XVI HIS QUEER SYSTEM

“ ‘Tain’t a matter of record,” said old man Greenhut, with a reminiscent look in his eye, “that any stranger has ever come to Arkansas City with any notion o’ doin’ up the town what got away with the proposition an’ any consid’able remnant o’ the wad he had with him when he arrove. The citizens o’ this town is mostly capable men, what is well qualified to drink red liquor straight an’ set into ’most any sort of a game without drawin’ weepons, ’less there’s some provocations, an’ when it comes to draw-poker it’s universally acknowledged up an’ down the river that there ain’t no superior game played anywhere. The galoot that comes here with a notion in his nut o’ makin’ a everlastin’ fortune out o’ such hands as a merciful Providence may allow him to hold in two or three nights’ play is gen’ly considered to be runnin’ in great luck if he gets out o’ town without havin’ a subscription took up for his benefit about the time the next boat ties up.

There has been a good many times, true enough, when things looked doubtful. Players has come that had new wrinkles in the way o’ holdin’ out, or stackin’ the cards, or some new system o’ play that puzzled the boys for awhile. An’ there’s been some come that sure knowed the game an’ played it almighty skilful. But none of ’em, as I said, ever reely got away with the proposition.

There was one feller, though, that showed up here about six years ago, that come monstrous near breakin’ the record. That is to say, if he’d have understood the first principles o’ poker he’d ha’ busted the town wide open, an’ the mortifyin’ thing about it was ’twas poker he was playin’. That is, ’twas called poker, an’ he sure did win, but the way he played it was one o’ the seven wonders o’ the world. We talked about it quite some, after he left, an’ the unanimous verdict was that if he ha’ knowed what he was doin’ an’ how to do it, he’d ha’ just everlastin’ly skint the entire crowd out o’ what money there was, instead o’ comin’ out consid’able ahead, an’ him not knowin’ just how he done it or what he’d done. It sure were bewilderin’, an’ well cal’lated to make a man lose his faith in Providence, ’thout he was one that stuck to his religion spite of anything.

The puzzlin’ thing about it were that the feller seemed to be playin’ poker all the time, an’ the rest o’ the party was playin’ it for all they knew, but he were either playin’ on a system that was entirely unbeknownst to everybody in this part o’ the world, or else he were that outrageous ignorant o’ first principles as would disgrace a half-grown boy. An’ yet he won! Some of ’em was inclined to think at first that it were a new system, an’ there was a good deal o’ speculation on how it would work, played constant, but nobody had the nerve to try it, seein’ it were plumb contrary to all science as poker is understood, an’ they couldn’t get up that child-like confidence in heaven’s mercy that would lead ’em to look for over-whelmin’ luck in the matter o’ cards at the critical moments o’ the game.

The way of it was this. He just landed from the boat one day an’ walked up the levee a bit, lookin’ round, an’ sayin’ nothin’ to nobody. There didn’t seem to be no reason for anybody to pay attention to him, an’ consequent nobody did, for he wa’n’t a man that looked like a sport, nor yet a business man. Just ’peared to have got out f’m somewheres an’ didn’t know his way back. After he looked round a spell, he sort o’ drifted in to the hotel an’ wrote his name, absent-minded like, on the register, an’ said ‘Yes’ when the proprietor ast him if he wanted a room. Then he just sat round for a day or two, sayin’ nothin’ to nobody all the time. Didn’t appear to have ambition enough to eat his meals, for he’d wait till everybody else was most through ’fore he’d go into the dinin’-room. An’ even when he took a drink, which wa’n’t often, he did it all alone without seemin’ to take no interest in it.

“ ‘Long about the third day he began takin’ short walks, an’ bimeby he got as far as to come in here an’ look ’round. Seein’ the bar, he called for some red liquor an’ drank it, an’ then seein’ a chair he sot down. There hadn’t been much doin’ for a week or two, an’ I says to Jake Winterbottom that it mought be a good idea to start a game o’ poker. ‘This here stranger,’ I says, ‘don’t look as if he knowed one card from another, but ’tain’t likely he’s quite as simple as he looks, an’ mebbe,’ I says, ‘you might get him into the game. Don’t make it too stiff right away,’ I says, ’an’ who knows but you might get a small stake out of him? ’Tain’t very promisin’,’ I says, ‘but some men is like crooked cattle. There’s more meat on ’em than they looks.’

Well, Jake, he didn’t think there was nothin’ doin’. He looked the stranger over an’ sort o’ turned up his nose, but things was quiet, an’ finally he says: ‘I don’t reckon he’s got fifty dollars in the world, an’ if we win that we’ll only have to chip in an’ send him away. There ain’t the makings of a citizen into him, no way I can figure it, an’ we don’t want him settin’ around for ever. But we might take a shy at it, just to pass the time.’

“So him an’ Sam Blaisdell an’ George Bascom kind o’ got together an’ played a few hands, thinkin’ the stranger might show some interest an’ propose to join the game, but he never stirred. Just sot still an’ chawed his tobacco, like he didn’t give a cuss for nothin’. So finally Bascom he spoke up an’ says: ‘This is pretty slow playin’ three-handed. We’d oughter have somebody else in the game,’ an’ they waited a minute to see if that would catch him, but he never even looked round. So Winterbottom says: ‘Wouldn’t you like to play?’ an’ the stranger he says: ‘Yes,’ just the same absent-minded-like way he’d spoke to the hotel proprietor, an’ he went over an’ sot in. I sold him ten dollars’ o’ chips, an’ they dealt him cards. It were a table stakes game, an’ each man had put up ten.

“The stranger, he talked like a Yankee an’ looked like a Frenchman, but his name on the hotel register was Dennis McCarthy, an’ for all the interest he showed in the cards after he got ’em he might have been a Chinee. He just put up when it come his turn, an’ drawed cards every time, but he never made a bet till his ten was all gone, an’ then he bought ten more as calm an’ collected as a knot-hole in a board fence.

“Well, we played along, if you can call it playing poker, just like that until his third ten-spot was gone, an’ he bought ten more worth o’ chips. Then he caught a hand that seemed to interest him some, for he studied it a long time after Bascom had bet ten on his cards before he said anything. Then he said, ‘I call,’ an’ shoved a ten-dollar bill into the pot. They showed down an’ the stranger had a pair o’ queens. Bascom, he had three sevens, so he raked the pot, o’ course, for Winterbottom an’ Blaisdell had passed out.

“Well, that there McCarthy, if his name was McCarthy, just sat there and called every bet that was made after that for three-quarters of an hour. I never see such a thing before nor since. ’Peared like he’d on’y just found out that he could call, an’ he’d been playin’ along afore that on the idee that all the other feller had to do to win the pot was to make a bet, an’ as if he’d got in his head that callin’ was all he was ’lowed to do under the rules. Whatever his fool notion was, I don’t p’tend to say, but that’s just what he did. Just called every time it come to him.

“Just naturally that looked easy, an’ I will say for the boys that they didn’t try to play it low down on him for a good while. All they did was to wait for a pretty strong hand an’ then bet it for what it was worth an’ wait for a call. As there was three o’ them to one o’ him, they naturally outheld him as a rule, but somehow or other he managed to scoop a pot just about often enough to keep him even. He’d bought twenty-five dollars after he lost his first fifty, so there was over a hundred on the table. The boys wasn’t pushin’ him very hard, so they only bet fives an’ tens, an’ once in awhile he’d show down the best hand an’ scoop a pot. An’ bimeby we was all surprised to see he was gettin’ ahead. Still, ’twa’n’t no game to speak about. They’d all got the idee’t he hadn’t got much of a wad, an’ they was playin’ more for the fun o’ the thing than to do him up.

“Pretty soon Blaisdell he caught a four-flush in a jack-pot an’ the stranger he opened it. Blaisdell stayed an’ the others dropped out. They each drawed one card an’ the stranger he bet ten. Blaisdell looked at his draw an’ found he’d filled a ace flush, so he raised it for his pile, which was thirty dollars, an’ the stranger called. He showed down a full house an’ Blaisdell had to go diggin’.

“Next hand Bascom opened the jack on a pat straight, an’ the stranger he come in an’ drawed one card. The others stayed out an’ Bascom bet his pile, which was twenty odd, an’ the stranger he called an’ showed down a flush, so Bascom was obliged to dig.

“Then ’twas Winterbottom’s turn, as it happened, an’ he opened it on threes. They was playin’ a jack again on account o’ the hands showed, an’ I’m blamed if the same thing didn’t happen. The stranger he come in an’ drawed two cards. Winterbottom bet his pile, havin’ three queens. The other two dropped out an’ the stranger he called an’ showed three kings.

“It looked like a most amazin’ run o’ luck, but the stranger never turned a hair. He did call for the drinks all round, as a sort o’ reco’nition, but he sot as calm as ever, waitin’ for his cards, an’ lookin’ as if he didn’t know what to do with ’em when they come. The others had bought fifty apiece when they come back, so there was money enough on the table to make it worth while, an’ the play got stronger. First, Winterbottom he bet twenty on two pairs an’ the stranger called on one pair. Then Bascom he bet ten on a pair o’ queens an’ the stranger called on ace high. Then Blaisdell bet twenty-five on three jacks, Bascom saw it on aces up, Winterbottom stayed out, havin’ nothin’, an’ the stranger called on a nine-high straight. No matter what he held he wouldn’t raise.

“Blaisdell kind o’ got huffy this time, an’ seein’ the stranger was still pretty well to the good, he began cussin’ a little an’ proposed to take off the limit. The others said they was willin’, an’ they ast McCarthy if he was, an’ he said ‘Yes.’ Blamed if it didn’t ’pear like ‘yes’ was ’most the only word he knowed in the language.

“Well, the bets was heavier after that, an’ the stranger lost what he had in front of him in the next three pots, callin’ on the most ridiculousest hands you ever see, but he stayed right along in for the next deal, so they knowed he must have more money in his clothes. It were his first say, Bascom havin’ the age, an’ he dug out two silver dollars an’ come in, the ante bein’ a dollar. The others stayed, an’ McCarthy drawed three cards. When it come to the bettin’, he bet a dollar, an’ Winterbottom put up fifty, havin’ filled a flush. Blaisdell dropped out an’ Bascom raised it fifty. McCarthy never said a word, but he pulled out his wallet an’ fished up a hundred-dollar bill. Winterbottom raised it fifty an’ Bascom raised it fifty more, an’ the stranger laid down another hundred.

“It looked like his finish there, for sure, for o’ course nobody thought he had much of a hand, an’ the boys thought all they had to do was to keep raisin’. They knowed he’d keep callin’, for he hadn’t done nothin’ else for nigh an hour, an’ all they had to do was to keep up the crisscross an’ whipsaw him out of his pile. ’Twa’n’t certain whether Bascom or Winterbottom would win, but one of ’em was sure to, an’ the money would stay right here.

“Well, they kep’ it up for five minutes, I reckon, till Bascom come to the end of his wad. He on’y had six or seven hundred in his clothes an’ Winterbottom wasn’t much stronger. It didn’t look worth while for Bascom to send for more money, for the stranger’s pocketbook was empty an’ he’d fished out his last hundred from one of his pockets, so Bascom just made good when Winterbottom raised, an’ the stranger got his chance to call, nobody supposin’ that he had more’n perhaps three of a kind, an’ likely not that, he havin’ called on every hand he held whether ’twas good for anything or not.

“It were a fatal mistake, an’ Bascom seen it as soon as he’d done it, for the stranger dug again an’ flashed up a thousand-dollar bill. ’Stead o’ raisin’ Winterbottom, as any other player on earth would ha’ done, he just done his fool act over again an’ called. Then he showed down four deuces an’ scooped in the pot as cool as if ’twas eight dollars instead of a little over two thousand.

“Bascom sort o’ gasped, for he seen what a mistake he’d made, but Winterbottom, he realized that somethin’ had to be did quick, an’ he reached out with one hand for the money. ‘You never got them deuces honest,’ he says, pullin’ his gun, o’ course, as he spoke. He knowed it meant fight, but he wasn’t lookin’ no more than any of us for the kind of a fight that came.

“McCarthy, he was quicker than chain-lightnin’, an’ reachin’ over with one hand he grabbed Winterbottom’s gun while he put the money in his pocket with the other. Then, with a queer sort o’ a twist, he wrenched the gun out o’ Winterbottom’s hand and threw it plumb through the

“ ‘WITH ONE HAND HE GRABBED WINTERBOTTOM’S GUN WHILE HE PUT THE MONEY IN HIS POCKET WITH THE OTHER.’ ”

window. We was all standin’ ready to see that Winterbottom had fair play, not considerin’ it etiquette to interfere unless he should get the worst of it, but, Lord bless you, he hadn’t no show at all. The stranger he just rose out of his chair an’ give a leap like a buckin’ bronco clean over the table. He come down with both heels on Winterbottom’s chest, an’ Winterbottom was out of it. Blaisdell an’ Bascom both drawed on the instant, but ’twa’n’t no use. That stranger was all over the room at once, swattin’ Bascom behind the ear with his fist an’ kickin’ Blaisdell under the chin at the same time. I didn’t think it was worth while to take a hand myself, seein’ how things was goin’, an’ bein’ some in years, so I stepped behind the bar an’ waited.

“Well, them three men tried for a minit or so to get up, but they couldn’t. McCarthy was on top o’ the whole of ’em as fast as they moved, an’ he had ’em all whipped in less time than it takes to tell it. I heerd afterward that he’d lived in Paris some, an’ had learned some outrageous foreign way o’ boxin’ with his feet that no Christian c’d ever stand up against. They all give in after a little, an’ I didn’t blame ’em, havin’ seen for myself what the stranger c’d do.

“Well, that was the end of it. The stranger he walked out after the scrimmage was over, lookin’ as cool as ever. He looked back when he got to the door an’ says, ‘Good night. See you again.’ But we never did. He left town the next mornin’ on an early boat. I’ve often thought, though, that it were a merciful dispensation that he didn’t know enough poker to raise instead o’ callin’.”