procession of two, emerging with great suddenness from the door of the barroom, but, as Deaf Dan and Stumpy rose to get a better view of the proceedings, the two who first appeared were followed by a straggling crowd of others, all eagerly intent on observation, so that presently the entire male population of Brownsville was assembled on the levee, looking with interest to see the outcome of what seemed to be a personal difficulty between two prominent citizens. Last of all to appear was Sam, the bartender, whose appearance on his doorstep was indisputable evidence that there was no one remaining inside.

The leading figure in the procession was Gallagher, and judging from the earnestness with which he was moving, it was easily to be understood that he was desirous of putting as much vacant space as possible between himself and the second advancing figure. He might almost be said to be flying, rather than fleeing. And every ounce of force at his command was devoted to the effort to keep in the lead, so that, although his mouth was open, he emitted no sound.

His pursuer, on the other hand, though he was no less resolute in his endeavour to cover the ground quickly, was devoting a part of his strength to the loud utterance of many words. For the most part, these words savoured of profanity, too enthusiastic to be well chosen, but sufficiently impassioned to be exceedingly impressive. There was no questioning the fact that Long Mike had lost his temper again, and small doubt that he would do bodily harm to his foreman if he should succeed in getting near enough to lay hands upon him.

But Gallagher succeeded, though with great difficulty, in maintaining his position in the van of the advance until he reached the brink of the river. Then, instead of turning, or possibly making a stand, he surprised the onlookers beyond measure by making a flying leap, and disappearing in the muddy flood.

Right here it may be said that no man, with the possible exception of Gallagher or Long Mike himself, was ever able to tell just how it happened that the long-standing difficulty between the two had blazed up in such sudden fury. Opinions differed as to whether Gallagher’s intemperate habits of speech had provoked the outburst or whether Long Mike’s apprehension had been warped by his indulgence in superfluous stimulant. All that was known was that Long Mike had aimed a sudden blow, which the other had dodged, and that the foot-race began forthwith.

When the pursued plunged into the river, the pursuer paused on the brink. For a moment it seemed as if he were only waiting for his victim to appear at the surface before leaping in after him, and Stumpy and two or three others laid detaining hands on him. Almost immediately, however, it appeared that he was not minded to risk himself in the water, although his wrath was by no means assuaged, for, after a few moments, Gallagher, who could swim like a fish, reappeared some twenty yards from shore, and, keeping himself easily afloat, turned to his foe. Thereupon, Long Mike, making no effort to break away from the men who held him, opened his mouth and spoke.

“—— —— —— —— —— ——,” he said. “—— —— —— ——.”

“Is that so?” responded Gallagher, mockingly. He was not devoid of courage, though neither he nor any three men up and down the river cared to face Long Mike in a rough-and-tumble fight.

“It is,” said Long Mike, “an’ if ye’ll come ashore, I’ll break ivery bone in yer body.”

“Ye’ll not,” said Gallagher.

“An’ why?” demanded Long Mike.

“Because I’ll not come ashore.”

Preposterous as this proposition was, Long Mike did not appear to recognize the fact that the other could hardly remain in the water indefinitely, and that all he had to do was to wait. He broke out again in language to which no polite person would willingly listen, and concluded by saying: “I can lick the life out o’ yez.”

“Ye can,” said Gallagher, unhesitatingly. “An’ I can outdhrink yez.”

“Ye can that,” said Gallagher again.

“An’ I can outrun yez.”

“Yis.”

“An’ I can outswear yez, an’—an’—an—an’ I’m a betther man than yez in ivery way,” sputtered Long Mike, not seeming to be able to call to mind any more specific accomplishments.

“Y’ are not,” said Gallagher. “Whin it comes to dhraw-poker, I’ll play ye fer years ag’in minutes, an’ bate ye the two-thirds of all eternity.”

“Draw-poker, is it?” exclaimed Long Mike. “Av ye’ll coom in out o’ the wet an’ play a freeze-out, I’ll win yer money an’ yer house an’ lot, an’ the clo’es off yer back, till yer naked as a bald head, an’ worn out as a burnt match.”

“I’ll go ye,” said Gallagher, “f’r all I have, ag’in everything ye have yoursilf.”

There was a murmur of dissent and some derisive laughter from the crowd, for Gallagher, though fairly well-to-do according to the Brownsville standard, was the other’s employee and by no means a peer of the principal capitalist of the town, who, in addition to his visible resources, had money secreted in his house. But Long Mike raised his hand.

“Let be,” he said, sternly. “I have a lesson to tache this omadhaun. Faith, he’s growin’ too large to live in the same town wid the likes o’ me.”

And the unequal match was arranged. In half an hour’s time the two were seated in Sam’s back room, with all the chips in the house divided in two equal parts, and the game was begun with the clear understanding that the winner of all the chips could claim from the other all that he owned on earth down to his undershirt.

As there was nothing whatever to attract the attention of anybody in Brownsville to any other point, the room was crowded with lookers-on, and all those who could not gain entrance stood outside and discussed the probabilities.

“If Gallagher do play close,” said Stumpy, “I’m thinkin’ he’ll win out, for Long Mike’s the divil for bluffin’ an’ Gallagher knows it, worse luck!” And this was the general sentiment.

In the first half-hour—for the game was a long one—Long Mike’s luck was by no means good, and though the big man made no violent plunges, his pile of chips dwindled until Gallagher had all but a single stack of blues. Of course, there was no arbitrary money value to a chip, but they called them dollars for convenience, the reds being a quarter and the whites a nickel.

It was Long Mike’s deal and Gallagher anted the usual nickel, but the dealer, finding nothing, threw in a blue and took his change from the other, making a ten-cent jack. This was sweetened, a nickel at a time, till there was a dollar in the pot. Then, Gallagher dealing, Long Mike opened it for a dollar.

“I’ll raise you two,” said Gallagher.

“Five better,” said Long Mike, pushing in the chips.

“All you’ve got,” said Gallagher.

“Go you,” said Long Mike, and they both stood pat. Each had a flush, but Long Mike’s was ace high and Gallagher’s best card was a jack.

The next hand was passed and another jack-pot made. Gallagher opened it, was raised, raised back, and was raised again till once more Long Mike’s pile was in the centre and Gallagher stood to win it all. Again they both stood pat and showed two straights, but Long Mike’s was the better. This gave him eighty dollars to play with, but Gallagher still had nearly three hundred, so it took another hand like the last to put the two on anything like even ground.

“If Long Mike wins again,” whispered Stumpy to his next neighbour in great excitement, “he’s got his luck wid him, an’ it’s good-bye, Gallagher.” His neighbour nodded, and their hopeful faces showed that they shared fully in the general wish that Long Mike would win.

It was with strained attention that the crowd watched the next deal, and a sigh of satisfaction followed the making of another jack-pot. This was sweetened again and again till the spectators lost patience, and Long Mike expressed his poor opinion of the cards violently and called for a new deck.

It was brought and shuffled, and on the first deal both caught openers. Long Mike opened and Gallagher raised, but instead of raising again, Long Mike simply made good and called for one card. Then he chipped without looking at his draw.

“Yer name is Mud this time,” said Gallagher. “I don’t want any cards an’ I’ll raise you the size o’ the pot.”

“Is that so?” asked Long Mike. “Well, maybe I’ve drawed an ace, I don’t know. If I have. I’ll raise you my pile.” And he turned over the card he had drawn, exposing it to view. It was an ace, and without a word he shoved his chips all into the pot.

It looked like a winning, and Gallagher studied some time before playing. But, though it looked like a winning, it also looked like one of Long Mike’s characteristic bluffs on finding himself confronted by a pat hand, and finally Gallagher said: “I’ve got to call you. Mine’s a flush.”

“An’ mine’s a trey full on aces,” said Long Mike. “Faith if I’d known you was goin’ to stand pat, I’d have taken two an’ been beat.” And a mighty cheer went up from the crowd, for the two players were nearly even again.

Gallagher scowled, but said nothing and played close. Winning and losing in turn for half an hour more, he fell slightly behind, so that he had less, instead of more, than half the chips when he caught four fours pat in a jack-pot that Long Mike opened. He raised, of course, and was raised in turn, till Long Mike called, and made ready to serve the draw.

“Gimme one,” said Gallagher, carelessly, and was delighted when the other drew two. It looked like the chance of his life, and when Long Mike bet, he raised it his pile.

But Long Mike called him again and showed down four eights.

“Now,” he said, “all ye have is mine, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Gallagher, pluckily enough.

“Shtrip, then,” said Long Mike, sternly, and the other without a word threw off his clothes till he had on nothing but a fine Irish blush. But he uttered no complaint, and the crowd that had jeered him unmercifully fell into silence and turned away its eyes as he walked toward the door.

Just as he reached it, however, Long Mike stopped him.

“Come back an’ put on yer clothes,” he said. “They do be fittin’ yez betther nor they would me. Yer money I’ll take, for ye’ll worrk the harder for bein’ broke, but yer house I don’t want. Yer a man, afther all, Gallagher, an’ I’ll hire you over again. There’s a boat whistlin’ on the river now, an’ ye’ll hustle th’ men down the levee right speedy.”

VIII

A TRIAL OF SKILL

Having spoken, however, he sat as one relieved in his mind, and was in no haste for further conversation. It was therefore some minutes before he replied, but at length he said:

“Sure, it puts me in moind o’ the great famine in Ireland me father used to tell of. Ye’d go for a week or a day wid sorry a bit t’ ate of annything at all, at all, an’ thin ye’d get maybe a pratie or a crusht, that’d kape ye goin’ a bit longer.

“There do be toimes in Brownsville that’d make ye think ye was dead an’ buried. Sure, the still o’ the nights is worse nor a thundershtorm for kapin’ a man awake, an’ the days is worse.

“An’ thin, whin ye do be goin’ melancholy mad wid the monny-tony o’ loife that isn’t livin’ at all, at all, but blue-mouldin’, somethin’ or other’ll hit ye, loike a fri’ndly blackthorn at Donnybrook, an’ ye’ll sit up an’ take notice. Mostly it’s Long Mike, but times it’ll be something else.

“An’ whin it do come, ye’ll think for a time that Brownsville is wan o’ the hid cinters of all th’ excitement on the Mississippi River. Maybe it’s a bit o’ gun-play it’ll be, wid a tin-horn gambler, loike th’ toime th’ one-eyed man cashed in, or belike it’ll be somethin’ or other wid Gallagher, but annyhow it shtirs things oop. This toime Oi do be thinkin’ it’ll be Hinnissy.”

“An’ why would it be Hennessy?” asked Sam.

“It wouldn’t on’y f’r Gallagher,” said Stumpy, “but thim two is like a hammer an’ a shtick o’ dynamite, or a mule’s hind leg an’ a sthraw. Av they do be kept apart, there’s no great harrum, but av ye bring thim together, belike there’s friction.”

“They was playin’ cards sociable enough last night,” observed Sam.

“That’s it,” replied Stumpy. “When thim two gets sociable, ye wants to kape yer eye open. Whin it’s a cussin’ f’m Gallagher, him bein’ foreman, or a kick f’m Hinnissy, that bein’ his disposition, they’re good friends. Sure they’re both of thim Oirish. But whin they get fri’ndly, they do be two naturalized citizens, wid Oirish blood an’ Mississippi River manners, an’ God knows.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“No, but I shmelt it, an’ this mornin’ the shmell is still in th’ air. My dog Peter has the scint of it, shtrong. He kim out wid me for a walk, an’ whin we passed Gallagher’s, he sniffed around loike he do for a rat. An’ he turned back an’ lay down in the road near Hinnissy’s place. Sure he knows more o’ some things nor a Christian.”

“Then you think there’ll be trouble?” asked Sam, somewhat jeeringly.

“Sure, Oi don’t think it,” said Stumpy, “but Oi do be tellin’ ye Oi shmell it.”

What further discussion there might have been was cut off at this point by the appearance of two or three citizens in the distance. They were making their way leisurely toward Sam’s place of business, and he, foreseeing a demand for his services, went indoors.

As if the appearance of the first comers on the street had been a signal, others presently appeared, and in a few minutes Brownsville had put on as much of an appearance of activity as was usual when there was no boat expected.

The first to arrive at the barroom was Long Mike himself, and he, looking around, conveyed with his eyes, in some almost imperceptible fashion, an invitation to Stumpy to step inside. Accordingly that gentleman arose, though without unseemly haste, and made one of a small group that presently lined up in front of Sam’s bar.

Two of the group were Gallagher and Hennessy, and Stumpy was not the only one who noted with rising spirits the exaggerated politeness with which they spoke to each other. There had been nothing of importance doing in the community since navigation had closed at the beginning of winter, and as it was now almost warm weather again—warm enough, at all events, to tempt the people out-of-doors—the prospect of some excitement was exhilarating.

“It’s a very good game you play at shtud-poker, Mr. Gallagher,” said Hennessy, when the drink was swallowed and the pipes were all relighted.

“You do me proud, Mr. Hinnissy,” replied Gallagher, with equal courtesy, “an’ ye play very well yersilf, barrin’ th’ matther o’ poor luck now an’ ag’in.”

“Oi was thinkin’ that same lasht night,” said the other. “Av the cyards hadn’t run till ye the way they did, belike ye’d not have won the money ye did.”

“Thot moight be, an’ again maybe not,” said Gallagher, still polite, but with a tone of satisfaction in his voice that Hennessy detected.

“Ye know,” he said, “they run different, different toimes.”

“They do,” said Gallagher. “An’ that’s when the shkill comes in. Now yer own game is wan that wins, av ye have the cyards, but ye lose when ye haven’t.”

“An’ don’t ye find that same to be yer own experience?” asked Hennessy.

“Oi do not,” said Gallagher. “Whin Oi haven’t the cyards, Oi never bet. It’s the wan thing ye have to l’arn about the game.”

The matter of seven dollars that Hennessy had lost the night before was still rankling, and this intimation that it was his lack of ability as a player that caused him to lose was hard to bear. He commanded himself with a visible effort and merely said:

“Maybe ye’d loike to exercise yer shkill some more the marnin’, Oi don’ know.”

“Well,” said Gallagher, “ye may have yer revenge an yer lukkin’ for it.” And the game was on.

There was some talk as they took their seats at the table about some of the others joining in, but Hennessy declared that he much preferred to play with Gallagher alone, and his wish was respected. They made it a ten-dollar freeze-out, and the others in the room gathered around to see the play.

For a considerable time it seemed as if Gallagher’s boasting had some foundation in fact, for he played cautiously, and several times abandoned the hand when he had one or even two good cards showing, evidently believing that he was beaten by the other’s buried card, but after he had got well ahead, Hennessy began to get good hands.

A pair of tens, back to back, he played cunningly, letting his opponent do the betting until the last card was dealt, when Gallagher bet a dollar on two eights in sight. Then he raised it three dollars, and, as this looked like a bluff, Gallagher called.

A similar play when he really held a straight with the middle card buried, against two pairs, netted him as much more, and the lucky chance of a third ace for the last card against three queens in sight enabled him to raise back to the extent of Gallagher’s pile after he had passed the bet and Gallagher had shown his confidence in his queens.

He had won the freeze-out and was calmly tolerant when Gallagher said, with something of a sneer:

“Yez can all see now what I said. Whin Mr. Hennessy has the cyards he can play as well as the next.”

“Oi can,” he replied, loftily. “An’ Oi can do betther nor that.”

“An’ how?” demanded Gallagher.

“Oi can lick the shtuffin’ out of anny man that can’t lick the shtuffin’ out o’ me.”

“An’ is it me ye mane?” asked Gallagher, almost choking.

“It is.”

“It is foight ye mane?”

“It is.”

“Av ye’ll shtep outside,” said Gallagher, “Oi’ll shtand ye on yer head, an’ dhrive yer body so far down in the mud they’ll be usin’ ye for an artooshun well.”

“Ye may, thin,” said Hennessy, and two minutes later they were out on the levee, with their coats off, locked in a grip that seemed unbreakable.

“What did Oi say till ye the marnin’,” said Stumpy, as he and Sam stood watching the proceedings in keenest delight, together with nearly the entire male population of Brownsville. “There do be things happens here sometimes.”

The excitement was so great, in fact, that for the moment no one noticed a bareheaded woman that came running up the street, almost breathless, but shouting as loudly as she could. When her voice reached the crowd, they perceived that it was the voice of Mrs. Hennessy, and there was an imperative tone in it that arrested even the attention of the two who were fighting.

“Mike!” she screamed, “Mike! darlint. The babby fell down in the cistern, an’ Missus Gallagher climbed down wid a rope, an’ we pulled the babby up, an’ she’s shtuck at the bottom. Sure ye’ll coom an’ pull her up. Hurry, for the love o’ God.”

They did hurry, all of them, and when Mrs. Gallagher was rescued, as she speedily was, Hennessy turned to his foe:

“Oi’ll not foight you this day, Gallagher, but you’ll dhrink wid me for the babby your good woman saved. An’ so,” he added, “will the whole o’ Brownsville this day.”

But while they drank, Stumpy remarked: “Sure it’s almost a pity they couldn’t ha’ finished the shindy. It would ha’ been worth seein’.”

IX

A SOCIAL CALL

It was therefore a matter of some surprise that even Long Mike should express himself with such vehemence. No one spoke for a moment or so after the shot, but all looked interested. Presently Sam, the bartender, inquired with some anxiety if the big man felt well.

“Oi do not,” replied Long Mike, as he put away his gun. “There do be nothin’ at all, at all, that wears me out loike the dead shtillness o’ winter weather, an’ Oi’m thinkin’ it’s toime for a thaw. Ye’ve heard th’ oice i’ th’ river cr-rack whin it’s makin’ ready to break up. Well, Oi feel loike cr-rackin’ thot same way. It’s toime somethin’ was did.”

“An’ it’s right y’ are,” said Stumpy, “but what? Sure, ivery j’int in me body is blue-mouldin’ wid shtiffness from the want of excitement. Oi’ve a cr-ravin’ for tumult that’s worse nor a cr-ravin’ for dhrink. Sure, a flood is betther nor bein’ froze up loike this.”

“It’s me, too,” said Gallagher. “I have a touch o’ the same complaint, but I don’t see nothin’ ahead till th’ ice breaks up, an’ the boats run again.”

“Oi do,” said Long Mike. “Jim Bixby was tellin’ me yesterday that some o’ thim shports in La Crosse was goin’ dead, loike us, f’r the lack o’ things to do, an’ Oi told him to tell thim to come over to Brownsville the next trip o’ the stage. An’ the stage is due now. Oi do be thinkin’ there’ll be some comin’ the day.”

The event proved that the big man had not miscalculated, for even as he spoke the jingle of sleigh-bells came up from the frozen surface of the river, and, as they all looked out, they saw Bixby driving, not the usual span, but a team of four horses over the thick ice, and bringing a big stage-load of men wrapped in furs and smoking furiously to keep the keen, cold air from their lungs.

It was one of the community visits with which men broke the monotony of the long winters in what was then called the great Northwest, and, because of the habits of the two communities, it seemed more than likely that there would be excitement enough before the La Crosse contingent should be ready to return.

Of the visiting delegation there were ten in all, but the most conspicuous among them, as Long Mike was the principal figure in Brownsville, was one Tom Krags, a man of more than local fame, who had amassed a competence on the Mississippi boats by his success at the card-table, and had settled in La Crosse as the proprietor of what he called the “only first-class second-rate hotel in Wisconsin.” It was a flourishing hostelry, with a large cardroom adjoining the barroom.

Krags was a quiet man, usually, with pleasant manners and a large chest measurement. At least a foot shorter than the big man of Brownsville, he was, in all his other dimensions, a worthy match, and one of the dreams of delight among the river men was the thought that sometime there might be a physical encounter between the two.

No set programme having been arranged for the festivities, the first ceremony was the usual tender of liquid hospitality. Sam became busy without special instructions, and for a long half-hour exerted himself manfully in response to the demands that came in rapid succession from this one and that who felt eager to uphold his part of the burden of hospitality or pay his share of the tax of reciprocity.

A temporary lull in this exercise was filled with conversation, in which the dearth of news in both communities was duly discussed, and the day wore on toward a close with no special outbreak of excitement. It appeared, however, that three of the guests had brought certain pet game-cocks with them, so a series of cock-fights was arranged after a long discussion of terms, and by nightfall the floor of the barroom was sadly in need of a thorough cleansing. Then, after the lamps were lighted, and a hearty supper had been discussed, a game of draw-poker was proposed.

This, it was felt, was, after all, the main event of the day. Brownsville was not especially addicted to poker except on occasions when outside talent appeared, but there was enough local pride to justify a contest when a challenge was issued. And there was an overweening confidence in Brownsville in Long Mike’s luck.

The two leaders arranged the terms and virtually chose the players, so that the game was table stakes, each man to buy a hundred dollars’ worth of chips for a starter, and six men to constitute the party. Long Mike took Stumpy and Hennessy, and Krags named Smithers, a beetle-browed Englishman in his party, and Jack Bains, a capable-looking lumberman from the upper river, to represent the visiting talent. Sam set out the chips and cards and served a preliminary drink, and the game was on.

For the first half-dozen hands there was little doing. The ante was a dime calling a quarter, no one caring to hurry the game, and all realizing that a hundred dollars was enough to give him a considerable run unless his luck was phenomenally bad. Presently, however, Hennessy saw what looked like an excellent opening and he opened a jack-pot.

To his intense joy he got three stayers, for he had three tens and a lot of confidence. It was Stumpy’s deal, and he and Smithers had stayed out. In the draw Bains took three cards, Long Mike one, Hennessy one, holding up an ace to his tens, and Krags called for two.

It was hard to figure chances on a draw like that, but Hennessy reckoned they would size him up for two pairs and he threw in ten dollars, thinking that he would call any raise he might get. He hadn’t looked at his draw, but did not count on having bettered.

Krags saw the ten, having three sevens which he had not bettered, and a proper respect for Long Mike’s one-card draw. Bains surrendered, and Long Mike raised it ten, having bettered his hand with a six spot that made a small straight.

Hennessy investigated and found he had caught another ace, which was, of course, enough to go back on; but Long Mike was not the player he was after, so he simply saw the raise, hoping for nothing more than a call from Krags. That gentleman, however, folded his cards. He had the name of knowing extremely well how to lay down when he was beaten. So nobody was badly hurt.

The next chance fell to Smithers on Long Mike’s deal, there being another jack-pot, and he opened for one dollar and a half, there being that amount in the pot. The struggle was longer this time, for everybody stayed and three men bettered. He threw in a white chip for a feeler, and Hennessy raised it five dollars on three queens. Krags stayed, having aces up, and Stumpy raised again with a flush. Bains made good, having filled a straight, and Long Mike lay down. He had three little ones, but a double raise scared him out.

Smithers looked at his hand doubtfully. He had opened it on kings and fours and had caught a seven in the draw, but deciding, whether it was good poker or not, to make a bluff, he came back with twenty dollars more. It was almost good, too, for it looked as if he had made a full house, and Hennessy dropped his three queens without a whimper, though he would have called if Stumpy had not raised him on the round before.

Krags lay down, and Stumpy did some thinking. It took nerve to call even with a flush, but finally he said: “Ye may have it, I don’t know, but Oi’ll see it annyhow,” and threw in his chips.

“That’s good,” said Bains, and Smithers had to show his two pairs.

“Tried to blow me, hey?” said Stumpy, tauntingly, as he raked in the chips. “Ye may do that in La Crosse, but it don’t go here.” And Smithers had nothing to say.

The next two deals were uneventful, and then Krags took the deck. His thick muscular fingers were well kept and white, after the usual rule as touching the hands of professional gamesters, and one who looked closely would have seen that they were singularly deft as well. As it happened there were three men at the table who were looking closely, and when he passed the cards over to Hennessy for the cut, that player riffled them three times before cutting them, whereat Stumpy grinned with glee, and Long Mike looked serene and satisfied.

Krags could say nothing, for Hennessy was within his rights, but he leaned a little over toward the left side as he dealt, leaving his right-hand hip pocket a little easier to get at. It was only a slight indication of the possibilities, but there was not a man at the table who failed to notice it.

From that time on the tension increased. After Krags’s deal Stumpy called for a new deck of another colour, and when that had been used twice, Long Mike ran over it carefully, and called for still another deck. “There’s an ace o’ hearts here,” he said, “that a man can tell across the room.” No charge of crooked play had been made, but the visitors saw that they were suspected, and they were well prepared for the row that was coming.

Long Mike it was that precipitated it. He was watching Krags intently, and suddenly, as that player was discarding after serving the others with the draw in his own deal, Long Mike reached over and seized both his wrists with a lightning-like movement.

“Ye have six cards in yer hand, ye spalpeen, an’ two in yer sleeve,” and twisting Krags’s hands remorselessly, he proved that he was right.

Instantly the room was in an uproar, and