IX A SOCIAL CALL

“Hurroo!” exclaimed Long Mike, and fired a shot through the ceiling.

Had there been any antecedent circumstances to explain his outburst, Brownsville would have accepted it as a characteristic and perfectly natural act, but it chanced that nothing whatever had occurred for a full half-hour. The usual group had been sitting around the stove in the barroom, and the usual drone of entirely uninteresting conversation had buzzed along. Everybody had said something, but nobody knew or cared what anybody else had said.

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

“ ‘YE HAVE SIX CARDS IN YER HAND, YE SPALPEEN.’ ”

every one of the ten visitors had his gun out, excepting Krags, who was struggling violently but ineffectually to free his hands. The Brownsville men were as quick as the strangers, but, although three or four shots were heard, none reached a mark. And after a little time, Long Mike’s voice commanded attention.

“Av we did the roight thing,” he shouted, “we’d chop holes in th’ oice, an’ send yez ahl shwimmin’ down th’ river. But Oi’m thinkin’ we can have more fun nor that. Yez’ll ahl give yer guns to Sam, an’ Oi’ll take this omadhaun out-o’-doors an’ woipe th’ ground up wid him. An’ Bixby’ll hitch up an’ carry what’s left back to La Crosse the noight widout waitin’ f’r sun-up.”

No one dissented, for Krags and his followers were as confident as the Brownsville men, and moreover counted themselves lucky to get off as they did after the exposé. And then Smithers gave a new turn to the situation by saying, “I’ll bet even money that Krags’ll lick him.”

In about three minutes all the available cash in the party was staked on the contest and the two gladiators stripped for the fray.

Then was Brownsville glorified within three minutes more, for Long Mike stood with his hands down, waiting the other’s onslaught. It came with a fury that would have demolished an ordinary man, but he took two blows that seemed enough to break his bones, and then wrapped his arms around Krags in such fashion as to hold him helpless. For a moment he stood thus, tightening his grip slowly, and then said, coolly:

“Ye’ll tell me when ye have enough.”

The other made no answer, but struggled like a wildcat, while Long Mike stood smiling and slowly tightening his awful grip. Not until the bones began to crack did the defeated man give up, but presently he gasped “Enough,” and fell, half-dead, to the ground as the other released his hold.

“Oi’m thinkin’, belike,” said Stumpy, as they watched the stage start off, “thot we might have a party up here from Dubuque next week, I don’t know. Thim social visits is foine divarsion.”