XIII ON HAND JUST ONCE

“It certainly is really amazin’,” said old man Greenhut, “how folks keeps on a-missin’ of it, all their lives, by not bein’ on the spot. ’N I’ve noticed always that the folks that ain’t thar all the time ain’t never thar. Once a feller gits the habit o’ bein’ thar, he’s always thar, but once he gits out o’ the habit, or if he never gits it, he ain’t never round when the grand opportunity comes, and just naturally he misses it. Don’t seem to make no difference how likely a man is, or how hard he may try to git a holt o’ the persimmons o’ luck that the good Lord keeps a-growin’ all the time for everybody that’s got the gumption to knock ’em off the bushes, he don’t never get none of ’em ’thout he’s thar, an’ as I said, such folks ain’t never thar.

“Now thar’s Tenspot Ike. Thar ain’t no capabler feller ’n him in town ’n’ everybody likes him. If a man wants to stand treat, thar ain’t nobody that’d be more likely to get ’nvited than him, an’ yet Ike, he’ll set around here day in an’ day out, waitin’ for some good angel to step down an’ trouble the pool o’ Siloam, the same bein’ a bottle o’ good old rye for the purpose of illustration, an’ thar won’t be nobody. But just as sartin as some open-hearted friend o’ humanity comes along with a ragin’ thirst an’ the price for two, Ike ain’t around. I call it wicked an’ bad for trade for a man to fly in the face o’ Providence like that.”

The old man looked again at the battered half-dollar he had just taken in, and bit on it to make sure it was good. Then looking once more into his cash-drawer to make sure that he had given out the lead quarter in change that had come back to him so often, he came out from behind the bar and took his favourite seat by the window.

“D’ye ever hear how Ike come to be called Tenspot?” he asked in a general sort of way, after he had carefully inspected the stump of a cigar that was between his teeth as usual, and had lighted it up again. If anybody had ever heard the story, he forbore to speak, and the old man kept right on talking.

“There wasn’t never nothin’ the matter with Ike,” he said, “except that pesky habit o’ his o’ bein’ always somewheres else. You could always count on him with a copper. ’F you wanted him anywheres special, he wasn’t there. I remember one time we’d ketched a hoss thief right here in town, ’n’ had everythin’ ready to send him off to glory sudden like, exceptin’ for a Testament to swear the witnesses on, an’ Ike had the on’y copy o’ the Good Book there was in town.

“Some o’ the boys was in favour o’ swingin’ him right up without formalities, arguin’ that as long as we’d ketched him in the act, an’ there wa’n’t no doubt o’ what he was tryin’ to do, there wa’n’t no use o’ wastin’ time on a trial, but I says, ‘No; to do that’d degrade Arkansas City to the level o’ barbarism,’ I says, ‘or a second-class minin’ settlement. Sich things is all right,’ I says, ‘whar ther ain’t no civilization, nor none o’ the refinin’ influences o’ religion, but Arkansas City ain’t no such place. Let’s hang him decent-like an’ ’cordin’ to law,’ I says, ’s’long’s we’ve got it to do. An’ ther ain’t no such thing as legal testimony,’ I says, ‘ ’thout it’s sworn to on the Good Book.’

“Well, the boys was reasonable, an’ some of ’em went looking for Ike, he havin’, as I said, th’ on’y copy o’ th’ Testament ther was in town. ’Course he wasn’t round in none o’ the saloons where he usually kept hisself, an’ while they was a-lookin’ fer him, that pesky hoss thief managed some ways or another to git away. When we did find Ike, he was tryin’ to teach two Chinamen, that had just come to town an’ was in a fair way to starve to death runnin’ a laundry, how to play poker. ‘Stands to reason,’ Ike says, when I as’t him how he come to do it, ‘that them unfortunate heathen wouldn’t never make day’s wages,’ he says, ‘runnin’ no laundry here, so I was just puttin’ ’em in a way to make an honest livin’ by showin’ ’em the principles o’ draw-poker.’ He give ’em a fair start, too, as it happened, for he dropped seventeen dollars in good American money in that little missionary enterprise o’ his’n. The boys said it was a judgment o’ heaven on him fer not bein’ where he’d oughter ha’ been, as he usually ain’t, besides bein’ a grave reflection on Arkansas City in lettin’ that hoss thief git off. I fined the feller the drinks that had business to’ve shot him as he ran, fer not havin’ his gun ready, an’ just naturally he bought ’em in my place, so I wasn’t none the loser, but it was a great public calamity. I’d most rather he hadn’t got away.

“I ain’t a-sayin’ but what Ike’s natural talent fer bein’ somewheres else was a benefit to him on one occasion. That was when Bill Briscom was found in the road with the top of his head blowed off. We all knowed that him an’ Ike had had a serious difficulty the day before, an’ there was some talk o’ holdin’ Ike fer trial on suspicion, but Ike he heard about it, just naturally, an’ he spoke up like a man: ‘I ain’t a-sayin’ but that I’d oughter ha’ killed the feller,’ he says, ’fer I caught him cheatin’ at cards, an’ I licked him good an’ proper, an’ the galoot swore he’d shoot me on sight, but it stands to reason,’ he says, ‘that in order to ha’ killed him, I’d ’a’ had to be there at the time. Now I leave it to all of you to say whether I was ever whar I’d oughter be at the time when I was needed. You all know my weakness, gentlemen,’ he says, ’an’ I ask you to join me in drinkin’ to the memory o’ the late departed. He warn’t no good, but as long as he’s gone we can afford to forgive him fer all he done.’

“Well, that settled that matter, though some o’ Briscom’s friends, for he had some friends who said he wasn’t half-bad, an’ who kind o’ thought Ike had ought for to own up that he shot him in a fair fight—them friends was disposed to push the matter to a trial. But I says to ’em, ‘You can’t never convict him,’ I says. ‘Ike’s constitutional infirmity,’ I says, ‘is too well known to the community. There ain’t no jury in this country,’ I says, ‘that’d find him guilty.’

“But that ain’t tellin’ you how he come to be called Tenspot Ike,” said the old man, suddenly remembering what he had started to say. “That were a most remarkable story, an’ p’ints several morals. In the first place, it were the on’y time in his life that Ike was ever knowed to be on hand when he was wanted, and there’s no manner o’ doubt it were the last. Then it were the occasion of a most miraculous delivery of the credit an’ cash capital of Arkansas City from eternal smash by means of a casual ten-spot of clubs that Ike, by some utterly unaccountable dispensation of Providence, happened to have in his pocket.

“The way of it was this. It was in the time o’ the spring floods, an’ the river had been up for nigh two months, an’ Arkansas City was all afloat up to the second story, ’xcept on the levee. There were a boat now an’ again, of course, but they’d just tie up at the levee for a few minutes, an’ the folks that had been thinkin’ o’ comin’ ashore would just look around for a spell, kind o’ discouraged like, and then they’d set down on the boat again an’ go on down the river, or up, as the case might be, an’ you couldn’t blame ’em. The railroad was washed away for ten miles back, an’ there wasn’t no other way to git out o’ town. Just naturally folks took the way they was sure of, there bein’ nothin’ to stay here for. There bein’ no strangers in town, the boys played poker among themselves pretty constant, for there wasn’t nothin’ else to do while the river was up, an’ after the first five weeks the entire cash capital of the place was in the possession of two men. It was a case o’ what the Good Book tells about when it says that him as has shall win, and him that has nothin’ shall lose that which he seemeth to have. Jim Harris and Pete Barlow won everything in sight, an’ there wasn’t another man in town among the sporting set that had a dollar to his name. ’Course there was some of us taxpayers that didn’t play frequent, that had money in the bank, but the sports was all flat broke ’xcept them two. We was all looking for them to come together an’ for one of ’em to eat the other up, but for some reason they didn’t, each bein’ more or less afraid of the other as near as I c’d figger it. Pete an’ Ike was good friends, but Jim Harris hated Ike like p’ison for reasons of his own, an’ Ike like a good Christian was always lookin’ for a chance to pile red-hot coals on him.

“Well, just then some crossroads gambler from Mississippi come along the river lookin’ for blood. He’d raked one or two other towns clean, an’ just naturally arrove here with a wad bigger’n his head. He drifted around the first day tryin’ to get acquainted, an’ some o’ the boys spotted him, an’ lost no time in tellin’ our two capitalists about him an’ his wad. Thar was some backin’ an’ fillin’, but the second day the three come together right here in this room an’ after some talk got to playin’ cards. The news got around an’ the room was tol’able nigh full o’ the boys. All of ’em was pinin’ for the destruction o’ that stranger, just for the sake of encouragin’ home talent, but there wasn’t many of ’em that cared whether Harris or Barlow’d git away with him, so long as one of ’em should do the trick. Ike was here, o’ course. If he’d had money enough to set into the game I s’pose he’d ha’ been in Little Rock, but bein’ as there wasn’t no earthly probability o’ his bein’ wanted here, he was just naturally here. But the dispensation o’ Providence is very often mysterious an’ he turned out to be the chosen instrument o’ heaven for the salvation of Arkansas City.

“They played an’ played for six or seven hours, settin’ ’em up for the house once in awhile by way of a kitty, but none of ’em gittin’ much ahead. Just naturally the boys all stayed. I don’t never give ’em too much credit when they’re broke, for fear of encouragin’ ’em in pernicious habits, an’ they was a pretty dry lot. They was a-watchin’ the game close, an’ stood around tol’able close, but o’ course not crowdin’ the players. Ike stood a little behind Barlow, lookin’ over his left shoulder, but o’ course sayin’ nothin’. We didn’t s’pose he could see what cards was held, no more than the rest of us, for all three men was playin’ close to their chests, as was natural. It seems, though, that Ike has eyes consid’able better’n the average hawk, an’ he was keepin’ tabs on the game right smart.

“It come Jim Harris’s deal, an’ I noticed the stranger give a sort of a little start as he watched the cards droppin’. Then he looked at his hand an’ I see his face change just the least little. He seemed to hesitate a little an’ then he reached into his pocket an’ pulled out his gun, an’ laid it on the table alongside of his cards. ‘It’s kind of uncomfortable settin’ on the end of it,’ he says with a little grin, which we all understood well enough. Pete Barlow did, anyhow, for he dropped his cards on the table almost before he had lifted them, and flashed out his own gun. ‘That’s so. ’Tis uncomfortable,’ he says, as he lays it on the table. Jim Harris, he warn’t far behind, an’ when he lays out his weapon he says, ‘I might as well be in the fashion.’

“Just naturally we all understood what all that meant, but we warn’t any of us expectin’ what followed. It were fairly amazin’. Ike reached over in front o’ Pete Barlow an’ grabbed his pistol, sayin’ as he did so, ‘You look after your playin’, Pete. If there’s goin’ to be any shootin’ done, I’ll shoot for you.’

“Now I reckon there couldn’t be no worse break made than that, an’ I looked to see Pete break out in a blaze o’ wrath, but I was clean flabbergasted when he looked up pleasant an’ smiled an’ said: ‘All right, Ike.’ I was clean flabbergasted an’ I never understood the thing at all till Ike explained it to me afterward.

“ ‘You see Harris had boxed the cards,’ he says, ‘an’ the stranger seen it. That’s why he pulled his gun. I seen that Pete had three tens an’ a pair o’ aces, an’ I guessed the rest. Now, it was a clean plumb miracle, but I happened to have a ten o’ clubs in my pocket o’ the same pattern o’ cards. It was one of a pack that dropped in the water an’ I’d put it in my pocket. I didn’t know why at the time, but now I can see it was the will o’ heaven. I reached over an’ took the gun just for an excuse to drop the card in Pete’s lap. He seen it an’ tumbled.’

“Well, that’s all there was to it. The stranger, he wouldn’t play the hand, o’ course, but Harris havin’ four sevens, laid for Pete, who just naturally stood pat an’ flashed four tens an’ an ace at the show down. That let Harris out, an’ Pete swatted the stranger till he had to borrow twenty to leave town with. An’ the credit of Arkansas City was saved.”