HE LACK 
 
 ION NN 
 
 BY ALFRED HENRY LEWIS 
 
THE 
 
 BLACK LION 
 
 INN 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED HENRY LEWIS 
 
 Illustrated by FREDERIC REMINGTON 
 
 NEW TORK 
 
 R. H. RUSSELL 
 
 1903 
 
Copyright, 1903 
 By ROBERT HOWARD RUSSELL 
 
 Published May, 1903. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. How I CAME TO THE INN i 
 
 II. THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI ... 10 
 
 III. How FORKED TONGUE WAS BURNED . 29 
 
 IV. THAT TOBACCO UPSET 41 
 
 V. THE SIGN OF THREE 55 
 
 VI. THAT WOLFVILLE CHRISTMAS .... 69 
 
 VII. THE PITT STREET STRINGENCY .... 82 
 
 VIII. THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS .... 103 
 
 IX. CHIQUITA OF CHAPARITA 117 
 
 X. How STRONGARM WAS AN ELK. . . . 129 
 
 XI. THAT SMUGGLED SILK 141 
 
 XII. THE WIPING OUT OF M CANDLAS . . . 158 
 
 XIII. How JIM BRITT PASSED His BILL . . 170 
 
 XIV. How TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. . . . 195 
 
 XV. How MOH-KWA FED THE CATFISH . . 208 
 
 XVI. THE EMPEROR S CIGARS 224 
 
 XVII. THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN . . . 238 
 
 XVIII. THE RESCUE OF CONNELLY 249 
 
 XIX. MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GlFTS . . . 261 
 
 XX. THE GERMAN GIRL S DIAMONDS. . . . 274 
 
 XXI. THE LUCK OF COLD-SOBER SIMMS . . . 289 
 
 iii 
 
CHAPTER 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 How PRINCE RUPERT LOST . . . 
 WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN . . . 
 WHEN THE CAPITOL WAS MOVED . 
 
 HOW THE FlLIBUSTERER SAILED . 
 
 How MOH-KWA SAVED THE STRIKE-AXE 357 
 
 PAGE 
 300 
 
 316 
 331 
 342 
 
 XXVII. THE FLIM FLAM MURPHY 
 
 369 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 THE BLACK LION INN Frontispiece 
 
 THE SAUCY PAOLI Facing p. 12 
 
 THE PONCA S ROAN 24 
 
 FORKED TONGUE 36 
 
 OLD MAN ENRIGHT 70 
 
 THE DUBLIN TERROR 92 
 
 "THE ELK FEAR WAS IN HIS HEART" . . . 132 
 
 JIM BRITT 172 
 
 THE OPENHAND 2IO 
 
 THE COLDHEART 22O 
 
 KWA-SIND " 262 
 
 THE MEDICINE MAN 270 
 
 COLONEL MORTON 332 
 
 THE STRIKE-AXE 358 
 
 CHICKEN BILL 370 
 
 PIKE S PEAK MARTIN 378 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW I CAME TO THE INN. 
 
 Years ago, I came upon an old and hoary tavern 
 when I as a fashion of refugee was flying from 
 strong drink. Its name, as shown on the creak 
 ing sign-board, was The Black Lion Inn. My 
 coming was the fruit of no plan ; the hostelry was 
 strange to me, and my arrival, casual and desul 
 tory, one of those accidents which belong with 
 the experiences of folk who, whipped of a bad 
 appetite and running from rum, are seeking only 
 to be solitary and win a vacation for their self- 
 respect. This latter commodity in my own poor 
 case had been sadly overworked, and called for 
 rest and an opportunity of recuperation. Where 
 fore, going quietly and without word from the 
 great city, I found this ancient inn with a pur 
 pose to turn presently sober. Also by remaining 
 secluded for a space I would permit the memory 
 of those recent dubious exploits of the cup to 
 i i 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 become a bit dimmed- in the bosom of my dis 
 couraged relatives. 
 
 it turned a most fortunate blunder, this blun 
 dering discovery of the aged inn, for it was here 
 I met the Jolly Doctor who, by saving me from 
 my fate of a drunkard, a fate to which I was hope 
 lessly surrendered, will dwell ever in my thoughts 
 as a greatest benefactor. 
 
 There is that about an appetite for alcohol I 
 can not understand. In my personal instance 
 there is reason to believe it was inherited. And 
 yet my own father never touched a drop and lived 
 and died the uncompromising enemy of the bowl. 
 It was from my grandsire, doubtless, I had any 
 hankering after rum, for I have heard a sigh or 
 two of how that dashing military gentleman so de 
 voted himself to it that he fairly perished for very 
 faithfulness as far away as eighty odd long years. 
 
 Once when my father and I were roaming the 
 snow-filled woods with our guns I was a lad of 
 twelve having heard little of that ancestor, I 
 asked him what malady carried off my grandsire. 
 My father did not reply at once, but stalked silent 
 ly ahead, rifle caught under arm, the snow crunch 
 ing beneath his heavy boots. Then he flung a 
 sentence over his shoulder. 
 
 " Poor whiskey more than anything else," said 
 my father. 
 
 Even at the unripe age of twelve I could tell 
 how the subject was unpleasant to my parent and 
 
 2 
 
HOW I CAME TO THE INN. 
 
 did not press it. I saved my curiosity until even 
 ing when my mother and I were alone. My 
 mother, to whom I re-put the query, informed me 
 in whispers how she had been told for she never 
 met him, he being dead and gone before her day 
 my grandsire threw away his existence upon 
 the bottle. 
 
 The taste for strong waters so developed in my 
 grandsire would seem like a quartz-ledge to have 
 dipped" beneath my father to strike the family 
 surface with all its old-time richness in myself. I 
 state this the more secure of its truth because I 
 was instantly and completely a drunkard, waiving 
 every preliminary stage as a novice, from the 
 moment of my first glass. 
 
 It was my first day of the tavern when I met 
 the Jolly Doctor. The tavern was his home 
 for he lived a perilous bachelor and had been 
 many years ; and when, being in a shaken state, 
 I sent down from the apartments I had taken 
 and requested the presence of a physician, he 
 came up to me. He had me right and on my 
 feet in the course of a few hours, and then I began 
 to look him in the face and make his acquaintance. 
 
 As I abode in the tavern for a considerable 
 space, we put in many friendly hours together. 
 The Jolly Doctor was a round, strong, active 
 body of a man, virile and with an atmosphere al 
 most hypnotic. His forehead was good, his jaw 
 hard, his nose arched, while his gray-blue eyes, 
 
 3 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 half sour, half humorous and deeply wise of the 
 world, gleamed in his head with the shine of beads. 
 
 One evening while we were together about the 
 fireplace of my parlor, I was for having up a 
 bottle of sherry. 
 
 " Before you give the order," said the Jolly 
 Doctor, restraining me with a friendly yet semi- 
 professional gesture, " let me say a word. Let 
 me ask whether you have an intention or even a 
 hope of one day no matter how distant quit 
 ting alcohol ? " Without pausing for my answer, 
 the Jolly Doctor went on. " You are yet a young 
 man; I suppose you have seen thirty years. It 
 has been my experience, albeit I m but fifteen 
 years your senior and not therefore as old as a 
 hill, that no man uproots a habit after he has 
 reached middle age. While climbing, mentally, 
 physically, nervously, the slope of his years and 
 adding to, not taking from, his strength, a man 
 may so far re-draw himself as to make or break 
 an appetite the appetite of strong drink if you 
 will. But let him attain the summit of his 
 strength, reach as it were the crest of his days 
 and begin to travel down the easy long descent 
 toward the grave, and every chance of change 
 has perished beyond his reach. You are thirty; 
 and to make it short, my friend, you must, con 
 sidering what bottle tendencies lie latent within 
 you, stop now and stop hard, or you are lost for 
 ever." 
 
HOW I CAME TO THE INN. 
 
 To say I was impressed is not to exaggerate. 
 I was frank enough to confess, however, that 
 privately I held no hope of change. Several years 
 before, I had become convinced, after a full survey 
 of myself and the close study of my inclinations, 
 that I was born to live and die, like my grandsire, 
 the victim of drink. I was its thrall, bound to it 
 as I lay in my cradle ; there existed no gate of 
 escape. This I told; not joyously, I promise you, 
 or as one reciting good fortune ; not argumenta- 
 tively and as reason for the forthcoming of asked- 
 for wine ; but because it was true and made, as I 
 held it, a reason for going in this matter of tipple 
 with freest rein since dodge or balk my fate I 
 might not. 
 
 At the close my Jolly Doctor shook his head 
 in negative. 
 
 " No man knows his destiny," said he, "until 
 the game s played out. Come, let me prescribe 
 for you. The drug I have in mind has cured folk ; 
 I should add, too, that for some it carries neither 
 power nor worth. Still, it will do no harm, and 
 since we may have a test of its virtues within 
 three days ; at the worst you will be called upon 
 to surrender no more than seventy-two hours to 
 sobriety." This last was delivered like a cynic. 
 
 On my side, I not only thanked the Jolly Doctor 
 for his concern, but hastened to assure him I 
 would willingly make pact to abstain from alcohol 
 not three days, but three weeks or three months, 
 
 5 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 were it necessary to pleasure his experiment. My 
 bent for drink was in that degree peculiar that I 
 was not so much its disciple who must worship 
 constantly and every day, as one of those who are 
 given to sprees. Often and of choice I was a 
 stranger to so much as the odor of rum for weeks 
 on end. Then would come other weeks of tumult 
 and riot and drunkenness. The terms of trial for 
 his medicine would be easily and comfortably 
 undergone by me. He had my promise of three 
 days free of rum. 
 
 The Jolly Doctor went to his room ; returning, 
 he placed on the table a little bottle of liquid, 
 reddish in color and bitter of taste. 
 
 " Red cinchona, it is," said the Jolly Doctor; 
 "cinchona rubra, or rather the fluid extract of that 
 bark. It is not a tincture ; there is no alcohol 
 about it. The remedy is well known and I oft 
 marvel it has had no wider vogue. As I ve told 
 you, and on the principle, probably, that one 
 man s poison is another man s food, it does not 
 always cure. However, we will give you a tea- 
 spoonful once in three hours and observe the 
 effect in your particular case." 
 
 There shall be little more related on this point 
 of dypsomania and its remedy. I took the pre 
 scription for a trio of days. At the expiration I 
 sate me solemnly down and debated within my 
 self whether or no I craved strong drink, with the 
 full purpose of calling for it if I did. Absolutely, 
 
 6 
 
HOW I CAME TO THE INN. 
 
 the anxiety was absent; and since I had resolved 
 not to force the bottle upon myself, but to give 
 the Jolly Doctor and his drug all proper show to 
 gain a victory, I made no alcohol demands. All 
 this was years ago, and from that hour until now, 
 when I write these lines, I ve neither taken nor 
 wanted alcohol. I ve gone freely where it was, 
 and abode for hours at tables when others poured 
 and tossed it off; for myself I ve craved none and 
 taken none. 
 
 Toward the last of my stay, there came to dwell 
 at the hostelry a goodly circle; one for a most 
 part chance-sown. For days it had been snowing 
 with a free, persistent hand ; softly, industriously, 
 indomitably fell the flakes, straight down and un- 
 flurried of a wind, until the cold light element lay 
 about the tavern for a level depth of full three 
 feet. It was the sort of weather in which one 
 should read Whittier s Snow-Bound. 
 
 Our circle, as snow-pent and held within door 
 we drew about the tavern fire, offered a chequered 
 citizenry. On the earliest occasion of our com 
 radeship, while the snow sifted about the old- 
 fashioned panes and showed through them with 
 the whiteness of milk, I cast my eye over the 
 group to collect for myself a mental picture of 
 my companions. 
 
 At the right hand of the Jolly Doctor, solid in 
 his arm chair, sat a Red Nosed Gentleman. He 
 showed prosperous of this world s goods and 
 
 7 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 owned to a warm weakness for burgundy. He 
 was particular to keep ever a bottle at his elbow, 
 and constantly supported his interest in what was 
 current with a moderate glass. 
 
 In sharpest contrast to the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man there should be mentioned a gray old gentle 
 man of sour and forbidding eye. The Jolly 
 Doctor, who had known him for long, gave me 
 in a whisper his story. This Sour Gentleman, 
 like the Red Nosed Gentleman, had half retired 
 from the cares of business. The Red Nosed 
 Gentleman in his later days had been a stock spec 
 ulator, as in sooth had the Sour Gentleman, and 
 each would still on occasion carry a few thousand 
 shares for a w r eek or two and then swoop on a 
 profit with quite the eagerness of any hawk on 
 any hen. 
 
 Not to be overlooked, in a corner nearest the 
 chimney was a seamed white old figure, tall and 
 spare, yet with vigorous thews still strung in the 
 teeth of his all but four score years. He was 
 referred to during our amiable captivity, and while 
 we sate snow-locked about the mighty fire-place, 
 as the Old Cattleman. 
 
 Half comrade and half ward, our Old Cattleman 
 had with him a taciturn, grave individual, to whom 
 he gave the title of " Sioux Sam," and whose 
 father, he informed us, had been a French trader 
 from St. Louis, while his mother was a squaw of 
 
 8 
 
HOW I CAME TO THE INN. 
 
 the tribe that furnished the first portion of his 
 name. 
 
 As we brought arm chairs about the fire-place 
 on our first snow-bound evening, moved possibly 
 by the Red Nosed Gentleman s burgundy, which 
 that florid person had urged upon his attention, 
 the Jolly Doctor set the little community a good 
 story-telling example. 
 
 " This story, I should premise," said the Jolly 
 Doctor, mollifying certain rawnesses of his throat 
 with a final glass of the Red Nosed Gentleman s 
 burgundy, " belongs to no experience of my own. 
 I shall tell it as it was given me. It speaks 
 broadly of the west and of the folk of cows and 
 the Indians, and was set uppermost in my memory 
 by the presence of our western friends." Here 
 the Jolly Doctor indicated the Old Cattleman and 
 that product of the French fur trader and his 
 Indian wife, Sioux Sam, by a polite wave of his 
 glass. Then tossing off the last of his burgundy 
 he, without tedious preliminary, struck into his 
 little history. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 Gray Wolf sits within the shadow of the agency 
 cottonwood and puffs unhappy kinnikinic from 
 his red stone pipe. Heavy, dull and hot lies the 
 August afternoon; heavy, dull and hot lies the 
 heart of Gray Wolf. There is a profound grief 
 at his soul s roots. The Indian s is not a mobile 
 face. In full expression it is capable only of 
 apathy or rage. If your Indian would show you 
 mirth or woe, he must eke out the dim and half- 
 told story with streaks of paint. But so deep is 
 the present sorrow of Gray Wolf that, even with 
 out the aid of graphic ochre, one reads some 
 shadow of it in the wrinkled brows and brooding 
 eyes. 
 
 What is this to so beat upon our dismal Osage? 
 There is a dab of mud in his hair; his blanket is 
 rags, and his moccasins are rusty and worn. 
 These be weeds of mourning. Death has crept 
 to the tepee of Gray Wolf and taken a prey. It 
 was Catbird, the squaw of Gray Wolf. 
 
 However, his to-day s sadness is not for the 
 departed Catbird. He married her without laugh 
 ter, and saw her pass without tears, as became a 
 
 10 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 man and an Osage. When her breath was gone, 
 the women combed her hair and dressed her in 
 new, gay clothes, and burned the sacred cedar. 
 Gray Wolf, after the usage of his fathers, seated 
 her knees to chin on yonder hilltop, wrapped 
 her in rawhides, and, as against the curiosity of 
 coyotes and other prowling vermin of the night, 
 builded her solidly about and over with heavy 
 stones. You may see the rude mausole, like some 
 tumbledown chimney, from the agency door. 
 That was a moon ago. Another will go by ; Gray 
 Wolf will lay off his rags and tatters, comb the 
 clay from his hair, and give a dance to show that 
 he mourns no more. No, it is not the lost Cat 
 bird good squaw though she was that embit 
 ters the tobacco and haunts the moods of Gray 
 Wolf. It is something more awful than death 
 that merest savage commonplace; something to 
 touch the important fiber of pride. 
 
 Gray Wolf is proud, as indeed he has concern 
 to be. Not alone is he eminent as an Osage; he 
 is likewise an eminent Indian. Those two thin 
 ragged lines of blue tattoo which, on each side 
 from the point of the jaw, run downward on the 
 neck until they disappear beneath his blanket, 
 prove Gray Wolf s elevation. They are the marks 
 of an aboriginal nobility whereof the paleface in 
 his ignorance knows nothing. Thirty Indians in 
 all the tribes may wear these marks. And yet, 
 despite such signs of respect, Gray Wolf has be- 
 
 ii 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 come the subject of acrid tribal criticism ; and he 
 feels it like the edge of a knife. 
 
 Keats was quill -pricked to death by critics. 
 But Keats was an Englishman and a poet. Petro- 
 nius Arbiter, Nero s minion, was also criticised; 
 despite the faultfinder, however, he lived in cloud 
 less merry luxury, and died laughing. But Petro- 
 nius was a Roman and an epicure. Gray Wolf is 
 to gain nothing by these examples. He would 
 not die like the verse maker, he could not laugh 
 like the consul ; there is a gulf between Gray Wolf 
 and these as wide as the width of the possible. 
 Gray Wolf is a stoic, and therefore neither so 
 callous nor so wise as an epicure. Moreover, he 
 is a savage and not a poet. Petronius came to be 
 nothing better than an appetite ; Gray Wolf rises 
 to the heights of an emotion. Keats was a radi 
 cal of sensibility, ransacking a firmament; Gray 
 Wolf is an earthgoing conservative a more stu 
 pendous Tory than any Bolingbroke. Of the two, 
 while resembling neither, Gray Wolf comes nearer 
 the poet than the Sybarite, since he can feel. 
 
 Let it be remarked that Osage criticism is no 
 trivial thing. It is so far peculiar that never a 
 word or look, or even a detractory shrug is made 
 to be its evidence. Your Osage tells no evil 
 tales of you to his neighbor. His conduct goes 
 guiltless of slanderous syllable or gesture. But 
 he criticises you in his heart; he is strenuous to 
 think ill of you ; and by some fashion of telepathy 
 
 12 
 
THE SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 you know and feel and burn with this tacit con 
 demnation as much as ever you might from hot 
 irons laid on your forehead. It is this criticism, 
 as silent as it is general, that gnaws at Gray 
 Wolf s heart and makes his somber visage more 
 somber yet. 
 
 It was the week before when Gray Wolf, puffed 
 of a vain conceit, matched Sundown, his pinto 
 pony swift as a winter wind, he deemed her 
 against a piebald, leggy roan, the property of 
 Dull Ox, the cunning Ponca. The race had wide 
 advertisement; it took shape between the Osages 
 and the Poncas as an international event. Gray 
 Wolf assured his tribe of victory; his Sundown 
 was a shooting star, the roan a turtle ; whereupon 
 the Osages, ever ready as natural patriots to be 
 lieve the worst Osage thing to be better than the 
 best thing Ponca, fatuously wagered their sub 
 stance on Sundown, even unto the beads on their 
 moccasins. 
 
 The race was run; the ubiquitous roan, fleeter 
 than a shadow, went by poor Sundown as though 
 she ran with hobbles on. Dull Ox won; the 
 Poncas won. The believing Osages were stripped 
 of their last blanket; and even as Gray Wolf sits 
 beneath the agency cottonwood and writhes while 
 he considers what his pillaged countrymen must 
 think of him, the exultant Poncas are in the midst 
 of a protracted spree, something in the nature 
 of a scalp dance, meant to celebrate their triumph 
 
 13 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 and emphasize the thoroughness wherewith the 
 Osages were routed. Is it marvel, then, that 
 Osage thought is full of resentment, or that Gray 
 Wolf feels its sting? 
 
 Over across from the moody Gray Wolf, Bill 
 Henry lounges in the wide doorway of Florer s 
 agency store. Bill Henry is young, about twenty- 
 three, in truth. He has a quick, handsome face, 
 with gray eyes that dance and gleam, and promise 
 explosiveness of temper. The tan that darkens 
 Bill Henry s skin wherever the sun may get to it, 
 and which is comparable to the color of a saddle 
 or a law book, testifies that the vivacious Bill is 
 no recent importation. Five full years on the 
 plains would be needed to ripen one to that dur 
 able hue. 
 
 Bill gazes out upon Gray Wolf as the latter 
 sticks to the cottonwood s shade ; a plan is running 
 in the thoughts of Bill. There is call for change 
 in Bill s destinies, and he must have the Gray 
 Wolf s consent to what he bears in mind. 
 
 Bill has followed cattle since he turned his back 
 on Maryland, a quintet of years before, and pushed 
 westward two thousand miles to commence a 
 career. Bill s family is of that aristocracy which 
 adorns the " Eastern Shore" of Lord Baltimore s 
 old domain. His folk are of consequence, and 
 intended that Bill should take a high position. 
 Bill s mother, an ardent church woman, had a 
 pulpit in her thoughts for Bill ; his father, more 
 
 14 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 of the world, urged on his son the law. But Bill s 
 bent was towards the laws neither of heaven nor 
 of men. The romantic overgrew the practical in 
 his nature. He leaned not to labor, whether 
 mental or physical, and he liked danger and 
 change and careless savageries. 
 
 Civilization is artificial; it is a creature of con 
 vention, of clocks, of hours, of an unending pro 
 cession of sleep, victuals and work. Bill dis 
 tasted such orderly matters and felt instinctive 
 abhorrence therefor. The day in and day out 
 effort called for to remain civilized terrified Bill; 
 his soul gave up the task before it was begun. 
 
 But savagery? Ah, that was different! Sav 
 agery was natural, easy and comfortable to the 
 very heart s blood of Bill, shiftless and wild as it 
 ran. Bill was an instance of what wise folk term 
 "reversion to type," and thus it befell, while his 
 father tugged one way and his mother another, 
 Bill himself went suddenly from under their hands, 
 fled from both altar and forum, and never paused 
 until he found himself within the generous reaches 
 of the Texas Panhandle. There, as related, and 
 because savagery cannot mean entire idleness, 
 Bill gave himself to a pursuit of cows, and soon 
 had moderate fame as a rider, a roper, a gambler, 
 and a quick, sure hand with a gun, and for what 
 ever was deemed excellent in those regions 
 wherein he abode. 
 
 Bill s presence among the Osages is the upcome 
 15 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 of a dispute which fell forth between Bill and a 
 comrade in a barroom of Mobeetie. Bill and the 
 comrade aforesaid played at a device called draw 
 poker;" and Bill, in attempting to supply the de 
 ficiencies of a four flush with his six shooter, man 
 aged the other s serious wounding. This so 
 shook Bill s standing in the Panhandle, so marked 
 him to the common eye as a boy of dangerous 
 petulance, that Bill sagely withdrew between two 
 days ; and now, three hundred miles to the north 
 and east, he seeks among the Indians for liewer 
 pastures more serene. 
 
 When we meet him Bill has been with the 
 Osages the space of six weeks. And already he 
 begins to doubt his welcome. Not that the 
 Osages object. Your Indian objects to nothing 
 that does not find shape as an immediate personal 
 invasion of himself. But the government agent 
 a stern, decisive person likes not the presence 
 of straggling whites among his copper charges; 
 already has he made intimation to Bill that his 
 Osage sojourn should be short. Any moment 
 this autocrat may despatch his marshal to march 
 Bill off the reservation. 
 
 Bill does not enjoy the outlook. Within the 
 brief frontiers of those six weeks of his visit, Bill 
 has contracted an eager fondness for Osage life. 
 Your Indian is so far scriptural that he taketh 
 scant heed of the morrow, and believeth with all 
 his soul that sufficient unto the day is the evil 
 
 16 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 thereof. Here was a program to dovetail with 
 those natural moods of Bill. His very being, 
 when once it understood, arose on tiptoe to em 
 brace it. Bill has become an Osage in his breast; 
 as he poses with listless grace in Florer s portals, 
 he is considering means whereby he may manage 
 a jointure with the tribe, and become in actual 
 truth a member. 
 
 There is but one door to his coming; Bill must 
 wed his way into Osage citizenship. He must 
 take a daughter of the tribe to wife ; turn "squaw 
 man," as it is called. Then will Bill be a full 
 blown Osage; then may no agent molest him or 
 make him afraid. 
 
 This amiable plot, as he lounges in Florer s 
 door, is already decided upon by Bill. His fancy 
 has even pitched upon the damsel whom he will 
 honor with the title of " Mrs. Bill." It is this 
 selection that produces Gray Wolf as a factor in 
 Bill s intended happiness, since Gray Wolf is the 
 parent of the Saucy Paoli, to whom Bill s hopes 
 are turned. Bill must meet and treat with Gray 
 Wolf for his daughter, discover her "price," and 
 pay it. 
 
 As to the lady herself and her generous con 
 sent when once her father is won, Bill harbors no 
 misgivings. He believes too well of his hand 
 some person; moreover, has he not demonstrated 
 in friendly bout, on foot and on horseback, his 
 superiority to the young Osage bucks who would 
 
 3 17 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 pit themselves against him ? Has he not out-run, 
 out-wrestled and out-ridden them? And at work 
 with either rifle, six-shooter or knife, has he not 
 opened their eyes? Also, he has conquered them 
 at cards; and their money and their ponies and 
 their gewgaws to a healthful value are his as 
 spoils thereof. 
 
 Bill is all things that a lady of sensibility should 
 love ; and for that on those two or three occasions 
 when he came unexpectedly upon her, the Saucy 
 Paoli dodged within the ancestral lodge to daub 
 her nose and cheeks with hurried yet graceful 
 red, thereby to improve and give her beauties 
 point, Bill knows he has touched her heart. Yes, 
 forsooth! Bill feels sure of the Saucy Paoli; it 
 is Gray Wolf, somber of his late defeat by the 
 wily Dull Ox and the evanescent roan, toward 
 whom his apprehensions turn their face. The 
 more, perhaps, since Bill himself, not being a 
 blinded Osage, and having besides some certain 
 wit concerning horses, scrupled not to wager and 
 win on the Ponca entry, and against the beloved 
 Sundown of his father-in-law to come. It is the 
 notion that Gray Wolf might resent this apostasy 
 that breeds a half pause in Bill s optimism as he 
 loafs in Florer s door. 
 
 As Bill stands thus musing, the Saucy Paoli 
 goes by. The Saucy Paoli is light, pretty, round 
 and wholesome, and she glances with shy, engag 
 ing softness on Bill from eyes as dark and big 
 
 18 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 and deep as a deer s. Is it not worth while to 
 wed her? The Osages are owners in fee of one 
 million, five hundred thousand acres of best land ; 
 they have eight even millions of dollars stored in 
 the Great Father s strong chests in Washington; 
 they are paid each one hundred and forty dollars 
 by their fostering Great Father as an annual 
 present; and the head of the house draws all for 
 himself and his own. Marriage will mean an 
 instant yearly income of two hundred and eighty 
 dollars; moreover, there may come the profitable 
 papoose, and with each such a money augmenta 
 tion of one hundred and forty dollars. And again, 
 there are but sixteen hundred Osages told and 
 counted; and so would Bill gain a strong per 
 cent, in the tribal domain and the tribal treasure. 
 Altogether, a union with the fair, brown Saucy 
 Paoli is a prospect fraught of sunshine; and so 
 Bill wisely deems it. 
 
 For an hour it has leaped in Bill s thoughts as 
 an impulse to go across to the spreading cotton- 
 wood, propose himself to the Gray Wolf for the 
 Saucy Paoli, and elicit reply. It would not be 
 the Osage way, but Bill is not yet an Osage, and 
 some reasonable allowance should be made by 
 Gray Wolf for the rudeness of a paleface educa 
 tion. Such step would earn an answer, certain 
 and complete. Your savage beateth not about 
 the bush. His diplomacy is Bismarckian; it is 
 direct and proceeds by straight lines. 
 
 19 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Thus chase Bill s cogitations when the sudden 
 sight of the Saucy Paoli and her glances, full of 
 wist and warmth, fasten his gallant fancy and 
 crystalize a resolution to act at once. 
 
 " How ! " observes Bill, by way of salutation, 
 as he stands before Gray Wolf. 
 
 That warrior grunts swinish, though polite, 
 response. Then Bill goes directly to the core of 
 his employ; he explains his passion, sets forth 
 his hopes, and by dashing swoops arrives at the 
 point which, according to Bill s blunt theories, 
 should quicken the interest of Gray Wolf, and 
 says : 
 
 " Now, what price? How many ponies? " 
 
 " How many you give ? " retorts the cautious 
 Gray Wolf. 
 
 " Fifteen." Bill stands ready to go to thirty. 
 
 " Ugh ! " observes Gray Wolf, and then he looks 
 out across the prairie grasses where the thick 
 smoke shows the summer fires to be burning 
 them far away. 
 
 " Thirty ponies," says Bill after a pause. 
 
 These or their money equivalent six hundred 
 dollars Bill knows to be a fat figure. He be 
 lieves Gray Wolf will yield. 
 
 But Bill is in partial error. Gray Wolf is not 
 in any sordid, money frame. Your savage is a 
 sentimentalist solely on two matters: those to 
 touch his pride and those to wake his patriotism. 
 And because of the recent triumph of the Poncas, 
 
 20 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 and the consequent censures upon him now flam 
 ing, though hidden, in the common Osage heart, 
 Gray Wolf s pride is raw and throbbing. He 
 looks up at Bill where he waits. 
 
 " One pony!" says Gray Wolf. 
 
 "One?" 
 
 " But it must beat the Ponca s roan." 
 
 Four hundred miles to the westward lie the 
 broad ranges of the Triangle-Dot. Throughout 
 all cow-land the ponies of the Triangle-Dot have 
 name for speed. As far eastward as the Pan 
 handle and westward to the Needles, as far south 
 ward as Seven Rivers and northward to the 
 Spanish Peaks, has their fame been flung. About 
 camp fires and among the boys of cows are tales 
 told of Triangle-Dot ponies that overtake coyotes 
 and jack-rabbits. More, they are exalted as 
 having on a time raced even with an antelope. 
 These ponies are children of a blue-grass sire, 
 as thoroughbred as ever came out of Kentucky. 
 Little in size, yet a ghost to go ; his name was 
 Redemption. These speedy mustang babies of 
 Redemption have yet to meet their master in the 
 whole southwest. And Bill knows of them; he 
 has seen them run. 
 
 " In two moons, my father," says Bill. 
 
 There is much creaking of saddle leathers ; 
 there is finally a deep dig in the flanks by the 
 long spurs, and Bill, mounted on his best, rides 
 out of Pauhauska. His blankets are strapped 
 
 21 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 behind, his war bags bulge with provand, he is 
 fully armed; of a verity, Bill meditates a journey. 
 Four hundred miles and return no less, to the 
 ranges of the Triangle-Dot. 
 
 Gray Wolf watches from beneath the cotton- 
 wood that already begins to throw its shadows 
 long; his eyes follow Bill until the latter s broad 
 brimmed, gray sombrero disappears on the hill- 
 crests over beyond Bird River. 
 
 It skills not to follow Bill in this pilgrimage. 
 He fords rivers ; he sups and sleeps at casual 
 camps ; now and again he pauses for the night at 
 some chance plaza of the Mexicans; but first and 
 last he pushes ever on and on at a round road 
 gait, and with the end he has success. 
 
 Within his time by full three weeks Bill is again 
 at the agency of the Osages ; and with him comes 
 a pony, lean of muzzle, mild of eye, wide of fore 
 head, deep of lung, silken of mane, slim of limb, 
 a daughter of the great Redemption ; and so true 
 and beautiful is she in each line she seems rather 
 for air than earth. And she is named the Spirit. 
 
 Gray Wolf goes over the Spirit with eye and 
 palm. He feels her velvet coat; picks up one by 
 one her small hoofs, polished and hard as agate. 
 
 The Spirit has private trial with Sundown and 
 leaves that hopeless cayuse as if the latter were 
 pegged to the prairie. 
 
 " Ugh ! " says Gray Wolf, at the finish. " Heap 
 good pony ! " 
 
 22 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 Your savage is not a personage of stop 
 watches, weights and records. At the best, he 
 may only guess concerning a pony s performance. 
 Also his vanity has wings, though his pony has 
 none, and once he gets it into his savage head 
 that his pony can race, it is never long ere he 
 regards him as invincible. Thus is it with Dull 
 Ox and his precious roan. That besotted Ponca 
 promptly accepts the Gray Wolf challenge for a 
 second contest. 
 
 The day arrives. The race is to be run on the 
 Osage course a quarter of a mile, straight-away 
 at the Pauhauska agency. Two thousand 
 Osages and Poncas are gathered together. There 
 is no laughter, no uproar, no loud talk; all is 
 gravity, dignity and decorum. The stakes are 
 one thousand dollars a side, for Gray Wolf and 
 Dull Ox are opulent pagans. 
 
 The ponies are brought up and looked over. 
 The fires of a thousand racing ancestors burn in 
 the eyes of the Spirit; the Poncas should take 
 warning. But they do not; wagers run higher. 
 The Osages have by resolution of their fifteen 
 legislators brought the public money to the field. 
 Thus they are rich for speculation, where, other 
 wise, by virtue of former losses, they would be 
 helpless with empty hands. 
 
 Bet after bet is made. The pool box is a red 
 blanket spread on the grass. It is presided over 
 by a buck, impecunious but of fine integrity. 
 
 23 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Being moneyless, he will make no bet himself; 
 being honest, he will faithfully guard the treasure 
 put within his care. A sporting buck approaches 
 the blanket; he grumbles a word or two in the 
 ear of the pool master who sits at the blanket s 
 head; then he searches forth a hundred-dollar 
 bill from the darker recesses of his blanket and 
 lays it on the red betting-cloth. Another comes 
 up; the pool master murmurs the name of the 
 pony on which the hundred is offered; it is cov 
 ered by the second speculator ; that wager is com 
 plete. Others arrive at the betting blanket; its 
 entire surface becomes dotted with bank notes 
 two and two they lie together, each wagered 
 against the other. The blanket is covered and 
 concealed with the money piled upon it. One 
 begins to wonder how a winner is to know his 
 wealth. There will be no clash, no dispute. 
 Savages never cheat ; and each will know his own. 
 Besides, there is the poverty-eaten, honest buck, 
 watching all, to be appealed to should an acci 
 dental confusion of wagers occur. 
 
 On a bright blanket, a trifle to one side not 
 to be under the moccasins of commerce, as it 
 were sits the Saucy Paoli. She is without 
 motion; and a blanket, covering her from little 
 head to little foot, leaves not so much as a stray 
 lock or the tip of an ear for one s gaze to rest 
 upon. The Saucy Paoli is present dutifully to 
 answer the outcome of the Gray Wolf s pact with 
 
 24 
 
THE PONCA S ROAN. 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 Bill. One wonders how does her heart beat, and 
 how roam her hopes? Is she for the roan, or 
 is she for the Glory of the Triangle-Dot ? 
 
 The solemn judges draw their blankets about 
 them and settle to their places. Three Poncas 
 and three Osages on a side they are; they seat 
 themselves opposite each other with twenty feet 
 between. A line is drawn from trio to trio; that 
 will serve as wire. The pony to cross first will 
 be victor. 
 
 Now all is ready! The rival ponies are at the 
 head of the course; it will be a standing start. 
 A grave buck sits in the saddle near the two 
 racers and to their rear. He is the starter. Sud 
 denly he cracks off a Winchester, skyward. It 
 is the signal. 
 
 The ponies leap like panthers at the sound. 
 There is a swooping rush ; for one hundred yards 
 they run together, then the Spirit takes the lead. 
 Swifter than the thrown lance, swift as the sped 
 arrow she comes ! With each instant she leaves 
 and still further leaves the roan ! What has such 
 as the mongrel pony of the Poncas to do with 
 the Flower of the Triangle-Dot? The Spirit 
 flashes between the double triumvirate of judges, 
 winner by fifty yards ! 
 
 And now one expects a shout. There is none. 
 The losing Poncas and the triumphant Osages 
 alike are stolid and dignified. Only Gray Wolf s 
 eyes gleam, and the cords in his neck swell. He 
 
 25 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 has been redeemed with his people; his honor 
 has been returned; his pride can again hold up 
 its head. But while his heart may bound, his 
 face must be like iron. Such is the etiquette of 
 savagery. 
 
 Both Gray Wolf and the Osages will exult 
 later, noisily, vociferously. There will be feast 
 ing and dancing. Now they must be grave and 
 guarded, both for their own credit and to save 
 their Ponca adversaries from a wound. 
 
 Bill turns and rides slowly back to the judges. 
 The Spirit, daughter of Redemption, stands with 
 fire eyes and tiger lily nostrils. Bill swings from 
 the saddle. Gray Wolf throws off the blanket 
 from the Saucy Paoli, where she waits, head 
 bowed and silent. Her dress is the climax of 
 Osage magnificence ; the Saucy Paoli glows like 
 a ruby against the dusk green of the prairie. Bill 
 takes the Saucy Paoli s hand and raises her to 
 her feet. 
 
 She lifts her head. Her glance is shy, yet 
 warm and glad. She hesitates. Then, as one 
 who takes courage just as might a white girl, 
 though with less of art she puts up her lips to be 
 kissed. 
 
 " Now that is what I call a fair story," com 
 mented the Red Nosed Gentleman approvingly 
 when the Jolly Doctor came to a pause; "only I 
 
 26 
 
THE WINNING OF SAUCY PAOLI. 
 
 don t like that notion of a white man marrying 
 an Indian. It s apt to keep alive in the children 
 the worst characteristics of both races and none 
 of the virtues of either." 
 
 " Now I don t know that," observed the Sour 
 Gentleman, contentiously. " In my own state of 
 Virginia many of our best people are proud to 
 trace their blood to Pocahontas, who was sold 
 for a copper kettle. I, myself, am supposed to 
 have a spoonful of the blood of that daughter of 
 Powhatan in my veins ; and while it is unpleasant 
 to recall one s ancestress as having gone from 
 hand to hand as the subject of barter and sale 
 and for no mighty price at that I cannot say I 
 would wish it otherwise. My Indian blood fits 
 me very well. Did you say" turning to the 
 Jolly Doctor " did you say, sir, you knew this 
 young man who won the Saucy Paoli ? " 
 
 " No," returned the Jolly Doctor, " I am guilt 
 less of acquaintance with him. The story came 
 to me from one of our Indian agents." 
 
 While this talk went forward, Sioux Sam, who 
 understood English perfectly and talked it very 
 well, albeit with a guttural Indian effect, and who 
 had listened to the Jolly Doctor s story with every 
 mark of interest, was saying something in a whis 
 per to the Old Cattleman. 
 
 " He tells me," remarked the Old Cattleman in 
 reply to my look of curiosity, "that if you-alls don t 
 mind, he ll onfold on you a Injun tale himse f. 
 
 27 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 It s one of these yere folk-lore stories, I suppose, 
 as Doc Peets used to call em." 
 
 The whole company made haste to assure Sioux 
 Sam that his proposal was deeply the popular one ; 
 thus cheered, our dark-skinned raconteur, first 
 lighting his pipe with a coal from the great fire 
 place, issued forth upon his verbal journey. 
 
 " An this," said Sioux Sam, lifting a dark finger 
 to invoke attention and puffing a cloud the while, 
 "an this tale, which shows how Forked Tongue, 
 the bad medicine man, was burned, must teach 
 how never to let the heart fill up with hate like 
 a pond with the rains, nor permit the tongue to 
 go a crooked trail." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 HOW FORKED TONGUE WAS BURNED. 
 
 The time is long, long ago. Ugly Elk is the 
 great chief of the Sioux, an he s so ugly an his 
 face so hideous, he makes a great laugh wherever 
 he goes. But the people are careful to laugh when 
 the Ugly Elk s back is toward them. If they went 
 in front of him an laugh, he d go among them 
 with his stone war-axe; for Ugly Elk is sensitive 
 about his looks. 
 
 Ugly Elk is the warchief of the Sioux an keeps 
 his camp on the high bluffs that mark the south 
 ern border of the Sioux country where he can 
 look out far on the plains an see if the Pawnees 
 go into the Sioux hills to hunt. Should the Paw 
 nees try this, then Ugly Elk calls up his young 
 men an pounces on the Pawnees like a coyote 
 on a sage hen, an when Ugly Elk gets through, 
 the Pawnees are hard to find. 
 
 It turns so, however, that the Pawnees grow 
 tired. Ugly Elk s war yell makes their knees 
 weak, an when they see the smoke of his fire 
 they turn an run. Then Ugly Elk has peace in 
 his tepees on the bluffs, an eats an smokes an 
 counts his scalps an no Pawnee comes to anger 
 
 29 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 him. An the Sioux look up to him as a mighty 
 fighter, an what Ugly Elk says goes as law from 
 east to west an no th to south throughout the 
 country of the Sioux. 
 
 Ugly Elk has no sons or daughters an all his 
 squaws are old an dead an asleep forever in their 
 rawhides, high on pole scaffolds where the wolves 
 can t come. An because Ugly Elk is lonesome 
 an would hear good words about his lodge an 
 feel that truth is near, he asks his nephew, Run 
 ning Water, to live with him when now the years 
 grow deep an deeper on his head. The nephew 
 is named Running Water because there is no 
 muddiness of lies about him, an his life runs clear 
 an swift an good. Some day Running Water 
 will be chief, an then they will call him Kill-Bear, 
 because he once sat down an waited until a 
 grizzly came up ; an when he had come up, Run 
 ning Water offered him the muzzle of his gun to 
 bite; an then as the grizzly took it between his 
 jaws, Running Water blew off his head. An for 
 that he was called Kill-Bear, an made chief. But 
 that is not for a long time, an comes after Ugly 
 Elk has died an been given a scaffold of poles 
 with his squaws. 
 
 Ugly Elk has his heart full of love for Running 
 Water an wants him ever in his sight an to hear 
 his voice. Also, he declares to the Sioux that 
 they must make Running Water their chief when 
 he is gone. The Sioux say that if he will fight 
 
 30 
 
HOW FORKED TONGUE WAS BURNED. 
 
 the Pawnees, like Ugly Elk, until the smoke of 
 his camp is the smoke of fear to the Pawnees, he 
 shall be their chief. An because Running Water 
 is as bold as he is true, Ugly Elk accepts the 
 promise of the Sioux an rests content that all 
 will be as he asks when his eyes close for the 
 long sleep. 
 
 But while Ugly Elk an Running Water are 
 happy for each other, there is one whose heart 
 turns black as he looks upon them. It is Forked 
 Tongue, the medicine man; he is the cousin of 
 Ugly Elk, an full of lies an treachery. Also, he 
 wants to be chief when that day comes for Ugly 
 Elk to die an go away. Forked Tongue feels 
 hate for Running Water, an he plans to kill him. 
 
 Forked Tongue talks with Moh-Kwa, the Wise 
 Bear, an who has once helped Forked Tongue 
 with his medicine. Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, is 
 very wise ; also he wants revenge on Forked 
 Tongue, who promised him a bowl of molasses 
 an then put a cheat on him. 
 
 When Forked Tongue powwows with Moh- 
 Kwa, the Wise Bear thinks now he will have ven 
 geance on Forked Tongue, who was false about 
 the molasses. Thereupon, he rests his head on 
 his paw, an makes as if he thinks an thinks; an 
 after a long while he tells Forked Tongue what 
 to do. 
 
 " Follow my word," says Moh-Kwa, "an it 
 will bring success." 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 But Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, doesn t say to 
 whom "success" will come; nor does Forked 
 Tongue notice because liars are ever quickest to 
 believe, an there is no one so easy to deceive as 
 a treacherous man. Forked Tongue leaves Moh- 
 Kwa an turns to carry out his su gestions. 
 
 Forked Tongue talks to Ugly Elk when they re 
 alone an touches his feelings where they re sore. 
 
 " The Running Water laughs at you," says 
 Forked Tongue to Ugly Elk. " He says you are 
 more hideous than a gray gaunt old wolf, an 
 that he must hold his head away when you an 
 he are together. If he looked at you, he says, 
 you are so ugly he would laugh till he died." 
 
 Then the Ugly Elk turned to fire with rage. 
 
 "How will you prove that?" says Ugly Elk 
 to Forked Tongue. 
 
 Forked Tongue is ready, for Moh-Kwa has 
 foreseen the question of Ugly Elk. 
 
 " You may prove it for yourself," says Forked 
 Tongue. " When you an Running Water are 
 together, see if he does not turn away his head." 
 
 That night it is as Forked Tongue said. Run 
 ning Water looks up at the top of the lodge, or 
 down at the robes on the ground, or he turns his 
 back on Ugly Elk; but he never once rests his 
 eyes on Ugly Elk or looks him in the face. An 
 the reason is this : Forked Tongue has told Run 
 ning Water that Ugly Elk complained that Run 
 ning Water s eye was evil ; that his medicine told 
 
 32 
 
HOW FORKED TONGUE WAS BURNED. 
 
 him this; an that he asked Forked Tongue to 
 command Running Water not to look on him, the 
 Ugly Elk, for ten wakes an ten sleeps, when the 
 evil would have gone out of his eye. 
 
 "An the Ugly Elk," says Forked Tongue, 
 "would tell you this himse f, but he loves you so 
 much it would make his soul sick, an so he asks 
 me." 
 
 Running Water, who is all truth, does not look 
 for lies in any mouth, an believes Forked Tongue, 
 an resolves for ten sleeps an ten wakes not to 
 rest his eyes on Ugly Elk. 
 
 When Ugly Elk notices how Running Water 
 will not look on him, he chokes with anger, for 
 he remembers he is hideous an believes that 
 Running Water laughs as Forked Tongue has told 
 him. An he grows so angry his mind is dark 
 ened an his heart made as night. He seeks out 
 the Forked Tongue an says: 
 
 " Because I am weak with love for him, I can 
 not kill him with my hands. What shall I do, for 
 he must die? " 
 
 Then Forked Tongue makes a long think an 
 as if he is hard at work inside his head. Then 
 he gives this counsel to Ugly Elk: 
 
 " Send to your hunters where they are camped 
 by the river. Say to them by your runner to 
 seize on him who comes first to them in the 
 morning, an tie him to the big peeled pine an 
 burn him to death with wood. When the runner 
 
 33 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 is gone, say to Running Water that he must go 
 to the hunters when the sun wakes up in the east 
 an ask them if they have killed an cooked the 
 deer you sent them. Since he will be the first 
 to come, the hunters will lay hands on Running 
 Water an tie him an burn him ; an that will put 
 an end to his jests an laughter over your ugli 
 ness." 
 
 Ugly Elk commands the Antelope, his runner, 
 to hurry with word to the hunters to burn him 
 to death who shall come first to them in the morn 
 ing. Then he makes this word to Running Water 
 that he must go to the hunters when the sun 
 comes up an ask if they have killed an cooked 
 the deer he sent them. Ugly Elk scowls like a 
 cloud while he gives his directions to Running 
 Water, but the boy does not see since his eyes 
 are on the ground. 
 
 As the sun comes up, Running Water starts with 
 the word of Ugly Elk to the hunters. But Moh- 
 Kwa, the Wise Bear, is before him for his safety. 
 Moh-Kwa knows that the way to stop a man is 
 with a woman, so he has brought a young squaw 
 of the lower Yellowstone who is so beautiful that 
 her people named her the Firelight. Moh-Kwa 
 makes the Firelight pitch camp where the trail 
 of Running Water will pass as he goes to the 
 hunters. An the Wise Bear tells her what to 
 say; an also to have a turkey roasted, an a pipe 
 an a soft blanket ready for Running Water. 
 
 34 
 
HOW FORKED TONGUE WAS BURNED. 
 
 When Running Water sees the Firelight, she 
 is so beautiful he thinks it is a dream. An when 
 she asks him to eat, an fills the redstone pipe an 
 spreads a blanket for him, the Running Water 
 goes no further. He smokes an rests on the 
 blanket; an because the tobacco is big medicine, 
 Running Water falls asleep with his head in the 
 lap of the Firelight. 
 
 When Forked Tongue knows that Running 
 Water has started for the hunters, he waits. Then 
 he thinks: 
 
 " Now the hunters, because I have waited long, 
 have already burned Running Water. An I will 
 go an see an bring back one of the shin-bones 
 to show Ugly Elk that he will never return." 
 
 Forked Tongue travels fast; an as he runs by 
 the lodge of the Firelight, while it is a new lodge 
 to him, he does not pause, for the lodge is closed 
 so that the light will not trouble Running Water 
 where he lies asleep with his head in the lap of 
 the Firelight. 
 
 Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, is behind a tree as 
 Forked Tongue trots past, an he laughs deep in 
 his hairy bosom ; for Moh-Kwa likes revenge, an* 
 he remembers how he was cheated of his bowl 
 of molasses. 
 
 Forked Tongue runs by Moh-Kwa like a shadow 
 an never sees him, an cannot hear him laugh. 
 
 When Forked Tongue comes to the hunters, 
 they put their hands on him an tie him to the 
 
 35 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 peeled pine tree. As they dance an shout an 
 pile the brush an wood about him, Forked 
 Tongue glares with eyes full of fear an asks : 
 
 " What is this to mean ? " The hunters stop 
 dancing an say : " It means that it is time to sing 
 the death song." With that they bring fire from 
 their camp an make a blaze in the twigs an 
 brush about Forked Tongue; an the flames leap 
 up as if eager to be at him for fire hates a liar 
 an in a litle time Forked Tongue is burned away 
 an only the ashes are left an the big bones, which 
 are yet white hot. 
 
 The sun is sinking when Running Water wakes 
 an he is much dismayed; but the Firelight cheers 
 him with her dark eyes, an Moh-Kwa comes from 
 behind the tree an gives him good words of wis 
 dom ; an when he has once more eaten an drunk 
 an smoked, he kisses the Firelight an goes for 
 ward to the hunters as the Ugly Elk said. 
 
 An when he comes to them, he asks : 
 
 " Have you killed an cooked the deer which 
 was sent you by the Ugly Elk ? " An the hunters 
 laugh an say: " Yes; he is killed an cooked." 
 
 Then they take him to the peeled pine tree, an 
 tell him of Forked Tongue an his fate; an after 
 cooling a great shin-bone in the river, they wrap 
 it in bark an grass an say: 
 
 " Carry that to the Ugly Elk that he may know 
 his deer is killed an cooked." 
 
 While he is returning to Ugly Elk much dis- 
 36 
 
FORKED TONGUE. 
 
HOW FORKED TONGUE WAS BURNED. 
 
 turbed, Moh-Kwa tells Running Water how 
 Forked Tongue made his evil plan ; an both Run 
 ning Water when he hears, an Ugly Elk when 
 he hears, can hardly breathe for wonder. An 
 the Ugly Elk cannot speak for his great happiness 
 when now that Running Water is still alive an 
 has not made a joke of his ugliness nor laughed. 
 Also, Ugly Elk gives Moh-Kwa that bowl of 
 molasses of which Forked Tongue would cheat 
 him. 
 
 The same day, Moh-Kwa brings the Firelight 
 to the lodge of Ugly Elk, an she an Running 
 Water are wed; an from that time she dwells in 
 the tepee of Running Water, even unto the day 
 when he is named Kill-Bear an made chief after 
 Ugly Elk is no more. 
 
 " It is ever," said the Jolly Doctor, beaming 
 from one to another to observe if we enjoyed 
 Sioux Sam s story with as deep a zest as he did, 
 "it is ever a wondrous pleasure to meet with these 
 tales of a primitive people. They are as simple 
 as the romaunts invented and told by children for 
 the amusement of each other, and yet they own 
 something of a plot, though it be the shallowest." 
 
 " Commonly, too, they teach a moral lesson," 
 spoke up the Sour Gentleman, "albeit from what 
 I know of savage morals they would not seem to 
 
 37 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 have had impressive effect upon the authors or 
 their Indian listeners. You should know some 
 thing of our Indians?" 
 
 Here the Sour Gentleman turned to the Old 
 Cattleman, who was rolling a fresh cigar in his 
 mouth as though the taste of tobacco were a 
 delight. 
 
 "Me, savey Injuns?" said the Old Cattleman. 
 " Which I knows that much about Injuns it gets 
 in my way." 
 
 " What of their morals, then? " asked the Sour 
 Gentleman. 
 
 " Plumb base. That is, they re plumb base 
 when took from a paleface standp int. Lookin 
 at em with the callous eyes of a savage, I reckons 
 now they would mighty likely seem bleached a 
 whole lot." 
 
 Discussion rambled to and fro for a time, and 
 led to a learned disquisition on fables from the 
 Jolly Doctor, they being, he said, the original 
 literature of the world. With the end of it, 
 however, there arose a request that the Sour 
 Gentleman follow the excellent examples of the 
 Jolly Doctor and Sioux Sam. 
 
 " But I ve no invention," complained the Sour 
 Gentleman. " At the best I could but give you 
 certain personal experiences of my own ; and 
 those, let me tell you, are not always to my credit." 
 
 " Now I ll wager," spoke up the Red Nosed 
 Gentleman, " now I ll wager a bottle of burgundy 
 
 38 
 
HOW FORKED TONGUE WAS BURNED. 
 
 and that reminds me I must send for another, 
 since this one by me is empty that your experi 
 ences are quite as glorious as my own; and yet, 
 sir," here the Red Nosed Gentleman looked 
 hard at the Sour Gentleman as though defying 
 him to the tiltyard "should you favor us, I ll 
 even follow you, and forage in the pages of my 
 own heretofore and give you a story myself." 
 
 "That is a frank offer," chimed in the Jolly 
 Doctor. 
 
 " There is no fault to be found with the offer," 
 said the Sour Gentleman; "and yet, I naturally 
 hesitate when those stories of myself, which my 
 poverty of imagination would compel me to give 
 you, are not likely to grace or lift me in your 
 esteem." 
 
 " And what now do you suppose should be the 
 illustrative virtues of what stories I will offer 
 when I tell you I am a reformed gambler? " 
 
 This query was put by the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man. The information thrown out would seem 
 to hearten the Sour Gentleman not a little. 
 
 " Then there will be two black sheep at all 
 events," said the Sour Gentleman. 
 
 " Gents," observed the Old Cattleman, decisive 
 ly, " if it ll add to the gen ral encouragement, I ll 
 say right yere that in Arizona I was allowed to 
 be some heinous myse f. If this is to be a com 
 petition in iniquity, I aims to cut in on the play." 
 
 " Encouraged," responded the Sour Gentleman, 
 39 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 with just the specter of a vinegar smile, " by the 
 assurance that I am like to prove no more ebon 
 than my neighbors, I see nothing for it save to 
 relate of the riches I made and lost in queer to 
 bacco. I may add, too, that this particular inci 
 dent carries no serious elements of wrong; it is 
 one of my cleanest pages, and displays me as 
 more sinned against than sinning." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THAT TOBACCO UPSET. 
 
 When the war was done and the battle flags of 
 that confederacy which had been my sweetheart 
 were rolled tight to their staves and laid away in 
 mournful, dusty corners to moulder and be for 
 got, I cut those buttons and gold ends of braid 
 from my uniform, which told of me as a once 
 captain of rebels, and turned my face towards New 
 York. I was twenty-one at the time ; my majority 
 arrived on the day when Lee piled his arms and 
 surrendered to Grant at Appomatox. A captain 
 at twenty-one ? That was not strange, my friends, 
 in a time when boys of twenty-two were wearing 
 the wreath of a brigadier. The war was fought 
 by boys, not men; like every other war. Ah! 
 I won my rank fairly, saber in fist ; so they all said. 
 
 Those were great days. I was with O Ferrell. 
 There are one hundred miles in the Shenandoah, 
 and backwards and forwards I ve fought on its 
 every foot. Towards the last, each day we fought, 
 though both armies could see the end. We, for 
 our side, fought with the wrath of despair; the 
 Federals, with the glow of triumph in plain sight. 
 Each day we fought ; for if we did not go riding 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 down the valley hunting Sheridan, the sun was 
 never over-high when he rode up the valley hunt 
 ing us. Those were brave days ! We fought 
 twice after the war was done. Yes, we knew of 
 Richmond s fall and that the end was come. But 
 what then? There was the eager foe; there were 
 we, sullen and ripe and hot with hate. Why should 
 we not fight ? So it befell that I heard those gay 
 last bugles that called down the last grim charge ; 
 so it came that I, with my comrades, made the 
 last gray line of battle for a cause already lost, 
 and fought round the last standards of a confeder 
 acy already dead. Those were, indeed, good days 
 those last scenes were filled with the best and 
 bravest of either side. 
 
 No; I neither regret nor repent the rebellion; 
 nor do I grieve for rebellion s failure. All s well 
 that well ends, and that carnage left us the better 
 for it. For myself, I came honestly by my senti 
 ments of the South. I was born in Virginia, of 
 Virginians. One of my youthful recollections is 
 how John Brown struck his blow at Harper s 
 Ferry; how Governor Wise called out that com 
 pany of militia of which I was a member ; and how, 
 as we stood in the lamp-lighted Richmond streets 
 that night, waiting to take the road for Harper s 
 Ferry, an old grotesque farmerish figure rushed 
 excitedly into our midst. How we laughed at 
 the belligerent agriculturist! No, he was no 
 farmer; he was Wilkes Booth who, with the first 
 
 42 
 
THAT TOBACCO UPSET. 
 
 whisper of the news, had come hot foot from the 
 stage of Ford s Theater in his costume of that 
 night to have his part with us. But all these be 
 other stones, and I started to tell, not of the war 
 nor of days to precede it, but about that small 
 crash in tobacco wherein I had disastrous part. 
 
 When I arrived in New York my hopes were 
 high, as youth s hopes commonly are. But, how 
 ever high my hope, my pocket was light and my 
 prospects nothing. Never will I forget how the 
 mere sensation of the great city acted on me like 
 a stimulant. The crowd and the breezy rush of 
 things were as wine. Then again, to transplant 
 a man means ever a multiplication of spirit. It 
 was so with me; the world and the hour and I 
 were all new together, and never have I felt more 
 fervor of enterprise than came to me those earliest 
 New York days. But still, I must plan and do 
 some practical thing, for my dollars, like the 
 hairs of my head, were numbered. 
 
 It was my seventh New York morning. As I 
 sat in the cafe of the Astor House, my eye was 
 caught by a news paragraph. The Internal Rev 
 enue law, with its tax of forty cents a pound on 
 tobacco, had gained a construction, and the de 
 partment s reading of the law at once claimed 
 my hungriest interest. No tobacco grown prior 
 to the crop of 66 was to be affected by the tax; 
 that was the decision. 
 
 Aside from my saber-trade as a cavalryman, 
 43 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 tobacco was that thing whereof I exhaustively 
 knew. I was a tobacco adept from the hour when 
 the seed went into the ground, down to the per 
 fumed moment when the perfect leaf exhaled in 
 smoke. Moreover, I was aware of a trade matter 
 in the nature of a trade secret, which might be 
 made of richest import. 
 
 During those five red years of war, throughout 
 the tobacco regions of the south, planting and 
 harvesting, though crippled, had still gone for 
 ward. The fires of battle and the moving lines 
 of troops had only streaked those regions ; they 
 never wholly covered or consumed them. And 
 wherever peace prevailed, the growing of tobacco 
 went on. The harvests had been stored ; there 
 was no market no method of getting the tobacco 
 out. To be brief, as I read the internal revenue 
 decision above quoted, on that Astor House 
 morning, I knew that scattered up and down Vir 
 ginia and throughout the rest of the kindom of 
 tobacco, the crops of full five years were lying 
 housed, mouldy and mildewed, for the most part, 
 and therefore cheap to whoever came with money 
 in his hands. For an hour I sat over my coffee 
 and made a plan. 
 
 There was a gentleman, an old college friend 
 of my father. He was rich, avoided business and 
 cared only for books. I had made myself known 
 to him on the day of my arrival; he had asked 
 me, over a glass of wine, to let him hear from 
 
 44 
 
THAT TOBACCO UPSET. 
 
 me as time and my destinies took unto themselves 
 direction. For my tobacco plan I must have 
 money; and I could think of no one save my 
 father s friend of the books. 
 
 When I was shown into the old gentleman s 
 library, I found him deeply held with Moore s Life 
 of Byron. As he greeted me, he kept the volume 
 in his left hand with finger shut in the page. Evi 
 dently he trusted that I would not remain long 
 and that he might soon return to his reading. 
 
 The situation chilled me ; I began my story with 
 slight belief that its end would be fortunate. I 
 exposed my tobacco knowledge, laid bare my 
 scheme of trade, and craved the loan of five thous 
 and dollars on the personal security not at all 
 commercial of an optimist of twenty-one, whose 
 only employment had been certain boot-and- 
 saddle efforts to overthrow the nation. I say, I 
 had scant hope of obtaining the aid I quested. 
 I suffered disappointment. I was dealing with a 
 gentleman who, however much he might grudge 
 me a few moments taken from Byron, was willing 
 enough to help me with money. In truth, he 
 seemed relieved when he had heard me through; 
 and he at once signed a check with a fine flourish, 
 and I came from his benevolent presence equipped 
 for those tobacco experiments I contemplated. 
 
 It is not required that I go with filmy detail 
 into a re-count of my enterprise. I began safely 
 and quietly; with my profits I extended myself; 
 
 45 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 and at the end of eighteen months, I had so 
 pushed affairs that I was on the highway to wealth 
 and the firm station of a millionaire. 
 
 I had personally and through my agents bought 
 up those five entire war-crops of tobacco. Most of 
 it was still in Virginia and the south, due to my 
 order; much of it had been already brought to 
 New York. By the simple process of steaming 
 and vaporizing, I removed each trace of mould 
 and mildew, and under my skillful methods that 
 war tobacco emerged upon the market almost as 
 sweet and hale as the best of our domestic stock ; 
 and what was vastly in its favor, its flavor was, 
 if anything, a trifle mild. 
 
 In that day of leaf tobacco, the commodity was 
 marketed in one-hundred-pound bales. My bales 
 were made with ninety-two pounds of war tobacco, 
 sweated free of any touch of mildew; and eight 
 pounds of new tobacco, the latter on the outside 
 for the sake of color and looks. Thus you may 
 glimpse somewhat the advantage I had. Where, 
 at forty cents a pound, the others paid on each 
 bale of tobacco a revenue charge of forty dollars, 
 I, with only eight pounds of new tobacco, paid 
 but three dollars and twenty cents. And I had 
 cornered the exempted tobacco. Is it wonder I 
 began to wax rich ? 
 
 Often I look over my account books of those 
 brilliant eighteen months. When I read that news 
 item on the Astor House morning I ve indicated, 
 
 46 
 
THAT TOBACCO UPSET. 
 
 I had carefully modeled existence to a support 
 ing basis of ten dollars a week. When eighteen 
 months later there came the crash, I was permit 
 ting unto my dainty self a rate of personal expen 
 diture of over thirty thousand dollars a year. I 
 had apartments tip-town; I was a member of the 
 best clubs ; I was each afternoon in the park with 
 my carriage ; incidentally I was languidly looking 
 about among the Vere de Veres of the old 
 Knickerbockers for that lady who, because of her 
 superlative beauty and wit and modesty coupled 
 with youth and station, was worthy to be my wife. 
 Also, I recall at this period how I was conceitedly 
 content with myself; how I gave way to warmest 
 self-regard; pitied others as dullards and thrift 
 less blunderers ; and privily commended myself as 
 a very Caesar of Commerce and the one among 
 millions. Alas ! " Pride goeth " you have read 
 the rest! 
 
 It was a bright October afternoon. My comet- 
 like career had subsisted for something like a 
 year and a half ; and I, the comet, was growing in 
 size and brilliancy as time fled by. My tobacco 
 works proper were over towards the East River 
 in a brick warehouse I had leased ; to these, which 
 were under the superintendence of a trusty and 
 expert adherent whom I had brought north from 
 Richmond, I seldom repaired. My offices five 
 rooms, fitted and furnished to the last limit of 
 
 47 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 rosewood and Russia leather magnificence were 
 down-town. 
 
 On this particular autumn afternoon, as I went 
 forth to my brougham for a roll to my apartments, 
 the accountant placed in my hands a statement 
 which I d asked for and which with particular 
 exactitude set forth my business standing. I re 
 member it exceeding well. As I trundled up-town 
 that golden afternoon, I glanced at those ad 
 ditions and subtractions which told my opulent 
 story. Briefly, my liabilities were ninety thousand 
 dollars ; and I was rich in assets to a money value 
 of three hundred and twelve thousand dollars. 
 The ninety thousand was or would be owing on 
 my tobacco contracts south, and held those tons 
 on tons of stored, mildewed war tobacco, solid 
 to my command. As I read the totals and re 
 viewed the items, I would not have paid a penny 
 of premium to insure my future. There it was in 
 black and white. I knew what I had done; I 
 knew what I could do. I was master of the to 
 bacco situation for the next three years to come. 
 By that time, I would have worked up the entire 
 fragrant stock of leaf exempt from the tax; also 
 by that time, I would count my personal fortune 
 at a shadow over three millions. There was 
 nothing surer beneath the sun. At twenty-six I 
 would retire from trade and its troubles; life 
 would lie at my toe like a kick-ball, and I would 
 own both the wealth and the supple youth to 
 
THAT TOBACCO UPSET. 
 
 pursue it into every nook and corner of pleasur 
 able experience. Thus ran my smug reflections 
 as I rolled northward along Fifth avenue to dress 
 for dinner on that bright October day. 
 
 It was the next afternoon, and I had concluded 
 a pleasant lunch in my private office when Mike, 
 my personal and favorite henchman, announced a 
 visitor. The caller desired to see me on a sub 
 ject both important and urgent. 
 
 " Show him in ! " I said. 
 
 There slouched into the room an awkward- 
 seeming man of middle age ; not poor, but roughly 
 dressed. No one would have called him a fop ; 
 his clothes, far astern of the style, fitted vilely; 
 while his head, never beautiful, was made uglier 
 with a shock of rudely exuberant hair and a stubby 
 beard like pig s bristles. It was an hour when 
 there still remained among us, savages who oiled 
 their hair; this creature was one; and I remember 
 how the collar of his rusty surtout shone like 
 glass with the dripped grease. 
 
 My ill-favored visitor accepted the chair Mike 
 placed for him and perched uneasily on its edge. 
 When we were alone, I brought him and his busi 
 ness to instant bay. I was anxious to free myself 
 of his presence. His bear s grease and jaded 
 appearance bred a distaste of him. 
 
 " What is it you want ? " My tones were brittle 
 and sharp. 
 
 The uncouth caller leered at me with a fashion 
 4 49 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 of rancid leer I suppose even a leer may have 
 a flavor. Then he opened with obscure craft 
 vaguely, foggily. He wanted to purchase half my 
 business. He would take an account of stock; 
 give me exact money for one-half its value; be 
 sides, he would pay me a bonus of fifty thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 If this unkempt barbarian had come squarely 
 forth and told me his whole story; if, in short, I 
 had known who he was and whom he came from, 
 there would have grown no trouble. I would 
 have gulped and swallowed the pill; we would 
 have dealt ; I d have had a partner and been worth 
 one and one-half million instead of three millions 
 when my fortune was made. But he didn t. He 
 shuffled and hinted and leered, and said over and 
 over again as he repeated his offer: 
 
 " You need a partner." 
 
 But beyond this he did not go; and of this I 
 could make nothing, and I felt nothing save a 
 cumulative resentment that kept growing the 
 larger the longer he stayed. I told him I desired 
 none of his partnership. I told him this several 
 divers times ; and each time with added vigor and 
 a rising voice. To the last he persistently and 
 leeringly retorted his offer; always concluding, 
 like another Cato, with his eternal Delenda est 
 Carthago. 
 
 " You need a partner ! " 
 
 Even my flatterers have never painted me as 
 
 50 
 
THAT TOBACCO UPSET. 
 
 patient, and at twenty-three my pulse beat swift 
 and hot. And it came to pass that on the heels 
 of an acrid ten minutes of my visitor, I brought 
 him bluntly up. 
 
 " Go ! " I said. " I ve heard all I care to hear. 
 Go; or I ll have you shown the door! " 
 
 It was of no avail; the besotted creature held 
 his ground. 
 
 I touched a bell; the faithful Mike appeared. 
 It took no more than a wave of the hand; Mike 
 had studied me and knew my moods. At once 
 he fell upon the invader and threw him down 
 stairs with all imaginable spirit. 
 
 Thereupon I breathed with vast relief, had the 
 windows lifted because of bear s grease that taint 
 ed the air, and conferred on the valorous Celt a 
 reward of two dollars. 
 
 Who was this ill -combed, unctuous, oily, 
 cloudy, would-be partner? He was but a mes 
 senger ; two months before he had resigned a desk 
 in the Washington Treasury for appearances 
 only to come to me and make the proffer. After 
 Mike cast him forth, he brushed the dust from his 
 knees and returned to Washington and had his 
 treasury desk again. He was a mere go-between. 
 The one he stood for and whose plans he sought 
 to transact was a high official of revenue. This 
 latter personage, of whose plotting identity back 
 in the shadows I became aware only when it was 
 too late, noting my tobacco operations and their 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 profits and hawk-hungry for a share, had sent me 
 the offer of partnership. I regret, for my sake 
 as well as his own, that he did not pitch upon a 
 more sagacious commissioner. 
 
 Now fell the bolt of destruction. The morning 
 following Mike s turgid exploits with my visitor, 
 I was met in the office door by the manager. His 
 face was white and his eyes seemed goggled and 
 fixed as if their possessor had been planet-struck. 
 I stared at him. 
 
 " Have you read the news? " he gasped. 
 
 "What news?" 
 
 " Have you not read of the last order? " 
 
 Over night for my visitor, doubtless, wired 
 his discomfiture the Revenue Department had 
 reversed its decision of two years before. 
 The forty cents per pound of internal revenue 
 would from that moment be demanded and en 
 forced against every leaf of tobacco then or there 
 after to become extant; and that, too, whether its 
 planting and its reaping occurred inter arma or 
 took place beneath the pinions of wide-spreading 
 peace. The revenue office declared that its first 
 ruling, exempting tobacco grown during the war, 
 had been taken criminal advantage of ; and that 
 thereby the nation in its revenue rights had been 
 sorely defeated and pillaged by certain able rogues 
 meaning me. Therefore, this new rule of rev 
 enue right and justice. 
 
 Now the story ends. Under these changed, 
 52 
 
THAT TOBACCO UPSET. 
 
 severe conditions, when I was made to meet a tax 
 of forty dollars where I d paid less than a tithe of 
 it before, I was helpless. I couldn t, with my 
 inferior tobacco, engage on even terms against 
 the new tobacco and succeed. My strength had 
 dwelt in my power to undersell. This power was 
 departed away; my locks as a Sampson were 
 shorn. 
 
 But why spin out the hideous story? My mar 
 ket was choked up ; a cataract of creditors came 
 upon me; my liabilities seemed to swell while my 
 assets grew sear and shrunken. Under the shak 
 ing jolt of that last new revenue decision, my 
 fortunes came tumbling like a castle of cards. 
 
 After three months, I dragged myself from be 
 neath the ruin of my affairs and stood rather 
 totteringly on my feet again. I was out of busi 
 ness. I counted up my treasure and found my 
 self, debtless and unthreatened, master of some 
 twenty thousand dollars. 
 
 And what then? Twenty thousand dollars is 
 not so bad. It is not three millions; nor even 
 half of three millions ; but when all is said, twenty 
 thousand is not so bad ! I gave up my rich apart 
 ments, sold my horses, looked no more for a 
 female Vere de Vere with intent her to espouse, 
 and turned to smuggling. I had now a personal 
 as well as a regional grudge against government. 
 The revenue had cheated me; I would in revenge 
 
 53 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 cheat the revenue. I became a smuggler. That, 
 however, is a tale to tell another day. 
 
 " And now," observed the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man, dipping deeply into his burgundy, as if for 
 courage, " I ll even keep my promise. I ll tell a 
 story of superstition and omen ; also how I turned 
 in my infancy to cards as a road to wealth. Cards 
 as a method to arrive by riches is neither splendid 
 nor respectable, but I shall make no apologies. 
 I give you the story of The Sign of The Three." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SIGN OF THREE. 
 
 Such confession may come grotesquely enough 
 from one of education and substance, yet all the 
 day long I ve been thinking on omens and on 
 prophecies. It was my servant who brought it 
 about. He, poor wretch! appeared in my cham 
 ber this morning with brows of terror and eyes 
 of gloom. He had consulted a gypsy sorceress, 
 whom the storm drove to cover in this tavern, and 
 crossed the palm of her greed with a silver dollar 
 to be told that he would die within the year. In 
 formation hardly worth the fee, truly! And the 
 worst is, the shrinking fool believes the forebode 
 and is already set about mending his lean estates 
 for the change. What is still more strange, I, 
 too, regard the word of this snow-blown witch 
 whoever the hag may be and can no more eject 
 her prophecies from my head than can the scared 
 victim of them. 
 
 This business of superstition a weakness for 
 the supernatural belongs with our bone and 
 blood. Reason is no shield from its assaults. 
 Look at Sir Thomas More ; chopped on Tower Hill 
 because he would believe that the blessed wafers 
 
 55 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 became of the Savior s actual flesh and blood! 
 And yet, Sir Thomas wrote that most thoughtful 
 of works, " Utopia/ and was cunning enough of 
 a hard-headed politics to succeed Wolsey as 
 Chancellor. 
 
 Doubtless my bent to be superstitious came to 
 me from my father. He was a miner; worked 
 and lived on Tom s Run; and being from Wales, 
 and spending his days in gloomy caverns of coal, 
 held to those fantastic beliefs of his craft in elves 
 and gnomes and brownies and other malignant, 
 small folk of Demonland. However, it becomes 
 not me to find fault with my ancestor nor speak 
 lightly of his foibles. He was a most excellent 
 parent ; and it is one of my comforts, and one 
 which neither my money nor my ease could bring, 
 that I was ever a good son. 
 
 As I say, my father was a miner of coal. Each 
 morning while the mines were open, lamp in hat, 
 he repaired deep within the tunneled belly of the 
 hill across from our cottage and with pick and 
 blast delved the day long. This mine was what 
 is called a "rail mine," and closed down its work 
 each autumn to resume again in the spring. These 
 beginnings and endings of mine activities depend 
 ed on the opening and closing of navigation along 
 the Great Lakes. When the lakes were open, 
 the mines were open ; when November s ice locked 
 up the lakes, it locked up the mines as well, and 
 my father and his fellows of the lamp were per- 
 
 56 
 
THE SIGN OF THREE. 
 
 force idle until the warmth of returning spring 
 again freed the keels and south breezes refilled 
 the sails of commerce. As this gave my father 
 but five to six months work a year; and as at 
 sixty cents a ton and pay for powder, oil, fuse 
 and blacksmithing he could make no more than 
 forty dollars a month, we were poor enough. 
 
 Even the scant money he earned we seldom 
 really fingered. The little that was not cheated 
 out of my father s hands by the sins of diamond 
 screens and untrue weights and other company 
 tricks, was pounced on in advance by the harpies 
 of "company store" and "company cottage," and 
 what coins came to our touch never soared above 
 the mean dignity of copper. Poor we were ! a 
 family of groats and farthings! poor as Lamb s 
 " obolary Jew ! " 
 
 It is not worth while for what I have in mind to 
 dwell in sad extent on the struggles of my father 
 or the aching shifts we made in my childhood to 
 feed and clothe the life within our bodies. And 
 yet, in body at least, I thrived thereby. I grew 
 up strong and muscular; I boxed, wrestled and 
 ran ; was proficient as an athlete, and among other 
 feats and for a slight wager which was not made 
 with my money, I warrant you ! swam eighteen 
 miles in fresh water one Sunday afternoon. 
 
 While my muscles did well enough, our poverty 
 would have starved my mind were it not for the 
 parish priest. The question of books and schools 
 
 57 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 for me was far beyond my father s solution; he 
 was eager that I be educated, but the emptiness 
 of the family fisc forbade. It was then the good 
 parish priest stepped forward and took me in 
 earnest hand. Father Glennon deemed himself no 
 little of an athlete, and I now believe that it was 
 my supremacy in muscle among the boys of my 
 age that first drew his eyes to me. Be that as it 
 may, he took my schooling on himself; and night 
 and day while I abode on Tom s Run say until 
 my seventeenth year I was as tightly bound to 
 the priest s books as ever Prometheus to his rock. 
 And being a ready lad, I did my preceptor proud. 
 
 The good priest is dead now; I sought to put 
 a tall stone above him but the bishop refused 
 because it was too rich a mark for the dust of an 
 humble priest. I had my way in part, however; 
 I bought the plot just across the narrow gravel 
 walk from the grave that held my earliest, best 
 friend, and there, registering on its smooth white 
 surface my debt to Father Glennon, stands the 
 shaft. I carved on it no explanation of the fact 
 that it is only near and not over my good priest s 
 bones. Those who turn curious touching that 
 matter may wend to the bishop or to the sexton, 
 and I now and then hear that they do. 
 
 No ; I did not go into the coal holes. My father 
 forbade it, and I lacked the inclination as well. 
 By nature I was a speculator, a gambler if you 
 will. I like uncertainties ; I would not lend money 
 
 58 
 
THE SIGN OF THREE. 
 
 at five hundred per cent., merely because one 
 knows in advance the measure of one s risks and 
 profits. I want a chance to win and a chance to 
 lose ; for I hold with the eminent gamester Charles 
 Fox that while to win offers the finest sensation 
 of which the human soul is capable, the next finest 
 comes when you lose. Congenitally I was a 
 courtier of Fortune and a follower of the gospel 
 of chance. And this inborn mood has carried me 
 through a score of professions until, as I tell you 
 this, I have grown rich and richer as a stock spec 
 ulator, and hang over the markets a pure gambler 
 of the tape. I make no apology; I simply point 
 to the folk who surround me. 
 
 My vocation of a gambler for what else shall 
 one call a speculator of stocks? has doubtless 
 fattened my tendencies towards the superstitious. 
 I ve witnessed much surely, that should go to 
 their strengthening. Let me tell you a story 
 somewhat in line with the present current of my 
 thoughts ; it may reach some distance to teach 
 you with Horatio that there be more things in 
 heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our 
 philosophy. After all, it is the cold record of one 
 of a hundred score of incidents that encourage 
 my natural belief in the occult. 
 
 There is a gentleman of stocks I ve known 
 him twenty years and he has a weakness for the 
 numeral three. Just how far his worship of that 
 
 59 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 sacred number enters into his business life no one 
 may certainly tell; he is secretive and cautious 
 and furnishes no evidence on the point that may 
 be covered up. Yet this weakness, if one will 
 call it so, crops up in sundry fashions. His offices 
 are suite three, in number thirty-three Blank 
 street; his telephones are 333 and 3339 respective 
 ly; his great undertakings are invariably deferred 
 in their commencements until the third of the 
 month. 
 
 His peculiar and particular fetich, however, is 
 a chain of three hundred and thirty-three gold 
 beads. It is among the wonders of the street. 
 This was made for him and under his direction by 
 Tiffany, and cost one workman something over a 
 year of his life in its construction. It is all hand 
 and hammer work, this chain; and on each bead 
 is drawn with delicate and finished art a gypsy 
 girl s head. Under a microscope this gypsy face 
 is perfect and the entire jewel worthy the boast 
 of the Tiffany house as a finest piece of gold 
 beater s work turned out in modern times. 
 
 It is a listless, warm evening at the Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel. Our believer in "Three" is gathered 
 casually with two of his friends. There is no busi 
 ness abroad; those missions which called our 
 gentleman of the gypsy chain up-town are all dis 
 charged ; he is off duty unbuckled, as it were, in 
 cheerful, light converse over a bottle of wine. Let 
 us name our friend of the Three, " James of the 
 
 60 
 
THE SIGN OF THREE. 
 
 Beads;" while his duo of comrades may be Reed 
 and Rand respectively. 
 
 Such is man s inconsistency that James of the 
 Beads is railing at Reed who has told with airs 
 of veneration if not of faith of a "system," that 
 day laid bare to him, warranted to discover in 
 excellent rich advance, the names of the winning 
 horses in next day s races. James of the Beads 
 laughs, while Reed feebly defends his credulity in 
 lending the countenance of half belief to the "sys 
 tem" he describes. 
 
 Then a sudden impulse takes James of the 
 Beads. His face grows grave while his eye shows 
 deepest thought. 
 
 "To-morrow is the third of the month?" ob 
 serves James of the Beads. Now with emphasis : 
 " Gentlemen, I ll show you how to select a horse." 
 Then to Reed, who holds in his hands the racing 
 list : " Look for to-morrow s third race ! " Reed 
 finds it. 
 
 "What is the third horse?" 
 
 " Roysterer." 
 
 "Roysterer!" repeats James of the Beads. 
 " Good ! There are nine letters in the name ; three 
 syllables ; three r s ! " 
 
 Then James of the Beads seizes with both hands, 
 in a sort of ecstatic catch as catch can, on the 
 gypsy chain of magic. He holds a bead between 
 the thumb and fore-finger of each hand. Softly he 
 counts the little yellow globes between. 
 
 61 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " Thirty-three ! " ejaculates James of the Beads. 
 Deeper lights begin to shine in his eye. One test 
 of the chain, however, is not enough. He must 
 make three. A second time he takes a bead be 
 tween each fore-finger and thumb; on this trial 
 the two beads are farther apart. Again he counts, 
 feeling each golden bullet with his finger s tip as 
 the tally proceeds. 
 
 "Sixty-six!" 
 
 There arrives a glow on the brow of James of 
 the Beads to keep company with the gathering 
 sparkle of his eye. The questioning of the witch- 
 chain goes on. Again he seizes the beads; again 
 he tells the number. 
 
 " Ninety-nine ! " 
 
 The prophecy is made ; the story of success is 
 foretold. James of the Beads is on fire ; he springs 
 to his feet. Rand and Reed regard him in silence, 
 curiously. He walks to a window and sharply 
 gazes out on the lamp-sprinkled evening. 
 
 " Twenty-third street ! Fifth avenue ! Broad 
 way ! " he mutters. " Still three always three ! " 
 
 Unconsciously James of the Beads seeks the 
 window-shade with his hand. He would raise it 
 a trifle; it is low and interrupts the eye as he 
 stands gazing into the trio of thoroughfares. The 
 tassel he grasps is old and comes off in his fingers. 
 James of the Beads turns his glance on the tassel. 
 
 1 That, too, has its meaning," says James of 
 the Beads, " if only we might read it," 
 
THE SIGN OF THREE. 
 
 The tassel is a common, poor creature of worst 
 ed yarns and strands wrapped about a clumsy 
 mold of wood. James of the Beads scans it nar 
 rowly as it lies in his hand. At last he turns it, 
 and the fringe falls away from the wooden mold. 
 There is a little " 3 " burned upon the wood. 
 James of the Beads exhibits this sacred sign to 
 Reed and Rand; the while his excited interest 
 deepens. Then he counts the strands of worsted 
 which constitute the fringe. There are eighty- 
 one! 
 
 " Three times three times three times three ! " 
 and James of the Beads draws a deep breath. 
 
 Who might resist these spectral manifestations 
 of " Three ! " James of the Beads turns from the 
 window like one whose decision is made. With 
 out a word he takes a slip of paper from his pocket 
 book and going to the table writes his name on 
 its back. It is a pleasant-seeming paper, this slip ; 
 and pleasantly engraved and written upon. No 
 less is it than a New York draft drawn on the 
 City National Bank by a leading Chicago concern 
 for an even one hundred thousand dollars. James 
 of the Beads places it in the hands of Rand. 
 
 To-morrow should be the luckiest of days," 
 says James of the Beads. " I must not lose it. 
 I must consider to-morrow and arrange to set 
 afoot certain projects which I ve had in train for 
 some time. As to the races, Rand, take the draft 
 and put it all on Roysterer." 
 
 63 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " Man alive ! " remonstrates the amazed Rand ; 
 " it s too much on one horse ! Moreover, I won t 
 have time to get all that money down." 
 
 " Get down what you can then," commands 
 James of the Beads. " Plunge ! Have no fears ! 
 1 tell you, so surely as the sun comes up, Roysterer 
 will win." 
 
 " The wise ones don t think so," urges Rand, 
 who is not wedded to the mystic " Three," and 
 beholds nothing wondrous in that numeral. " This 
 Roysterer is a seven for one shot." 
 
 " And the better for us," retorts James of the 
 Beads. " Roysterer is to win." 
 
 " But wouldn t it be wiser to split this money 
 and play part of it on Roysterer for a place? " 
 
 " Never! " declares James of the Beads. " Do 
 you suppose I don t know what I m about? I m 
 worth a million for each year of my life, and I 
 made every stiver of it by the very method I take 
 to discover this horse. Can t you see that I m 
 not guessing? that I have reason for what I do? 
 Roysterer for a place! Never! get down every 
 splinter that Roysterer finishes first." 
 
 " Let me ask one question," observes the cau 
 tious Rand. " Do you know the horse? " 
 
 " Never heard of the animal in my life ! " re 
 marks James of the Beads, pouring himself a com 
 placent glass. This he tastes approvingly. " You 
 must pardon me, my friends, I ve got to write a 
 note or two. I ve not too much time for a man 
 
THE SIGN OF THREE. 
 
 with twenty things to do, and who must be in 
 the street when business opens to-morrow. Take 
 my word for it ; get all you can on Roysterer. If 
 we win, we re partners ; if we lose, I m alone." 
 
 Rand shakes sage, experienced head, while his 
 face gathers a cynical look. 
 
 Reed and Rand take James of the Beads by 
 the hand and then withdraw. 
 
 " What do you make of it? " asks Rand. 
 
 " The man s infatuated ! " replies Reed. 
 
 " And yet, you also believe in systems," remarks 
 Rand. 
 
 It is the next afternoon. The Brighton course 
 is rampant with the usual jostling, pushing, striv 
 ing, guessing, knowing, wagering, winning, losing, 
 ignorant, exulting, deploring, profane crowd. The 
 conservative Rand has so far obeyed the behest 
 of James of the Beads that he has fifteen thousand 
 dollars on Roysterer straight. 
 
 " To lose fifteen thousand won t hurt him," says 
 Rand, and so consoles himself for a mad specula 
 tion whereof he has no joy. 
 
 Reed and Rand, as taking life easily, are in a 
 box; the race over which their interest clings and 
 clambers is called. 
 
 The horses are at the post. Roysterer does 
 not act encouragingly; he is too sleepy too 
 lethargic ! Starlight, the favorite, steps about, 
 alert and springy as a cat ; it should be an easy 
 race for her if looks go for aught. 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 They get the word; they are "off ! " The field 
 sweeps round the curve. A tall man in a nearby 
 box follows the race with a glass. 
 
 " At the quarter," sings the tall man. " Star 
 light first, Blenheim second, Roysterer third ! " 
 There is a pause. Then the tall man : " At the 
 half ! Starlight first, Blenheim second, Roysterer 
 third! " Rand turns to Reed. " He must better 
 that," says Rand, "or he ll explode the supersti 
 tion of our friend." There is a wait of twenty- 
 five seconds. Again the tall, binoculared man: 
 " Three-quarter post ! Starlight first, Blenheim 
 second, Roysterer third and whipping ! " 
 
 " It s as good as over," observes Rand. " I 
 wonder what James of the Beads will say to his 
 witch-chain when he hears the finish." 
 
 " It s surprising," remarks Reed peevishly, "that 
 a man of his force and clear intelligence should 
 own to such a weakness ! All his life he s fol 
 lowed this marvelous Three about ; and having 
 had vast success he attributes it to the Three/ 
 when he might as well and as wisely ascribe it to 
 Captain Kidd or Trinity church. To-day s results 
 may cure him; and that s one comfort." 
 
 There is a sharp click as the tall man in the 
 nearby box shuts up his glasses. 
 
 " Roysterer wins ! " says the tall man. 
 
 " Got down fifteen thousand. Won one hun 
 dred and five thousand," reads James of the Beads 
 from Rand s telegram sent from the track. James 
 
 66 
 
THE SIGN OF THREE. 
 
 of the Beads is in his offices ; he has just finished 
 a victorious day, at once heavy and tumultuous 
 with the buying and the selling of full three hun 
 dred thousand shares of stocks. " They should 
 have wagered the full one hundred thousand and 
 let the odds look after themselves," he says. Then 
 James of the Beads begins to caress the gypsy 
 chain. "You knew," he murmurs; "of course, 
 you knew! " There is a note of devotion in the 
 tones. The bead-worship goes on for a silent 
 moment. " Only one hundred and five thou 
 sand ! " ruminates James of the Beads. " I sup 
 pose Rand was afraid ! " 
 
 " That is indeed a curious story," observed the 
 Jolly Doctor, when the Red Nosed Gentleman, 
 being done with James of the Beads, was return 
 ing to his burgundy; " and did it really happen? " 
 
 " Of a verity, did it," returned the Red Nosed 
 Gentleman. " I was Rand." 
 
 Conversation fluttered from one topic to an 
 other for a brief space, but dealt mainly with those 
 divers superstitions that folk affect. When signs 
 and omens were worn out, the Jolly Doctor turned 
 upon the Old Cattleman as though to remind that 
 ancient practitioner of cows how it would be now 
 his right to uplift us with a reminiscence. 
 
 " No, I don t need to be told it none," said the 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Old Cattleman. " On the principle of freeze-out, 
 it s shore got down to me. Seein how this yere 
 snow reminds me a heap of Christmas, I ll onload 
 on you-all how we re aroused an brought to a 
 realisin sense of that season of gifts once upon 
 a time in Wolfville." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THAT WOLFVILLE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 This yere can t be called a story ; which it can t 
 even be described none as a sketch. Accordin 
 to the critics, who, bein plumb enable to write 
 one themse fs, nacherally knows what a story 
 ought to be, no story s a story onless she s built 
 up like one of these one-sided hills. Reelation 
 must climb painfully from base to peak, on the 
 slope side, with interest on a up-grade, say, of 
 one foot in ten ; an then when you-all arrives safe 
 ly at the summit, the same bein the climax, you re 
 to pitch headlong over the precipice on the sheer 
 an other side, an in the space of not more n a 
 brace of sentences, land, bing! bang! smash! all 
 broke up at the bottom. That, by what you-all 
 might call " Our best literary lights," would be 
 a story, an since what I m about to onfold don t 
 own no sech brands nor y ear-marks, it can t come 
 onder that head. 
 
 This partic lar o casion is when little Enright 
 Peets Tutt said blessed infant, as I sets forth 
 former, bein the conj int production of Dave Tutt 
 an his esteemable wife, Tucson Jennie is comin 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 eight years old next spring round-up. Little En- 
 right Peets is growin strong an husky now, an 
 is the pride of the Wolfville heart. He s shed 
 his milk teeth an is sproutin a second mouthful, 
 white an clean as a coyote s. Also, his cur osity 
 is deeveloped powerful an he s in the habit of 
 pervadin about from the Red Light to the New 
 York Store, askin questions ; an he is as familiar 
 in the local landscape as either the Tucson stage 
 or Old Monte, the drunkard who drives it. 
 
 One afternoon, about first drink time, little En- 
 right Peets comes waddlin up to Old Man En- 
 right on them short reedic lous black-b ar laigs 
 of his, an says : 
 
 " Say, gran dad Enright, don t you-all cim- 
 marons never have no Christmas in this camp? 
 Which if you does, all I got to say is I don t 
 notice no Christmas none since I ve been yere, 
 an that s whatever ! " 
 
 " Will you-all listen to this preecocious child ! " 
 observes Enright to Doc Peets, with whom he s 
 in talk. " Wherever now do you reckon, Doc, he 
 hears tell of Christmas?" 
 
 "How about it, Uncle Doc?" asks little En- 
 right Peets, turnin his eyes up to Peets when he 
 notices Enright don t reply. 
 
 At this Enright an Peets makes a disparin 
 gesture an wheels into the Red Light for a drink, 
 leavin pore little Enright Peets standin in the 
 street. 
 
 70 
 
OLD MAN ENRIGHT. 
 
THAT WOLFVILLE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " That baby puts us to shame, Doc," says En- 
 right, as he signs up to Black Jack, the barkeep, 
 for the Valley Tan ; " he shows us in one word 
 how we neglects his eddication. The idee of that 
 child never havin had no Christmas ! It s more 
 of a stain on this coinmoonity than not hangin 
 Navajo Joe that time." 
 
 " That s whatever ! " assents Peets, reachin for 
 the nose-paint in his turn. " Out of the mouths 
 of babes an sucklin s, as the good book says." 
 
 This infantile bluff of little Enright Peets goes 
 a long way to stir up the sensibilities of the public. 
 As for Enright, he don t scroople to take Dave 
 Tutt to task. 
 
 " The thought that you, Dave," says Enright, 
 "you, a gent I yeretofore regyards as distinguished 
 for every paternal virchoo, would go romancin 
 along, lettin that boy grow up in darkness of 
 Christmas, an it one of the first festivals of the 
 Christian world ! As a play, I says freely, that sech 
 neglect is plumb too many for me ! " 
 
 " She s shore a shame," adds Dan Boggs, who s 
 also shocked a heap, and stands in with Enright 
 to crawl Dave s hump, " she s shore a shame, never 
 to provide no Christmas for that offspring of 
 yours, an leave him to go knockin about in his 
 ignorance like a blind dog in a meat shop. That s 
 what I states ; she s a shame ! " 
 
 " Now gents," reemonstrates Dave, " don t 
 press the limit in these yere reecrim nations, don t 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 crowd me too hard. I asks you, whatever could 
 I do? If you-all enthoosiasts will look this yere 
 Christmas proposition ca mly in the face, you ll 
 begin to notice that sech cel brations ain t feas 
 ible in Arizona. Christmas in its very beginnin 
 is based on snow. Who s the reg lar round-up 
 boss for Christmas? Ain t he a disrepootable 
 Dutchman named Santa Claus? Don t he show 
 up wrapped in furs, an with reindeer an sleigh 
 an hock deep in a snowstorm? Answer me that? 
 Also show me where s your snow an where s your 
 sleigh an where s your reindeer an where s your 
 Dutchman in Wolfville ? You-all better go about 
 Jixin up your camp an your climate so as to make 
 one of these Christmases possible before ever you 
 come buttin in, cavilin an criticism ag in me 
 as a parent." 
 
 " Which jest the same, Dave," contends Dan, 
 who takes the eepisode mighty sour, " it looks 
 like you-all could have made some sort o play." 
 
 About this time, as addin itse f to the gen ral 
 jolt given the Wolfville nerve by them Christmas 
 questions put aforesaid by little Enright Peets, 
 news comes floatin over from Red Dog of a 
 awful spree that low-flung outfit enjoys. It s a 
 Six Shooter Weddin ; so deenominated because 
 Pete Bland, the outlaw for whom the party is 
 made, an his wife, The Duchess, has been mar 
 ried six years an ain t done nothin but fight. 
 Wherefore, on the sixth anniversary of their nup- 
 
 72 
 
THAT WOLFVILLE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 tials, Red Dog resolves on a Six Shooter Weddin ; 
 an tharupon descends on those two wedded war 
 riors, Pete an The Duchess, in a body, packin 
 riddles, nose-paint, an the complete regalia of a 
 frantic shindig. An you hear me, gents, them 
 Red Dog tarrapins shore throws themse fs loose ! 
 You-all could hear their happy howls in Wolfville. 
 
 As a reason for the outburst, an one consistent 
 with its name, the guests endows Pete an The 
 Duchess each with belts an a brace of guns. 
 
 " To the end," says the Red Dog cha rman when 
 he makes the presentation speech, " that, as be 
 tween Pete an The Duchess, we as a commoonity 
 promotes a even break, and clothes both parties 
 in interest with equal powers to preserve the 
 peace." 
 
 As I observes, it s the story of these proud doin s 
 on the locoed part of our rival, that ondoubted 
 goes some distance to decide us Wolves of Wolf 
 ville on pullin off a Christmas warjig for little 
 Enright Peets. We ain t goin to be outdone 
 none in this business of being fervid. 
 
 It s mebby a month prior to Christmas when 
 we resolves on this yere racket, an so we has 
 ample time to prepare. Almost every afternoon 
 an evenin over our Valley Tan, we discusses an 
 does our wisest to evolve a programme. It s then 
 we begins to grasp the wisdom of Dave s observa 
 tions touchin how onfeasible it is to go talkin 
 of Christmas in southern Arizona. 
 
 73 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " Nacherally," remarks Enright, as we sits about 
 the Red Light, turnin the game in our minds, 
 " nacherally, we tips an gives little Enright Peets 
 presents. Which brings us within ropin distance 
 of the inquiry, Whatever will we give him ? 
 
 " We-all can t give him fish-lines, an seen," 
 says Doc Peets, takin up Enright s argument, 
 " for thar ain t no fish. Skates is likewise barred, 
 thar bein no ice ; an sleds an mittens an worsted 
 comforters an fur caps fails us for causes sim lar. 
 Little Enright Peets is too young to smoke ; Tuc 
 son Jennie won t let him drink licker; thar, with 
 one word, is them two important sources closed 
 ag in us. Gents, I m inclined to string my bets 
 with Dave ; I offers two for one as we sets yere, 
 that this framin up a Christmas play in Arizona 
 as a problem ain t no slouch." 
 
 " Thar s picture books," says Faro Nell. 
 
 " Shore ! " assents Cherokee Hall, where he s 
 planted back of his faro box. 
 
 " An painted blocks ! " 
 
 " Good! " says Cherokee. 
 
 " An candy ! " 
 
 " Nell s right ! " an Cherokee coincides plumb 
 through, " Books, blocks, an candy, is what I 
 calls startin on velvet." 
 
 " Whatever s the matter," says Dan Boggs, 
 who s been rackin his intellects a heap, " of givin 
 little Enright Peets a faro layout, or mebby now, 
 
 74 
 
THAT WOLFVILLE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 a roolette wheel ? Some of them wheels is mighty 
 gaudy furniture ! " 
 
 " Dan," says Enright, an his tones is severe ; 
 "Dan, be you-all aimin to corrupt this child?" 
 Dan subsides a whole lot after this yere reproof. 
 
 " I don t reckon now," observes Jack Moore, 
 an his manner is as one ropin for information ; " I 
 don t reckon now a nice, wholesome Colt s-44, 
 ivory butt, stamped leather belts, an all that, 
 would be a proper thing to put in play. Of course, 
 a 8-inch gun is some heavy as a plaything for a 
 infant only seven; but he d grow to it, gents, he d 
 grow to it." 
 
 " Don t alloode to sech a thing, Jack," says Dan, 
 with a shudder; " don t alloode to it. Little En- 
 right Peets would up an blow his yoothful light 
 out ; an then Tucson Jennie would camp on our 
 trails forevermore as the deestroyers of her child. 
 The mere idee gives me the fantods ! " An Dan, 
 who s a nervous party, shudders ag in. 
 
 " Gents," says Texas Thompson, " I ain t cut 
 in on this talk for two reasons : one is I ain t had 
 nothin to say; an ag in, it was Christmas Day 
 when my Laredo wife who I once or twice ad 
 verts to as gettin a divorce ups an quits me 
 for good. For which causes it has been my habit 
 to pass up all mention an mem ry of this sacred 
 season in a sperit of silent pra r. But time has 
 so far modified my feelin s that, considerin the 
 present purposes of the camp, I m willin to be 
 
 75 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 heard. Thar s nothin that should be looked to 
 more jealously than this yere givin of presents. 
 It s grown so that as a roole the business of makin 
 presents degen rates to this: Some sport who 
 can t afford to, gives some sport something he 
 don t need. Thar s no fear of the first, since we 
 gents can afford anything we likes. As to the 
 second prop sition, we should skin our kyards 
 some sharp. We-all ought to lavish on little En- 
 right Peets a present which, while safegyardin his 
 life an his morals, is calc lated to teach him some 
 useful accomplishments. Books, blocks, an sweet 
 meats, as proposed by our fac natin townswoman, 
 Miss Faro Nell " Nell tosses Texas a kiss " is 
 in admir ble p int as coverin a question of amooze- 
 ments. For the rest, an as makin for the deevel- 
 opment of what will be best in the character of 
 little Enright Peets, I moves you we-all turns in 
 an buys that baby the best bronco saddle, bridle, 
 rope an spurs, complete that the southwest 
 affords." 
 
 Texas, who s clone stood up to make this yere 
 oration, camps down ag in in the midst of a storm 
 of applause. The su gestion has immediate adop 
 tion. 
 
 We-all gives a cold thousand for the little hoss. 
 We gets him of the sharp who it bein in the 
 old day before railroads is slammin through the 
 mails from Chihuahua to El Paso, three hundred 
 miles in three nights. This bronco he s a deep 
 
THAT WOLFVILLE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 bay, shadin off into black like one of them over 
 ripe violins, an with nostrils like red expandin 
 hollyhocks can go a hundred miles between dark 
 an dark, an do it three days in a week. Which 
 he s shore a wonder, is that little boss; an the 
 saddle an upholstery that goes with him, Spanish 
 leather an gold, is fit for his company. 
 
 As Dan leads him up in front of the Red Light 
 Christmas Eve for us to look at, he says : 
 
 " Gents, if he ain t a swallow-bird on four legs, 
 then I never sees no sech fowl; an the only draw 
 back is that, considerin the season, we can t hang 
 him on no tree." 
 
 An yere, now, is where we-all gets scared up. 
 It spoils the symmetry of this story to chunk it 
 in this a-way ; but I can t he p myse f, for this 
 story, like that tale of James of the Beads, is troo. 
 
 Jest as we-all is about to prounce down with 
 our gifts on Dave s wickeyup like a mink on a 
 settin hen Dan bein all framed an frazzled up 
 in cow-tails an buffalo horns like a Injun medicine 
 man, thinkin to make the deal as Santa Claus 
 Tucson Jennie comes surgin up, wild an frantic, 
 an allows little Enright Peets is lost. Dave, she 
 says, is chargin about, tryin to round him up. 
 
 " Which I knows he s done been chewed up by 
 wolves," says Tucson Jennie, wringin her hands 
 an throwin her apron over her head. " He d 
 shore showed up for supper if he s alive." 
 
 It s obvious that before that Christmas can pro- 
 77 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 ceed, we-all has got to recover the beneficiary. 
 Thar s a gen ral saddlin up, an in no time Wolf- 
 ville s population is spraddlin about the surround- 
 in scenery. 
 
 It comes right though, an it s Dan who makes 
 the turn. Dan discovers little Enright Peets 
 camped down in the lee of a mesquite bush, seven 
 miles out on his way to the Floridas mountains. 
 He puts it up he s goin over to the hills to have 
 a big talk an make medicine with Moh-Kwa, the 
 wise medicine b ar that Sioux Sam yere has been 
 reelatin to him about. 
 
 No, that child ain t scared none; he s takin it 
 cool an contented, with twenty coyotes settin 
 about, blinkin an silent on their tails, an lookin 
 like they re sort o thinkin little Enright Peets 
 over an tryin to figger out his system. Them 
 little wolves don t onderstand what brings that 
 infant out alone on the plains, that a-way ; an 
 they re cogitatin about it when Dan disperses 
 em to the four winds. 
 
 That s all thar is to the yarn. Little Enright 
 Peets is packed into camp an planted in the midst 
 of them books an blocks an candies which Faro 
 Nell su gests ; also, he s made happy with the little 
 hoss. Dan, in his medicine mask an paint, does 
 a skelp dance, an is the soul of the hour. 
 
 Little Enright Peets joy is as wide as the ter 
 ritory. Despite reemonstrance, he insists on get- 
 tin into that gold-embossed saddle an givin his 
 
 78 
 
THAT WOLFVILLE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 little boss a whirl round the camp. Dan rides 
 along to head off stampedes. 
 
 On the return, little Enright Peets comes down 
 the street like an arrow an pulls up short. As 
 Dave searches him out of the saddle, he says : 
 
 " Paw, that cayouse could beat four kings an 
 a ace." 
 
 That s reward enough; Wolfville is never more 
 pleased than the night it opens up to little Enright 
 Peets the beauties which lies hid in Christmas. 
 An the feelin that we-all has done this, sort o 
 glorifies an gilds the profound deebauch that en- 
 soos. Tucson Jennie lays it down that it s shore 
 the star Christmas, since it s the one when her 
 lost is found an the Fates in the guise of Dan 
 presents her with her boy ag in. I knows of 
 myse f, gents, that Jennie is shore moved, for she 
 omits utter to lay for Dave with reproaches when, 
 givin way to a gen rous impulse, he issues forth 
 with the rest of the band, an relaxes into a picnic 
 that savors of old days. 
 
 " My friends," observed the Jolly Doctor, as we 
 were taking our candles preparatory for bed, the 
 hour having turned towards the late, " I shall 
 think on this as an occasion of good company. 
 And to-morrow evening for this storm will con 
 tinue to hold us prisoners you will find unless 
 
 79 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 better offer, I shall recognize my debt to you by 
 attempting a Christmas story myself. I cannot 
 stir your interest as has our friend of camps and 
 trails with his Wolfville chapter, but I shall do 
 what lies in me." 
 
 " You will tell us of some Christmas," hazarded 
 the Sour Gentleman, " that came beneath your 
 notice as a professional man." 
 
 " Oh, no; not that," returned the Jolly Doctor. 
 " This is rather a story of health and robust 
 strength than any sick-bed tale. It is of gloves 
 and fighting men who never saw a doctor. I shall 
 call it The Pitt Street Stringency. >: 
 
 It was eight of the clock on the second evening 
 when we gathered about the fire-place. The snow 
 was still falling and roads were reported blocked 
 beyond any thought of passage. We were snow 
 bound ; folk who should know declared that if a 
 road were broken for our getting out within a 
 week, it was the best we might look for. 
 
 No one seemed stricken of grief at this prison 
 prospect. As we came about the cheery blaze, 
 every face was easy and content. The Jolly Doc 
 tor joined the Red Nosed Gentleman in his bur 
 gundy, while the Sour Gentleman and the Old 
 Cattleman qualified for the occasion with a copious 
 account of \vhiskey, which the aged man of cows 
 called " Nose-paint." Sioux Sam and I were the 
 only "abstainers" I had ceased and he had never 
 
 80 
 
THAT WOLFVILLE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 commenced but as if to make up, we smoked a 
 double number of cigars. 
 
 The Jolly Doctor began with the explanation 
 that the incidents he would relate had fallen be 
 neath his notice when as a student he walked the 
 New York hospitals; then, glass in hand, he told 
 us the tale of The Pitt Street Stringency. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 " Another would-be sooicide, eh ! Here, Kid," 
 to a sharp gamin who does errands and odd com 
 missions for the house; " take this mut in where 
 dey kills em." 
 
 The speaker is a loud young man, clad in gar 
 ments of violence. The derby tilted over eye, 
 the black cigar jutting ceilingward at an agle of 
 sixty degrees, the figured shirt whereof a domi 
 nating dye is angry red, the high collar and flash 
 tie, with its cheap stone, all declare the Bowery. 
 As if to prove the proposition announced of his 
 costume, the young man is perched on a stool, 
 the official ticket-seller of a Bowery theatre. 
 
 Mike Menares, whom the Bowery person al 
 ludes to as the " mut," is a square-shouldered boy 
 of eighteen ; handsome he is as Apollo, yet with 
 a slow, good-humored guilelessness of face. He 
 has come on business bent. That mighty pugi 
 list, the Dublin Terror, is nightly on the stage, 
 offering two hundred dollars to any amateur 
 among boxers who shall remain before him four 
 Queensberry rounds. Mike Menares, he of the 
 
 82 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 candidly innocent countenance, desires to proffer 
 himself as a sacrifice. 
 
 " Youse is just in time, sport," remarks the 
 brisk gamin to whom Mike has been committed, 
 as he pilots the guileless one to the stage door. 
 " It s nine o clock now, an d Terror goes on to 
 do his bag-t umpin turn at ten. After that comes 
 d knockin out, see ! But say ! if youse was tired 
 of livin , why didn t you jump in d East river? 
 I d try d river an d morgue before I d come here 
 to be murdered be d Terror." 
 
 Mike makes no retort to this, lacking lightness 
 of temper. His gamin conductor throws open 
 the stage door and signals Mike to enter. 
 
 " Tell d butcher here s another calf for him," 
 vouchsafes the gamin to the stage-hands inside 
 the door. 
 
 Let us go back four hours to a three-room ten 
 ement in Pitt Street. There are two rooms and 
 a little kennel of a kitchen. The furnishings are 
 rough and cheap and clean. The lady of the ten 
 ement, as the floors declare, is a miracle of soap 
 and water. And the lady is little Mollie Lacy, 
 aged eleven years. 
 
 The family of the Pitt Street tenement is made 
 up of three. There is Mike Menares, our hero; 
 little Mollie ; and, lastly, her brother Davy, aged 
 nine. Little Davy is lame. He fell on the tene 
 ment stairs four years before and injured his hip. 
 The hospital doctors took up the work where the 
 
 83 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 tenement stairs left off, and Davy came from his 
 sick-bed doomed to a crutch for life. 
 
 Mike Menares is half-brother of the younger 
 ones. Nineteen years before, Mike s mother, 
 Irish, with straw-colored hair and blue eyes, wed 
 ded one Menares, a Spanish Jew. This fortunate 
 Menares was a well-looking, tall man; with hair 
 black and stiffening in a natural pompadour. He 
 kept a tobacco stall underneath a stair in Park 
 Row, and was accounted rich by the awfully poor 
 about him. He died, however, within the year 
 following Mike s birth ; and thus there was an 
 end to the rather thoroughbred dark Spanish Jew. 
 
 Mike s mother essayed matrimony a second 
 time. She selected as a partner in this experi 
 ment a shiftless, idle, easy creature named David 
 Lacy, who would have been a plasterer had not 
 his indolence defeated his craft. Little Mollie, 
 and Davy of the clattering crutch, occurred as a 
 kind of penalty of the nuptials. 
 
 Three years and a half before we encounter 
 this mixed household, Lacy, the worthless, sailed 
 away on a China ship without notice or farewell. 
 Some say he was "shanghaied," and some that 
 he went of free will. Mrs. Lacy adopted the 
 former of the two theories. 
 
 " David Lacy, too idle to work ashore, assured 
 ly would not go to sea where work and fare are 
 tenfold harder." 
 
 Thus argued Mrs. Lacy. Still, a solution of 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 Lacy s reasons for becoming a mariner late in 
 life is not here important. He sailed and he 
 never returned; and as Mrs. Lacy perished of 
 pneumonia the following winter, they both may 
 be permitted to quit this chronicle to be meddled 
 with by us no further. 
 
 Mike Menares had witnessed fifteen years when 
 his mother died. As suggested, he is a singularly 
 handsome boy, and of an appearance likely to im 
 press. From his Conemara mother, he received 
 a yellow head of hair. Underneath are a pair of 
 jet black brows, a hawkish nose, double rows of 
 strong white teeth, and deep soft black eyes, as 
 honest as a hound s, the plain bestowal of his 
 Jewish father. 
 
 Mike was driving a delivery wagon for the great 
 grocers, Mark & Milford, when his mother died. 
 This brought six dollars a week. After the sad 
 going of his mother, Mike found a second situa 
 tion w r here he might work evenings, and thereby 
 add six further dollars to that stipend from Mark 
 & Milford. This until the other day continued. 
 On twelve dollars a week, and with little Mollie 
 a notable housekeeper to manage for the Pitt 
 Street tenement, the composite house of Menares 
 and Lacy fared well. 
 
 Mike s evening labors require a description. 
 One Sarsfield O Punch, an expert of boxing and 
 an athlete of some eminence, maintains a private 
 gymnasium on Fifty-ninth street. This personage 
 
 85 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 is known to his patrons as " Professor O Punch." 
 Mike, well-builded and lithe, broad of shoulder, 
 deep of lung, lean of flank, a sort of half-grown 
 Hercules, finds congenial employ as aid to Profes 
 sor O Punch. Mike s primal duty is to box with 
 those amateurs of the game who seek fistic en 
 lightenment of his patron, and who have been 
 carried by that scientist into regions of half-wis 
 dom concerning the bruising art for which they 
 moil. From eight o clock until eleven, Mike s 
 destiny sets him, one after the other, before a full 
 score of these would-be boxers, some small and 
 some big, some good and some bad, some weak 
 and some strong, but all zealous to a perspiring 
 degree. These novices smite and spare not, and 
 move with all their skill and strength to pummel 
 Mike. They have, be it said, but indifferent suc 
 cess; for Mike, waxing expert among experts, 
 side-steps and blocks and stops and ducks and 
 gets away; and his performances in these defensive 
 directions are the whisper of the school. 
 
 Now and then he softly puts a glove on some 
 eager face, or over some unguarded heart, or 
 feather-like left-hooks some careless jaw, to the 
 end that the other understand a peril and fend 
 against it. But Mike, working lightly as a kitten, 
 hurts no one ; such being the private commands 
 of Professor O Punch who knows that to pound 
 a pupil is to lose a pupil. 
 
 It is to be doubted if the easy-natured Mike 
 86 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 is aware of his wonderful strength of arm and 
 body, or the cat-like quickness and certainty of 
 his blows. During these three years wherein he 
 has been underling to Professor OTunch, Mike 
 strikes but two hard blows. One evening 
 several of the followers of Professor OTunch are 
 determining their prowess on a machine intended 
 to register the force of a blow. Following each 
 other in a fashion of punching procession, these 
 aspiring gymnasts, putting their utmost into the 
 swings, strike with all steam. Four hundred to 
 five hundred pounds says the register; this is 
 vaunted as a vastly good account. 
 
 Mike, with folded arms and stripped to ring 
 costume his official robes is looking on, a smile 
 lighting his pleasant face. Mike is ever interested 
 and ever silent. 
 
 As the others smite, Mike beams with approval, 
 but makes no comment. At last one observes : 
 
 " Menares, how many pounds can you strike ? " 
 
 " I don t know," replies Mike, in a surprised 
 way, " I never tried." 
 
 " Try now," says the other; " I ve a notion you 
 could hit hard enough if you cared to." 
 
 The others second the speaker. Much and in 
 stant curiosity grows up as to what Mike can do 
 with his hands if he puts his soul into it. There 
 is not an amateur about but knows more of Mike 
 than does the latter of himself. They know him 
 as one perfect of defensive boxing; also, they 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 recall the precise feather-like taps which Mike 
 confers on the best of their muster whenever he 
 chooses; but none has a least of knowledge of 
 how bitterly hard Mike s glove might be sent 
 home should ever his heart be given to the trial. 
 
 Being urged, Mike begins to rouse ; he himself 
 grows curious. It has never come to him as a 
 thought to make the experiment. The " punching 
 machine" has stood there as part of the parapher 
 nalia of the gymnasium. But to the fog-witted 
 Mike, who comes to work for so many dollars a 
 week and who has not once considered himself 
 in the light of a boxer, whether excellent or the 
 reverse, it held no particular attraction. It could 
 tell him no secrets he cares a stiver to hear. 
 
 Now, Mike for a first time feels moved to a bit 
 of self-enlightenment. Poising himself for the 
 effort, Mike, with the quickness of light, sends in 
 a right-hand smash that all but topples the con 
 trivance from its base. For the moment the 
 muscles of his back and leg knot and leap in rope- 
 like ridges ; and then they as instantly sink away. 
 The machine registers eight hundred and ninety- 
 one pounds. 
 
 The on-gazers draw a long breath. Then they 
 turn their eyes on Mike, whose regular outlines, 
 with muscles retreated again into curves and 
 slopes and shimmering ripples, have no taint of 
 the bruiser, and whose handsome features, inno- 
 
 88 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 cent of a faintest ferocity, recall some beautiful 
 statue rather than anything more viciously hard. 
 
 Mike s second earnest blow comes off in this 
 sort. He is homeward bound from gymnasium 
 work one frosty midnight. Not a block from his 
 home, three evil folk of the night are standing 
 beneath an electric light. Mike, unsuspicious, 
 passes them. Instantly, one delivers a cut at 
 Mike s head with a sandbag. Mike, warned by 
 the shadow of uplifted arm, springs forward out 
 of reach, wheels, and then as the footpad blunders 
 towards him, Mike s left hand, clenched and ham- 
 merlike, goes straight to his face. Bone and 
 teeth are broken with the shock of it ; blood 
 spurts, and the footpad comes senseless to the 
 pave. His ally, one of the other two, grasps at 
 Mike s throat. His clutch slips on the stern 
 muscles of the athlete s neck as if the neck were 
 a column of brass. Mike seizes his assailant s 
 arm with his right hand; there is a twist and a 
 shriek; the second robber rolls about with a dis 
 located fore-arm. The third, unharmed, flies 
 screeching with the fear of death upon him. 
 
 At full speed comes a policeman, warned of his 
 duty by the howls of anguish. He surveys the 
 two on the ground ; one still and quiet, the other 
 groaning and cursing with his twisted arm. The 
 officer sends in an ambulance call. Then he sur 
 veys with pleased intentness the regular face of 
 Mike, cool and unperturbed. 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " An Irish Sheeny ! " softly comments the offi 
 cer to himself. 
 
 He is expert of faces, is the officer, and deduces 
 Mike s two-ply origin from his yellow hair, dark 
 eye and curved nose. 
 
 " You re part Irish and part Jew," observes the 
 policeman. 
 
 " My mother was from Ireland," answers Mike; 
 " my father was a Spanish Jew from Salamanca. 
 I think that s what they call it, although I was 
 not old enough when he died to remember much 
 about him." 
 
 " Irish crossed on Jew! " comments the officer, 
 still in a mood of thoughtful admiration. " It s 
 the best prize-ring strain in the world ! " The 
 officer is in his dim w r ay a patron of sport. 
 
 Mike thanks the other; for, while by no means 
 clearly understanding, he feels that a compliment 
 is meant. Then Mike goes homeward to Mollie 
 and little Davy. 
 
 It is the twenty-third of December two days 
 before Christmas when we are first made friends 
 of Mike Menares. About a month before, the 
 little family of three fell upon bad days. Mike 
 was dismissed by the great grocers, and the six 
 dollars weekly from that quarter came to an end. 
 Mike s delivery wagon w r as run down and crushed 
 by a car; and, while Mike was not to blame, the 
 grocers have no time to discover a justice, and 
 Mike was told to go. 
 
 90 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 For mere food and light and fire, Mike s other 
 six Saturday dollars from Professor OTunch 
 would with economy provide. But there is the 
 rent on New Year s day! Also, and more near, 
 is Christmas, with not a penny to spare. It must 
 perforce be a bare festival, this Christmas. It will 
 be a blow to little Davy of the crutch, who has 
 talked only of Christmas for two months past and 
 gone. 
 
 Mike, as has been intimated, is dull and slow 
 of brain. He has just enough of education to be 
 able to read and write. He owns no bad habits 
 no habits at all, in fact; and the one great pas 
 sion of his simple heart is love without a limit 
 for Mollie and little Davy. He lives for them; 
 the least of their desires is the great concern of 
 Mike s life. Therefore, when his income shrinks 
 from twelve dollars to six, it creeps up on him 
 and chills him as a loss to Mollie and Davy. And 
 peculiarly does this sorrowful business of a ruined 
 Christmas for Davy prey on poor Mike. 
 
 " You and I won t mind," says housewife Mollie, 
 looking up in Mike s face with the sage dignity 
 of her eleven years, " because we re old enough 
 to understand; but I feel bad about little Davy. 
 It s the first real awful Christmas we ve ever had." 
 
 Mollie is as bright and wise as Mike is dull. 
 Seven years her senior, still Mike has grown to 
 believe in and rely altogether on Mollie as a 
 guide. He takes her commands without question, 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 and does her will like a slave. To Mollie goes 
 every one of Mike s dollars; it is Mollie who dis 
 poses of them, while Mike never gives them a 
 thought. They have been devoted to the one pur 
 pose of Mike s labors; they have gone to Mollie 
 and little Davy of the crutch ; why, then, should 
 Mike pursue them further? 
 
 Following housewife Mollie s regrets over a 
 sad Christmas that was not because of their pover 
 ty to be a Christmas, Mike sits solemnly by the 
 window looking out on the gathering gloom and 
 hurrying holiday crowds of Pitt Street. The folk 
 are all poor; yet each seems able to do a bit for 
 Christmas. As they hurry by, with small bundles 
 and parcels, and now and then a basket from 
 which protrude mayhap a turkey s legs or 
 other Gymptom of the victory of Christmas, Mike, 
 in the midst of his sluggish amiabilities, discovers 
 a sense of pain a darkish thought of trouble. 
 
 And as if grief were to sharpen his wits, Mike 
 has for almost a first and last time an original 
 idea. It is the thought natural enough, when one 
 reflects on Mike s engagements, evening in and 
 evening out, with Professor O Punch. 
 
 That day Mike, in passing through the Bowery, 
 read the two hundred dollars offer of the self- 
 confident Terror. At that time Mike felt nothing 
 save wonder that so great a fortune might be the 
 reward of so small an effort. But it did not 
 occur to him that he should try a tilt with the 
 
 92 
 
THE DUBLIN TERROR. 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 Terror. In his present stress, however, and with 
 the woe upon him of a bad Christmas to dawn 
 for little Davy, the notion marches slowly into 
 Mike s intelligence. And it seems simple enough, 
 too, now Mike has thought of it; and with nothing 
 further of pro or con, he prepares himself for the 
 enterprise. 
 
 For causes not clear to himself he says nothing 
 to housewife Mollie of his plans. But he alarms 
 that little lady of the establishment s few sparse 
 pots and kettles by declining to eat his supper. 
 Mollie fears Mike is ill. The latter, knowing by 
 experience just as any animal might, that with 
 twelve minutes of violent exercise before him, he 
 is better without, while denying the imputation 
 of illness, sticks to his supperless resolve. 
 
 Then Mike goes into the rear room and dons 
 blue tights, blue sleeveless shirt, canvas trunks, 
 and light shoes ; his working costume. Over these 
 he draws trousers and a blue sweater; on top of 
 all a heavy double-breasted jacket. Thrusting 
 his feet, light shoes and all, into heavy snow-proof 
 overshoes, and pulling on a bicycle cap, Mike is 
 arrayed for the street. Mollie knows of these 
 several preparations, the ring costume under the 
 street clothes, but thinks naught of it, such being 
 Mike s nightly custom as he departs for the acad 
 emy of Professor O Punch. At the last moment, 
 Mike kisses both Mollie and little Davy ; and then, 
 with a sudden original enthusiasm, he says : 
 
 93 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " I ve been thinkin , Mollie; mebby I can get 
 some money. Mebby we ll see a good Christmas, 
 after all." 
 
 Mollie is dazed by the notion of Mike thinking; 
 but she looks in his face, with its honest eyes full 
 of love for her and Davy, and as beautiful as a 
 god s and as unsophisticated, and in spite of her 
 self a hope begins to live and lift up its head. 
 Possibly Mike may get money; and Christmas, 
 and the rent, and many another matter then pinch 
 ing the baby housekeeper and of which she has 
 made no mention to Mike, will be met and con 
 sidered. 
 
 " It ll be nice if you should get money, Mike," 
 is all Mollie trusts herself to say, as she returns 
 Mike s good-bye kiss. 
 
 When Mike gets into Pitt Street he moves 
 slowly. There s the crowd, for one thing. Then, 
 too, it s over early for his contest with the Terror. 
 Mike prefers to arrive at the theatre just in time 
 to strip and make the required application for 
 those two hundred dollars. It may appear strange, 
 but it never once occurs to Mike that he will not 
 last the demanded four rounds. But it seems 
 such a weighty sum ! Mike doubts if the offer 
 be earnest; hesitates with the fear that the man 
 agement will refuse to give him the money at the 
 end. 
 
 " But surely," decides Mike, " they will feel as 
 though they ought to give me something. I lose 
 
 94 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 a dollar by not going to Professor OTunch s; 
 they must take account of that." 
 
 Mike loiters along with much inborn ease of 
 heart. Occasionally he pauses to gaze into one 
 of the cheap shop windows, ablaze, and garish of 
 the season s wares. There is no wind ; the air has 
 no point ; but it is snowing softly, persistently, 
 flakes of a mighty size and softness. 
 
 Ten minutes before he arrives at that theatre 
 which has been the scene of the Terror s triumphs, 
 Mike enters a bakery whereof the proprietor, a 
 German, is known to him. Mike has no money 
 but he feels no confusion for that. 
 
 "John," says Mike to the German; " I ve got 
 to spar a little to-night and I want a big plate of 
 soup." 
 
 " Sure ! " says John, leading the way to a rear 
 room which thrives greasily as a kind of restau 
 rant. " And here, Mike," goes on John, as the 
 soup arrives, " I ll put a big drink of sherry in it. 
 You will feel good because of it, and the sherry 
 and the hot soup will make you quick and strong 
 already." 
 
 At the finish, Mike, with an eye of bland inno 
 cence for he is certain the theatre will give him 
 something, even if it withhold the full two hun 
 dred tells John he will pay for the soup within 
 the hour, when he returns. 
 
 That s all right, Mike," cries the good-natured 
 baker, " any time will do." 
 
 95 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " This w y, me cove," observes a person with a 
 cockney accent, as the sharp gamin delivers Mike, 
 together with the message to the Terror, at the 
 stage door; "this w y; ere s a dressin room for 
 you to shift your togs." 
 
 Later, when Mike s outer husks are off and he 
 stands arrayed for the ring, this person, who is 
 old and gray and wears a scarred and battered 
 visage, looks Mike over in approval : 
 
 " You seems an amazin bit of stuff, lad," says 
 this worthy man ; " the build of Tom Sayres at 
 his best, but eavier. I opes you ll do this Mick, 
 but I m afeared on it. You looks too pretty; an 
 you ain t got a fightin face. How eavy be you, 
 lad?" 
 
 " One hundred and eighty-one," replies Mike, 
 smiling on the Englishman with his boy s eyes. 
 
 " Can you spar a bit? " asks the other. 
 
 " Why, of course I can!" and Mike s tones 
 exhibit surprise. 
 
 "Well, laddy," says the other; "don t let this 
 Dublin bloke rattle you. E s a great blow ard, 
 I takes it, an will quit if he runs ag in two or 
 three stiff uns. A score of years ago, I d a-give 
 im a stone an done for im myself. I m to be in 
 your corner, laddy, an I trusts you ll not disgrace 
 me." 
 
 " Who are you? " asks Mike. 
 
 "Oh, me?" says the other; "I works for the 
 theayter, laddy, an , bein as ow I m used to 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 fightin , I goes on to eel an andle the amatoors 
 as goes arter the Terror. It s all square, laddy; 
 I ll be be ind you ; an I ll elp you to win those pen 
 nies if I sees a w y." 
 
 " I have also the honor," shouts the loud master 
 of ceremonies, " to introduce to you Mike Men- 
 ares, who will contend with the Dublin Terror. 
 Should he stay four rounds, Marquis of Queens- 
 berry rules, the management forfeits two hundred 
 dollars to the said Menares." 
 
 " What a model for my Jason," says a thin 
 shaving of a man who stands as a spectator in the 
 wings. He is an artist of note, and speaks to a 
 friend at his elbow. " What a model for my Jason ! 
 I will give him five dollars an hour for three 
 hours a day. What s his name? Mike what?" 
 The battle is about to commence; the friend, 
 tongue-tied of interest, makes no reply. 
 
 The Dublin Terror is a rugged, powerful ruffian, 
 with lumpy shoulders, thick short neck, and a 
 shock gorilla head. His little gray eyes are 
 lighted fiercely. His expression is as savagely 
 bitter as Mike s is gentle. The creature, a fighter 
 by nature, was born meaning harm to other men. 
 
 There is a roped square, about eighteen feet 
 each way, on the stage, in which the gladiators 
 will box. The floor is canvas made safe with 
 rosin. The master of cermonies, himself a pugi 
 list of celebration, will act as referee. The old bat 
 tered man of White Chapel is in Mike s corner. 
 7 97 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Another gentleman, with face similarly marred, 
 but with Seven Dials as his nesting place, is post 
 ed opposite to befriend the Terror. There is 
 much buzz in the audience a rude gathering, it 
 is and a deal of sympathetic admiration and not 
 a ray of hope for Mike in the eyes of those present. 
 
 The Terror is replete of a riotous confidence 
 and savage to begin. For two nights, such is the 
 awe of him engendered among local bruisers, no 
 one has presented himself for a meeting. This 
 has made the Terror hungry for a battle ; he feels 
 like a bear unfed. As he stands over from Mike 
 awaiting the call of " Time," he looks formidable 
 and forbidding, with his knotted arms and mighty 
 hands. 
 
 Mike lounges in his place, the perfection of the 
 athlete and picture of grace with power. His face, 
 full of vacant amiability, shows pleased and in 
 terested as he looks out on the crowded, rampant 
 house. Mike has rather the air of a spectator 
 than a principal. The crowd does not shake him ; 
 he is not disturbed by the situation. In a fashion, 
 he has been through the same thing every night, 
 save Sunday, for three years. It comes common 
 place enough to Mike. 
 
 In a blurred way Mike resents the blood-eager 
 ness which glows in the eyes of his enemy; but 
 he knows no fear. It serves to remind him, how 
 ever, that no restraints are laid upon him in favor 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 of the brute across the ring, and that he is at 
 liberty to hit with what lust he will. 
 
 " Time ! " suddenly calls the referee. 
 
 Those who entertained a forbode of trouble 
 ahead for Mike are agreeably surprised. With 
 the word " Time ! " Mike springs into tremendous 
 life like a panther aroused. His dark eyes glow 
 and gleam in a manner to daunt. 
 
 The Terror, a gallant headlong ruffian, throws 
 himself upon Mike like a tornado. For full two 
 minutes his blows fall like a storm. It does not 
 seem of things possible that man could last 
 through such a tempest. But Mike lasts; more 
 than that, every blow of the Terror is stopped or 
 avoided. 
 
 It runs off like a miracle to the onlookers, most 
 of whom know somewhat of self-defensive arts. 
 That Mike makes no reprisals, essays no counter- 
 hits, does not surprise. A cautious wisdom would 
 teach him to feel out and learn his man. More 
 over, Mike is not there to attack ; his mere mission 
 is 1o stay four rounds. 
 
 While spectators, with approving comment on 
 Mike s skill and quickness, are reminding one an 
 other that Mike s business is " simply to stay," 
 Mike himself is coming to a different thought. He 
 has grown disgusted rather than enraged by the 
 attacks of the Terror. His thrice-trained eye 
 notes each detail of what moves as a whirlwind to 
 folk looking on ; his arm and foot provide auto - 
 
 99 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 matically for his defense and without direct effort 
 of the brain. This leaves Mike s mind, dull as it 
 is, with nothing to engage itself about save a 
 contemplation of the Terror. In sluggish sort 
 Mike begins to hold a vast dislike for that furious 
 person. 
 
 As this dislike commences to fire incipiently, 
 he recalls the picture of Mollie and little Davy of 
 the crutch. Mike remembers that it is after ten 
 o clock, and his two treasures must be deep in 
 sleep. Then he considers of Christmas, now but 
 a day away ; and of the money so necessary to the 
 full pleasure of his sleeping Mollie and little Davy. 
 
 As those home-visions come to Mike, and his 
 antipathy to the Terror mounting to its height, 
 the grim impulse claims him to attack. Tiger- 
 like he steps back to get his distance; then he 
 springs forward. It is too quickly done for eye 
 to follow. The Terror s guard is opened by a 
 feint; and next like a flash Mike s left shoots 
 cleanly in. There is a sharp " spank !" as the 
 six- ounce glove finds the Terror s jaw ; that person 
 goes down like an oak that is felled. As he falls, 
 Mike s right starts with a crash for the heart. 
 But there is no need : Mike stops the full blow 
 midway a feat without a mate in boxing. The 
 Terror lies as one without life. 
 
 " \V y didn t you let im ave your right like 
 you started, laddy?" screams the old Cockney, 
 as Mike walks towards his corner. 
 
 100 
 
PITT STREET STRINGENCY. 
 
 Mike laughs in his Way of gentle, soft good 
 nature, and points where the Terror, white and 
 senseless, bleeds thinly at nose and ear. 
 
 " The left did it," Mike replies. 
 
 Out of his eyes the hot light is already dying. 
 He takes a deep, deep breath, that arches his 
 great breast and makes the muscles clutch and 
 climb like serpents; he stretches himself by ex 
 tending his arms and standing high on his toes. 
 Meanwhile he beams pleasantly on his grizzled 
 adherent. 
 
 " It wasn t much," says Mike. 
 
 " You be the coolest cove, laddy ! " retorts the 
 other in a rapt whisper. Then he towels deftly 
 at the sweat on Mike s forehead. 
 
 The decision has been given in Mike s favor. 
 And to his delight, without argument or hesita 
 tion, the loud young man of the vociferous garb 
 comes behind the scenes and endows him with two 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 " Say," observes the loud young man, admir 
 ingly, " you ain t no wonder, I don t t ink ! " 
 
 " But how did you come to do it, Mike ? " asks 
 the good-natured baker, as Mike lingers over a 
 midnight porterhouse at the latter s restaurant. 
 
 " I had to, John," says Mike, turning his inno 
 cent face on the other ; " I had to win Christmas 
 money for Mollie and little Davy." 
 
 101 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 "And what/ said the Sour Gentleman, " be 
 came : -of this Mike Mcnares?" 
 
 " I should suppose," broke in the Red Nosed 
 Gentleman, who had followed the Jolly Doctor s 
 narrative with relish, " I should suppose now he 
 posed for the little sculptor s Jason." 
 
 " It is my belief he did," observed the Jolly 
 Doctor, with a twinkle, " and in the end he be 
 came full partner of the bruiser, O Punch, and 
 shared the profits of the gymnasium instead of 
 taking a dollar a night for his labors. His sister 
 grew up and married, which, when one reflects 
 on the experience of her mother, shows she owned 
 no little of her brother s courage." 
 
 " Your story," remarked the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man to the Jolly Doctor, "and the terrific blow 
 which this Menares dealt the Dublin Terror 
 brings to my mind a blow my father once struck." 
 
 This was a cue to the others and one quickly 
 seized on; the Red Nosed Gentleman was urged 
 to give the story of that paternal blow. First 
 seeing to it that the stock of burgundy at his 
 elbow was ample, and freighting his own and 
 the Jolly Doctor s glasses to the brim, the Red 
 Nosed Gentleman coughed, cleared his throat, 
 and then gave us the tale of That Stolen Ace of 
 Hearts. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS. 
 
 When I, at the unripe age of seventeen, left 
 my father s poor cottage-house on Tom s Run 
 and threw myself into life s struggle, I sought 
 Pittsburg as a nearest promising arena of effort. 
 I had a small place at a smaller wage as a sort 
 of office boy and porter for a down-town estab 
 lishment devoted to a commerce of iron; but as 
 I came early to cut my connection with that hard 
 emporium we will not dwell thereon. 
 
 I have already told you how by nature I was 
 a gambler. I had inborn hankerings after games 
 of chance, and it was scant time, indeed, before I 
 found myself on terms of more or less near ac 
 quaintance with every card sharper of the city. 
 And I became under their improper tutelage an ex 
 pert cheat myself. At short cards and such devices 
 as faro and roulette, I soon knew each devious 
 turn and was in excellent qualification to pillage 
 my way to eminence if not to riches among the 
 nimble-fingered nobility of the green tables into 
 whose midst I had coaxed or crowded my 
 way. Vast was my ambition to soar as a black- 
 
 103 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 leg, and no student at his honest books burned 
 with more fire to succeed. I became initiate 
 into such mysteries as the "bug," the "punch," 
 the "hold-out"; I could deal "double" or "from 
 the bottom; " was a past master of those dubious 
 faro inventions, the "snake," the "end squeeze," 
 and the " balance top ; " could " put back " with a 
 clean deftness that might deceive even my mas 
 ters in evil doing, and with an eye like a hawk 
 read a deck of marked cards with the same easy 
 certainty that I read the alphabet. It was a com 
 mon compliment to my guilty merit that no better 
 craftsman at crooked play ever walked in Dia 
 mond Alley. 
 
 No, as I ve heretofore explained, there dawned 
 a day when I gave up card gambling and played 
 no more. It is now twenty years since I wagered 
 so much as a two-bit piece in any game other than 
 the Wall Street game of stocks. And yet it was 
 no moral arousal that drew me from roulette, 
 from farobank and from draw poker. I merely 
 awoke to the truth that the greatest simpleton of 
 cards is the professional gambler himself; and 
 with that I turned my back on the whole scurvy 
 business and quit the dens for the exchange. 
 And with no purpose to preach, I say openly and 
 with a fullest freedom that the game of stock 
 speculation is as replete of traps and pitfalls, and 
 of as false and blackleg character as any worst 
 game of iniquitous faro that is dealt with trimmed 
 
 104 
 
THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS. 
 
 and sanded deck from a dishonest box. As an 
 arena of morals the stock exchange presents no 
 conscious improvement beyond what is offered by 
 the veriest dead-fall ever made elate with thosq 
 two rings at the bell which tell the waiting in 
 mates that some "steerer" is on the threshold 
 with rustic victim to be fleeced. I once read that 
 the homestead of Captain Kidd, the pirate, stood 
 two centuries ago on that plot of ground now 
 covered by the New York Stock Exchange ; and 
 I confess to a smile when I reflected how the 
 spirit of immortal rapine would seem to hover 
 over the place. The exchange is a fit successor 
 to the habitat of that wild freebooter who died 
 and dried in execution dock when long ago the 
 Stuart Anne was queen. 
 
 During those earlier months in Pittsburg, I 
 was not permitted by my father who had much 
 control of me, even unto the day of his death 
 to altogether abandon Tom s Run, and the good, 
 grimy miner folk, its inhabitants. My week s 
 holiday began with each Saturday s noon; from 
 that hour until Monday morning I was free; 
 and thus, obeying my father s behests, Saturday 
 evening and Sunday, I was bound to pass beneath 
 my parents roof. 
 
 It was during one of these visits home when I 
 first cheated at cards memorable event ! and it 
 was on another that my roguery was discovered 
 and my father struck that blow. 
 
 105 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 As already stated, my father was of Welsh ex 
 traction. It was no less the fact, however, that 
 his original stock was Irish; his grandfather I 
 believe it to have been that venerable and I trust 
 respected gentleman coming to Wales from 
 somewhere on the banks of the Blackwater. And 
 my father, excellent man! had vast pride in his 
 Irish lineage and grew never so angry, particu 
 larly if a bit heated of his Saturday evening cups, 
 as when one spoke of him as offshoot of the rocky 
 land of leeks and saintly David. 
 
 " What! " he would cry; " because I was born 
 in Wales, do you take me for an onion-eating 
 Welshman? Man, I m Irish and don t make that 
 mistake again ! " 
 
 The vigor wherewith his mine-hardened fist 
 smote the table as conclusion to this, carried such 
 weight of emphasis that no man was ever found 
 to fall a second time into the error. 
 
 For myself, the question whether my ancestors 
 were Welsh or Irish held little interest. I was 
 looking forward not backward, and a hot avarice 
 to hunt dollars drove from my bosom the last 
 trace of concern touching a genealogy. I would 
 sooner have one year s run of uninterrupted luck 
 at a gambling table than to know myself a direct 
 descendant of the Plantagenets. Not so my dear 
 old father; to the hour when death closed his eyes 
 already sightless for ten years burned out 
 with a blast, they were he ceased not to regale 
 
 1 06 
 
THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS. 
 
 me with tales of that noble line of dauntless Irish 
 from whom we drew our blood. For the ten years 
 following the destruction of his eyes by powder, 
 I saw much of my father, for I established him at 
 a little country tavern near enough to the ocean 
 to hear the surf and smell the salt breath of it, 
 and two or three times a week I made shift to get 
 down where he was. And whether my stay was 
 for an hour or for a night as on Sunday this lat 
 ter came often to be the chance he made his 
 pedigree, or what he dreamed was such, the proud 
 burden of his conversation. 
 
 Brian Boru, I remember, was an original well 
 head of our family. My father was tireless in his 
 settings forth of this hero king of Munster; nor 
 did he fail at the close of his story to curse the 
 assassin who struck down Boru at Clontarf. 
 Sometimes to tease him, I d argue what must 
 have been the weak and primitive inconsequence 
 of the royal Boru. I d suggest that by the sheer 
 narrowness and savagery of the hour wherein that 
 monarch lived, he could have been nothing more 
 royal than the mere king of a kale patch, and 
 probably wore less of authority with still less of 
 revenue and reverence than belong commonly 
 with any district leader of Tammany Hall. 
 
 At these base doubtings my parent s wrath 
 would mount. He would wax vivid with a pic 
 ture of the majesty and grandeur of the great 
 Boru; and of the halls wherein he fed and housed 
 
 107 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 a thousand knights compared with whom in 
 riches, magnificence, and chivalrous feats those 
 warriors who came about King Arthur s round 
 table showed paltry, mean and low. To crown 
 narration he would ascribe to Boru credit as a 
 world s first law giver and hail him author of the 
 " Code Brian." 
 
 " Shure ! " he would say; " he called his scholars 
 and his penmen about him and he made them 
 write do\vn as the wor-rds fell from th mouth av 
 him th whole of th Code Brian ; an this in tur-rn 
 was a model of th Code Napoleon that makes th 
 law av Fr-rance to-day." 
 
 It was in vain I pointed out that Napoleon s 
 Code found its roots and as well, its models, in 
 the Corpus Juris Civilis of Justinian I had 
 learned so much Latin from Father Glennon 
 and that nowhere in the English law was the Code 
 Brian, as he called it, so much as adverted to. 
 
 " An that s th Sassenach jealousy av thim ! " 
 he would say. " An who was this Justinian ? 
 Who, indade, but a thievin Roman imp ror who 
 shtole his laws from King Boru just as th Dagoes 
 now are shtealin th jobs at th mines from th 
 Irish an Welsh lads to whom they belong av 
 r-rights." 
 
 After this I said no more; I did not explain 
 that Justinian and his Pandects and the others of 
 his grand body of civil law were in existence five 
 centuries before the martyred Boru was born. That 
 
 1 08 
 
THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS. 
 
 discovery would have served no purpose beyond 
 my parent s exasperation and earned for myself 
 as well as the world s historians naught save a 
 cataract of hard words. 
 
 You marvel, perhaps, why I dwell with such 
 length on the memory of my father a poor, 
 blind, ignorant miner of coal ! I loved the old 
 man; and to this day when my hair, too, is gray 
 and when I may win my wealth and count my 
 wealth and keep my wealth with any of the land, 
 I recall him as the only man for whom I ever felt 
 either love or confidence or real respect. 
 
 Yes ; I heard much of the blood of the truculent 
 yet wise Boru; also of younger ancestors who 
 fought for the Stuarts against Cromwell, against 
 Monmouth, against William ; and later in both 
 the " Fifteen " and in the " Forty-five." Pe 
 culiarly was I made to know of my mother s close 
 connection by blood with the house of that brave 
 Sarsfield " who," as my father explained, " fairly 
 withstud th Dootchman at th Boyne; an later 
 made him quit befure th walls av Limerick." 
 
 There was one tradition of the renowned Sars 
 field which the old gentleman was peculiarly 
 prone to relate, and on the head of him who dis 
 trusted the legend there was sure to fall a storm. 
 That particular tale concerned the Irish soldier 
 and the sword of Wallace wight. 
 
 " Thish William Wallace," my father was wont 
 to say as he approached the myth, " was a joint 
 
 109 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 (giant), no less. He was nine fut leven inches 
 tall an his soord was eight fut foore inches long. 
 It s in Stirlin Cashtle now, an there niver was 
 but one man besides Wallace who cud handle it. 
 Th Black Douglas an all av thim Scotchmen 
 thried it an failed. Whin, one day, along comes 
 Gin ral Patrick Sarsfield a little bit av a felly, 
 only five fut siven inches tall an he tuk that 
 soord av William Wallace in one hand an , me 
 son, he made it whishtle." 
 
 But I must press to my first crime of cards or 
 your patience will desert. During those summer 
 months on Tom s Run when the mines were open 
 and my father and his mates of the pick and blast 
 were earning their narrow pay, it was the habit of 
 himself and four or five other gentlemen of coal 
 to gather in the Tom s Run Arms when Saturday 
 evening came on, and relax into that amusement 
 dear to Ireland as " forty-five." Usually they 
 played for a dime a corner; on occasional rich 
 evenings the stakes mounted dizzily to two-bits, 
 though this last was not often. 
 
 Now I was preyed on by a desire to make one at 
 this Saturday contention, but my father would 
 never consent. 
 
 "Jack," he d say; "you d only lose your 
 money. Shure ! you re nawthin but a boy an 
 not fit to pla-ay cards with th loikes av grown-up 
 men." 
 
 But I persisted; I argued to myself, you may 
 no 
 
THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS. 
 
 be certain while I might be no match for these 
 old professors of forty-five who played the game 
 with never a mistake, if I, like them, played hon 
 estly, that the cunning work I meditated could 
 not fail to bring me in the wealth. 
 
 At last one of the others came to my rescue. 
 
 " Let him pla-ay, Mishter Roche," he said. 
 " Let s win his money fr-rom him an it ll be a 
 lesson. He ll not lose much befure he ll be gla-ad 
 to quit." 
 
 "All right, thin," replied my father; "you can 
 pla-ay, Jack, till you lose fifty cints ; an that ll do 
 ye. Moind now ! whin you lose fifty cints you 
 shtop." And so I was made one of the circle. 
 
 As I foresaw, I did not lose the four-bits which 
 my indulgent parent had marked as the limits of 
 farthest sacrifice to my ambitious innocence. 
 Already I had brought back to Tom s Run a 
 curious trick or two from Pittsburg. It soon 
 came to be my " deal," and the moment I got the 
 cards in my hands I abstracted the ace of hearts 
 a most doughty creature in this game of forty- 
 five ! and dropped it in my lap, covering the fact 
 from vulgar eyes with a fold of my handker 
 chief. That was all the chicane I practiced; I 
 kept myself in constant possession of the ace of 
 hearts and played it at a crisis ; and at once 
 the wagered dimes of the others began to travel 
 into my illicit pockets where they made a merry 
 jingle, I warrant you! 
 
 in 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 The honest Irish from whom I was filching 
 these small tributes never once bethought that 
 I might play them sharp; they attributed my 
 gains to luck and loud was exclamation over my 
 good fortune. Time and again, for I was not 
 their equal as a mere player, I d board the wrong 
 card. When I d make such a mistake, one of 
 them would cry : " D ye moind that now ! D ye 
 moind how ba-ad he plays ! " 
 
 " An yet," another would add, " an yet he 
 rakes th money ! " 
 
 Altogether I regarded my entrance into this 
 ten-cent game of forty-five a most felicitous affair. 
 I won at every sitting; getting up on some occa 
 sions with as much as eight dollars of profit for 
 my evening s work. In those days I went will 
 ingly to Tom s Run, quitting Pittsburg without a 
 sigh; and such was my ardor to fleece these coal- 
 digging comrades of my father and for that 
 matter, my father, also; for like your true gam 
 bler, I played no favorites and was as warm to 
 gather in the dimes of my parent as any that I 
 was usually found waiting about the forty-five table 
 when, following supper, they appeared. And it all 
 went favorably with me for perhaps a dozen sit 
 tings ; my aggregate gains must have reached the 
 mighty sum of sixty dollars. Of a merry verity! 
 silver was at high tide in my hands ! 
 
 One evening as the half dozen devoted to 
 the science of forty-five drew up to the table 
 
 112 
 
THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS. 
 
 myself a stripling boy, the others bearded miner 
 men my father complained of an ache in his 
 head or an ache in his stomach or some malady 
 equally cogent, and said he would not play. 
 
 " I ll have me poipe an me mug av beer," he 
 said, " an resht mesilf a bit. It s loike I ll feel 
 betther afther a whoile an then I ll take a 
 ha-and." 
 
 Play began, while my suffering father with his 
 aches, his tobacco and his beer, sat nursing him 
 self at a near-by table. I lost no time in acquir 
 ing my magic ace of hearts and at once the stream 
 of usual fortune set in to flow my way. 
 
 Ten years, yes, one year later, my suspicions 
 touching my father s illness and his reasons for 
 this unprecedented respite from the cares of 
 forty-five would have stood more on tiptoe. As 
 it was, however, it never assailed me as a thought 
 that I had become the subject of ancestral doubts. 
 I cheated on and on, and made hay while the sun 
 shone with never a cloud in the sky. 
 
 It was not noticed by me, but following a half- 
 hour s play and while I was shuffling the cards 
 for a deal, my parent stole noiselessly behind my 
 chair. He reached under my arm and lifted the 
 corner of the concealing handkerchief which filled 
 my lap. Horrors ! there lay the tell-tale ace of 
 hearts ! 
 
 Even then I realized nothing and knew not that 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 my villainy was made bare. This news, however, 
 was not long in its arrival. 
 
 " Niver did I r-raise a boy to be a r-robber! " 
 roared my father. 
 
 Coincident with this remark, the paternal 
 hand not the lightest nor least formidable on 
 Tom s Run dealt me a buffet on the head that 
 lifted me from my sinful chair and hurled me 
 across the room and against the wall full fifteen 
 feet away. My teeth clattered, my wits reeled, 
 while my ill-gotten silver danced blithely to 
 metallic music of its own. 
 
 " Niver did I r-raise a boy to be a r-robber ! " 
 again shouted my father. Then seizing me by 
 the collar, he lifted me to my feet. " Put all your 
 money on the ta-able ! " he cried ; " put ivry groat 
 avit!" 
 
 There was no escape ; I was powerless in the 
 talons of an inexorable fate. My pockets yielded 
 a harvest of hardby seventy-five dollars some 
 thing more than the total of my winnings and 
 this was placed in the center of the table which 
 had so lately witnessed my skill. An even distribu 
 tion was then made by my father among the vic 
 tims, each getting his share of the recovered 
 treasure ; my father keeping none for himself 
 though urged by the others to that end. 
 
 " No," said my father; " I ll touch niver a penny 
 av it. You take th money; I ll make shift that 
 
 114 
 
THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS. 
 
 the dishgrace of bein fa-ather to a rapparee shall 
 do for me share ! " 
 
 With that, he withdrew from the scene of my 
 downfall, carrying me fast in his clutch; and 
 later bathed in tears of pain and shame I was 
 dragged into the presence of my mother and 
 Father Glennon by the ignominious ear. 
 
 It did not cure me of cards, however; I ran 
 the whole gamut of gambling and won dangerous 
 prominence as a sharper of elevation and rank. 
 To-morrow evening, should you care to listen, I 
 may unfold concerning other of my adventures; 
 I may even relate as a tale most to my diplo 
 matic glory, perhaps how I brought Casino Joe 
 to endow me with that great secret, richer, in 
 truth ! than the mines of Peru ! of " How to Tell 
 the Last Four." 
 
 " Speakin of gamblin ," observed the Old 
 Cattleman when the Red Nosed Gentleman had 
 come to a full stop, " I ll bet a bloo stack that as 
 we-alls sets yere talkin , the games is goin brisk 
 an hot in Wolfville. Thar won t be no three foot 
 of snow to put a damper on trade an hobble a 
 gent s energies in Arizona." This last with a 
 flush of pride. 
 
 " Does everybody gamble in the West? " asked 
 the Sour Gentleman. 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " Every sport who s got the dinero does/ re 
 sponded the Old Cattleman. " White folks, In 
 juns an Mexicans is right now at roulette an faro 
 bank an monte as though they ain t got a minute 
 to live. I hates to concede em so much darin , 
 but the Mexicans, speshul, is zealous for specyoo- 
 lations. Which they d shore wager their immor 
 tal souls on the turn of a kyard, only a Greaser s 
 soul don t own no market valyoo." 
 
 " If you wall," said the Jolly Doctor, " you 
 might tell us something of Mexicans and their 
 ways, their labors and relaxations their loves 
 and their hates. I d be pleased to hear of those 
 interesting people from one who knows them so 
 thoroughly." 
 
 " Which I shore knows em," returned the Old 
 Cattleman, " an as I concedes how each gent 
 present oughter b ar his share of the entertain 
 ment, I ll tell you of Chiquita of Chaparita." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CHIQUITA OF CHAPARITA. 
 
 Which I doubts some if I m a proper party to 
 be a historian of Mexicans. Nacherally I abhors 
 em; an when a gent abhors anything, that is a 
 Caucasian gent, you-all can gamble the limit he 
 won t do it jestice. His prejudices is bound to 
 hit the surface like one of these yere rock ledges 
 in the mountains. Be white folks ag in Mexi 
 cans? Gents, the paleface is ag in everybody but 
 himse f ; ag in Mexicans, niggers, Injuns, Chinks- 
 he s ag in em all; the paleface is overbearin an 
 insolent, an because he s the gamest fighter he 
 allows he s app inted of Providence to prance 
 round, tyrannizin an makin trouble for every 
 body whose color don t match his own. Shore, 
 I m as bad as others; only I ain t so bigoted I 
 don t savey the fact. 
 
 Doc Peets is the one white gent I encounters 
 who s willin to mete out to Mexicans a squar 
 deal from a squar deck. I allers reckons these 
 yere equities on Peets part arises a heap from 
 his bein a scientist. You take a scientist like 
 Peets an the science in him sort o submerges an* 
 
 117 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 drowns out what you-all might term the racial 
 notions native to the hooman soil. They comes 
 to concloosions dispassionate, that a-way, scien 
 tists does; an Mexicans an Injuns reaps a milder 
 racket at their hands. With sech folks as Old 
 Man Enright an me, who s more indoorated an 
 acts on that arrogance which belongs with white 
 folks at birth, inferior races don t stand no daz- 
 zlin show. 
 
 Mexicans, as a herd, is stunted an ondeveloped 
 both mental an physical. They bears the same 
 compar son to white folks that these yere little 
 broncos does to the big hosses of the States. In 
 intellects, Mexicans is about leven hands high. 
 To go into one of their jimcrow plazas is like 
 retreatin back ard three hundred years. Their 
 idees of agriculture is plenty primitive. An their 
 minds is that bogged down in ignorance you-all 
 can t teach em nothin . They clings to their 
 worm-eaten customs like a miser to his money. 
 Their plow is a wedge of wood ; they hooks on 
 about three yoke of bulls measley, locoed critters 
 an with four or five Greasers to screech an herd 
 an chunk up the anamiles they goes stampedin 
 back ard an for ard on their sandy river-bottom 
 fields the same bein about as big as a saddle 
 blanket an they calls that plowin . They sows 
 the grain as they plo\vs, sort o ? scratches it in; 
 an when it comes up they don t cut it none same 
 as we-all harvests a crop. No; they ain t capable 
 
 118 
 
CHIQUITA OF CHAPARITA. 
 
 of sech wisdom. They pulls it up by the roots 
 an ties it in bundles. Then they sweeps off a 
 clean spot of earth like the floor of one of these 
 yere brickyards an covers it with the grain same 
 as if it s a big mat. Thar s a corral constructed 
 round it of posts an lariats; an next, on top of 
 the mat of grain, they drives in the loose burros, 
 cattle, goats, an all things else that s got a hoof; 
 an tharupon they jams this menagerie about ontil 
 the grain is trodden out. That s what a Greaser 
 regyards as threshin grain, so you can estimate 
 how ediotic he is. When it s trompled sufficient, 
 he packs off the stalks an straw to make mats an 
 thatches for the dobies; while he scrapes up the 
 dust an wheat into a blanket an climbs onto the 
 roof of his casa an pours it down slow onto the 
 ground, an all so it gives the wind a openin to 
 get action an blow away the chaff an dust. 
 
 But what s the use of dilatin on savageries like 
 that? I could push for ard an relate how they 
 makes flour with a stone rollin -pin in a stone 
 trough ; how they grinds coffee by wroppin it in 
 a gunny sack an beatin it with a rock ; but where s 
 the good? It would only go lowerin your esti 
 mates of hooman nature to no end. 
 
 Whatever be their amoosements? Everything 
 on earth amooses em. They has so many holi 
 days, Mexicans does, they ain t hardly left no 
 time for work. They re pirootin about constant, 
 grinnin an chatterin like a outfit of bloo-jays. 
 
 119 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 No; they ain t singers none. Takin feet an 
 fingers, that a-way, a Mexican is moosical. They 
 emerges a heap strong at dancin , an when it 
 comes to a fandango, hens on hot griddles is ex 
 amples of listless abstraction to em. With sech 
 weepons, too, as guitars an fiddles an a gourd 
 half-full of gravel to shake an beat out the time, 
 they can make the scenery ring. Thar they stops, 
 however ; a Greaser s moosic never mounts higher 
 than the hands. At singin , crows an guinea 
 chickens lays over em like a spade flush over 
 nines-up. 
 
 Most likely if I reelates to you-all the story of 
 a day among the Mexicans you comes to a cl arer 
 glimpse of their loves an hates an wars an 
 merry-makin s. Mexicans, like Injuns when a 
 paleface is about, lapses into shyness an timidity 
 same as one of these yere cottontail rabbits. But 
 among themse fs, when they feels onbuckled an 
 at home, their play runs off plenty different. 
 Tharfore a gent s got to study Mexicans onder 
 friendly auspices, an from the angle of their own 
 home-life, if he s out to rope onto concloosions 
 concernin them that ll stand the tests of trooth. 
 
 It s one time when I m camped in the Plaza 
 Chaparita. It s doorin the eepock when I freights 
 from Vegas to the Canadian over the old Fort 
 Bascom trail. One of the mules the nigh swing 
 mule, he is quits on me, an I has to lay by ontil 
 that mule recovers his sperits. 
 
 120 
 
CHIQUITA OF CHAPARITA. 
 
 It s a fieste or holiday at the Plaza Chaparita. 
 The first local sport I connects with is the padre. 
 He s little, brown, an friendly; an has twinklin 
 beady eyes like a rattlesnake; the big difference 
 bein that the padre s eyes is full of fun, whereas 
 the optics of rattlesnakes is deevoid of humor 
 utter. Shore; rattlesnakes wouldn t know a joke 
 from the ace of clubs. 
 
 The padre s on his way to the dobe church ; an 
 what do you-all rigger now that divine s got onder 
 his arm? Hymn books, says you? That s where 
 you re barkin at a knot. The padre s packin a 
 game chicken which the steel gaffs, drop-socket 
 they be an of latest sort, is in his pocket an as 
 I goes squanderin along in his company, he in 
 forms me that followin the services thar ll be a 
 fight between his chicken an a rival brass-back 
 belongin to a commoonicant named Romero. 
 The padre desires my presence, an in a sperit of 
 p liteness I allows I ll come idlein over onless 
 otherwise engaged, the same bein onlikely. 
 
 Gents, you should have witnessed that battle! 
 It s shore lively carnage; yes, the padre s bird 
 wins an downs Romero s entry the second buckle. 
 
 On the tail of the padre s triumph, one of his 
 parishioners gets locoed, shakes a chicken outen 
 a bag an proclaims that he ll fight him ag in the 
 world for two dollars a side. At that another 
 enthoosiast gives notice that if the first parishioner 
 will pinch down his bluff to one dollar he says 
 
 121 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 he don t believe in losin an winnin fortunes on 
 a chicken he ll prodooce a bird an go him once. 
 
 The match is made, an while the chickens is 
 facin each other a heap feverish an fretful, peckin 
 an see-sawin for a openin , the various Greasers 
 who s bet money on em lugs out their beads an 
 begins to pray to beat four of a kind. Shore, 
 they re prayin that their partic lar chicken ll win. 
 Still, when I considers that about as many 
 Greasers is throwin themse fs at the throne of 
 grace for one as for the other, if Providence is 
 payin any attention to em an I deems it doubt 
 ful I estimates that them orisons is a stand-off. 
 
 As the birds goes to the center, one party 
 sprinkles something on his chicken. At that the 
 opposition grabs up his bird an appeals to the 
 padre. He challenges the other s bird because he 
 says he s been sprinkled with holy-water. 
 
 The padre inquires, an the holy-water sharp 
 confesses his guilt. Also, he admits that he hides 
 the gaffs onder the altar cloth doorin the recent 
 services so they ll acquire extra grace an power. 
 
 The padre turns severe at this an declar s the 
 fight off; an he forfeits the doctored chicken an 
 the gaffs to himse f a whole lot he representin 
 the church to teach the holy-\vater sharp that 
 yereafter he s not to go seizin onfair advantages, 
 an to lead a happier an a better life. That cul 
 prit don t say a word but passes over his chicken 
 an* the steel regalia for its heels. You can bet 
 that padre s word is law in the Plaza. Chaparita! 
 
 122 
 
CHIQUITA OF CHAPARITA. 
 
 Followin this fiasco of the holy-water chicken 
 the Mexicans disperses themse fs to pulque an 
 monte an the dance. The padre an me sa nters 
 about; me bein a Americano, an him what you 
 might call professionally sedate, we-all don t go 
 buttin into the baile nor the pulque nor the gam- 
 blin . The padre su gests that we go a-weavin 
 over to his own camp, which he refers to as Casa 
 Dolores though thar s nothin dolorous about 
 it, the same bein the home of mirth an hilarity, 
 that a-way an he allows he s got some Valley 
 Tan hived up that ll make me forget my nation 
 ality if stoodiously adhered to. It s needless to 
 observe that I accompanies the beady-eyed padre 
 without a struggle. An I admits, free an with 
 out limitation, that said Valley Tan merits the 
 padre s encomiums an fixes me in my fav rite 
 theery that no matter what happens, the best 
 happens to the church. 
 
 As we crosses the little Plaza on our way to 
 Casa Dolores we passes in front of the church. 
 Thar on the grass lays the wooden image of the 
 patron saint of the Plaza Chaparita. This figger 
 is about four foot long, an thar s a hossha r lariat 
 looped onto it where them Mexicans who gets 
 malcontent with the saint ropes him off his 
 perch from up in front of the church. They ve 
 been haulin the image about an beatin it 
 with cactus sticks an all expressive of disdain. 
 
 123 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 I asks the padre why his congregation engages 
 itse f in studied contoomely towards the Plaza s 
 saint. He shrugs his shoulders, spreads his 
 hands palm out, an says it s because the Plaza s 
 sheep gets sick. I su gests that him an me cut 
 in an rescoo the saint; more partic lar since the 
 image is all alone, an the outfit that s been beatin 
 him up has abandoned said corrections to drink 
 pulque an exercise their moccasins in the baile. 
 But the padre shakes his head. He allows it s a 
 heap better to let the public fully vent its feelin s. 
 He explains that when the sheep gets well the 
 congregational round-up the image, give him a 
 reproachful talk an a fresh coat of paint, an put 
 him back on his perch. The saint ll come winner 
 on the deal all right, the padre says. 
 
 " Besides," argues the padre, " it is onneces- 
 sary for pore blinded mortals to come pawin 
 about to protect a saint. These yere images," he 
 insists, " can look after themse fs. They ll find 
 the way outen their troubles whenever they gets 
 ready." 
 
 At that we proceeds for ard to Casa Dolores 
 an the promised Valley Tan, an leaves the 
 wooden saint to his meditations on the grass. 
 After all, I agrees with the padre. It s the saint s 
 business to ride herd on the interests of the Plaza 
 Chaparita ; an if he goes to sleep on the lookout s 
 stool an takes to neglectin sech plays as them 
 sheep gettin sick, whatever is the Greasers goin 
 
 124 
 
CHIQUITA OF CHAPARITA. 
 
 to do? They re shore bound to express their 
 disapproval; an I reckons as good a scheme as 
 any is to caper up, yank the careless image outen 
 his niche with a lariat, an lam loose an cavil at 
 him with a club. 
 
 This yere fieste at the Plaza Chaparita is a day 
 an night of laughter, dance an mirth. But it 
 ends bad. The padre an me is over to the dance- 
 hall followin our investigations touchin the Val 
 ley Tan an the padre explains to me how he 
 permits to his people a different behavior from 
 what s possible among Americanos. 
 
 " I studies for the church in Baltimore," the 
 padre says, " an thar the priest must keep a curb 
 on his Americano parishioners. They are not 
 like Mexicanos. They re fierce an headlong an 
 go too far. If you let them gamble, they gamble 
 too much; if you let them drink, they drink too 
 much. The evil of the Americano is that he 
 overplays. It is not so with the Mexicano. If 
 the Mexicano gambles, it is only a trifle an for 
 pleasure ; if he drinks, it is but enough to free a 
 bird s song in his heart. All my people drink an 
 dance an gamble; but it s only play, it is never 
 earnest. See ! in the w r hole Plaza Chaparita you 
 find no drunkard, no pauper; no one is too bad 
 or too good or too rich or too poor or too un 
 happy." 
 
 Then the priest beams on me like he disposes 
 of the question; an since I ve jest been drinkin 
 
 125 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 his Valley Tan I don t enter no protests to what 
 he states. From what ensoos, however, I should 
 jedge the padre overlooks his game in one par- 
 tic lar. 
 
 As me an the padre sits gazin on at the dance, 
 a senorita with a dark shawl over her head, drifts 
 into the door like a shadow. She s little; an by 
 what I sees of her face, she s pretty. As she 
 crosses in front of the padre she stops an sort o 
 drops down on one knee with her head bowed. 
 The padre blesses her an calls her "Chiquita;" 
 then she goes on. I don t pay no onusual atten 
 tion; though as me an the padre talks, I notes 
 her where she stands with her shawl still over 
 her head in a corner of the dance hall. 
 
 Across from the little Chiquita is a young 
 Greaser an his sweetheart. This girl is pretty, 
 too; but her shawl ain t over her head an she 
 an her muchacho, from their smiles an love 
 glances, is havin the happiest of nights. 
 
 " It looks like you ll have a weddin on your 
 hands," I says to the padre, indicatin where the 
 two is courtin . 
 
 " Chiquita should not stay here," says the 
 padre talkin to himse f. With that he organizes 
 like he s goin over to the little shawled senorita 
 in the corner. 
 
 It strikes me that the padre s remark is a heap 
 irrelevant. But I soon sees that he onderstands 
 the topics he tackles a mighty sight better than 
 
 126 
 
CHIQUITA OF CHAPARITA. 
 
 me. The padre s hardly moved when it looks 
 like the senorita Chiquita saveys he s out to head 
 her off. With that she crosses the dance-hall 
 swift as a cat an flashes a knife into the heart of 
 the laughing girl. The next moment the knife 
 is planted in her own. 
 
 It s the old story, so old an common thar s not 
 a new word to be said. Two dead girls ; love the 
 reason an the jealous knife the trail. Thar s not 
 a scream, not a word; that entire baile stands 
 transfixed. As the padre raises the little Chi- 
 quita s head, I sees the tears swimmin in his eyes. 
 It s the one time I comes nearest thinkin well of 
 a Mexican; that padre, at least, is toler ble. 
 
 " That is a very sad finale the death of the 
 girls," observed the Sour Gentleman, reaching 
 for the Scotch whiskey as though for comfort s 
 sake. " And still, the glimpse you gave would 
 move me to a pleasant estimate of Mexicans." 
 
 " Why then," returned the Old Cattleman, be 
 coming also an applicant for Scotch, " considered 
 as abstract prop sitions, Mexicans aint so bad. 
 Which they re like Injuns ; they improves a lot by 
 distance. An they has their strong p ints, too; 
 gratitoode is one. You-all confer a favor on a 
 Mexican, an he ll hang on your trail a hundred 
 
 127 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 years but what he ll do you a favor in return. 
 An he ll jest about pay ten for one at that. 
 
 " Speakin of gratitoode, Sioux Sam yere tells 
 a story to llustrate how good deeds is bound to 
 meet their reward. It s what the squaws tells 
 the papooses to make em kind." Then to Sioux 
 Sam : " Give us the tale of Strongarm an the 
 Big Medicine Elk. The talk is up to you." 
 
 Sioux Sam was in no sort diffident, and readily 
 told us the following: 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 HOW STRONGARM WAS AN ELK. 
 
 Moh-Kwa was the wisest of all the beasts along 
 the Upper Yellowstone ; an yet Moh-Kwa could 
 not catch a fish. This made Moh-Kwa have a bad 
 heart, for next to honey he liked fish. What 
 made it worse was that in Moh-Kwa s cavern 
 where he lived, there lay a deep pool which was 
 the camp of many fish ; an Moh-Kwa would sit 
 an look at them an long- for them, while the fish 
 came close to the edge an laughed at Moh-Kwa, 
 for they knew beneath their scales that he could 
 not catch them ; an the laughter of the fish made 
 a noise like swift water running among rocks. 
 Sometimes Moh-Kwa struck at a fish with his 
 big paw, but the fish never failed to dive out of 
 reach; an this made the other fish laugh at Moh- 
 Kwa more than before. Once Moh-Kwa got so 
 angry he plunged into the pool to hunt the fish ; 
 but it only made him seem foolish, for the fish 
 swam about him in flashing circles, an dived 
 under him an jumped over him, laughing all the 
 time, making a play an a sport of Moh-Kwa. 
 At last he gave up an swam ashore; an then he 
 9 129 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 had to sit by his fire an comb his fur all day to 
 dry himself so that he might feel like the same 
 bear again. 
 
 One morning down by the Yellowstone, Moh- 
 Kwa met Strongarm, the young Sioux, an 
 Strongarm had a buffalo fish which he had 
 speared in the river. An because Moh-Kwa 
 looked at the fish hungrily an with water in his 
 mouth, Strongarm gave him the buffalo fish. 
 Also he asked Moh-Kwa why he did not catch fish 
 since he liked them so well an the pool in his 
 cavern was the camp of many fish. An Moh- 
 Kwa said it was because the fish were cowards an 
 would not stay an fight with him, but ran away. 
 
 " They are not so brave as the bees," said 
 Moh-Kwa, " for \vhen I find a bee-tree, they 
 make me fight for the honey. The bees have big 
 hearts though little knives, but the fish have no 
 hearts an run like water down hill if they but see 
 Moh-Kwa s shadow from his fire fall across the 
 pool." 
 
 Strongarm said he would catch the fish for 
 Moh-Kwa; an with that he went to the Wise 
 Bear s house an with his spear took many fish, 
 being plenty to feed Moh-Kwa two days. Moh- 
 Kwa was very thankful, an because Strong- 
 arm liked the Wise Bear, he came four times 
 each moon an speared fish for Moh-Kwa who 
 was never so well fed with fish before. 
 
 Strongarm was a mighty hunter among the 
 130 
 
HOW STRONGARM WAS AN ELK. 
 
 Sioux an killed more elk than did the ten best 
 hunters of his village. So many elk did Strong- 
 arm slay that his squaw, the Blossom, made for 
 their little son, Feather-foot, a buckskin coat on 
 which was sewed the eye-teeth of elk, two for 
 each elk, until there were so many eye-teeth on 
 Feather-foot s buckskin coat it was like counting 
 the leaves on a cottonwood to find how many 
 there were. An the Blossom was proud of 
 Feather-foot s coat, for none among the Sioux 
 had so beautiful a garment an the eye-teeth of 
 the elk told how big a hunter was Strongarm. 
 
 While the Sioux wondered an admired at the 
 elk-tooth coat, it made the Big Medicine Elk, 
 who was chief of the Elk people, hot an angry, 
 an turned his heart black against Strongarm. 
 The Big Medicine Elk said he would have re 
 venge. 
 
 Thus it happened one day that when Strong- 
 arm stepped from his lodge, he saw standing in 
 front a great Elk who had antlers like the 
 branches of a tree. An the great Elk stamped 
 his foot an snorted at Strongarm. Then 
 Strongarm took his bow an his lance an his knife 
 an hunted the great Elk to kill him ; but the great 
 Elk ran always a little ahead just out of reach. 
 
 At last the great Elk ran into the Pouch canyon 
 an then Strongarm took hope into his heart like 
 a man takes air into his mouth, for the sides of 
 the Pouch canyon were high an steep an it ended 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 with a high wall, an nothing save a bird might 
 get out again once it went in; for the Pouch can 
 yon was a trap which the Great Spirit had set 
 when the world was new. 
 
 Strongarm was happy in his breast as he fol 
 lowed the great Elk into the Pouch canyon for 
 now he was sure. An he thought how the big 
 eye-teeth of so great an Elk would look on the 
 collar of Feather-foot s buckskin coat. 
 
 When Strongarm came to the upper end of the 
 Pouch canyon, there the great Elk stood waiting. 
 
 " Hold ! " said the great Elk, when Strongarm 
 put an arrow on his bowstring. 
 
 But Strongarm shot the arrow which bounded 
 off the great Elk s hide an made no wound. 
 Then Strongarm ran against the great Elk with 
 his lance, but the lance was broken as though 
 the great Elk was a rock. Then Strongarm drew 
 his knife, but when he went close to the great 
 Elk, the beast threw him down with his antlers 
 an put his forefoot on Strongarm an held him 
 on the ground. 
 
 " Listen," said the great Elk, an Strongarm 
 listened because he couldn t help it. " You have 
 hunted my people far an near ; an you can never 
 get enough of their blood or their eye-teeth. I 
 am the Big Medicine Elk an chief of the Elk 
 people ; an now for a vengeance against you, I 
 shall change you from the hunter to the hunted, 
 
 132 
 
THE ELK FEAR WAS IN His 
 
HOW STRONGARM WAS AN ELK 
 
 an you shall know how good it is to have fear an 
 be an elk." 
 
 As the great Elk said this, Strongarm felt his 
 head turn heavy with antlers, while his nose grew 
 long an his mouth wide, an hair grew out of his 
 skin like grass in the moon of new grass, an his 
 hands an feet split into hoofs; an then Strong- 
 arm stood on his four new hoofs an saw by his 
 picture in the stream that he was an elk. Also 
 the elk-fear curled up in his heart to keep him 
 ever in alarm; an he snuffed the air an walked 
 about timidly where before he was Strongarm 
 and feared nothing. 
 
 Strongarm crept home to his lodge, but the 
 Blossom did not know her husband; an Feather- 
 foot, his little son, shot arrows at him; an as he 
 ran from them, the hunters of his village came 
 forth an chased him until Strongarm ran into 
 the darkness of the next night as it came trailing 
 up from the East, an the darkness was kind an 
 covered him like a blanket an Strongarm was hid 
 by it an saved. 
 
 When Strongarm did not come with the next 
 sun to spear fish for Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear 
 went to Strongarm s lodge to seek him for he 
 thought that he was sick. An Moh-Kwa asked 
 the Blossom where was Strongarm? An the 
 Blossom said she did not know; that Strongarm 
 chased the great Elk into the Pouch canyon an 
 never came out again; an now a big Doubt had 
 
 133 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 spread its blankets in her heart an would not 
 leave, but was making a long camp, saying she 
 was a widow. Then the Blossom wept; but Moh- 
 Kwa told her to wait an he would see, because 
 he, Moh-Kwa, owed Strongarm for many fish an 
 would now pay him. 
 
 Moh-Kwa went to the Big Medicine Elk. 
 
 " Where is the Strongarm? " said Moh-Kwa. 
 
 " He runs in the hills an is an elk," said the 
 Big Medicine Elk. " He killed my people for 
 their teeth, an a great fright was on all my people 
 because of the Strongarm. The mothers dare 
 not go down to the river s edge to drink, an their 
 children had no time to grow fat for they were 
 ever looking to meet the Strongarm. Now he is 
 an elk an my people will have peace ; the mothers 
 will drink an their babies be fat an big, being no 
 more chased by the Strongarm." 
 
 Then Moh-Kwa thought an thought, an at 
 last he said to the Big Medicine Elk : 
 
 " That is all proud talk. But I must have the 
 Strongarm back, for he catches my fish." 
 
 But the Big Medicine Elk said he would not 
 give Moh-Kwa back the Strongarm. 
 
 " Why should I? " asked the Big Medicine Elk. 
 
 " Did not I save you in the Yellowstone," said 
 Moh-Kwa, " when as you swam the river a drift 
 ing tree caught in your antlers an held down 
 your head to drown you? An did you not bawl 
 to me who searched for berries on the bank; an 
 
 134 
 
HOW STRONGARM WAS AN ELK. 
 
 did I not swim to you an save you from the 
 tree?" Still the Big Medicine Elk shook his 
 antlers. 
 
 " What you say is of another day. You saved 
 me an that is ended. I will not give you back 
 the Strongarm for that. One does not drink the 
 water that is gone by." 
 
 Moh-Kwa then grew so angry his eyes burned 
 red like fire, an he threatened to kill the Big- 
 Medicine Elk. But the Big Medicine Elk 
 laughed like the fish laughed, for he said he could 
 not be killed by any who lived on the land. 
 
 " Then we will go to the water," said Moh- 
 Kwa ; an with that he took the Big Medicine Elk 
 in his great hairy arms an carried him kicking 
 an struggling to the Yellowstone ; for Moh-Kwa 
 could hold the Big Medicine Elk though he could 
 not hurt him. 
 
 When Moh-Kwa had carried the Big Medicine 
 Elk to the river, he sat down on the bank an 
 waited with the Big Medicine Elk in his arms 
 until a tree came floating down. Then Moh-Kwa 
 swam with the Big Medicine Elk to the tree an 
 tangled the branches in the antlers of the Big 
 Medicine Elk so that he was fast with his nose 
 under the water an was sure to drown. 
 
 " Now you are as you were when I helped you," 
 said Moh-Kwa. 
 
 An the Catfish people in the river came with 
 joy an bit the legs of the Big Medicine Elk, an* 
 
 135 
 
THE BLACK LION INN 
 
 said, " Thank you, Moh-Kwa ; you do well to 
 bring us food now an then since you eat so many 
 fish." 
 
 As Moh-Kwa turned to swim again to the 
 bank, he said over his shoulder to the Big Medi 
 cine Elk : 
 
 " Now you may sing your death song, for 
 Pauguk, the Death, is in the river with you an 
 those are Pauguk s catfish which gnaw your 
 legs." 
 
 At this the Big Medicine Elk said between his 
 cries of grief an fear that if Moh-Kwa would save 
 him out of the river, he would tell him how to 
 have the Strongarm back. So Moh-Kwa went 
 again an freed the Big Medicine Elk from the 
 tree an carried him to the bank, while the Cat 
 fish people followed, angrily crying: 
 
 " Is this fair, Moh-Kwa? Do you give an 
 then do you take away? Moh-Kwa! you are a 
 Pawnee ! " 
 
 When the Big Medicine Elk had got his breath 
 an wiped the tears from his eyes, he told Moh- 
 Kwa that the only way to bring the Strongarm 
 back to be a hunter from being one of the hunted 
 was for Feather-foot, his son, to cut his throat; 
 an for the Blossom, his squaw, to burn his elk- 
 body with cedar boughs. 
 
 "An why his son, the Feather-foot?" asked 
 Moh-Kwa. 
 
 " Because the Feather-foot owes the Strong- 
 
HOW STRONGARM WAS AN ELK. 
 
 arm a life," replied the Big Medicine Elk. " Is 
 not Strongarm the Feather-foot s father an does 
 not the son owe the father his life ? " 
 
 Moh-Kwa saw this was true talk, so he let the 
 Big Medicine Elk go free. 
 
 " I will even promise that the Strongarm," said 
 Moh-Kwa, as the two parted, " when again he is 
 a Sioux on two legs, shall never hunt the Elk 
 people." 
 
 But the Big Medicine Elk, who was licking his 
 fetlocks where the Catfish people had hurt the 
 skin, shook his antlers an replied : 
 
 " It is not needed. The Strongarm has been 
 one of the Elk people an will feel he is their 
 brother an will not hurt them." 
 
 Moh-Kwa found it a hard task to capture 
 Strongarm when now he was an elk with the elk- 
 fear in his heart. For Strongarm had already 
 learned the elk s warning which is taught by all 
 the Elk people, an which says : 
 
 Look up for danger and look down for gain ; 
 Believe no wolf s word, and avoid the plain. 
 
 Strongarm would look down for the grass with 
 one eye, while he kept an eye up among the 
 branches or along the sides of the canyon for fear 
 of mountain lions. An he stuck close in among 
 the hills, an would not go out on the plains where 
 the wolves lived ; an he wouldn t talk with a wolf 
 or listen to his words. 
 
 137 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 But Strongarm, while he ran an hid from Moh- 
 Kwa an the others, was not afraid of the Blos 
 som, who was his squaw, but would come to her 
 gladly if he might find her alone among the trees. 
 
 " It is not the first time," said the Wise Bear, 
 " that the hunter has made his trap of love." 
 
 With that he told the Blossom to go into the 
 hills an call Strongarm to her with her love. Then 
 she was to bind his feet so that he might not get 
 away an run. 
 
 The Blossom called Strongarm an he came; 
 but he was fearful an suspicious an his nose an 
 his ears an his eyes kept guard until the Blossom 
 put her hand on his neck; an then Strongarm s 
 great love for the Blossom smothered out his cau 
 tion as one might smother a fire with a robe; an 
 the Blossom tied all his feet with thongs an bound 
 his eyes with her blanket so that Strongarm might 
 not see an be afraid. 
 
 Then came Feather-foot, gladly, an cut Strong- 
 arm s throat with his knife ; for Feather-foot did 
 not know he killed his father for that was a 
 secret thing with Moh-Kwa an the Blossom an 
 thought only how he killed a great Elk. 
 
 When Strongarm was dead, Moh-Kwa toiled 
 throughout the day carrying up the big cedar; 
 an when a pile like a hill was made, Moh-Kwa put 
 Strongarm s elk-body on its top, an brought fire 
 from his house in the rocks, an made a great 
 burning. 
 
 138 
 
HOW STRONGARM WAS AN ELK. 
 
 In the morning, the Blossom who had stayed 
 with Moh-Kwa through the night while the fire 
 burned, said, " Now, although the big elk is gone 
 into ashes, I do not yet see the Strongarm." But 
 Moh-Kwa said, " You will find him asleep in the 
 lodge." An that was a true word, for when Moh- 
 Kwa an the Blossom went to the lodge, there 
 they found Strongarm whole an good an as sound 
 asleep as a tree at midnight. 
 
 Outside the lodge they met the little Feather- 
 foot who cried, " Where is the big elk, Moh-Kwa, 
 that I killed? " An the Blossom showed him his 
 father, Strongarm, where he slept, an said, 
 " There is your big elk, Feather-foot ; an this will 
 ever be your best hunting for it found you your 
 father again." 
 
 When Moh-Kwa saw that everything was set 
 tled an well, an that he would now have always 
 his regular fish, he wiped the sweat out of his eyes 
 with his paws which were all singed fur an ashes, 
 an said, " I am the weariest bear along the whole 
 length of the Yellowstone, for I carried some 
 heavy trees an have worked hard. Now I will 
 sleep an rest." 
 
 An with that Moh-Kwa lay down an snored 
 an slept four days ; then he arose an eat up the 
 countless fish which Strongarm had speared to 
 be ready for him. This done, Moh-Kwa lighted 
 his pipe of kinnikinick, an softly rubbing his 
 stomach where the fish were, said : " Fish give 
 Moh-Kwa a good heart." 
 
 139 
 
THE BLACK LlON INN. 
 
 " Now that is what I call a pretty story," said 
 the Jolly Doctor. 
 
 " It is that," observed the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man, with emphasis. " And I ve no doubt the 
 Strongarm made it a point thereafter to be care 
 ful as to what game he hunted. But, leaving 
 fable for fact, my friend," the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man addressed now the Sour Gentleman " would 
 you not call it your turn to uplift the spirits of 
 this company? We have just enough time and I 
 just enough burgundy for one more story before 
 we go to bed." 
 
 " While our friend, the Sioux Gentleman," re 
 sponded the Sour Gentleman, " was unfolding his 
 interesting fable, my thoughts albeit I listened 
 to him and lost never a word were to the rear 
 with the old days which came on the back of that 
 catastrophe of tobacco. They come to me most 
 clearly as I sit here smoking and listening, and 
 with your permission I ll relate the story of The 
 Smuggled Silk. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 Should your curiosity invite it, and the more 
 since I promised you the story, we will now, my 
 friends, go about the telling of that one operation 
 in underground silk. It is not calculated to foster 
 the pride of an old man to plunge into a relation 
 of dubious doings of his youth. And yet, as I 
 look backward on that one bit of smuggling of 
 which I was guilty, so far as motive was involved, 
 I exonerate myself. I looked on the government, 
 because of the South s conquest by the North, and 
 that later ruin of myself through the machinations 
 of the Revenue office, as both a political and a 
 personal foe. And I felt, not alone morally free, 
 but was impelled besides in what I deemed a spirit 
 of justice to myself, to wage war against it as best 
 I might. It was on such argument, where the 
 chance proffered, that I sought wealth as a smug 
 gler. I would deplete the government forage, 
 as it were, on the enemy thereby to fatten my 
 purse. 
 
 As my hair has whitened with the sifting frosts 
 of years, I confess that my sophistries of smug- 
 
 141 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 gling seem less and less plausible, while smug 
 gling itself loses whatever of romantic glamour it 
 may once have been invested with, or what little 
 color of respect to which it might seem able to 
 lay claim. This tale shall be told in simplest 
 periods. That is as should be; for expression 
 should ever be meek and subjugated when one s 
 story is the mere story of a cheat. There is scant 
 room in such recital for heroic phrase. Smug 
 gling, and paint it with what genius one may, 
 can be nothing save a skulking, hiding, fear-eaten 
 trade. There is nothing about it of bravery or 
 dash. How therefore and avoid laughter, may 
 one wax stately in any telling of its ignoble de 
 tails ? 
 
 When, following my unfortunate crash in to 
 bacco, I had cleared away the last fragment of the 
 confusion that reigned in my affairs, I was driven 
 to give my nerves a respite and seek a rest. For 
 three months I had been under severest stress. 
 When the funeral was done for funeral it seemed 
 to me and my tobacco enterprise and those 
 hopes it had so flattered were forever laid at rest, 
 my soul sank exhausted and my brain was in a 
 whirl. I could neither think with clearness nor 
 plan with accuracy. Moreover, I was prey to 
 that depression and lack of confidence in myself, 
 which come inevitably as the corollary of utter 
 weariness. 
 
 Aware of this personal condition, I put aside 
 142 
 
THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 thought of any present formulation of a future. 
 I would rest, recover poise, and win back that 
 optimism that belongs with health and youth. 
 
 This was wisdom; I was jaded beyond belief; 
 and fatigue means dejection, and dejection spells 
 pessimism, and pessimism is never sagacious nor 
 excellent in any of its programmes. 
 
 For that rawness of the nerves I speak of, many 
 apply themselves to drink; some rush to drugs; 
 for myself, I take to music. It was midwinter, 
 and grand opera was here. This was fortunate. 
 I buried myself in a box, and opened my very 
 pores to those nerve-healthful harmonies. 
 
 In a week thereafter I might call myself recover 
 ed. My soul was cool, my eye bright, my mind 
 clear and sensibly elate. Life and its promises 
 seemed mightily refreshed. 
 
 No one has ever called me superstitious and yet 
 to begin my course-charting for a new career, I 
 harked back to the old Astor House. It was there 
 that brilliant thought of tobacco overtook me two 
 years before. Perhaps an inspiration was to 
 dwell in an environment. Again I registered, and 
 finding it tenantless, took over again my old room. 
 Still I cannot say, and it is to that hostelry s credit, 
 that my domicile at the Astor aided me to my 
 smuggling resolves. Those last had growth some 
 what in this fashion : 
 
 I had dawdled for two hours over coffee in the 
 cafe the room and the employment which had 
 
 143 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 one-time brought me fortune but was incapable 
 of any thought of value. I could decide on 
 nothing good. Indeed, I did naught save mental 
 ly curse those revenue miscreants who, failing of 
 blackmail, had destroyed me for revenge. 
 
 Whatever comfort may lurk in curses, at least 
 they carry no money profit ; so after a fruitless 
 session over coffe and maledictions, I arose, and 
 as a calmative, walked down Broadway. 
 
 At Trinity churchyard, the gates being open, 
 I turned in and began ramblingly to twine and 
 twist among the graves. There I encountered a 
 garrulous old man who, for his own pleasure, evi 
 dently, devoted himself to my information. He 
 pointed out the grave of Fulton, he of the steam 
 boats ; then I was shown the tomb of that Law 
 rence who would " never give up the ship ;" from 
 there I was carried to the last low bed of the love- 
 wrecked Charlotte Temple. 
 
 My eye at last, by the alluring voice and finger 
 of the old guide, was drawn to a spot under the 
 tower where sleeps the Lady Cornbury, dead now 
 as I tell this, hardby two hundred years. Also I 
 was told of that Lord Cornbury, her husband, 
 once governor of the colony for his relative, Queen 
 Anne ; and how he became so much more efficient 
 as a smuggler and a customs cheat, than ever 
 he was as an executive, that he lost his high 
 employ. 
 
 Because I had nothing more worthy to occupy 
 144 
 
THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 my leisure, I listened somewhat listlessly, I 
 promise you, for after all I was thinking on the 
 future, not the past, and considering of the living 
 rather than those old dead folk, obscure, forgot 
 ten in their slim graves I listened, I say, to my 
 gray historian; and somehow, after I was free of 
 him, the one thing that remained alive in my 
 memory was the smuggling story of our Viscount 
 Cornbury. 
 
 Among those few acquaintances I formed dur 
 ing my brief prosperity, was one with a gentleman 
 named Harris, who owned apartments under mine 
 on Twenty-second Street. Harris was elegant, 
 educated, traveled, and apparently well-to-do of 
 riches. Busy with my own mounting fortunes, 
 the questions of who Harris was ? and what he did ? 
 and how he lived? never rapped at the door of 
 my curiosity for reply. 
 
 One night, however, as we sat over a late and 
 by no means a first bottle of wine, Harris himself 
 informed me that he was employed in smuggling ; 
 had a partner-accomplice in the Customs House, 
 and perfect arrangements aboard a certain ship. 
 By these last double advantages, he came aboard 
 with twenty trunks, if he so pleased, without risk 
 ing anything from the inquisitiveness or loquacity 
 of the officers of the ship; and later debarked at 
 New York with the certainty of going scatheless 
 through the customs as rapidly as his Inspector 
 
 10 145 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 partner could chalk scrawlingly " O. K." upon 
 his sundry pieces of baggage. 
 
 Coming from Old Trinity, still mooting Corn- 
 bury and his smugglings, my thoughts turned to 
 Harris. Also, for the earliest time, I began to 
 consider within myself whether smuggling was not 
 a field of business wherein a pushing man might 
 grow and reap a harvest. The idea came to me 
 to turn " free-trader." The government had 
 destroyed me; I would make reprisal. I would 
 give my hand to smuggling and spoil the Egyp 
 tian. 
 
 At once I sought Harris and over a glass of 
 champagne ever a favorite wine with me we 
 struck agreement. As a finale we each put in 
 fifteen thousand dollars, and with the whole sum 
 of thirty thousand dollars Harris pushed forth for 
 Europe while I remained behind. Harris visited 
 Lyons; and our complete investment was in a 
 choicest sort of Lyons silk. The rich fabrics were 
 packed in a dozen trunks not all alike, those 
 trunks, but differing, one from another, so as to 
 prevent the notion as they stood about the wharf 
 that there was aught of relationship between them 
 or that one man stood owner of them all. 
 
 It is not needed to tell of my partner s voyage 
 of return. It was without event and one may 
 safely abandon it, leaving its relation to Harris 
 himself, if he be yet alive and should the spirit 
 him so move. It is enough for the present pur- 
 
 146 
 
THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 pose that in due time the trunks holding our 
 precious silk-bolts, with Harris as their convoy, 
 arrived safe in New York. 
 
 I had been looking for the boat s coming and 
 was waiting on the wharf as her lines and her 
 stagings were run ashore. 
 
 Our partner, the Inspector, and who was to 
 enjoy a per cent, of the profits of the speculation, 
 was named Lorns. He rapidly chalked " O. K." 
 with his name affixed to the end of each several 
 trunk and it thereupon with the balance of in 
 spected baggage was promptly piled upon the 
 wharf. 
 
 There had been a demand for drays, I remem 
 ber, and on this day when our silks came in, I 
 was able to procure but one. The ship did not 
 dock until late in the afternoon, and at eight 
 o clock of a dark, foggy April evening, there still 
 remained one of our trunks the largest of all, 
 it was on the wharf. The dray had departed 
 with the second load for that concealing loft in 
 Reade Street which, during Harris absence, I had 
 taken to be used as the depot of those smuggling 
 operations wherein we might become engaged. 
 I had made every move with caution ; I had never 
 employed our real names not even with the dray 
 man. 
 
 As I tell you, the dray was engaged about the 
 second trip. This last large silk-trunk was left 
 behind perforce ; pile it how one might there had 
 
 147 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 been no safe room for it on the already overloaded 
 dray. The drayman promised to return and have 
 it safely in our loft that night. 
 
 For myself, I was from first to last lounging 
 about the wharf, overseeing the going away of 
 our goods. Harris, so soon as I gave him key 
 and street-number, had posted to Reade Street to 
 attend the silk s reception. 
 
 Waiting for the coming back of the conveying 
 dray proved but a slow, dull business, and I was 
 impatiently, at the hour I ve named, walking up 
 and down, casting an occasional glance at the big 
 last trunk where it stood on end, a bit drawn out 
 and separated from the common mountain of bag 
 gage wherewith the wharf was piled. 
 
 One of the general inspectors, a man I had 
 never seen but whom I knew, by virtue of his 
 rank, to be superior to our chalk-wielding copar 
 cener, also paced the wharf and appeared to bear 
 me company in a distant, non-communicative way. 
 This customs captain and myself, save for an 
 under inspector named Quin, had the dock to our 
 selves. The boat was long in and most land folk 
 had gotten through their concern with her and 
 wended homeward long before. There were, how 
 ever, many passengers of emigrant sort still held 
 aboard the ship. 
 
 As I marched up and down, Lorns came ashore 
 and pretended some business with his superior 
 officer. As he returned to the ship and what 
 
 148 
 
THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 duties he had still to perform there, he made a 
 slight signal to both myself and his fellow inspec 
 tor, Quin, to follow him. I was well known to 
 Lorns, having had several talks with him, while 
 Harris was abroad. Quin I had never met; but 
 it quickly appeared that he was a confidant of 
 Lorns, and while without money interest in our 
 affairs was ready to bear helping hand should 
 the situation commence to pinch. 
 
 Quin and I went severally and withal carelessly 
 aboard ship, and not at all as though we were 
 seeking Lorns. This was to darken the chief, 
 whom we both surmised to be the cause of Lorn s 
 signal. 
 
 Once aboard and gathered in a dark corner, 
 Lorns began at once: 
 
 " Let me do the talking," said Lorns with a 
 nervous rapidity that at once enlisted the ears of 
 Quin and myself. " Don t interrupt, but listen. 
 The chief suspects that last trunk. I can tell it 
 by the way he acts. A bit later, when I come 
 ashore, he ll ask to have it opened. Should he do 
 so, we re lost ; you and I." This last was to me. 
 Then to Quin : " Do you see that long, bony 
 Swiss, with the boots and porcelain pipe? He s 
 in an ugly mood, doesn t speak English, and within 
 one minute after you return to the wharf, he and 
 I will be entangled in a rough and tumble riot. 
 I ll attend to that. The row will be prodigious. 
 The chief will be sent for to settle the war, and 
 
 149 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 when he leaves the wharf, Quin, don t wait ; seize 
 on that silk trunk and throw it into the river. 
 There s iron enough clamped about the corners 
 to sink it; besides, it s packed so tightly it s as 
 heavy as lead, and will go to the bottom like an 
 anvil. Then from the pile pull down some trunk 
 similar to it in looks and stand it in its place. 
 It ll go in the dark. Give the new trunk my mark, 
 as the chief has already read the name on the 
 trunk. Go, Quin; I rely on you." 
 
 You can trust me, my boy," retorted Quin, 
 cheerfully, and turning on his heel, he was back 
 on the wharf in a moment, and apparently busy 
 about the pile of baggage. 
 
 Suddenly there came a mighty uproar aboard 
 ship. Lorns and the Swiss, the latter already irate 
 over some trouble he had experienced, were roll 
 ing about the deck in a most violent scrimmage, 
 the Swiss having decidedly the worst of the 
 trouble. The chief rushed up the plank; Lorns 
 and the descendant of Tell and Winkelried, were 
 torn apart; and then a double din of explanation 
 ensued. After ten minutes, the chief was able to 
 straighten out the difficulty whatever its pretend 
 ed cause might be I know not ; for I held myself 
 warily aloof, not a little alarmed by what Lorns 
 had communicated and repaired again to his sta 
 tion upon the wharf. 
 
 As the chief came down the plank, Quin, who 
 had not been a moment behind him in going 
 
THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 aboard to discover the reasons of the riot, fol 
 lowed. Brief as was that moment, however, dur 
 ing which Quin had lingered behind, he had made 
 the shift suggested by Lorns; the silk trunk was 
 under the river, a strange trunk stood in its stead. 
 
 As the chief returned, he walked straight to 
 this suspected trunk and tipped it down with his 
 foot. Then to Quin : 
 
 " Ask Lorns to step here." 
 
 Quin went questing Lorns; shortly Lorns and 
 Quin came back together. The chief turned in 
 a brisk, sharp, official way to Lorns: 
 
 " Did you inspect this trunk? " 
 
 " I did," said Lorns, looking at the chalk marks 
 as if to make sure. 
 
 "Open it!" 
 
 No keys were procurable; the owners, Lorns 
 said, had long since left the docks. But Lorns 
 suggested that he get hammer and cold-chisel 
 from the ship. 
 
 The trunk was opened and found free and inno 
 cent of aught contraband. The chief wore a 
 puzzled, dark look ; he felt that he d been cheated, 
 but he couldn t say how. Therefore, being wise, 
 the chief gulped, said nothing, and as life is short 
 and he had many things to do, soon after left the 
 docks and went his way. 
 
 " That was a squeak ! " said Lorns when we 
 were at last free of the dangerous chief. " Quin, 
 I thank you." 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " That s all right," retorted Quin, with a grin ; 
 " do as much for me some time." 
 
 That night, with the aid of a river pirate, our 
 trunk, jettisoned by the excellent Quin, was fished 
 up; and being tight as a drum, its contents had 
 come to little harm with the baptism. At last, 
 our dozen silk trunks holding a treasure of thirty 
 thousand dollars and whereon we looked to clear 
 a heavy profit were safe in the Reade Street loft ; 
 and my hasty heart, which had been beating at 
 double speed since that almost fatal interference, 
 slowed to normal. 
 
 One might now suppose our woes were at an 
 end, all danger over, and nothing to do but dis 
 pose of that shimmering cargo to best advantage. 
 Harris and I were of that spirit-lifting view; we 
 began on the very next day to feel about for cus 
 tomers. 
 
 Harris, whose former smuggling exploits had 
 dealt solely with gems, knew as little of silk as did 
 I. Had either been expert he might have fore 
 seen a coming peril into whose arms we in our 
 blindness all but walked. No, our troubles were 
 not yet done. We had escaped the engulfing suck 
 of Charybdis, only to be darted upon by those six 
 grim mouths of her sister monster, Scylla, over 
 the way. 
 
 Well do I recall that morning. I had seen but 
 two possible purchasers of silks when Harris over 
 took me. His eye shone with alarm. Lorns had 
 
 152 
 
THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 run him down with the news however he himself 
 discovered it, I never knew that another danger 
 yawned. 
 
 Harris hurried me to our Reade Street lair and 
 gave particulars. 
 
 " It seems," said Harris, quite out of breath 
 with the speed we d made in hunting cover, " that 
 Stewart is for America the sole agent of these par 
 ticular brands of silk which we ve brought in. 
 Some one to whom we ve offered them has noti 
 fied the Stewart company. At this moment and 
 as we sit here, the detectives belonging to Stewart, 
 and for all I may guess, the whole Central Office 
 as well, are on our track. They want to dis 
 cover who has these silks ; and how they came in, 
 since the customs records show no such importa 
 tions. And there s a dark characteristic to these 
 silks. Each bolt has its peculiar, individual sel 
 vage. Each, with a sample of its selvage, is regis 
 tered at the home looms. Could anyone get a 
 snip of a selvage he could return with it to Lyons, 
 learn from the manufacturers book just when it 
 was woven, when sold, and to whom. I can tell 
 you one thing," observed Harris, as he concluded 
 his story, " we re in a bad corner." 
 
 How the cold drops spangled my brows ! I be 
 gan to wish with much heart that I d never met 
 Harris, nor heard, that Trinity churchyard day, 
 of Cornbury and his smuggling methods of gather 
 ing gold. 
 
 153 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 There was one ray of hope ; neither Harris nor 
 I had disclosed our names, nor the whereabouts 
 or quantity of the silks ; and as each had been 
 dealing with folk with whom he d never before 
 met, we were both as yet mysteries unsolved. 
 
 Nor were we ever solved. Harris and I kept 
 off the streets during daylight hours for a full 
 month. We were not utterly idle ; we unpleasant 
 ly employed ourselves in trimming away that tell 
 tale selvage. 
 
 Preferring safety to profit, we put forth no 
 efforts to realize on our speculations for almost 
 a year. By that time the one day s wonder of 
 "Who s got Stewart s silks?" had ceased to dis 
 turb the mercantile world and the grand proces 
 sion of dry goods interest passed on and over it. 
 
 At last we crept forth like felons as, good 
 sooth! we were and disposed of our mutilated 
 silks to certain good folk whose forefathers once 
 ruled Palestine. These gentry liked bargains, and 
 were in no wise curious; they bought our wares 
 without lifting an eyebrow of inquiry, and from 
 them constructed though with that I had no 
 concern those long " circulars," so called, which 
 were the feminine joy a third of a century gone. 
 
 As to Harris and myself; what with delays, 
 what with expenses, what with figures reduced to 
 dispose of our plunder, we got evenly out. We 
 got back our money; but for those fear-shaken 
 hours of two separate perils, we were never paid. 
 
 154 
 
THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 I smuggled no more. Still, I did not relinquish 
 my pious purpose to despoil that public treasury 
 Egyptian quoted heretofore. Neither did I give 
 up the Customs as a rich field of illicit endeavor. 
 But my methods changed. I now decided that I, 
 myself, would become an Inspector, like unto the 
 useful Lorns, and make my fortune from the opu 
 lent inside. I procured the coveted appointment, 
 for I could bring power to bear, and later I ll tell 
 you of The Emperor s Cigars. 
 
 When I was in my room that night, making 
 ready for bed, I could still hear the soft, cold 
 fingers of the snow upon the pane. What a storm 
 was that! Our landlord who had been boy and 
 man and was now gray in that old inn, declared 
 how he had never witnessed the smothering fellow 
 to it. 
 
 The following day, while still and bright and 
 no snow to fall, showed a temperature below zero. 
 The white blockade still held us fast, and now the 
 desperate cold was come to be the ally of the 
 snow. Departure was never a question. 
 
 As we kicked the logs into a cheerful uproar of 
 sparks, and drew that evening about the great 
 fireplace, it was the Old Cattleman to break con 
 versational ground. 
 
 " Do you-all know," said he, " I shore feels 
 155 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 that idle this evenin it s worse n scand lous 
 it s reedic lous." Here he threw himself back 
 in his armchair and yawned. " Pardon these yere 
 demonstrations of weariness, gents," he observed ; 
 " they ain t aimed at you none. That s the fact, 
 though; this amazin sensation of bein held a 
 prisoner is beginnin to gnaw at me a heap. Talk 
 of a painted ship upon a painted ocean/ like 
 that poem sharp wrote of! Why that vessel s 
 sedyoolously employed compared to us ! " 
 
 " You should recall/ remarked the Jolly Doc 
 tor, " how somewhere it is said that whatever 
 your hand finds to do, you should do it with all 
 your heart. Now, I would say the counsel ap 
 plies to our present position. Since we must 
 needs be idle, let us be idle heartily and happily, 
 and get every good to lie hidden in what to me, 
 at least, is a most pleasant companionship." 
 
 " I shore unites with you," responded the Old 
 Cattleman, " in them script ral exhortations to do 
 things with all your heart. It was Wild Bill 
 Hickox s way, too; an a Christian adherence to 
 that commandment, not only saves Bill s life, but 
 endows him with the record for single-handed 
 killin s so far as we-all has accounts." 
 
 " Is it a story? " asked the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man. " Once in a while I relish a good blood 
 and thunder tale." 
 
 " It s this a-way," said the Old Cattleman. 
 " Bill s hand is forced by the Jake McCandlas 
 
 156 
 
THAT SMUGGLED SILK. 
 
 gang. Bill has em to do ; an rememberin , doubt 
 less, the Bible lessons of his old mother back in 
 Illinois, he shore does em with all his heart, as 
 the good book says. This yere is the story oi 
 The Wiping Out of McCandlas. " 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE WIPING OUT OF M*CANDLAS. 
 
 Tell you-all a tale of blood? It shore irritates 
 me a heap, gents, when you eastern folks looks 
 allers to the west for stories red an drippin with 
 murder. Which mighty likely now the west is 
 plenty peaceful compared with this yere east itse f. 
 Thar s one thing you can put in your mem randum 
 book for footure ref rence, an that is, for all them 
 years I inhabits Arizona an Texas an sim lar 
 energetic localities, I never trembles for my life, 
 an goes about plumb furtive, expectin every 
 moment is goin to be my next that a-way, ontil I 
 finds myse f camped on the sunrise side of the 
 Alleghenies. 
 
 Nacherally, I admits, thar has been a modicum 
 of blood shed west an some slight share tharof 
 can be charged to Arizona. No, I can t say I 
 deplores these killin s none. Every gent has got 
 to die. For one, I m mighty glad the game s been 
 rigged that a-way. I d shore hesitate a lot to be 
 born onless I was shore I d up an some day cash 
 in. Live forever? No, don t confer on me no 
 sech gloomy outlook. If a angel was to appear 
 
 158 
 
THE WIPING OUT OF M CANDLAS. 
 
 in our midst an saw off on me the news that I 
 was to go on an on as I be now, livin forever like 
 that Wanderin Jew, the information would stop 
 my clock right thar. I d drop dead in my moc 
 casins. 
 
 It don t make much difference, when you gives 
 yourse f to a ca m consid ration of the question 
 as to when you dies or how you dies. The im 
 portant thing is to die as becomes a gent of 
 sperit who has nothin to regret. Every one soon 
 or late comes to his trail s end. Life is like a 
 faro game. One gent has ten dollars, another a 
 hundred, another a thousand, and still others has 
 rolls big enough to choke a cow. But whether 
 a gent is weak or strong, poor or rich, it s written 
 in advance that he s doomed to go broke final. 
 He s doomed to die. Tharfore, when that s set 
 tled, of what moment is it whether he goes broke 
 in an hour, or pikes along for a week dies to-day 
 or postpones his funeral for years an mebby 
 decades? 
 
 Holdin to these yere views, you can see without 
 my tellin that a killing once it be over, ain t likely 
 to harass me much. Like the rest of you-all, I ve 
 been trailin out after my grave ever since I was 
 foaled on a hunt for my sepulcher, you may say 
 an it ought not to shock me to a showdown jest 
 because some pard tracks up ag inst his last restin 
 place, spreads his blankets an goes into final 
 camp before it come my own turn. 
 
 159 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 But, speakin of killin s, the most onusual I ever 
 hears of is when Wild Bill Hickox cleans up the 
 Jake McCandlas gang. This Bill I knows inti 
 mate; he s not so locoed as his name might lead 
 a gent to concloode. The truth is, he s a mighty 
 crafty, careful form of sport; an he never pulled 
 a gun ontil he knew what for an never onhooked 
 it ontil he knew what at. 
 
 An speakin of the latter the onhookin part 
 that Wild Bill never missed. That s his one gift ; 
 he s born to make a center shot whenever his 
 six-shooter expresses itse f. 
 
 This McCandlas time is doorin them border 
 troubles between Missouri an Kansas. Jest prior 
 tharunto, Bill gets the ill-will of the Missouri out 
 fit by some gun play he makes at Independence, 
 then the eastern end of the old Santa Fe trail. 
 What Bill accomplishes at Independence is a heap 
 effectual an does him proud. But it don t endear 
 him none to the Missouri heart. Moreover, it 
 starts a passel of resentful zealots to lookin for 
 him a heap f rocious, an so he pulls his freight. 
 
 It s mebby six months later when Bill is holdin 
 down a stage station some eres over in Kansas 
 it s about a day s ride at a road-gait from Inde 
 pendence for Ben Holiday s overland line. 
 Thar s the widow of a compadre of Bill who has 
 a wickeyup about a mile away, an one day Bill 
 gets on his hoss, Black Nell, an goes romancin 
 over to see how the widow s gettin on. This 
 
 1 60 
 
THE WIPING OUT OF M CANDLAS. 
 
 Black Nell hoss of Bill s is some cel brated. Black 
 "Nell is tame as a kitten an saveys more n a hired 
 man. She d climb a pa r of steps an come sa n- 
 terin into a dance hall or a hurdy gurdy if Bill 
 calls to her, an I makes no doubt she d a-took 
 off her own saddle an bridle an gone to bed 
 with a pa r of blankets, same as folks, if Bill said 
 it was the proper antic for a pony. 
 
 It s afternoon when Bill rides up to pow-wow 
 with this relict of his pard. As he comes into 
 the one room for said wickeyup ain t palatial, 
 an consists of one big room, that a-way, an a 
 jim-crow leanto Bill says : 
 
 " Howdy, Jule ? " like that. 
 
 " Howdy, Bill ? " says the widow. " Light an 
 rest your hat, while I roam round an rustle some 
 chuck." This widow has the right idee. 
 
 While Bill is camped down on a stool waitin 
 for the promised came an flap-jacks, or what 
 ever may be the grub his hostess is aimin to on- 
 loose, he casts a glance outen the window. He s 
 interested at once. Off across the plains he dis 
 cerns the killer, McCandlas an his band p intin 
 straight for the widow s. They re from Missouri ; 
 thar s leven of em, corral count, an all " bad." 
 
 As they can see his mare, Black Nell, standin 
 in front of the widow s, Bill argues jestly that the 
 McCandlas outfit knows he s thar; an from the 
 speed they re makin in their approach, he likewise 
 
 161 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 dedooces that they re a heap eager for his com 
 pany. 
 
 Bill don t have to study none to tell that thar s 
 somebody goin to get action. It s likely to be 
 mighty onequal, but thar s no he p; an so Bill 
 pulls his gun-belt tighter, an organizes to go 
 as far as he can. He has with him only one six- 
 shooter; that s a severe setback. Now, if he was 
 packin two the approaching war jig would have 
 carried feachers of comfort. But he s got a nine- 
 inch bowie, which is some relief. When his six- 
 shooter s empty, he can fall back on the knife, 
 die hard, an leave his mark. 
 
 As Bill rolls the cylinder of his gun to see if 
 she s workin free, an loosens the bowie to avoid 
 delays, his eye falls on a rifle hangin above the 
 door. 
 
 " Is it loaded, Jule?" asks Bill. 
 
 " Loaded to the gyards," say^s the widow. 
 
 " An that ain t no fool of a piece of news, 
 neither," says Bill, as he reaches down the rifle. 
 11 Now, Jule, you-all better stampede into the 
 cellar a whole lot ontil further orders. Thar s 
 goin to be heated times round yere an you d 
 run the resk of gettin scorched." 
 
 " I d sooner stay an see, Bill," says the widow. 
 "You-all knows how eager an full of cur osity 
 a lady is," an here the widow beams on Bill an 
 simpers coaxin ly. 
 
 "An I d shore say stay, Jule," says Bill, "if 
 162 
 
THE WIPING OUT OF M cANDLAS. 
 
 you could turn a trick. But you sees yourse f, 
 you couldn t. An you d be in the way." 
 
 Thar s a big burrow out in the yard; what 
 Kansas people deenominates as a cyclone cellar. 
 It s like a cave; every se f-respectin Kansas 
 fam ly has one. They may not own no bank ac 
 count; they may not own no good repoote; but 
 you can gamble, they ve got a cyclone cave. 
 
 Shore, it ain t for ornament, nor yet for ostenta 
 tion. Thar s allers a breeze blowin plenty stiff 
 across the plains. Commonly, it s strenyous 
 enough to pick up a empty bar l an hold it 
 ag inst the side of a buildin for a week. Sech is 
 the usual zephyr. Folks don t heed them none. 
 But now an then one of these yere cyclones jumps 
 a gent s camp, an then it s time to make for cover. 
 Thar s nothin to be said back to a cyclone. It ll 
 take the water outen a well, or the money outen 
 your pocket, or the ha r off your head; it ll get 
 away with everything about you incloodin your 
 address. Your one chance is a cyclone cellar; 
 an even that refooge ain t no shore-thing, for 
 I knowed a cyclone once that simply feels down 
 an pulls a badger outen his hole. Still, sech as 
 the last, is onfrequent. 
 
 The widow accepts Bill s advice an makes for 
 the storm cave. This leaves Bill happy an easy 
 in his mind, for it gives him plenty of room an* 
 nothin to think of but himse f. An Bill shore 
 admires a good fight. 
 
 163 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 He don t have long to wait after the widow 
 stampedes. Bill hears the sweep of the leven 
 McCandlas hosses as they come chargin up. No, 
 he can t see; he ain t quite that weak-minded as 
 to be lookin out the window. 
 
 As the band halts, Bill hears McCandlas say: 
 
 " Shore, gents ; that s Wild Bill s hoss. We ve 
 got him treed an out on a limb ; to-morry evenin 
 we ll put that long-ha red skelp of his in a show 
 case in Independence." Then McCandlas gives a 
 whoop, an bluffs Bill to come out. " Come out 
 yere, Bill ; we needs you to decide a bet," yells 
 McCandlas. "Come out; thar s no good skulk- 
 in ." 
 
 " Say, Jake," retorts Bill ; " I ll gamble that you 
 an your hoss thieves ain t got the sand to come, 
 after me. Come at once if you comes ; I despises 
 delays, an besides I ve got to be through with 
 you-all an back to the stage station by dark." 
 
 " I ll put you where thar ain t no stage lines, 
 Bill, long before dark," says McCandlas. An 
 with that he comes caperin through the window, 
 sash, glass, an the entire lay-out, as blithe as 
 May an a gun in each hand. 
 
 Bill cuts loose the Hawkins as he s anxious to 
 get the big gun off his mind. It stops McCandlas, 
 " squar in the door," as they says in monte ; only 
 it s the window. McCandlas falls dead outside. 
 
 " An I m sorry for that, too," says Bill to him- 
 se f. " I m preemature some about that shot. I 
 
 164 
 
THE WIPING OUT OF M CANDLAS. 
 
 oughter let Jake come in. Then I could have got 
 his guns." 
 
 When McCandlas goes down, the ten others 
 charges with a whoop. They comes roarin 
 through every window; they breaks in the door; 
 they descends on Bill s fortress like a possum on 
 a partridge nest! 
 
 An then ensoos the busiest season which any 
 gent ever cuts in upon. The air is heavy with 
 bullets an thick with smoke. The walls of the 
 room later looks like a colander. 
 
 It s a mighty fav rable fight, an Bill don t suf 
 fer none in his repoote that Kansas afternoon. 
 Faster than you can count, his gun barks; an 
 each time thar s a warrior less. One, two, three, 
 four, five, six; they p ints out after McCandlas 
 an not a half second between em as they starts. 
 It was good luck an good shootin in combination. 
 
 It s the limit ; six dead to a single Colt s ! No 
 gent ever approaches it but once; an that s a 
 locoed sharp named Metzger in Raton. He starts 
 in with Moulton who s the alcade, an beefs five 
 an creases another; an all to the same one gun. 
 The public, before he can reload, hangs Metzger 
 to the sign in front of the First National Bank, 
 so he don t have much time to enjoy himse f re- 
 vie\vin said feats. 
 
 Rifle an six-shooter empty; seven dead an 
 done, an four to take his knife an talk it over 
 
 165 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 with! That s the situation when Bill pulls his 
 bowie an starts to finish up. 
 
 It shore ain t boy s play; the quintette who s 
 still prancin about the field is as bitter a com 
 bination as you d meet in a long day s ride. Their 
 guns is empty, too; an they, like Bill, down to 
 the steel. An thar s reason to believe that the 
 fight from this p int on is even more interestin 
 than the part that s gone before. Thar s no haltin 
 or hangin back; thar ain t a bashful gent in the 
 herd. They goes to the center like one man. 
 
 Bill, who s as quick an strong as a mountain 
 lion, with forty times the heart an fire, grips one 
 McCandlas party by the wrist. Thar s a twist an 
 a wrench an Bill onj ints his arm. 
 
 That s the last of the battle Bill remembers. All 
 is whirl an smoke an curse an stagger an cut 
 an stab after that, with tables crashin an the 
 wreck an jangle of glass. 
 
 But the end comes. Whether the struggle 
 from the moment when it s got down to the 
 bowies lasts two minutes or twenty, Bill never 
 can say. When it s over, Bill finds himse f still 
 on his feet, an he s pushin the last gent off his 
 blade. Split through the heart, this yere last 
 sport falls to the floor in a dead heap, an Bill s 
 alone, blood to both shoulders. 
 
 Is Bill hurt ? Gents, it ain t much likely he s put 
 leven fightin men into the misty beyond, the final 
 four with a knife, an him plumb scatheless ! No, 
 
 1 66 
 
THE WIPING OUT OF M CANDLAS. 
 
 Bill s slashed so he wouldn t hold hay; an thar s 
 more bullets in his frame than thar s pease in a 
 pod. The Doc who is called in, an who prospects 
 Bill, allers allowed that it s the mistake of his life 
 he don t locate Bill an work him for a lead mine. 
 
 When the battle is over an peace resoomes its 
 sway, Bill begins to stagger. An he s preyed on 
 by thirst. Bill steadies himse f along the wall; 
 an weak an half blind from the fogs of fightin , 
 he feels his way out o doors. 
 
 Thar s a tub of rain-water onder the eaves ; it s 
 the only thing Bill s thinkin of at the last. He 
 bends down to drink; an with that, faints an 
 falls with his head in the tub. 
 
 It s the widow who rescoos Bill; she emerges 
 outen her cyclone cellar an saves Bill from drown- 
 in . An he lives, too; lives to be downed years 
 afterward when up at Deadwood a timid party 
 who don t dare come round in front, drills Bill 
 from the r ar. But what can you look for? 
 Folks who lives by the sword will perish by the 
 sword as the scripters sets forth, an I reckons 
 now them warnin s likewise covers guns. 
 
 " And did that really happen? " asked the Red 
 Nosed Gentleman, drawing a deep breath. 
 
 " It s as troo as that burgundy you re absorb- 
 in ," replied the Old Cattleman. 
 
 167 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " I can well believe it," observed the Sour Gen 
 tleman ; " a strong hour makes a strong man. 
 Did this Wild Bill Hickox wed the widow who 
 pulled him out of the tub ? " 
 
 "Which I don t think so," returned the Old 
 Cattleman. " If he does, Bill keeps them nup 
 tials a secret. But it s a cinch he don t. As I 
 says at the jump, Bill is a mighty wary citizen an 
 not likely to go walkin into no sech ambuscade as 
 a widow." 
 
 " You do not think, then," observed the Red 
 Nosed Gentleman, " that a wife would be a bless- 
 ing?" 
 
 " She wouldn t be to Wild Bill Hickox," said 
 the Old Cattleman. " Thar is gents who ought 
 never to wed, an Bill s one. He was bound to 
 be killed final; the game law was out on Bill for 
 years. Now when a gent is shore to cash in that 
 a-way, why should he go roundin up a wife? 
 Thar oughter be a act of congress ag in it, an I 
 onderstand that some sech measure is to be intro- 
 dooced." 
 
 " Passing laws," remarked the Jolly Doctor, 
 " is no such easy matter, now, as passing the 
 bottle." Here the Jolly Doctor looked meaningly 
 at the Red Nosed Gentleman, who thereupon 
 shoved the burgundy into the Jolly Doctor s hand 
 with all conceivable alacrity. Like every good 
 drinker, the Red Nosed Gentleman loved a cup 
 companion. There was a western person," went 
 
 1 68 
 
THE WIPING OUT OF M CANDLAS. 
 
 on the Jolly Doctor, " named Jim Britt, who came 
 east to have a certain law passed; he didn t find 
 it flowers to his feet." 
 
 "What now was the deetails?" said the Old 
 Cattleman. " The doin s an plottin s an double- 
 plays of them law-makin mavericks in congress 
 is allers a heap thrillin to me." 
 
 " Very well/ responded the Jolly Doctor; " let 
 each light a fresh cigar, for it s rather a long 
 story, and when all are comfortable, I ll give you 
 the history of How Jim Britt Passed His Bill. " 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 Last Chance was a hamlet in southeastern 
 Kansas. Last Chance, though fervid, was not 
 large. Indeed, a cowboy in a spirit of insult born 
 of a bicker with the town marshal had said he 
 could throw the loop of his lariat about Last 
 Chance and drag it from the map with his pony. 
 However, this was hyperbole. 
 
 Jim Britt was not the least conspicuous among 
 the men of Last Chance. Withal, Jim Britt was 
 much diffused throughout the commerce of that 
 village and claimed interests in a dozen local estab 
 lishments, from a lumber yard to a hotel. Spare 
 of frame, and of an anxious predatory nose, was 
 Jim Britt; and his gray eyes ever roving for 
 a next investment ; and the more novel the enter 
 prise, the more leniently did Jim Britt regard it. 
 The new had for him a fascination, since he was 
 in way and heart an Alexander and hungered 
 covetously for further worlds to conquer. Thus 
 it befell that Jim Britt came naturally to his desire 
 to build a railway when the exigencies of his 
 affairs opened gate to the suggestion. 
 
 170 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 Jim Britt became the proprietor of a lead mine 
 or was it zinc? in southeastern Missouri, and 
 no mighty distance from his own abode of Last 
 Chance. The mine was somewhat thrust upon 
 Jim Britt by Fate, since he accepted it for a bad 
 debt. It was " lead mine or nothing," and Jim 
 Britt, whose instincts, like Nature, abhorred a 
 vacuum, took the mine. It was a good mine, but 
 a drawback lurked in the location ; it lay over the 
 Ozark Hills and far away from any nearest whistle 
 of a railroad. 
 
 This isolation taught Jim Britt the thought of 
 connecting his mine by rail with Last Chance; 
 the latter was an easiest nearest point, and the 
 route offered a most accommodating grade. A 
 straight line, or as the crow is said to fly but 
 doesn t, would make the length of the proposed 
 improvement fifty miles. When done, it would 
 serve not only Jim Britt s mine, but admirably as 
 a feeder for the Fort Scot and Gulf ; and Jim Britt 
 foresaw riches in that. Altogether, the notion 
 was none such desperate scheme. 
 
 There was a side serious, however, which must 
 be considered. The line would cross the extreme 
 northeast angle of the Indian Territory, or as it 
 is styled in those far regions, the " Nation," and 
 for this invasion of redskin holdings the consent 
 of the general government, through its Congress 
 assembled, must be secured. 
 
 Jim Britt, far from being depressed, said he 
 171 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 would go to Washington and get it; he rather 
 reveled in the notion. Samantha, his wife, shook 
 her head doubtfully. 
 
 " Jim Britt," said Samantha, severely, " you 
 ain t been east since Mr. Lincoln was shot. You 
 know no more of Washington than a wolf. I d 
 give that railroad up; and especially, I d keep 
 away from Congress. Don t try to braid that 
 mule s tail " Samantha was lapsing into the 
 metaphor common of Last Chance " don t try 
 to braid that mule s tail. It ll kick you plumb 
 out o the stall." 
 
 But Jim Britt was firm; the mule simile in no 
 sort abated him. 
 
 " But what could you do with Congress? " per 
 sisted Samantha; " you, a stranger and alone? " 
 
 Jim Britt argued that one determined individual 
 could do much; energy wisely employed would 
 overcome mere numbers. He cited the ferocious 
 instance of a dim relative of his own, a vivacious 
 person yclept Turner, who because of injuries 
 fancied or real, hung for years about the tribal 
 flanks of the Comanches and potted their lead 
 ing citizens. This the vigorous Turner kept up 
 until he had corralled sixty Comanche top-nots; 
 and the end was not yet when the Comanches 
 themselves appealed to their agent for protec 
 tion. They said they couldn t assemble for a 
 green corn dance, or about a regalement of baked 
 dog, without the Winchester of the unauthorized 
 
 172 
 
JIM BRITT. 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 Turner barking from some convenient hill; the 
 squaws would then have nothing left but to wail 
 the death song of some eminent spirit thus sifted 
 from their midst. When they rode to the hill in 
 hunt of Turner, he would be miles away on his 
 pony, and adding to his safety with every jump. 
 The Comanches were much disgusted, and de 
 manded the agent s interference. 
 
 Upon this mournful showing, Turner was 
 brought in and told to desist; and as a full com 
 plement of threats, which included among their 
 features a trial at Fort Smith and a gibbet, went 
 with the request, Turner was in the end prevailed 
 on to let his Winchester sleep in its rack, and 
 thereafter the Comanches danced and devoured 
 dog unscared. The sullen Turner said the Co 
 manches had slain his parent long ago ; the agent 
 expressed regrets, but stuck for it that even with 
 such an impetus a normal vengeance should have 
 run itself out with the conquest of those sixty 
 scalps. 
 
 Jim Britt told this story of Turner to Samantha ; 
 and then he argued that as the Comanches were 
 made to feel a one-man power by the industrious 
 Turner, so would he, Jim Britt, for all he stood 
 alone, compel Congress to his demands. He 
 would take that right of way across the Indian 
 Territory from between their very teeth. He was 
 an American citizen and Congress was his servant ; 
 in this wise spake Jim Britt. 
 
 173 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " That s all right," argued the pessimistic Sam- 
 antha; "that s all right about your drunken 
 Turner ; but he had a Winchester. Now you ain t 
 goin to tackle Congress with no gun, Jim Britt." 
 
 Despite the gloomy prophecies of Samantha, 
 whom Jim Britt looked on as a kind of Cassandra 
 without having heard of Cassandra, our would-be 
 railroad builder wound up the threads and loose 
 ends of his Last Chance businesses, and having, 
 as he described it, " fixed things so they would 
 run themselves for a month," struck out for Wash 
 ington. Jim Britt carried twenty-five hundred 
 dollars in his pocket, confidence in his heart, and 
 Samantha s forebode of darkling failure in his 
 ears. 
 
 While no fop and never setting up to be the 
 local Brummel, Jim Britt s clothes theretofore had 
 matched both his hour and environment, and held 
 their decent own in the van of Last Chance 
 fashion. But the farther Jim Britt penetrated to 
 the eastward in his native land, the more his 
 raiment seemed to fall behind the age; and at 
 the last, when he was fairly within the gates of 
 Washington, he began to feel exceeding wild and 
 strange. Also, it affected him somewhat to dis 
 cover himself almost alone as a tobacco chewer, 
 and that a great art preserved in its fullness by 
 Last Chance had fallen to decay along the At 
 lantic. These, however, were questions of minor 
 moment, and save that his rococo garb drove the 
 
 174 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 sensitive Jim Britt into cheap lodgings in Four- 
 and-one-half Street, instead of one of the capital s 
 gilded hotels, they owned no effect. 
 
 This last is set forth in defence against an 
 imputation of parsimony on the side of Jim Britt. 
 He was one who spent his money like a king 
 whenever and wherever his education or experi 
 ence pointed the way. It was his clothes of a 
 remote period to make him shy, else Jim Britt 
 would have shrunk not from the Raleigh itself, 
 but climbed and clambered and browsed among 
 the timberline prices of its grill-room, as safe and 
 satisfied as ever browsed mountain goat on the 
 high levels of its upland home. Yea, forsooth ! 
 Jim Britt, like a sailor ashore, could spend his 
 money with a free and happy hand. 
 
 Jim Britt, acting on a hint offered of his sensi 
 bilities, for a first step reclothed himself from a 
 high-priced shop ; following these improvements, 
 save for the fact that he appalled the eye as a 
 trifle gorgeous, he might not have disturbed the 
 sacred taste of Connecticut Avenue itself. In 
 short, in the matter of garb, Jim Britt, while 
 audible, was down to date. 
 
 With the confidence born of his new clothes 
 for clothes in some respects may make the man 
 Jim Britt sate him down to study Congress. He 
 deemed it a citadel to be stormed ; not lacking in 
 military genius he began to look it over for a weak 
 point. 
 
 175 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 These adventures of Jim Britt now about a 
 record, occurred, you should understand, almost 
 a decade ago. In that day there should have been 
 eighty-eight senators and three hundred and fifty- 
 six representatives, albeit, by reason of death or 
 failure to elect, a not-to-be-noticed handful of 
 seats were vacant. 
 
 By an industrious perusal of the Congressional 
 directory, wherein the skeleton of each House was 
 laid out and told in all its divers committee small- 
 bones, Jim Britt began to understand a few of the 
 lions in his path. For his confusion he found that 
 Congress was sub-divided into full sixty commit 
 tees, beginning with such giant conventions as 
 the Ways and Means, Appropriations, Military, 
 Naval, Coinage, Weights and Measures, Banking 
 and Currency, Indian, Public Lands, Postal, and 
 Pensions, and dwindling down to ignoble riffraff 
 which owned each a chairman, a committee 
 room, a full complement of clerks and messengers, 
 and an existence, but never convened like the 
 Committee on Acoustics and Ventliation, and Al 
 coholic Liquor Traffic. 
 
 Jim Britt learned also of the Sergeants at Arms 
 of Senate and House, and how these dignitaries 
 controlled the money for those bodies and paid 
 the members their salaries. Incidentally, and by 
 way of gossip, he was told of that House Sergeant 
 who had levanted with the riches entrusted to his 
 hands, and left the broken membership, gnashing 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 its teeth in poverty and impotent gloom, unable 
 to draw pay. 
 
 Then, too, there was a Document Room where 
 the bills and resolutions were kept when printed. 
 Also, about each of the five doors of House and 
 Senate, when those sacred gatherings were in ses 
 sion, there were situated a host of messengers, 
 carried for twelve hundred dollars a year each 
 on the Doorkeeper s rolls. It was the duty and 
 pleasure of these myrmidons to bring forth mem 
 bers into the corridors, to the end that they be 
 refreshed with a word of counsel from constituents 
 who had traveled thither for that purpose ; and in 
 the finish to lend said constituents money to re 
 turn home. 
 
 Jim Britt, following these first connings of the 
 directory, went personally to the capitol, and from 
 the galleries, leaning his chin on the rail the while, 
 gazed earnestly on greatness about the transaction 
 of its fame. These studies and personally con 
 ducted tours, and those conversations to be their 
 incident which came off between Jim Britt and 
 chance-blown folk who fell across his pathway, en 
 larged Jim Britt s store of information in sundry 
 fashions. He discovered that full ten thousand 
 bills and resolutions were introduced each Con 
 gress ; that by virtue of a mere narrowness of time 
 not more than five per cent, of this storm of busi 
 ness could be dealt with, the other ninety-five, 
 whether for good or ill, being starved to death for 
 
 12 177 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 lack of occasion. The days themselves were no 
 longer than five working hours since Congress 
 convened at noon. 
 
 The great radical difference between House and 
 Senate loomed upon Jim Britt in a contrast of 
 powers which abode with the presiding officers of 
 those mills to grind new laws. The president of 
 the Senate owned few or none. He might en 
 force Jefferson s rules for debates and call a re 
 calcitrant senator to order, a call to which the 
 recalcitrant paid little heed beyond tart remarks 
 on his part concerning his own high determina 
 tions to yield to no gavel tyranny, coupled with a 
 forceful though conceited assurance flung to the 
 Senate at large, that he, the recalcitrant, knew his 
 rights (which he never did), and would uphold 
 them (which he never failed to do.) The Senate 
 president named no committees; owned no con 
 trol over the order of business; indeed he was 
 limited to a vote on ties, a warning that he would 
 clear the galleries (which was never done) when 
 the public therein roosting, applauded, and the 
 right to prevent two senators from talking at one 
 and the same time. These marked the utmost 
 measure of his influence. Any senator could get 
 the floor for any purpose, and talk on any subject 
 from Prester John to Sheep in the Seventeenth 
 Century, while his strength stood. Also, and 
 much as dogs have kennels permitted them for 
 their habitation, the presiding officer of the Senate 
 
 178 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 in other words, the Vice-President of the na 
 tion was given a room, separate and secluded 
 to himself, into which he might creep when 
 chagrin for his own unimportance should over 
 master him or otherwise his woes become greater 
 than he might publicly bear. 
 
 The House Speaker was a vastly different cock, 
 with a louder crow and longer spur. The Speaker 
 was a king, indeed; and an absolute monarch or 
 an autocrat or what you will that signifies one who 
 may do as he chooses, exercise unbridled will, 
 and generally sit beneath the broad shadows of 
 the vine and the fig tree of his prerogatives with 
 none to molest him or make him afraid. The 
 Speaker was, so to phrase it, the entire House, 
 the other three hundred and fifty-five members 
 acting only when he consented or compelled them, 
 and then usually by his suggestion and always 
 under his thumb. No bill could be considered 
 without the Speaker s permission; and then for 
 so long only as he should allow, and by what 
 members he preferred. No man could speak to 
 a measure wanting the gracious consent of this 
 dignitary ; and no word could be uttered at least 
 persisted in to which he felt distaste. The 
 Speaker, when lengths and breadths are measured, 
 was greater than the Moscow Czar and showed 
 him a handless infant by comparison. 
 
 As a half-glove of velvet for his iron hand, and 
 to mask and soften his pure autocracy which if 
 
 179 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 seen naked might shock the spirit of Americanism 
 there existed a Rules Committee. This sub- 
 body, whereof the Speaker was chief, carried, be 
 sides himself, but two members; and these he 
 personally selected, as indeed he did the entire 
 membership of every committee on the House 
 muster-rolls. This Rules Committee, with the 
 Speaker in absolute sway, acted with reference to 
 the House at large as do the Board of Judges for a 
 racecourse. It declared each day what bills should 
 be taken up, limited debate, and to pursue the 
 Track simile to a last word, called on this race 
 or cleared the course of that race, and fairly speak 
 ing dry-nursed the House throughout its travels, 
 romps and lessons. 
 
 Jim Britt discovered that in all, counting 
 Speaker, Rules Committee, and a dozen chairmen 
 of the great committees, there existed no more 
 than fifteen folk who might by any stretch of 
 veracity be said to have a least of voice in the 
 transaction of House business. In the gagged 
 and bound cases of the other three hundred and 
 forty-one, and for what public good or ill to flow 
 from them, their constituents would have fared 
 as well had they, instead of electing these repre 
 sentatives, confined themselves to writing the 
 government a letter setting forth their wants. 
 
 In reference to his own bill, Jim Britt convinced 
 himself of two imposing truths. Anybody would 
 and could introduce it in either House or Senate 
 
 1 80 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 or in both at once; then, when thus introduced 
 and it had taken the routine course to the proper 
 committee, the situation would ask the fervent 
 agreement of a majority in each body, to say 
 nothing of the Speaker s consent a consent as 
 hard to gain as a girl s to bring it up for passage. 
 
 Nor was there any security of concert. The 
 bill might be fashionable, not to say popular, with 
 one body, while the other turned rigid back upon 
 it. It might live in the House to die in the 
 Senate, or succeed in the Senate and perish in 
 the House. There were no safety and little hope 
 to be won in any corner, and the lone certainty 
 to peer forth upon Jim Britt was that the chances 
 stood immeasurably against him wherever he 
 turned his eyes. The camel for the needle s eye 
 and the rich man into heaven, were easy and 
 feasible when laid side by side with the Congres 
 sional outlook for his bill. 
 
 While Jim Britt was now sensibly cast down 
 and pressed upon by despair, within him the eager 
 ness for triumph grew taller with each day. For 
 one daunting matter, should he return empty of 
 hand, Samantha would wear the fact fresh and 
 new upon her tongue s end to the last closing of 
 his eyes. It would become a daily illustration 
 an hourly argument in her practiced mouth. 
 
 There was one good to come to Jim Britt by 
 his investigations and that was a good instruction. 
 Like many another, Jim Britt, from the deceitful 
 
 181 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 distance of Last Chance, had ever regarded both 
 House and Senate as gigantic conspiracies. They 
 were eaten of plot and permeated of intrigue ; it 
 was all chicane and surprise and sharp practice. 
 Congress was a name for traps and gins and pits 
 and snares and deadfalls. The word meant tun 
 nels and trap-doors and vaults and dungeons and 
 sinister black whatnot. Jim Britt never paused 
 to consider wherefore Congress should, for ends 
 either clean or foul, conceal within itself these 
 midnight commodities of mask and dark-lantern, 
 and go about its destiny a perennial Guy Fawkes, 
 ready to explode a situation with a touch and 
 blow itself and all concerned to far-spread flinders. 
 Had he done so he might have dismissed these 
 murky beliefs. 
 
 It is, however, never too late to mend. It be 
 gan now to dawn upon Jim Britt by the morning 
 light of what he read and heard and witnessed, 
 that both Houses in their plan and movement 
 were as simple as a wire fence ; no more recondite 
 than is a pair of shears. They might be wrong, 
 but they were not intricate; they might spoil a 
 deal of cloth in their cutting, or grow dull of 
 edge or loose of joint and so not cut at all, but 
 they were not mysterious. Certainly, Congress 
 was no more a conspiracy than is a flock of geese, 
 and a brooding hen would be as guilty of a plot 
 and as deep given to intrigue. Congress was a 
 stone wall or a precipice or a bridgeless gulf or 
 
 182 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 chloroform or what one would that was stupefy 
 ing or difficult of passage to the border of the 
 impossible, but there dwelt nothing occult or se 
 cret or unknowable in its bowels. These truths 
 of simplicity Jim Britt began to learn and, while 
 they did not cheer, at least they served to clear 
 him up. 
 
 Following two weeks of investigation, Jim Britt 
 secured the introduction of his bill. This came 
 off by asking; the representative from the Last 
 Chance district performing in the one body, while 
 one of the Kansas senators acted in the more ven 
 erable convention. 
 
 Now when the bill was introduced, printed, and 
 in the lap of the proper committee, Jim Britt 
 went to work to secure the bill s report. He 
 might as well have stormed the skies to steal a 
 star ; he found himself as helpless as a fly in amber. 
 
 About this hour in his destinies, Jim Britt made 
 a radical and, as it turned, a decisive move. He 
 had now grown used to Washington and Wash 
 ington to him, and while folk still stared and many 
 grinned, Jim Britt did not receive that ovation as 
 he moved about which marked and made unhappy 
 his earlier days in the town. Believing it neces 
 sary to his bill s weal, Jim Britt began to haunt 
 John Chamberlin s house of call as then was, and 
 to scrape acquaintance with statesmen who passed 
 hours of ease and wine in its parlors. 
 
 In the commencement of his Chamberlin ex- 
 
 183 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 periences Jim Britt met much to affright him. A 
 snowy-bearded senator from Nevada sat at a table. 
 On seeing Jim Britt smile upon him in a friendly 
 way he was hoping to make the senator s ac 
 quaintance he of the snow-beard, apropos of 
 nothing, suddenly thundered: 
 
 " I have this day read John Sherman s defence 
 of the Crime of Seventy-Three. John Sherman 
 contends that no crime was committed because no 
 criminals were caught." 
 
 This outburst so dismayed Jim Britt that he 
 sought a far corner and no more tempted the ex- 
 plosiveness of Snow-Beard. 
 
 Again, Jim Britt would engage a venerable sen 
 ator from Alabama in talk. He was instantly 
 taken by the helpless button, and for a quintette 
 of hours told of the national need of a Panama 
 Canal, and given a list of what railroads in their 
 venality set the flinty face of their opposition to 
 its coming about. 
 
 These things, the thunders of Snow-Beard and 
 the exhaustive settings forth of the senator from 
 the south, pierced Jim Britt ; for he reflected that 
 if the questions of silver and Panama could not 
 be budged for their benefit by these gentlemen 
 of beard and long experience and who dwelt well 
 within the breastworks of legislation, then his 
 bill for that small right of way, and none to aid 
 it save himself in his poor obscurity, could hope 
 for nothing except death and burial where it lay. 
 
 184 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 There was a gentleman of Congress well known 
 and loved as the Statesman from Tupelo. He was 
 frequent and popular about Chamberlin s. The 
 Statesman from Tupelo was a humorist of cele 
 bration and one of the redeeming features of the 
 House of Representatives. His eye fell upon the 
 queer, ungainly form of Jim Britt, with hungry 
 face, eyes keen but guileless, and nose of falcon 
 curve. 
 
 The Statesman from Tupelo beheld in Jim Britt 
 with his Gothic simplicity a self-offered prey to 
 the spear of every joker. The Statesman from 
 Tupelo, with a specious suavity of accent and a 
 blandness irresistible, drew forth Jim Britt in con 
 verse. The latter, flustered, flattered, went to 
 extremes of confidence and laid frankly bare his 
 railroad hopes and fears which were now all fears. 
 
 The Statesman from Tupelo listened with dec 
 orous albeit sympathetic gravity. When Jim 
 Britt was done he spoke: 
 
 " As you say," observed the Statesman from 
 Tupelo, " your one chance is to get acquainted 
 with a majority of both Houses and interest them 
 personally in your bill." 
 
 "But how might a party do that soonest?" 
 asked Jim Britt. " I don t want to camp yere 
 for the balance of my days. Besides, thar s Sa- 
 mantha." 
 
 " Certainly, there s Samantha," assented the 
 Statesman from Tupelo. Then following a pause : 
 
 185 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " I suppose the readiest method would be to give 
 a dinner. Could you undertake that ? " 
 
 " Why, I reckon I could." 
 
 The dinner project obtained kindly foothold in 
 the breast of Jim Britt; he had read of such ban 
 quet deeds as a boy when the papers told the 
 splendors of Sam Ward and the Lucullian day of 
 the old Pacific Mail. Jim Britt had had no experi 
 ence of Chamberlin prices, since his purchases at 
 that hotel had gone no farther a-field than a now- 
 and-then cigar. He had for most part subsisted 
 at those cheap restaurants which for that there 
 be many threadbare folk, spent with their vigils 
 about Congress, hoping for their denied rights 
 are singularly abundant in Washington. These 
 modest places of regale would give no good notion 
 of Chamberlin s, but quite the contrary. Where 
 fore, Jim Britt, quick with railway ardor and to 
 get back to the far-away Samantha, took the 
 urgent initiative, and said he would order the din 
 ner for what night the Statesman from Tupelo 
 deemed best, if only that potent spirit would agree 
 to gather in the guests. 
 
 " We will have the dinner, then," said He of 
 Tupelo, " on next Saturday. You can tell Cham 
 berlin; and I ll see to the guests." 
 
 "How many?" said Chamberlin s steward, 
 when he received the orders of Jim Britt. 
 
 The coming railway magnate looked at the 
 Statesman from Tupelo. 
 
 1 86 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 " Say fifty/ remarked the Statesman from 
 Tupelo. 
 
 Jim Britt was delighted. He would have liked 
 sixty guests better, or if one might, one hundred ; 
 but fifty was a fair start. There could come other 
 dinners, for the future holds a deal of room. In 
 time Jim Britt might dine a full moiety of Con 
 gress. The dinner was fixed; the menu left to 
 the steward s ingenuity and taste; and now when 
 the situation was thus relaid, and Saturday distant 
 but two days, Jim Britt himself called for an 
 apartment at Chamberlin s, sent for his one trunk, 
 and established himself on the scene of coming 
 dinner action to have instant advantage of what 
 ever offered that might be twisted to affect his 
 lead-mine road. 
 
 The long tables for Jim Britt s dinner were 
 spread in a dining room upstairs. There were fifty 
 covers, and room for twenty more should twenty 
 come. The apartment itself was a jungle of trop 
 ical plants, and the ground plan of the feast laid 
 on a scale of bill-threatening magnificence. 
 
 This was but right. For when the steward 
 would have consulted the exultant Jim Britt whose 
 florid imaginings had quite carried him off his 
 feet, that gentleman said simply: 
 
 "Make the play with the bridle off! Don t 
 pinch down for a chip." 
 
 Thereupon the steward cast aside restraint and 
 wandered forth upon that dinner with a heart 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 care-free and unrestrained. He would make of 
 it a moment of terrapin and canvas-back and bur 
 gundy which time should date from and folk re 
 member for long to the Chamberlin praise. 
 
 Saturday arrived, and throughout the afternoon 
 Jim Britt, by grace of the good steward, who had 
 a pride of his work and loved applause, teetered 
 in and out of the dining room and with dancing 
 eye and mouth ajar gave rein to admiration. It 
 would be a mighty dinner; it would land his bill 
 in his successful hands, and make, besides, a story 
 to amaze the folk of Last Chance to a standstill. 
 These be not our words; rather they flowed as 
 the advance jubilations of Jim Britt. 
 
 There was one thought to bear upon Jim Britt 
 to bashful disadvantage. The prospect of enter 
 taining fifty statesmen shook his confidence and 
 took his breath. To repair these disasters he 
 called privily from time to time for whiskey. 
 
 It was not over-long before he talked thickly 
 his encomiums to the steward. On his last visit 
 to survey that fairyland of a dining room, Jim 
 Britt counted covers laid for several hundred 
 guests ; what was still more wondrous, he believed 
 they would come and the prospect rejoiced him. 
 There were as many lights, too, in the chande 
 liers as stars of a still winter s night, while the 
 apartment seemed as large as a ten-acre lot and 
 waved a broad forest of foliage. 
 
 That he might be certainly present on the ar- 
 188 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 rival of the first guest for Jim Britt knew and 
 felt his duties as a host Jim Britt lay down upon 
 a lounge which, to one side, was deeply, sweetly 
 bowered beneath the overhanging palms. Then 
 Jim Britt went earnestly to sleep and was no more 
 to be aroused than a dead man. 
 
 The Statesman from Tupelo appeared ; by twos 
 and threes and tens, gathered the guests; Jim 
 Britt slept on the sleep of innocence without a 
 dream. A steering committee named to that pur 
 pose on the spot by the Statesman from Tupelo, 
 sought to recover Jim Britt to a knowledge of his 
 fortunate honors. Full sixty guests were there, 
 and it was but right that he be granted the pleas 
 ure, not to say the glory, of their acquaintance. 
 
 It was of no avail ; Jim Britt would not be with 
 drawn from slumbers deep as death. The steer 
 ing committee suspended its labors of restoration. 
 As said the chairman in making his report, which, 
 with a wine glass in his hand, he subsequently did 
 between soup and fish : 
 
 " Our most cunning efforts were fruitless. We 
 even threw water on him, but it was like throwing 
 water on a drowned rat." 
 
 Thus did his slumbers defend themselves, and 
 Jim Britt snore unchecked. 
 
 But the dinner was not to flag. The Statesman 
 from Tupelo took the head of the table and the 
 chairman of the steering committee the foot, the 
 repast proceeded while wine and humor flowed. 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 It was a dream of a dinner, a most desirable 
 dinner, a dinner that should stand for years an 
 honor to Jim Britt of Last Chance. It raged from 
 eight till three. Corks and jokes were popping 
 while laughter walked abroad; speeches were 
 made and songs were sung. Through it all, the 
 serene founder of the feast slept on, and albeit 
 eloquence took up his name and twined about it 
 flowery compliment, he knew it not. Tranquilly 
 on his lounge he abode in dear oblivion. 
 
 Things mundane end and so did Jim Britt s 
 dinner. There struck an hour when the last song 
 was sung, the last jest was made, and the last 
 guest departed away. The Statesman from Tu 
 pelo superintended the transportation of Jim Britt 
 to his room, and having made him safe, He of 
 Tupelo went also out into the morning, and that 
 famous banquet was of the perfumed past. 
 
 It dawned Wednesday before the Statesman 
 from Tupelo called again at Chamberlin s to ask 
 for the excellent Jim Britt. The Statesman from 
 Tupelo explained wherefore he was thus laggard. 
 
 " I thought," he said to Chamberlin, " that our 
 friend would need Sunday, Monday and Tuesday 
 to straighten up his head." 
 
 " The man s gone," said Chamberlin ; " he de 
 parted Monday morning." 
 
 "And whither?" 
 
 " Home to Last Chance." 
 
 "What did he go home for?" 
 190 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 " That dinner broke him, I guess. It cost about 
 eighteen hundred dollars, and he only had a little 
 over a hundred when the bill was paid." 
 
 The Statesman from Tupelo mused, while clouds 
 of regret began to gather on his brow. His con 
 science had him by the collar; his conscience was 
 avenging that bankruptcy of Jim Britt. 
 
 The Statesman from Tupelo received Jim Britt s 
 address from the hands of Chamberlin s clerk. 
 The next day the Statesman from Tupelo wrote 
 Jim Britt a letter. It ran thus: 
 
 Chamberlin s Hotel. 
 My Dear Sir: 
 
 Don t come back. Write me in full the exact 
 story of what you want and why you want it. I ve 
 got a copy of your bill from the Document Room, 
 and so soon as I hear from you, shall urge the 
 business before the proper committee. 
 
 When Jim Britt s reply came to hand, the 
 Statesman from Tupelo whom nobody could re 
 sist prevailed on the committee to report the bill. 
 Then he got the Speaker, who while iron with 
 others was as wax in the hands of the Statesman 
 from Tupelo, to recognize him to bring up the 
 bill. The House, equally under his spell, gave the 
 Statesman from Tupelo its unanimous consent, and 
 the bill was carried in the blink of a moment to its 
 third reading and put upon its passage. Then the 
 
 191 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Statesman from Tupelo made a speech; he said 
 it was a confession. 
 
 The Statesman from Tupelo talked for fifteen 
 minutes while the House howled. He told the 
 destruction of Jim Britt. He painted the dinner 
 and pointed to those members of the House who 
 attended; he reminded them of the desolation 
 which their appetites had worked. He said the 
 House was disgraced in the downfall of Jim Britt, 
 and admitted that he and his fellow diners were 
 culpable to a last extreme. But there was a way 
 to repair all. The bill must be passed, the stain 
 on the House must be washed away, Jim Britt 
 must stand again on his fiscal feet, and then he, 
 the Statesman from Tupelo, and his fellow con 
 spirators, might once more look mankind in the 
 eye. 
 
 There be those who will do for laughter what 
 they would not do for right. The House passed 
 Jim Britt s bill unanimously. 
 
 The Statesman from Tupelo carried it to the 
 Senate. He explained the painful situation and 
 described the remedy. Would the Senate un 
 bend from its stern dignity as the greatest delib 
 erative body of any clime or age, and come to the 
 rescue of the Statesman from Tupelo and the 
 House of Representatives now wallowing in in 
 famy? 
 
 The Senate would ; by virtue of a kink in Senate 
 rules which permitted the feat, the Jim Britt Bill 
 
 192 
 
HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. 
 
 was instantly and unanimously adopted without 
 the intervention of a committee, the ordering a 
 reference or a roll-call. The Statesman from 
 Tupelo thanked the Senate and withdrew, pre 
 tending- emotion. 
 
 There was one more journey to make, one more 
 power to consult, and the mighty work would be 
 accomplished. The President must sign the bill. 
 The Statesman from Tupelo walked in on that 
 tremendous officer of state and told him the tale 
 of injury done Jim Britt. The Statesman from 
 Tupelo, by way of metaphor, called himself and 
 his fellow sinners, cannibals, and showed how 
 they had eaten Jim Britt. Then he reminded the 
 President how he had once before gone to the 
 rescue of cannibals in the case of Queen Lil. 
 Would he now come to the relief of the States 
 man from Tupelo and his fellow Anthropophagi 
 of the House? 
 
 The President was overcome with the word and 
 the idea ; he scribbled his name in cramped copper 
 plate, and the deed was done. The Jim Britt Bill 
 was a law, and Jim Britt saved from the life-long 
 taunts of Samantha, the retentive. The road 
 from Last Chance to the lead mine was built, and 
 on hearing of its completion the Statesman from 
 Tupelo wrote for an annual pass. 
 
 Then it was luck after all," said the Red 
 
 13 I 93 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Nosed Gentleman, " rather than management to 
 save the day for your Jim Britt." 
 
 " Entirely so," conceded the Jolly Doctor. 
 
 " There s a mighty deal in luck," observed the 
 Red Nosed Gentleman, sagely. " Certainly, it s 
 the major part in gambling, and I think, too, luck 
 is a decisive element in every victory or defeat 
 a man experiences." 
 
 " And, now," observed the Sour Gentleman, 
 " now that you mention gambling, suppose you 
 redeem your promise and give us the story of 
 How to Tell the Last Four/ The phrase is 
 dark to me and has no meaning, but I inferred 
 from what you were saying when you used it, 
 that you alluded to some game of chance. As 
 suredly, I crave pardon if I be in error," and now 
 the Sour Gentleman bowed with vast politeness. 
 
 " You are not in error," returned the Red 
 Nosed Gentleman, " and I did refer to gambling. 
 Casino, however, when played by Casino Joe was 
 no game of chance, but of science; his secret, he 
 said in explanation, lay in How to Tell the Last 
 Four. " 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. 
 
 Casino Joe, when thirty years ago he came 
 about the Bowery, was in manner and speech a 
 complete expression of the rustical. His brow 
 was high and fine and wise; but lank hair of yel 
 low spoiled with its ragged fringe his face a 
 sallow face, wide of mouth and with high cheek 
 bones. His garb was farmerish; kip-skin boots, 
 coat and trousers of gray jeans, hickory shirt, and 
 soft shapeless hat. Nor was Casino Joe in dis 
 guise; these habiliments made up the uniform of 
 his ancestral New Hampshire. Countryman all 
 over, was Casino Joe, and this look of the un 
 couth served him in his chosen profession. 
 
 Possibly " chosen " as a term is indiscreet. 
 Gamblers are born and not made ; they occur and 
 they do not choose ; they are, compared with more 
 conservative and lawful men, what wolves are to 
 honest dogs cousins, truly, but tameless depre 
 dators, living lean and hard, and dying when die 
 they do, neglected, lone and poor. Yet it is fate ; 
 they are born to it as much as is the Ishmael wolf 
 and must run their midnight downhill courses. 
 
 195 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Gamblers, that is true gamblers, are folk of 
 specialties. Casino Joe s was the game which 
 gave to him his name at casino he throve in 
 vincibly. 
 
 " It is my gift," he said. 
 
 Two things were with Casino Joe at birth; the 
 genius for casino and that jack-knife talent to 
 whittle which belongs with true-born Yankees. 
 Of this latter I had proof long after poor Casino 
 Joe was dead and nourishing the grass. The races 
 were in Boston; it was when Goldsmith Maid 
 reigned Queen of the trotting turf. Her owner 
 came to me at the Adams House and told how 
 the aged sire of Goldsmith Maid, the great Henry 
 Clay, was in his equine, joint-stiffened dotage pas 
 tured on a not too distant farm. He was eager 
 to have a look at the old horse; and I went with 
 him for this pilgrimage. 
 
 As we drove up to the tavern which the farm 
 stead w r e sought surrounded, my curious eye was 
 caught by a fluttering windmill contrivance 
 perched upon the gable. It was the figure of a 
 woman done in pine and perhaps four feet of 
 height, carved in the somewhat airy character of a 
 ballet dancer. Instead of a dance, however, the 
 lady contented herself with an exhibition of Indian 
 Club swinging one in each pine palm; the 
 breeze offering the whirling impulse in the exe 
 cution wherof she poised herself with one foot on 
 a wooden ball not unlike the arrowing bronze 
 
 196 
 
HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. 
 
 Diana of Madison Square. This figure, twirling 
 clubs, as a mere windmill would have been amaz 
 ing enough; but as though this were not suffi 
 ciently wondrous, at regular intervals our ballet 
 dancer shifted her feet on the ball, replacing the 
 right with the left and again the left with the 
 right in measured alternation. The miracle of it 
 held me transfixed. 
 
 The host came fatly to his front stoop and 
 smiled upon my wide-eyed interest. 
 
 " Where did you get it? " I asked. 
 
 " That was carved with a jack-knife," replied 
 mine host, " by a party called Casino Joe. It 
 took him most a year; he got it mounted and 
 goin jest before he died." 
 
 For long I had lost trace of Casino Joe ; it was 
 now at this change house I blundered on the 
 news how my old gambling friend of the Bowery 
 came with his consumption and some eight 
 thousand dollars enough to end one s life with 
 and made this place home until his death. His 
 grave lay across a field in the little rural burying 
 ground where he had played when a boy, for 
 Casino Joe was native of these parts. 
 
 There were no cheatings or tricky illicitisms 
 hidden in Joe s supremacies of casino. They 
 were works of a wax-like memory which kept the 
 story of the cards as one makes entries in a 
 ledger. When the last hands were out between 
 Joe and an adversary, a glance at his mental en- 
 
 197 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 tries of cards already played, and another at his 
 own hand, unerringly informed him of what cards 
 his opponent held. This he called " Telling the 
 last four." 
 
 It was as an advantage more than enough to 
 enable Joe to win; and while I lived in his com 
 pany, I never knew him to be out of pocket by 
 that divertisement. The marvel was that he 
 could keep accurate track of fifty-two cards as 
 they fell one after the other into play, and do these 
 feats of memory in noise-ridden bar-rooms and 
 amid a swirl of conversation in which he more or 
 less bore part. 
 
 Those quick folk of the fraternity whom he 
 encountered and who from time to time lost 
 money to Casino Joe, never once suspected his 
 victories to be a result of mere memory. They 
 held that some cheat took place. But as it was 
 not detectable and no man might point it out, 
 no word of fault was uttered. Joe took the 
 money and never a protest; for it is as much an 
 axiom of the gaming table as it is of the law that 
 " Fraud must be proved and will never be pre 
 sumed or inferred." With no evidence, there 
 fore, the losing gamblers made no protesting 
 charge, and Joe went forward collecting the 
 wealth of any and all who fought with him at his 
 favorite science. 
 
 Casino Joe, as I have said, accounted for his 
 
 198 
 
HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. 
 
 mastery at casino by his power to " Tell the last 
 four," and laid it all to memory. 
 
 " And yet," said Joe one evening as I urged 
 him to impart to me his secret more in detail, " it 
 may depend on something else. As I ve told 
 you, it s my gift. Folk have their gifts. Once 
 when I was in the town of Warrensburg in West 
 ern Missouri, I was shown a man who had gifts for 
 mathematics that were unaccountable. He was 
 a coarse, animalish creature, this mathema 
 tician; a half idiot and utterly without edu 
 cation. A sullen, unclean beast of a being, he 
 shuffled about in a queer, plantigrade fashion like 
 a bear. He was ill-natured, yet too timid to do 
 harm ; and besides a genius for figures, his dis 
 tinguishing characteristics were hunger measured 
 by four men s rations and an appetite for whiskey 
 which to call swinish would be marking a weak 
 ness on one s own part in the art of simile. Yet 
 this witless creature, unable to read his own 
 printed name, knew as by an instinct every 
 mathematical or geometrical term. You might 
 propose nothing as a problem that he would not 
 instantly solve. He could tell you like winking, 
 the area of a seven or eight-angled figure so you 
 but gave him the dimensions ; he would announce 
 the surface measurements of a sphere when told 
 either its diameter or circumference. Once, as a 
 poser, a learned teacher proposed a supposititious 
 cone seven feet in altitude and with a diameter 
 
 199 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 of three feet at the base, and asked at what 
 distance from the apex it should be divided to 
 make both parts equal of bulk and weight. The 
 gross, growling being made correct, unhesitating 
 reply. This monster of mathematics seemed also 
 to carry a chronometer in his stomach, for day or 
 night, he could and would for a drink of rum 
 tell you the hour to any splinter of a second. 
 You might set your watch by him as if he were 
 the steeple clock. I don t profess," concluded 
 Casino Joe, " to either the habits or the imbecility 
 of this genius of figures, yet it may well be that 
 my abilities to keep track of fifty-two Cards as 
 they appear in play and know at every moment 
 as a bookkeeper does a balance what cards are 
 yet to come, are not of cultivation or acquire 
 ment, but were extant within me at my birth." 
 
 When Casino Joe appeared in the Bowery he 
 came to gamble at cards. That buzzing thor 
 oughfare was then the promenade of the watchful 
 brotherhood of chance. In that hour, too, it 
 stood more the fashion for there are fashions in 
 gambling as in everything else to win and lose 
 money at short-cards, and casino enjoyed par 
 ticular vogue. There were scores of eminent 
 practitioners about New York, and Joe had little 
 trouble in securing recognition. Indeed, he 
 might have played the full twenty-four hours of 
 every day could he have held up his head to such 
 labors. 
 
 200 
 
HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. 
 
 There was at the advent of our rural Joe into 
 metropolitan circles none more alert or breathless 
 for pastmastery in unholy speculation than my 
 self. About twenty-one should have been my 
 years, and I carried that bubbling spirit for suc 
 cess common to the youth of every walk. Ant 
 Ccesar ant nulhis! was my warcry, and I did not 
 consider Joe and his career for long before I was 
 slave to the one hope of finally gaining his secret. 
 One might found fortune on it; like the philoso 
 pher s stone it turned everything to gold. 
 
 With those others who fell before Joe I also 
 believed his success to be offspring of some cheat. 
 And while the rustic Joe was engaged against 
 some fellow immoralist, I ve sat and watched for 
 hours upon end to discover what winding thing 
 Joe did. There was no villainy of double dealing 
 or chicane of cut-shifting or of marked cards at 
 which I was not adept. And what I could so 
 darkly perform I was equally quick to discover 
 when another attempted it. But, albeit I eyed 
 poor Joe with a cat s vigilance a vigilance to 
 have saved the life of Argus had he but emulated 
 it with his hundred eyes I noted nothing. And 
 the reason was a simple one. There was literally 
 nothing to discover; Joe played honestly enough; 
 his advantage dwelt in his memory and that lay 
 hidden within his head. 
 
 Despairing of a discovery by dint of watching, 
 I made friendly overtures to Joe, hoping to 
 
 201 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 wheedle a secret which I could not surprise. My 
 proffers of comradship were met more than half 
 way. Joe was a kindly though a lonely soul and 
 had few friends ; his queer garb of the cowpas- 
 tures together with his unfailing domination at 
 casino kept others of the fraternity at a distance. 
 Also I had been much educated of books by 
 Father Glennon, and put in my spare time with 
 reading. As Joe himself had dived somewhat 
 into books, we were doubly drawn to each other. 
 Hours have we sat together in Joe s nobly fur 
 nished rooms for he lived well if he did not dress 
 well and overhauled for our mutual amusement 
 the literature of the centuries back to Chaucer 
 and his Tabard Inn. 
 
 At this time Joe was already in the coils of 
 that consumption whereof at last he died. And 
 what with a racking cough and an inability to 
 breathe while lying down, Joe seldom slept in a 
 bed. The best he might do was to gain what 
 snatches of slumber he could while propped in an 
 arm-chair. It thus befell that at his suggestion 
 and to tell the whole truth, at his generous ex 
 pense, I came finally to room with Joe. Some 
 body should utilize the bed. Being young and 
 sound of nerves, his restless night-roamings 
 about the floors disturbed not me ; I slept serenely 
 through as I doubtless would through the crack 
 of doom had such calamity surprised us at that 
 
 202 
 
HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. 
 
 time, and Joe and I prospered bravely in com 
 pany. 
 
 Beseech and plead as I might, however, Joe 
 would not impart to me that hidden casino 
 strength beyond his word that no fraud was prac 
 ticed a fact whereof my watchings had made me 
 sure and curtly describing it as an ability to 
 " Tell the last four." 
 
 While Joe housed me as his guest for many 
 months and paid the bills, one is not to argue 
 therefrom any unhappy pauperism on my boyish 
 part. In good sooth ! I was more than rich 
 during those days, with a fortune of anywhere 
 from five hundred to as many as four thousand 
 dollars. Like all disciples of chance I had these 
 riches ever ready in my pocket for what prey 
 might offer. 
 
 It was now and then well for Joe that I went 
 thus provided. That badly garbed squire of 
 good dame Fortune, who failed not of a profit at 
 casino, had withal an overpowering taste to play 
 faro; and as if by some law of compensation and 
 to preserve an equilibrium, he would seem to sit 
 down to a faro layout only to lose. 
 
 Time and again he came to his rooms stripped 
 of the last dollar. On these harrowing occasions 
 Joe would borrow a round-number stake from 
 me and so return to the legitimate sure harvests 
 of casino, vowing never to lose himself and his 
 money in any quicksands of farobank again. 
 
 203 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 It must be admitted that these anti-faro vows 
 were never kept; once firm on his feet by virtue 
 of casino renewed, it was not over long ere he 
 " tried it just once more," to lose again. These 
 faro bankruptcies would overtake Joe about once 
 a month. 
 
 One day I made a mild plot ; I had foregone all 
 hope of coaxing Joe s secret from him ; now I 
 resolved to bring against him the pressure of a 
 small intrigue. I lay in ambush for Joe, waylaid 
 him as it were in the weak hour of his destitution 
 and ravished from him at the point of his necessi 
 ties that which I could come by in no other way. 
 
 It was following a disastrous night at faro when 
 Joe appeared without so much silver in his pock 
 ets as might serve to keep the fiends from dancing 
 there. Having related his losses he asked for the 
 usual five hundred wherewith to re-enter the sure 
 lists of casino and begin the combat anew. 
 
 To his sore amazement and chagrin and some 
 what to his alarm, for at first he thought me as 
 poor as himself from my refusal I shook my 
 sage young head. 
 
 " Haven t you got it ? " asked Joe anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, yes," I replied, "I ve got it; and it s 
 yours on one condition. Teach me how to Tell 
 the last four/ and you may have five hundred and 
 five hundred with it." 
 
 Then I pointed out to Joe his mean unfairness 
 in not equipping me with this resistless knowl- 
 
 204 
 
HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. 
 
 edge. Save for that one pregnant secret I was 
 as perfect at casino as any sharper on the Bowery. 
 Likewise, were the situation reversed, I d be 
 quick to instruct him. I d lend no more; there 
 would come no further five hundred save as the 
 price of that touchstone the golden secret of 
 how to "Tell the last four." This I set forth 
 jealously. 
 
 " Why, then," said Joe, " I ll do my best to 
 teach you. But it will cost a deal of work. 
 You ll have to put in hours of practice and curry 
 and groom and train your memory as if it were 
 a horse for a great race. I tell you the more 
 readily for I could elsewhere easily get the five 
 hundred and for that matter five thousand other 
 dollars to keep it company since I believe I ve 
 not many months to live at best" here, as if in 
 confirmation, a gust of coughing shook him 
 " and this secret shall be your legacy." 
 
 With these words, Joe got a deck of cards and 
 began a game of casino with me as an adversary. 
 Slowly playing the cards, he explained and strove 
 to illustrate those mental methods by which he 
 kept account and tabbed them as they were 
 played. If I could lay bare this system here I 
 would; but its very elaboration forbids. It was 
 as though Joe owned a blackboard in his head 
 with the fifty-two cards told off by numbers in 
 column, and from which he erased a card the 
 moment it appeared in play. By processes of 
 
 205 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 elimination, he came finally to " Tell the last 
 four," and as the last hands were dealt knew those 
 held by his opposite as much as ever he knew his 
 own. This advantage, with even luck and per 
 fect skill made him not to be conquered. 
 
 It took many sittings with many lessons many 
 hours long; but in time because of my young 
 faculties not too much cumbered of those thou 
 sand and one concerns to come with years and 
 clamor for remembrance I grew as perfect as 
 Joe. 
 
 And it was well I learned the secret when I did. 
 Soon after, I became separated from Joe; I went 
 southward to New Orleans and when I was next 
 to New York Joe had disappeared. Nor could I 
 find trace or sign of his whereabouts. He went 
 in truth to his old village, and my earliest informa 
 tion thereof came only when the tavern host told 
 the origin of the club-swinging ballet dancer then 
 toeing it so gallantly on his gables. 
 
 But while I parted with my friend, I never for 
 got him. The knowledge he gave double-armed 
 me at the game. It became the reason of often 
 riches in my hands, and was ever a resort when I 
 erred over horse races or was beaten down by 
 some storm of faro. Then it was profitably 
 I recalled Casino Joe and his instructions ; and his 
 invincible secret of " How to tell the last four." 
 
 206 
 
HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. 
 
 " Is it not strange," said the Jolly Doctor, when 
 the Red Nosed Gentleman had finished, " that I 
 who never cared to gamble, should listen with 
 delight to a story of gamblers and gambling? 
 But so it is; I ve heard scores such in my time 
 and always with utmost zest. I ll even tell one 
 myself as it was told me when it again be 
 comes my duty to furnish this good company 
 entertainment. Meanwhile, unless my memory 
 fails, it should be the task of our descendant 
 of Hiawatha " here the Jolly Doctor turned 
 smilingly to Sioux Sam " to take up the burden 
 of the evening." 
 
 The Old Cattleman, joining with the Jolly Doc 
 tor in the suggestion, and Sioux Sam being in no 
 wise loth to be heard, our half-savage friend 
 related " How Moh-Kwa Fed the Catfish." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HOW MOH-KWA FED THE CATFISH. 
 
 One day Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, had a 
 quarrel with Ish-koo-dah, the Fire. Moh-Kwa 
 was gone from home two clays, for Moh-Kwa had 
 found a large patch of ripe blackberries, an he 
 said it was prudent to stay an eat them all up 
 lest some other man find them. So Moh-Kwa 
 stayed; an though he ate very hard the whole 
 time an never slept, so many an fat were the 
 blackberries, it took two suns to eat them. 
 
 When Moh-Kwa came into his cavern, he 
 found Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, grown small an hot 
 an angry, for he had not been fed for two days. 
 Moh-Kwa gave the Fire a bundle of dry wood to 
 eat, an when the Fire s stomach was full an he 
 had grown big an bright with plenty, he sat up 
 on his bed of coals an found fault with Moh-Kwa 
 for his neglect. 
 
 " An should you neglect me again for two 
 days," said the Fire, " I will know I am not 
 wanted an shall go away." 
 
 Moh-Kwa was much tired with no sleep, so he 
 answered Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, sharply. 
 
 208 
 
HOW MOH-KWAH FED CATFISH. 
 
 " You are always hungry," said Moh-Kwa ; 
 " also you are hard to suit. If I give you green 
 wood, you will not eat it; if the wood be wet, 
 you turn away. Nothing but old dry wood will 
 you accept. Beggars like you should not own 
 such fine tastes. An do you think, Fire, that I 
 who have much to do an say an many places to 
 go I, Moh-Kwa, who am as busy as the bees in 
 the Moon of Blossoms, have time to stay ever by 
 your side to pass you new dry wood to eat ? Go 
 to; you are more trouble that a papoose! " 
 
 Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, did not say anything to 
 this, for the Fire s feelings were hurt; an Moh- 
 Kwa who was heavy with his labors over the 
 blackberries lay down an took a big sleep. 
 
 When Moh-Kwa awoke, he sat blinking in the 
 darkness of his cavern, for Ish-koo-dah, while 
 Moh-Kwa slept, had gone out an left night be 
 hind. 
 
 For five days Moh-Kwa had no fire an it gave 
 him a bad heart ; for while Moh-Kwa could eat his 
 food raw an never cared for that, he could not 
 smoke his kinnikinick unless Ish-koo-dah, the 
 Fire, was there to light his pipe for him. 
 
 For five days Moh-Kwa smoked no kinni 
 kinick; an Moh-Kwa got angry because of it 
 an roared an shouted up an down the canyons, 
 an to show he did not care, Moh-Kwa smashed 
 his redstone pipe on a rock. But in his stomach 
 Moh-Kwa cared, an would have traded Ish-koo- 
 i* 209 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 dah, the Fire, four armsful of dry cedar just to 
 have him light his kinnikinick but once. But Ish- 
 koo-dah, the Fire, was gone out an would not 
 come back. 
 
 Openhand, the good Sioux an great hunter, 
 heard Moh-Kwa roaring for his kinnikinick. An 
 Openhand told him he behaved badly, like a 
 young squaw who wants new feathers an cannot 
 get them. Then Openhand gave Moh-Kwa an 
 other pine, an brought the Fire from his own 
 lodge; an again Moh-Kwa s cavern blazed with 
 Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, in the middle of the floor, 
 an Moh-Kwa smoked his kinnikinick. An Moh- 
 Kwa s heart felt good an soft an pleasant like 
 the sunset in the Moon of Fruit. Also, he gave 
 Ish-koo-dah plenty of wood to eat an never 
 scolded him for being always hungry. 
 
 All the Sioux loved Openhand; for no one 
 went by his lodge empty but Openhand gave him 
 a piece of buffalo meat; an if a Sioux was cold, 
 he put a blanket about his shoulders. An* for 
 this he was named " Openhand," an the Sioux 
 were never tired of talking good talk of Open- 
 hand, an the noise of his praises never died out. 
 
 Coldheart hated Openhand because he was so 
 much loved. Coldheart was himself sulky an 
 hard, an his hand was shut tight like a beaver- 
 trap that is sprung, an it would not open to give 
 anything away. Those who came hungry went 
 hungry for all of Coldheart ; an if they were cold, 
 
 210 
 
THE OPEN HAND. 
 
HOW MOH-KWAH FED CATFISH. 
 
 they were cold. Coldheart wrapped his robes the 
 closer, an was the warmest whenever he thought 
 the frost-wolf was gnawing others. 
 
 "I do not rule the ice," said Coldheart; 
 " hunger does not come or go on its war-trail by 
 my orders. An if the Sioux freeze or starve, an 
 Pau-guk, the Death, walks among the lodges, it 
 is because the time is Pau-guk s an I cannot 
 help it." 
 
 So Coldheart kept his blankets an his buffalo 
 meat for himself an his son, the Blackbird, an 
 gave nothing away. An for these things, Cold- 
 heart was hated while Openhand was praised ; an 
 the breast of Coldheart was so eaten with his 
 wrath against Openhand that it seemed as though 
 Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, had gone into Coldheart s 
 bosom an made a camp. 
 
 Coldheart would have called Pau-guk to his 
 elbow an killed Openhand; but Coldheart was 
 not sure. The Openhand moved as quick as a 
 fish in the Yellowstone, an stood as tall an 
 strong as the big pine on the hill ; there were no 
 three warriors,, the bravest of the Sioux, who 
 could have gone on the trail of Openhand an 
 shown his skelp on their return, for Openhand 
 was a mighty fighter an had a big heart, so that 
 even Fear himself was afraid of Openhand an 
 never dared come where he was. 
 
 Coldheart knew well that he could not fight 
 with Openhand; for to find this out, he made his 
 
 211 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 strongest medicine an called Jee-bi, the Spirit; 
 an Jee-bi talked with Pau-guk, the Death, an 
 asked Pau-guk if Coldheart went on the trail of 
 Openhand to take his skelp, which one Pau-guk 
 would have at the trail s end. An Pau-guk said 
 he would have Coldheart, for Openhand would 
 surely kill him. When Jee-bi, the Spirit, told 
 Coldheart the word of Pau-guk, Coldheart saw 
 then that he must go a new trail with his hate. 
 
 Coldheart smoked an smoked many pipes ; but 
 the thoughts of Openhand an how he was loved 
 by the Sioux made his kinnikinick bitter. Still 
 Coldheart smoked; an at last the thought came 
 that if he could not kill Openhand, he would kill 
 the Young Wolf, who w r as Openhand s son. 
 When this thought folded its wings an perched in 
 the breast of Coldheart, he called for the evil 
 Lynx, who was Coldheart s friend, an since he 
 was the wickedest of the Sioux, would do what 
 Coldheart said. 
 
 The Lynx came an sat with Coldheart in his 
 lodge ; an the lodge was closed tight so that none 
 might listen, an because it was cold. The Cold- 
 heart told the Lynx to go with his war-axe when 
 the next sun was up an beat out the brains of the 
 Young Wolf. 
 
 " An when he is dead," said Coldheart, " you 
 must bring me the Young Wolf s heart to eat. 
 Then I will have my revenge on Openhand, his 
 father, whom I hate; an whenever I meet the 
 
 212 
 
HOW MOH-KWAH FED CATFISH. 
 
 Openhand I will laugh with the thought that I 
 have eaten his son s heart." 
 
 But there was one who listened to Coldheart 
 while he gave his orders to the evil Lynx, 
 although she was no Sioux. This was the Widow 
 of the Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks who had 
 long before been slain by Yellow Face, his 
 brother medicine. The Widow having hunted 
 long an hard had crawled into the lodge of Cold- 
 heart to warm herself while she rested. An as 
 she slept beneath a buffalo robe, the noise of 
 Coldheart talking to the evil Lynx woke the 
 Widow up ; an so she sat up under her buffalo 
 robe an heard every word, for a squaw is always 
 curious an would sooner hear new talk than find 
 a string of beads. 
 
 That night as Moh-Kwa smoked by Ish-koo- 
 dah, the Fire, an fed him dry sticks so he would 
 not leave him again, the Widow came an warmed 
 herself by Moh-Kwa s side. An Moh-Kwa 
 asked the Widow how she fared; an the Widow 
 while hungry said she was well, only that her 
 heart was made heavy by the words of Coldheart. 
 Then the Widow told Moh-Kwa what Coldheart 
 had asked the evil Lynx to do, an how for his 
 revenge against Openhand he would eat the 
 Young Wolf s heart. 
 
 Moh-Kwa listened to the Widow with his head 
 on one side, for he would not lose a word ; an* 
 when she had done, Moh-Kwa was so pleased 
 
 213 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 that he put down his pipe an went to a nest which 
 the owls had built on the side of the cavern an 
 took down a young owl an gave it to the Widow 
 to eat. An the Widow thanked Moh-Kwa an 
 swallowed the little owl, while the old owl flew 
 all about the cavern telling the other owls what 
 Moh-Kwa had done. The owls were angry an 
 shouted at Moh-Kwa. 
 
 " The Catfish people said you were a Pawnee ! 
 But you are worse; you are a Shoshone, Moh- 
 Kwa ; yes, you are a Siwash ! Bird-robber, little 
 owl-killer, you an your Rattlesnake Widow are 
 both Siwashes ! " 
 
 But Moh-Kwa paid no heed; he did not like 
 the owls, for they stole his meat; an when he 
 would sleep, a company of the older owls would 
 get together an hold a big talk that was like 
 thunder in Moh-Kwa s cavern an kept him awake. 
 Moh-Kwa said at last that if the owls called the 
 Widow who was his guest a Siwash again, he 
 would give her two more baby owls. With that 
 the old owls perched on their points of rocks an 
 were silent, for they feared Moh-Kwa an knew 
 he was not their friend. 
 
 When the Widow had eaten her little owl, she 
 curled up to sleep two weeks, for such was the 
 Widow s habit when she had eaten enough. An 
 as she snored pleasantly, feathers an owl-down 
 were blown out through her nose, but the young 
 owl was gone forever. 
 
 214 
 
HOW MOH-KWAH FED CATFISH. 
 
 Moh-Kwa left the Widow sleeping an went 
 down the canyon in the morning to meet the evil 
 Lynx where he knew he would pass close by the 
 bank of the Yellowstone. An when Moh-Kwa 
 saw the evil Lynx creeping along with his war- 
 axe in his hand on the trail of the Young Wolf s 
 heart, he gave a great shout : " Ah ! Lynx, I ve 
 got you ! " An then he started for the Lynx with 
 his paws spread. For Moh-Kwa loved the Open- 
 hand, who brought back to him Ish-koo-dah, the 
 Fire, when he had gone out of Moh-Kwa s cavern 
 an would not return. 
 
 But Moh-Kwa did not reach the Lynx, for up 
 a tree swarmed the Lynx out of Moh-Kwa s 
 reach. 
 
 When Moh-Kwa saw the evil Lynx hugging 
 close to the tree, the new thought made Moh- 
 Kwa laugh. An with that he reached up with 
 his great arms an began to bend down the tree 
 like a whip. When Moh-Kwa had bent the tree 
 enough, he let it go free; an the tree sprang 
 straight like an osage-orange bow. It was so 
 swift an like a whip that the Lynx could not hold 
 on, but went whirling out over the river like a 
 wild duck when its wing is broken by an arrow; 
 an then the Lynx splashed into the Yellowstone. 
 
 When the Lynx struck splashing into the Yel 
 lowstone, all the Catfish people rushed for him 
 with the Big Chief of the Catfish at their head. 
 Also, Ah-meek, the Beaver, was angry; for Ah- 
 
 215 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 meek was crossing the Yellowstone with a bundle 
 of bulrushes in his mouth to help build his winter 
 house on the bank, an the Lynx struck so near 
 to Ah-meek that the waves washed his face an 
 whiskers, an he was startled an lost the bulrushes 
 out of his mouth an they were washed away. 
 
 Ah-meek who was angry, an the Catfish people 
 who were hungry, charged on the Lynx; but the 
 Lynx was not far enough from the shore for them, 
 an while the Catfish people pinched him an Ah- 
 meek, the Beaver, clawed him, the Lynx crawled 
 out on the bank an was safe. 
 
 But Moh-Kwa met the Lynx when he crawled 
 out of the Yellowstone looking like Dah-hin-dah, 
 the Bull-frog, an Moh-Kwa picked him up with 
 his paws to throw him back. 
 
 But a second new thought came ; an although 
 the Catfish people screamed at him an Ah-meek 
 who had lost his bulrushes was black with anger, 
 Moh-Kwa did not throw the Lynx back into the 
 river but stood him on his feet an told him what 
 to do. An when Moh-Kwa gave him the orders, 
 the Lynx promised to obey. 
 
 Moh-Kwa killed a fawn ; an the Lynx took its 
 heart in his hand an went with it to Coldheart 
 an said it was the heart of Young Wolf. An 
 Coldheart roasted it an ate it, thinking it was 
 Young Wolf s heart. 
 
 For a day was the Coldheart glad, for he felt 
 strong an warm with the thought that now he 
 
 216 
 
HOW MOH-KWAH FED CATFISH. 
 
 was revenged against Openhand; an Coldheart 
 longed to tell Openhand that he had eaten his 
 son s heart. But Coldheart was too wise to make 
 this boast; he knew that Openhand whether with 
 knife or lance or arrow would give him at once 
 to Pau-guk, an that would end his revenge. 
 
 Still Coldheart thought he would go to Open- 
 hand s lodge an feed his eyes an ears with Open- 
 hand s groans an mournings when now his son, 
 the Young Wolf, was gone. But when Coldheart 
 came to the lodge of Openhand, he was made sore 
 to meet the Young Wolf who was starting forth 
 to hunt. Coldheart spoke with the Young Wolf 
 to make sure he had been cheated; an then he 
 went back to kill the Lynx. 
 
 But Coldheart was too late; the Lynx had not 
 waited; now he was gone with his squaws an his 
 ponies an his blankets to become a Pawnee. The 
 Lynx was tired of being a Sioux. 
 
 When the Widow s sleep was out, Moh-Kwa 
 sent her to hide in the lodge of Coldheart to hear 
 what next he would plan. The Widow went glad 
 ly, for Moh-Kwa promised four more small young 
 owls just out of the egg. The Widow lay under 
 the buffalo robe an heard the words of Coldheart. 
 In a week, she came back to Moh-Kwa an told 
 him what Coldheart planned. 
 
 Coldheart had sent twenty ponies to the Black- 
 foot chief, Dull Knife, where he lived on the banks 
 
 217 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 of the Little Bighorn. Also, Coldheart sent these 
 words in the mouth of his runner : 
 
 " My son and the son of my enemy will come 
 to your camp in one moon. You will marry the 
 Rosebud, your daughter, to my son, while the 
 son of my enemy you will tie an give to your 
 young men to shoot at with their arrows until he 
 be dead, an afterward until they have had enough 
 sport. My son will bring you a white arrow ; the 
 son of my enemy will bring you a black arrow." 
 
 Moh-Kwa laughed when he heard this from the 
 Widow s lips ; an because she had been faithful, 
 Moh-Kwa gave her the four small owls just from 
 the egg. An the older owls took it quietly an 
 only whispered their anger; for Moh-Kwa said 
 that if they screamed an shouted when now he 
 must sit an think until his head ached, he would 
 knock down every nest. 
 
 When his plan was ripe, Coldheart put on a 
 good face an went to the lodge of Openhand an 
 gave him a red blanket an said he was Openhand s 
 friend. An Openhand an all the Sioux said this 
 must be true talk because of the red blanket; for 
 Coldheart was never known to give anything away 
 before. 
 
 Openhand an Coldheart sat. down an smoked ; 
 for Moh-Kwa had never told how Coldheart had 
 sent the Lynx for the Young Wolf s heart. Moh- 
 Kwa never told tales; moreover Moh-Kwa had 
 also his own plans as well as Coldheart. 
 
 218 
 
HOW MOH-KWAH FED CATFISH. 
 
 When Openhand an Coldheart came to part, 
 an Coldheart was to go again to his own lodge, 
 he asked that Openhand send his son, Young 
 Wolf, with the Blackbird who would go to wed 
 the young squaw, Rosebud, where she dwelt with 
 Dull Knife, her father, in their camp on the Little 
 Bighorn. An Openhand did not hesitate, but 
 said, " Yes ;" an the Young Wolf himself was glad 
 to go, like all boys who hope to see new scenes. 
 
 As Young Wolf an the Blackbird next day rode 
 away, Coldheart stuck a black arrow in the cow- 
 skin quiver of Young Wolf, an a white arrow in 
 that of the Blackbird, saying: 
 
 " Give these to the Dull Knife that he may 
 know you are my sons an come from me, an 
 treat you with much love." 
 
 Many days the young men traveled to reach 
 Dull Knife s camp on the Little Bighorn. In the 
 night of their last camp, Moh-Kwa came silently, 
 an while the young men slept swapped Coldheart s 
 arrows; an when they rode to the lodge of Dull 
 Knife, an while the scowling Blackfeet gathered 
 about for the sight of a Sioux gives a Blackfoot 
 a hot heart the black arrow was in the quiver of 
 the Blackbird an the white arrow in that of Young 
 Wolf. 
 
 " How ! " said the young men to Dull Knife. 
 
 "How! how!" said Dull Knife. "An now, 
 my sons, where are the arrows which are your 
 countersigns? " 
 
 219 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 When the young men took out the arrows they 
 saw that they had been changed; but they knew 
 not their message an thought no difference would 
 come. So they made no talk since that would lose 
 time ; an Young Wolf gave Dull Knife the white 
 arrow while the Blackbird gave him the black 
 arrow. 
 
 An holding an arrow in each hand one white, 
 one black Dull Knife said : 
 
 " For the twenty ponies which we have got, 
 the Blackfeet will carry forth the word of Cold- 
 heart; for the Blackfeet keep their treaties, being 
 honest men." 
 
 An so it turns that the Blackbird is shot full of 
 arrows until he bristles like the quills on the back 
 of Kagh, the Hedgepig. But Young Wolf is taken 
 to the Rosebud, an they are married. The Young 
 Wolf would have said : " No ! " for he did not 
 understand; but Dull Knife showed him first a 
 war-axe an next the Rosebud. An the Rosebud 
 was more beautiful in the eye of youth than any 
 war-axe ; besides Young Wolf was many days 
 march from the lodge of his father, Openhand, 
 an marriage is better than death. Thinking all 
 of which, the Young Wolf did not say " no " but 
 said " yes," an at the wedding there was a great 
 feast, for the Dull Knife was a big chief an rich. 
 
 Ma-ma, the Woodpecker, stood on the top of 
 a dead tree an saw the wedding; an when it was 
 
 220 
 
THE COLD HEART. 
 
HOW MOH-KWAH FED CATFISH. 
 
 over, he flew straight an told Moh-Kwa so that 
 Moh-Kwa might know. 
 
 When Young Wolf an the Rosebud on their 
 return were a day s ride from the Sioux, Moh- 
 Kwa went to the lodge of Coldheart an said: 
 
 " Come, great plotter, an meet your son an 
 his new squaw." 
 
 An Coldheart came because Moh-Kwa took 
 him by his belts an ran with him ; for Moh-Kwa 
 was so big an strong he could run with a pony 
 an its rider in his mouth. 
 
 Moh-Kwa told Coldheart how the Blackbird 
 gave Dull Knife the black arrow an was shot 
 with all the arrows of five quivers. Coldheart 
 groaned like the buffalo when he dies. Then Moh- 
 Kwa showed him where Young Wolf came on 
 with the beautiful Rosebud; and that he was fol 
 lowed by twenty pack-ponies which carried the 
 presents of Dull Knife for his daughter an his 
 new son. 
 
 " An now," said Moh-Kwa, " you have seen 
 enough; for you have seen that you have made 
 your foe happy an killed your own son. Also, I 
 have cheated the Catfish people twice; once with 
 the Big Medicine Elk an once with the Lynx, 
 both of whom I gave to the Catfish people an 
 took back. It is true, I have cheated the good 
 Catfish folk who were once my friends, an now 
 they speak hard of me an call me a Pawnee, the 
 whole length of the Yellowstone from the Missouri 
 
 221 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 to the Falls. However, Moh Kwa has something 
 for the Catfish people this time which he will not 
 take back, an by to-morrow s sun, the river will 
 ring- with Moh-Kwa s praises." 
 
 Moh-Kwa carried Coldheart to the Yellowstone, 
 an he sang an shouted for all the Catfish people 
 to come. Then Moh-Kwa took Coldheart to a 
 deep place in the river a long way from the bank. 
 An Moh-Kwa held Coldheart while the Chief of 
 the Catfish got a strong hold, an his squaw 
 who was four times bigger than the Catfish Chief 
 got also a strong hold; an then what others of 
 the Catfish people were there took their holds. 
 When every catfish was ready Moh-Kwa let Cold- 
 heart slip from between his paws, an with a 
 swish an a swirl, the Catfish people snatched 
 Coldheart under the water an tore him to pieces. 
 For many days the Yellowstone was bank-full of 
 good words for Moh-Kwa; an all the Catfish 
 people said he was a Sioux an no cheat of a 
 Pawnee who gives only to take back. 
 
 That night in his cavern Moh-Kwa sat by Ish- 
 koo-dah, the Fire, an smoked an told the Widow 
 the story, an how it all began by Openhand bring 
 ing the Fire back to be his friend when they had 
 quarreled an the Fire had gone out an would 
 not return. An while Moh-Kwa told the tale to 
 the Widow, not an owl said a word or even whis 
 pered, but blinked in silence each on his perch; 
 for the Widow seemed lean an slim as she lay by 
 
 222 
 
HOW MOH-KWAH FED CATFISH. 
 
 the fire an listened ; an the owls thought it would 
 be foolish to remind Moh-Kwa of their presence. 
 
 " Now, do you know," said the Red Nosed 
 Gentleman, with his head on one side as one who 
 would be deemed deeply the critic, " these Indian 
 stories are by no means bad." Then leaning 
 across to the Old Cattleman, he asked : " Does 
 our Sioux friend make them up ? " 
 
 " Them tales," said the Old Cattleman, lighting 
 a new cigar, " is most likely as old as the Yellow 
 stone itse f. The squaws an the old bucks tell 
 em to the children, an so they gets passed along 
 the line. Sioux Sam only repeats what he s done 
 heard from his mother." 
 
 " And now," remarked the Jolly Doctor, ad 
 dressing the Sour Gentleman, "what say you? 
 How about that story of the Customs concerning 
 which you whetted our interest by giving us the 
 name. It is strange, too, that while my interest 
 is still as strong as ever, the name itself has clean" 
 slipped through the fingers of my memory." At 
 this the Jolly Doctor glared about the circle as 
 though in wonder at the phenomenon of an in 
 terest which remained when the reason of it had 
 faded away. 
 
 " I will willingly give you the story," said the 
 Sour Gentleman. " That name you search for is 
 The Emperor s Cigars. " 
 
 223 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE EMPEROR S CIGARS. 
 
 It is not the blood which flows at the front, my 
 friends, that is the worst of war; it is the money 
 corruption that goes on at the rear. In old Sparta, 
 theft was not theft unless discovered in process of 
 accomplishment, and those larcenous morals taught 
 of Lycurgus would seem, on the tails of our own 
 civil war, to have found widest consent and adop 
 tion throughout every department of government. 
 The public hour reeled with rottenness, and you 
 may be very sure the New York Customs went as 
 staggeringly corrupt as the rest. 
 
 It is to my own proper shame that I should have 
 fallen to have art or part or lot in such iniquities. 
 Yet I went into them with open eyes and hands, 
 and a heart hungry as a pike s for whatever 
 of .spoil chance or skilfully constructed opportunity 
 might place within my reach. My sole defense, and 
 that now sounds slight and trivial even to my par 
 tial ears, was the one I advanced the other day; 
 my two-ply hatred of government both for injuries 
 done my region of the South as well as the personal 
 ruin visited on me when my ill-wishers struck down 
 
 224 
 
THE EMPEROR S CIGARS. 
 
 that enterprise of steamed tobacco which was mak 
 ing me rich. That is all I may urge in extenua 
 tion, and I concede its meager insufficiency. 
 
 As I ve said, I obtained an appointment as an 
 inspector of Customs, and afterward worked side 
 by side, and I might add hand and glove, with our 
 old friends, Quin and Lorns of the Story of the 
 Smuggled Silks. That fearsome honest Chief In 
 spector who so put my heart to a trot had been dis 
 missed for some ill-timed integrity, I sup 
 pose sharply in the wake of that day he frightened 
 me; and when I took up life s burdens as an officer 
 of the Customs, my companions, together with my 
 self, were all black sheep together. Was there by 
 any chance an honest man among us, he did not 
 mention it, surely ; nor did he lapse into act or deed 
 that might have been evidence to prove him pure. 
 Yes, forsooth! ignorance could be overlooked, 
 drunkenness condoned, indolence reproved; but 
 for that officer of our Customs who in those days 
 was found honest, there shone no ray of hope. He 
 was seized on and cast into outer unofficial dark 
 ness, there to exercise his dangerous probity in pri 
 vate life. There was no room for such among us; 
 no peace nor safety for the rest while he remained. 
 Wherefore, we of a proper blackness, were like so 
 many descendants of Diogenes, forever searching 
 among ourselves to find an honest man; but with 
 fell purpose when discovered, of his destruction. 
 We maintained a strictest quarantine against any 
 15 225 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 infection of truth, and I positively believe, with such 
 success, that it was excluded from our midst. That 
 honest Chief Inspector was dismissed, I say; Lorns 
 told me of it before I d been actively in place an 
 hour, and the news gave me deepest satisfaction. 
 
 That gentleman who was official head of the 
 coterie of revenue hunters to which I was assigned 
 was peculiarly the man unusual. His true name, 
 if I ever heard it, I ve forgot ; among us of the Cus 
 toms, he was known as Betelnut Jack. Lorns took 
 me into his presence and made us known to one an 
 other early in my revenue career. I had been told 
 stories of this man by both Lorns and Quin. They 
 deeply reverenced him for his virtues of courage and 
 cunning, and the praises of Betelnut Jack were con 
 stant in their mouths. 
 
 Betelnut Jack was at his home in the Bowery. 
 Jack, in years gone by, had been a hardy member 
 of one of those Volunteer fire companies which in 
 that hour notably augmented the perils of an urban 
 life. Jack was a doughty fighter, and with a speak 
 ing trump in one hand and a spanner-wrench in the 
 other, had done deeds of daring whereof one might 
 still hear the echo. And he became for these strong- 
 hand reasons a tower of strength in politics; and 
 obtained that eminence in the Customs which was 
 his when first we met. 
 
 Betelnut Jack received Lorns and myself in his 
 dingy small coop of a parlor. He was unmarried 
 a popular theory in accounting for this being that 
 
 226 
 
THE EMPEROR S CIGARS. 
 
 he d been crossed in love in his youth. Besides 
 the parlor, Jack s establishment contained only one 
 room, a bedroom it was, a shadow larger than the 
 bed. 
 
 Betelnnt Jack himself was wiry and dark, and 
 with a face which, while showing marks of former 
 wars, shone the seat of kindly good-humor. 
 
 There had been an actor, Chanfrau, who played 
 " Mose, the Fireman." Betelnut Jack resembled in 
 dress his Bowery brother of the stage. His soiled 
 silk hat stood on a dresser. He wore a long skirted 
 coat, a red shirt, a belt which upheld in a manner 
 so absent-minded that one feared for the conse 
 quences his trousers ; these latter garments in their 
 terminations were tucked inside the gaudy tops of 
 calfskin boots; small and wrinkleless these, and fit 
 ting like a glove, with the yellow seams of the soles 
 each day carefully re-yellowed to the end that they 
 be admired of men. Betelnut Jack s dark hair, a 
 shade of gray streaking it in places, was crisp and 
 wavy; and a long curl, carefully twisted and oiled, 
 was brought down as low as the angle of his jaw 
 just forward of each ear. 
 
 " Be honest, young man ! " said Betelnut Jack, 
 at the close of a lecture concerning my duties ; " be 
 honest! But if you must take wrong money, take 
 enough each time to pay for the loss of your job. 
 Do you see this ? " And Jack s hand fell on a large 
 morocco-bound copy of " Josephus " which lay on 
 
 227 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 his table. " Well, Lorns will tell you what stories 
 I look for in that." 
 
 And Lorns, as we came away, told me. Once 
 a week it \vas the practice of each inspector to split 
 off twenty per cent, of his pillage. He would, thus 
 organized, pay a visit to his chief, the worthy Betel- 
 nut Jack. As they gossiped, Jack s ever-ready hos 
 pitality would cause him to retire for a moment to 
 the bedroom in search of a demijohn of personal 
 whisky. While alone in the parlor, the visiting 
 inspector would place his contribution between the 
 leaves of " Josephus," and thereby the humiliating, 
 if not dangerous, passage of money from hand to 
 hand was missed. 
 
 There existed but one further trait of caretaking 
 forethought belonging with the worthy Betelnut 
 Jack. It would have come better had others of that 
 crooked clique of customs copied Betelnut Jack in 
 this last cautious characteristic. Justice is a tor 
 toise, while rascality s a hare; yet justice though shod 
 with lead wins ever the race at last. Betelnut Jack 
 knew this; and while getting darkly rich with the 
 others, he was always ready for the fall. While his 
 comrades drove fast horses, or builded brown-stone 
 fronts, or affected extravagant opera and supper af 
 terward with those painted lilies, in whose society 
 they delighted, Betelnut Jack clung to his old rude 
 Bowery nest of sticks and straws and mud, and lived 
 on without a change his Bowery life. He suffered 
 no improvements whether of habit or of habitat, and 
 
 228 
 
THE EMPEROR S CIGARS. 
 
 provoked no question-asking by any gilded new 
 prosperities of life. 
 
 As fast as Betelnut Jack got money, he bought 
 United States bonds. With each new thousand, he 
 got a new bond, and tucked it safely away among 
 its fellows. These pledges of government he kept 
 packed in a small hand-bag; this stood at his bed s 
 head, ready for instant flight with him. When the 
 downfall did occur, as following sundry years of 
 loot and customs pillage was the desperate case, 
 Betelnut Jack with the earliest whisper of peril, 
 stepped into his raiment and his calfskin boots, took 
 up his satchel of bonds, and with over six hundred 
 thousand dollars of those securities enough to 
 cushion and make pleasantly sure the balance of 
 his days saw the last of the Bowery, and was out 
 of the country and into a corner of safety as fast as 
 ship might swim. 
 
 But now you grow impatient; you would hear 
 in more of detail concerning what went forward be 
 hind the curtains of Customs in those later 6o s. 
 For myself, I may tell of no great personal exploits. 
 I did not remain long in revenue service; fear, 
 rather than honesty, forced me to resign; and 
 throughout that brief period of my office holding, 
 youth and a lack of talent for practical iniquity 
 prevented my main employment in those swart 
 transactions which from time to time took place. 
 I was liked, I was trusted; I knew what went for 
 ward and in the end I had my share of the ill profits ; 
 
 229 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 but the plans and, usually, the work came from 
 others of a more subtile and experienced venality. 
 
 In this affair of The Emperor s Cigars, the story 
 was this. I call them The Emperor s Cigars be 
 cause they were of a sort and quality made par 
 ticularly for the then Imperial ruler of the French. 
 They sold at retail for one dollar each, were worth, 
 wholesale, seventy dollars a hundred, and our ag 
 gregate harvest of this one operation was, as I now 
 remember, full sixty thousand dollars. 
 
 My first knowledge was when Lorns told me one 
 evening of the seizure by whom of our circle, and 
 on what ship, I ve now forgotten of one hundred 
 thousand cigars. They were in proper boxes, con 
 cealed I never knew how, and captured in the very 
 act of being smuggled and just as they came onto 
 our wharf. In designating the seizure, and for rea 
 sons which I ve given before, they were at once 
 dubbed and ever afterwards known among us as 
 The Emperor s Cigars. 
 
 These one hundred thousand cigars were taken 
 to the Customs Depot of confiscated goods. The 
 owners, as was our rule, were frightened with black 
 pictures of coming prison, and then liberated, never 
 to be seen of us again. They were glad enough to 
 win freedom without looking once behind to see 
 what became of their captured property. 
 
 It was one week later when a member of our ring, 
 from poorest tobacco and by twenty different mak 
 ers, caused one hundred thousand cigars, duplicates 
 
 230 
 
THE EMPEROR S CIGARS. 
 
 in size and appearance of those Emperor s Cigars, 
 to be manufactured. These cost two and one-half 
 cents each; a conscious difference, truly! between 
 that and those seventy cents, the wholesale price 
 of our spoil. Well, The Emperor s Cigars were 
 removed from their boxes and their aristocratic 
 places filled by the worthless imitations we had 
 provided. Then the boxes w r ere again securely 
 closed; and to look at them no one would suspect 
 the important changes which had taken place within. 
 
 The Emperor s Cigars once out of their two thou 
 sand boxes were carefully repacked in certain zinc- 
 lined barrels, and reshipped as " notions " to Ha 
 vana to one of our folk who went ahead of the 
 consignment to receive them. In due course, and 
 in two thousand proper new boxes they again ap 
 peared in the port of New York; this time they 
 paid their honest duty. Also, they had a proper 
 consignment, came to no interrupting griefs; and 
 being quickly disposed of, wrought out for us that 
 sixty thousand dollar betterment of which I ve 
 spoken. 
 
 As corollary of this particular informality of The 
 Emperor s Cigars, there occurred an incident which 
 while grievous to the victims, made no little fun 
 for us; its relation here may entertain you, and be 
 cause of its natural connection with the main story, 
 will come properly enough. At set intervals, the 
 government held an auction of all confiscated goods. 
 At these markets to which the public was invited 
 
 231 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 to appear and bid, the government asserted nothing, 
 guaranteed nothing. In disposing of such gear as 
 these cigars, no box was opened; no goods display 
 ed. One saw nothing but the cover, heard nothing 
 but the surmise of an auctioneer, and thereupon, 
 if impulse urged, bid what he pleased for a pig in 
 a poke. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that on the occasion when 
 The Emperor s Cigars were held aloft for bids, the 
 garrulous lecturer employed in selling the collected 
 plunder of three confiscation months, took up one 
 of the two thousand boxes as a sample, and said : 
 
 " I offer for sale a lot of two thousand packages, 
 of which the one I hold in my hand is a specimen. 
 Each package is supposed to contain fifty cigars. 
 What am I bid for the lot? What offer do I 
 hear?" 
 
 That was the complete proffer as made by the 
 government; for all that the bidding was briskly 
 sharp. Those who had come to purchase were there 
 for bargains not guarantees ; moreover, there was 
 the box ; and could they not believe their experience ? 
 Each would-be bidder knew by the size and shape 
 and character of the package that it was made for 
 and should contain fifty cigars of the Emperor 
 brand. Wherefore no one distrusted; the question 
 of contents arose to no mind ; and competition grew 
 instant and close. Bid followed bid ; five hundred 
 dollars being the mark of each advance, as the noisy 
 
 232 
 
THE EMPEROR S CIGARS. 
 
 struggle between speculators for the lot s owner 
 ship proceeded. 
 
 At last those celebrated marketeers, Grove and 
 Filtord, received the lot one hundred thousand of 
 The Emperor s Cigars for forty-five thousand dol 
 lars. What thoughts may have come to them later, 
 when they searched their bargain for its merits, 
 I cannot say. Not one word of inquiry, condemna 
 tion or complaint came from Grove and Filtord. 
 Whatever their discoveries, or whatever their de 
 ductions, they maintained a profound taciturnity. 
 Probably they did not care to court the laughter 
 of fellow dealers by disclosures of the trap into 
 which they had so blindly bid their way. Surely, 
 they must in its last chapters have been aware of 
 the swindle! To have believed in the genuineness 
 of the goods would have dissipated what remnant 
 of good repute might still have clung to that last of 
 the Napoleons who was their inventor, and justified 
 the coming destruction of his throne and the birth 
 of the republic which arose from its ruins. As I 
 say, however, not one syllable of complaint came 
 floating back from Grove and Filtord. They took 
 their loss, and were dumb. 
 
 My ow r n pocket was joyfully gorged with much 
 fat advantage of this iniquity for inside we were 
 like whalers, each having a prearranged per cent, 
 of \vhat oil was made, no one working for himself 
 alone long prior to that bidding which so smote 
 on Grove and Filtord. The ring had no money 
 
 233 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 interest in the confiscation sales; those proceeds 
 went all to government. We divided the profits of 
 our own disposal of the right true Emperor s Cigars 
 on the occasion of their second appearance in port; 
 and that business was ended and over and division 
 done sundry weeks prior to the Grove and Filtord 
 disaster. 
 
 That is the story of The Emperor s Cigars ; there 
 came still one little incident, however, which was 
 doubtless the seed of those apprehensions which 
 soon drove me to quit the Customs. I had carried 
 his double tithes to Betelnut Jack. This was no 
 more the work of policy than right. The substitu 
 tion of the bogus wares, the reshipment to Cuba of 
 The Emperor s Cigars, even the zinc-lined barrels, 
 the repackage and second appearance and sale of our 
 prizes, were one and all by direction of Betelnut 
 Jack. He planned the campaign in each least par 
 ticular. To him was the credit; and to him came 
 the lion s share, as, in good sooth ! it should if there 
 be a shadow of that honor among rogues whereof 
 the proverb tells. 
 
 On the evening when I sought Betelnut Jack, we 
 sat and chatted briefly of work at the wharfs. Not 
 one word, mind you ! escaped from either that might 
 intimate aught of customs immorality. That would 
 have been a gross breach of the etiquette understood 
 by our flock of customs cormorants. No; Betelnut 
 Jack and I confined discussion to transactions ab 
 solutely white; no other was so much as hinted at. 
 
 234 
 
THE EMPEROR S CIGARS. 
 
 Then came Betelnut Jack s proposal of his special 
 Willow Run; he retired in quest of the demijohn; 
 this was my cue to enrich " Josephus," ready on 
 the dwarf center table to receive the goods. My 
 present to Betelnut Jack was five one-hundred-dol 
 lar bills. 
 
 Somewhat in haste, I took these from my pocket 
 and opened " Josephus " to lay them between the 
 pages. Any place would do; Betelnut Jack would 
 know how to discover the rich bookmark. As I 
 parted the book, my eye was arrested by a sentence. 
 As I ve asserted heretofore, I m not superstitious; 
 yet that casual sentence seemed alive and to spring 
 upon me from out " Josephus " as a threat : 
 
 " And these men being thieves were destroyed by 
 the King s laws ; and their people rended their gar 
 ments, put on sackcloth, and throwing ashes on their 
 heads went about the streets, crying out." 
 
 That is what it said; and somehow it made my 
 heart beat quick and little like a linnet s heart. I 
 put in my contribution and closed the book. But 
 the words clung to me like ivy ; I couldn t free my 
 self. In the end, they haunted me to my resigna 
 tion; and while I remained long enough to share 
 in the affair of the German Girl s Diamonds, and 
 in that of the Filibusterer, when the hand of dis 
 covery fell upon Lorns and Quin, and others of my 
 one-time comrades, I was far away, facing inno 
 cent, if sometimes dangerous, problems on our west 
 ern plains. 
 
 235 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " With a profound respect for you/ observed the 
 Jolly Doctor to the Sour Gentleman when that 
 raconteur had ended, " and disavowing a least im 
 putation personal to yourself, I must still say that I 
 am amazed by the corruption which your tale disclos 
 es of things beyond our Customs doors. To be sure, 
 you speak of years ago; and yet you leave one to 
 wonder if the present be wholly free from taint." 
 
 " It will be remarkable/ returned the Sour Gen 
 tleman, " when any arm of government is exerted 
 with entire integrity and no purpose save public 
 good, and every thought of private gain eliminated. 
 The world never has been so virtuous, nor is it like 
 to become so in your time or mine. Government 
 and those offices which, like the works of a watch, 
 are made to constitute it, are the production of poli 
 tics, and politics, mind you, is nothing save the col 
 lected and harmonised selfishness of men. The fruit 
 is seldom better than the tree, and when a source is 
 foul the stream will wear a stain." Here the Sour 
 Gentleman sighed as though over the baseness of 
 the human race. 
 
 " While there s to be no doubt," broke in the 
 Red Nosed Gentleman, " concerning the corrup 
 tion existing in politics and the offices and office 
 holders bred therefrom, I am free to say that I ve 
 encountered as much blackness, and for myself I 
 have been swindled oftener among merchants ply 
 ing their reputable commerce of private scales and 
 counters as in the administration of public affairs." 
 
 236 
 
THE EMPEROR S CIGARS. 
 
 The Red Nosed Gentleman here looked about with 
 a challenging eye as one who would note if his 
 observation is to meet with contradiction. Find 
 ing none, he relapsed into silence and burgundy. 
 
 " Speakin of politics," said the Old Cattleman, 
 who had listened to the others as though he found 
 their discourse instructive, " it s the one thing I ve 
 seen mighty little of. The only occasion on which 
 I finds myse f immersed in politics is doorin the 
 brief sojourn I makes in Missouri, an when in 
 common with all right-thinkin gents, I whirls in 
 for Old Stewart." 
 
 " Would you mind," remarked the Jolly Doctor 
 in a manner so amiable it left one no power to 
 resist, " would you mind giving us a glimpse of that 
 memorable campaign in which you bore doubtless 
 no inconsiderable part? We should have time for 
 it, before we retire." 
 
 " Which the part I bears," responded the Old Cat 
 tleman, " wouldn t amount to the snappin of a cap. 
 As to tellin you-all concernin said outburst of 
 pop lar enthoosiasm for Old Stewart, I m plumb 
 willin to go as far as you likes." Drawing his 
 chair a bit closer to the fire and seeing to it that a 
 glass of Scotch was within the radius of his reach, 
 the Old Cattleman began. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN. 
 
 As I states, I saveys nothin personal of politics. 
 Thar s mighty little politics gets brooited about 
 Wolfville, an I ain t none shore but it s as well. 
 The camp s most likely a heap peacefuller as a com- 
 moonity. Shore, Colonel Sterett discusses politics 
 in that Coyote paper he conducts; but none of it s 
 nearer than Washington, an it all seems so plumb 
 dreamy an far away that while it s interesting it 
 can t be regyarded as replete of the harrowin ex 
 citement that sedooces a public from its nacheral 
 rest an causes it to set up nights an howl. 
 
 Rummagin my mem ry, I never does hear any 
 politics talked local but once, an that s by Dan 
 Boggs. It s when the Colonel asks Dan to what 
 party he adheres in principle for thar ain t no 
 real shore-enough party lurkin about in Arizona 
 much, it bein a territory that a-way an* mighty busy 
 over enterprises more calc lated to pay an Dan 
 retorts that he s hooked up with no outfit none as 
 yet, but stands ready as far as his sentiments is 
 involved to go buttin into the first organization 
 that ll cheapen nose-paint, liminate splits as a resk 
 
 238 
 
THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN. 
 
 in faro-bank, an raise the price of beef. Further 
 than them tenets, Dan allows he ain t got no prin 
 ciples. 
 
 Man an boy I never witnesses any surplus of 
 politics an party strife. In Tennessee when I m 
 a child every decent gent has been brought up a 
 Andy Jackson man, an so continyoos long after 
 that heroic captain is petered. As you-all can im 
 agine, politics onder sech conditions goes all one 
 way like the currents of the Cumberland. Thar s 
 no bicker, no strife, simply a vast Andy Jackson 
 yooniformity. 
 
 The few years I puts in about Arkansaw ain t 
 much different. Leastwise we-all don t have is 
 sues; an what contests does arise is gen rally per 
 sonal an of the kind where two gents enjoys a 
 j int debate with their bow r ies or shows each other 
 how wrong they be with a gun. An while politics 
 of the variety I deescribes is thrillin , your caution 
 rather than your intellects gets appealed to, while 
 feuds is more apt to be their frootes than any draw- 
 in of reg lar party lines. Wherefore I may say 
 it s only doorin the one year I abides in Missouri 
 when I experiences troo politics played with issues, 
 candidates, mass-meetin s an barbecues. 
 
 For myse f, my part is not spectacyoolar, bein 
 I m new an raw an young; but I looks on with 
 relish, an while I don t cut no hercoolean figger 
 in the riot, I shore saveys as much about what s 
 
 239 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 goin on as the best posted gent between the Ozarks 
 an the Iowa line. 
 
 What you-all might consider as the better ele 
 ment is painted up to beat Old Stewart who s out 
 sloshin about demandin re-election to Jeff City 
 for a second term. The better element says Old 
 Stewart drinks. An this accoosation is doubtless 
 troo a w r hole lot, for I m witness myse f to the fol 
 lowing colloquy which takes place between Old 
 Stewart an a jack-laig doctor he crosses up with 
 in St. Joe. Old Stewart s jest come forth from 
 the tavern, an bein on a joobilee the evenin be 
 fore, is lookin an mighty likely feelin some seedy. 
 
 " Doc," says Old Stewart, openin his mouth as 
 wide as a young raven, an then shettin it ag in so s 
 to continyoo his remarks, " Doc, I wish you d peer 
 into this funnel of mine." 
 
 Then he opens his mouth ag in in the same egree- 
 gious way, while the scientist addressed scouts about 
 tharin with his eyes, plenty owley. At last the 
 Doc shows symptoms of bein ready to report. 
 
 " Which I don t note nothin onusual, Gov nor, 
 about that mouth," says the Doc, " except it s a heap 
 voloominous." 
 
 " Don t you discern no signs or signal smokes of 
 any foreign bodies ? " says Old Stewart, a bit pet 
 tish, same as if he can t onderstand sech blindness. 
 
 " None whatever ! " observes the Doc. 
 
 " It s shore strange," retorts Old Stewart, still 
 in his complainin tones ; " thar s two hundred nig- 
 
 240 
 
THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN. 
 
 gers, a brick house an a thousand acres of bottom 
 land gone down that throat, an I sort o reckons 
 some traces of em would show." 
 
 That s the trouble with Old Stewart from the 
 immacyoolate standpint of the better classes; they 
 says he overdrinks. But while it s convincin to 
 sooperior folks an ones who s goin to church an 
 makin a speshulty of it, it don t sep rate Old Stew 
 art from the warm affections of the rooder masses 
 the catfish an quinine aristocracy that dwells 
 along the Missouri ; they re out for him to the last 
 sport. 
 
 " Suppose the old Gov nor does drink," says one, 
 "what difference does that make? Now, if he s 
 goin to try sootes in co t, or assoome the pressure 
 as a preacher, thar d be something in the bluff. But 
 it don t cut no rigger whether a gov nor is sober 
 or no. All he has to do is pardon convicts an 
 make notaries public, an no gent can absorb licker 
 s fficient to incapac tate him for sech trivial dooties." 
 
 One of the argyments they uses ag in Old Stew 
 art is about a hawg-thief he pardons. Old Stewart 
 is headin up for the state house one mornin , when 
 he caroms on a passel of felons in striped clothes 
 who s pesterin about the grounds, tittivatin up the 
 scenery. Old Stewart pauses in front of one of 
 em. 
 
 " What be you-all in the pen tentiary for? " says 
 Old Stewart, an he s profoundly solemn. 
 
 Tharupon the felon trails out on a yarn about 
 
 16 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 how he s a innocent an oppressed person. He s 
 that honest an upright hear him relate the tale 
 that you d feel like apol gizin . Old Stewart listens 
 to this victim of intrigues an outrages ontil he s 
 through ; then he goes romancin along to the next. 
 Thar s five wronged gents in that striped outfit, five 
 who s as free from moral taint or stain of crime as 
 Dave Tutt s infant son, Enright Peets Tutt. 
 
 But the sixth is different. He admits he s a mis 
 creant an has done stole a hawg. 
 
 " However did you steal it, you scoundrel ? " de 
 mands Old Stewart. 
 
 " I m outer meat," says the crim nal, " an a band 
 of pigs comes pirootin about, an I nacherally takes 
 my rifle an downs one." 
 
 " Was it a valyooable hawg? " 
 
 " You-all can gamble it ain t no runt," retorts the 
 crim nal. " I shore ain t pickin out the worst, an 
 I m as good a jedge of hawgs as ever eats corn pone 
 an cracklin ." 
 
 At this Old Stewart falls into a foamin rage an* 
 turns on the two gyards who s soopervisin the cap 
 tives. 
 
 " Whatever do you-all mean," he roars, " bringin 
 this common an confessed hawg-thief out yere with 
 these five honest men? Don t you know he ll cor 
 rupt em ? " 
 
 Tharupon Old Stewart reepairs to his rooms in 
 the state house an pardons the hawg convict with 
 the utmost fury. 
 
 242 
 
THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN. 
 
 " An now, pull your freight," says Old Stewart, 
 to the crim nal, " If you re in Jeff City twenty- 
 four hours from now I ll have you shot at sunrise. 
 The idee of compellin five spotless gents to con- 
 tinyoo in daily companionship with a low hawg- 
 thief ! I pardons you, not because you merits mer 
 cy, but to preserve the morals of our prison." 
 
 The better element concloods they ll take advan 
 tage of Old Stewart s willin ness for rum an make 
 a example of him before the multitoode. They de 
 cides they ll construct the example at a monstrous 
 meetin that s schedyooled for Hannibal, where Old 
 Stewart an his opponent who stands for the bet 
 ter element mighty excellent, seein he s worth about 
 a million dollars with a home-camp in St. Looey, 
 an never a idee above dollars an cents is pro 
 grammed for one of these yere j int debates, frequent 
 in the politics of that era. The conspiracy is the 
 more necessary as Old Stewart, mental, is so much 
 swifter than the better element s candidate, that he 
 goes by him like a antelope. Only two days prior 
 at the town of Fulton, Old Stewart comes after the 
 better element s candidate an gets enough of his 
 hide, oratorical, to make a saddle-cover. The bet 
 ter element, alarmed for their gent, resolves on meas 
 ures in Hannibal that s calc lated to redooce Old 
 Stewart to a shorething. They don t aim to allow 
 him to wallop their gent at the Hannibal meetin 
 like he does in old Callaway. With that, they con 
 fides to a trio of Hannibal s sturdiest sots all of 
 
 243 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 em acquaintances an pards of Old Stewart the 
 sacred task of gettin that statesman too drunk to 
 orate. 
 
 This yere Hannibal barbecue, whereat Old Stew 
 art s goin to hold a open-air discussion with his 
 aristocratic opponent, is set down for one in the 
 afternoon. The three who s to throw Old Stewart 
 with copious libations of strong drink, hunts that 
 earnest person out as early as sun-up at the tavern. 
 They invites him into the bar-room an bids the bar- 
 keep set forth his nourishment. 
 
 Gents, it works like a charm! All the mornin , 
 Old Stewart swings an rattles with the plotters 
 an goes drink for drink with em, holdin nothin 
 back. 
 
 For all that the plot falls down. When it s come 
 the hour for Old Stewart to resort to the barbecue 
 an assoome his share in the exercises, two of the 
 Hannibal delegation is spread out cold an he pless 
 in a r ar room, while Old Stewart is he pin the 
 third a gent of whom he s partic lar fond up 
 stairs to Old Stewart s room, where he lays him 
 safe an serene on the blankets. Then Old Stew 
 art takes another drink by himse f, an j ins his brave 
 adherents at the picnic grounds. Old Stewart is 
 never more loocid, an ag in he peels the pelt from 
 the better element s candidate, an does it with 
 graceful ease. 
 
 Old Stewart, however, is regyarded as in peril 
 of defeat. He s mighty weak in the big towns 
 
 244 
 
THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN. 
 
 where the better element is entrenched, an churches 
 grow as thick as blackberries. Even throughout 
 the rooral regions, wherever a meetin house pokes 
 up its spire, it s onderstood that Old Stewart s in 
 a heap of danger. 
 
 It ain t that Old Stewart is sech a apostle of nose- 
 paint neither; it ain t whiskey that s goin to kill 
 him off at the ballot box. It s the fact that the 
 better element s candidate besides bein rich, which 
 is allers a mark of virchoo to a troo believer is a 
 church member, an belongs to a congregation where 
 he passes the plate, an stands high up in the papers. 
 This makes the better element s gent a heap pop lar 
 with church folk, while pore Old Stewart, who s a 
 hopeless sinner, don t stand no show. 
 
 This grows so manifest that even Old Stewart s 
 most locoed supporters concedes that he s gone; an 
 money is offered at three to one that the better ele 
 ment s entry will go over Old Stewart like a Joone 
 rise over a tow-head. Old Stewart hears these 
 yere misgivin s an bids his folks be of good cheer. 
 
 " I ll fix that," says Old Stewart. " By election 
 day, my learned opponent will be in sech disrepoote 
 with every church in Missouri he won t be able to 
 get clost enough to one of em to give it a ripe 
 peach." Old Stewart onpouches a roll which mus 
 ters fifteen hundred dollars. " That s mighty lit 
 tle; but it ll do the trick." 
 
 Old Stewart s folks is mystified; they can t make 
 out how he s goin to round up the congregations 
 
 245 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 with so slim a workin cap tal. But they has faith 
 in their chief; an his word goes for all they ve got. 
 When he lets on he ll have the churches arrayed 
 ag inst the foe, his warriors takes heart of grace an 
 jumps into the collar an pulls like lions refreshed. 
 
 It s the fourth Sunday before election when Old 
 Stewart, by speshul an trusted friends presents five 
 hundred dollars each to a church in St. Looey, an 
 another in St. Joe, an still another in Hannibal; 
 said gifts bein in the name an with the compli 
 ments of his opponent an that gent s best wishes 
 for the Christian cause. 
 
 Thar s not a doubt raised ; each church believes it- 
 se f favored five hundred dollars worth from the 
 kindly hand of the millionaire candidate, an the 
 three pastors sits pleasantly down an writes that 
 amazed sport a letter of thanks for his moonificence. 
 He don t onderstand it none; but he decides it s 
 wise to accept this accidental pop larity, an he wax 
 es guileful an writes back an says that while he 
 don t clearly onderstand, an no thanks is his doo, 
 he s tickled to hear he s well bethought of by the 
 good Christians of St. Looey, St. Joe an Hanni 
 bal, as expressed in them missives. The better ele 
 ment s candidate congratulates himse f on his good 
 luck, stands pat, an accepts his onexpected wreaths. 
 That s jest what Old Stewart, who is as cunnin 
 as a fox, is aimin at. 
 
 In two days the renown of them five-hundred-dol 
 lar gifts goes over the state like a cat over a back 
 
 246 
 
THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN. 
 
 roof. In four days every church in the state hears 
 of these largesses. An bein plumb alert financial, 
 as churches ever is, each sacred outfit writes on to 
 the better element s candidate an desires five hun 
 dred dollars of that onfortunate publicist. He gets 
 sixty thousand letters in one week an each calls for 
 five hundred. 
 
 Gents, thar s no more to be said; the better ele 
 ment s candidate is up ag inst it. He can t yield 
 to the fiscal demands, an it s too late to deny the 
 gifts. Whereupon the other churches resents the 
 favoritism he s displayed about the three in St. 
 Looey, St. Joe an Hannibal. They regyards him 
 as a hoss-thief for not rememberin them while his 
 weaselskin is in his hand, an on election day they 
 comes down on him like a pan of milk from a top 
 shelf ! You hear me, they shorely blots that onhap- 
 py candidate off the face of the earth, an Old Stew 
 art is Gov nor ag in. 
 
 On the fourth evening of our companionship 
 about the tavern fire, it was the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man who took the lead with a story. 
 
 " You spoke," said the Red Nosed Gentleman, 
 addressing the Jolly Doctor, " of having been told 
 by a friend a story you gave us. Not long ago I 
 was in the audience while an old actor recounted 
 how he once went to the aid of an individual named 
 
 247 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Connelly. It was not a bad story, I thought; and 
 if you like, I ll tell it to-night. The gray Thespian 
 called his adventure The Rescue of Connelly, and 
 these were his words as he related it. We were 
 about a table in Browne s chop house when he told 
 it." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE RESCUE OF CONNELLY. 
 
 Equipped as we are for the conquest of com 
 fort with fresh pipes, full mugs, and the flavor of a 
 best of suppers still extant within our mouths, it 
 may be an impertinence for one to moralize. 
 And yet, as I go forward to this incident, I will 
 premise that, in every least exigency of life, ill 
 begets ill, while good springs from good and fol 
 lows the doer with a profit. Such has been my 
 belief; such, indeed, has been my unbroken ex 
 perience; and the misfortunes of Connelly, and 
 my relief of them, small matters in themselves, are 
 in proof of what I say. 
 
 At sixty I look back with envy on that decade 
 which followed my issuing forth from Trinity Col 
 lege, when, hopeless, careless, purposeless beyond 
 the moment, I wandered the face of the earth and 
 fed or starved at the hands of chance-born oppor 
 tunity. I was up or down or rich or poor, and, 
 with an existence which ran from wine to ditch 
 water and back again to wine, was happy. I re 
 call how in those days of checkered fortune, 
 wherein there came a proportion of one hour of 
 
 249 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 shadow to one moment of sun, I was wont to 
 think on riches and their possession. I would 
 say to myself : " And should it so befall that I 
 make my millions, I ll have none about me but 
 broken folk: I ll refuse to so much as permit the 
 acquaintance of a rich man." I ve been ever 
 deeply controlled by the sentiment therein ex 
 pressed. Sure it is, I ve been incapable of the 
 example of the Levite, and could never keep to 
 the other side of the way when distress appealed. 
 
 My youth was wild, and staid folk called it 
 "vicious." I squandered my fortune; melted it, 
 as August melteth ice, while still at Trinity. It 
 was my misfortune to reach my majority before 
 I reached my graduation, and those two college 
 years which ensued after I might legally write 
 myself " man " and the wild days that filled them 
 up, brought me to face the world with no more 
 shillings than might take me to Australia. How 
 ever, they were gay though graceless times 
 those college years; and Dublin, from Smock 
 Alley to Sackville Street, may still remember them. 
 
 Those ten years after quitting Dublin were 
 years of hit or miss. I did everything but preach 
 or steal. Yes, I even fought three prize-fights; 
 and there were warped, distorted moments when, 
 bloody but victorious, I believed it better to be a 
 fighter than to be a bishop. 
 
 But for the main, I drifted to the theaters and 
 lived by the drama. Doubtless I was a wretched 
 
 250 
 
THE RESCUE OF CONNELLY. 
 
 actor albeit I felt myself a Kemble but the 
 stage was so far good to me it finally brought me 
 as an underling of much inconsequence to the 
 fair city of New York. I did but little for the 
 drama, but it did much for me; it led me to 
 America. And now that I ve come to New York 
 in this story, I ve come to Connelly. 
 
 Mayhap I had been in New York three weeks. 
 It was a chill night in April, and I was going 
 down Broadway and thinking on bed ; for, having 
 done nothing all day save run about, I was very 
 tired. It was under the lamps at the corner of 
 Twenty-ninth Street, that I first beheld Connelly. 
 Thin of face as of coat, he stood shivering in the 
 keen air. There was something so beaten in the 
 pose of the sorrowful figure that I was brought to 
 a full stop. 
 
 As strange to the land and its courtesies as I 
 was to Connelly, I hesitated for a moment to 
 speak. I was loth to be looked upon as one who, 
 from a motive of curiosity, would insult another in 
 bad luck. But I took courage from my virtue 
 and at last made bold to accost him: 
 
 " Why do you stand shivering here ? " I said. 
 " Why don t you go home?" 
 
 " It s a boarding-house," said Connelly. " I 
 owe the old lady thirty dollars and if I go back 
 she ll hold me prisoner for it." 
 
 Then he told me his name, and that the trouble 
 with him came from too much rum. Connelly 
 
 251 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 had a Dublin accent and it won on me ; moreover, 
 I also had had troubles traceable to rum. 
 
 " Come home," I said; "you can t stand here 
 all night. Come home ; I ll go with you and have 
 a talk with the old lady myself. Perhaps I ll find 
 a way to soften her or make her see reason." 
 
 " She s incapable of seeing reason/ said Con 
 nelly; " incapable of seeing anything save money. 
 She understands nothing but gold. She ll hold 
 me captive a week ; then if I don t pay, she ll have 
 me arrested. You don t know the old lady: 
 she s a demon unless she s paid." 
 
 However, I led Connelly over to Sixth Avenue 
 and restored his optimism with strong drink. 
 Then I bought a quart of whiskey ; thus sustained, 
 Connelly summoned courage and together we 
 sought his quarters. In his little room we sat all 
 night, discussing the whiskey and Dublin and 
 Connelly s hard fate. 
 
 With the morning I was presented to the " old 
 lady," an honor to make one quake. When I 
 reviewed her acrid features, I knew that Connelly 
 was right. Nothing could move that stony heart 
 but money. I put off, therefore, those gallantries 
 and blandishments I might otherwise have intro 
 duced, and came at once to the question. 
 
 " How much does Connelly owe ? " 
 
 " Thirty dollars ! " 
 
 The words were emphasized with a click of 
 teeth that would have done credit to a rat-trap. 
 
 252 
 
THE RESCUE OF CONNELLY. 
 
 There was a baleful gleam, too, in the jadestone 
 eye. Clearly, Connelly had read the signs aright. 
 He might regard himself as a prisoner until the 
 " old lady " was paid. 
 
 That iron landlady went away to her duties and 
 I counted my fortunes. They assembled but 
 twenty-four dollars a slim force and not one 
 wherewith to storm the citadel of Connelly s 
 troubles. How should I augment my capital? 
 I knew of but one quick method and that flowed 
 with risks it was the races. 
 
 I turned naturally to the horses, for it was those 
 continuous efforts which I put forth to name 
 winners that had so dissipated my patrimony. 
 About the time I might have selected a victor now 
 and then, my wealth was departed away. It is 
 always thus. Sinister yet satirical paradox! the 
 best judges of racing have ever the least money ! 
 
 There was no new way open to me, however, in 
 this instance of Connelly. I must pay his debt 
 that day if I would redeem him from this Bastile 
 of a boarding-house, and the races were my single 
 chance. I explained to Connelly; obtained him 
 the consolation of a second quart wherewith to 
 cure the sharper cares of his bondage, and started 
 for the race-course. I knew nothing of American 
 horses and less of American tracks, but I held not 
 back for that. In the transaction of a work of 
 virtue I would trust to lucky stars. 
 
 As I approached the race-course gates, my eyes 
 253 
 
THE BLACK LION IXN. 
 
 were pleased with the vision of that excellent pugi 
 list, Joe Coburn. I had known this unworthy in 
 Melbourne; he had graced the ringside on those 
 bustling occasions when I pulled shirt over head 
 and held up my hands for the stakes and the honor 
 of old Ireland. Grown too fat for fisticuffs, Co- 
 burn struggled with the races for his daily bread. 
 As he was very wise of horses, and likewise very 
 crooked, I bethought me that Coburn s advice 
 might do me good. If there were a trap set, 
 Coburn should know; and he might aid a former 
 fellow-gladiator to have advantage thereof and 
 show the road to riches. 
 
 Are races ever crooked? Man! I whiles won 
 der at the age s ignorance! Crooked? Indubita 
 bly crooked. There was never rascal like your 
 rascal of sport; there s that in the word to disin 
 tegrate integrity. I make no doubt it w r as thus 
 in every time and clime and that even the Olym 
 pian games themselves were honeycombed \vith 
 fraud, and the sacred Altis wherein they w r ere 
 celebrated a mere hotbed of robbery. However, 
 to regather with the doubtful though sapient 
 Coburn. 
 
 "Who s to win the first race?" I asked. 
 
 " Play Blue Bells ! " and Coburn looked at me 
 hard and as one who held mysterious knowledge. 
 
 Blue Bells ! I put a cautious five-dollar piece 
 on Blue Bells. I saw her at the start. Vilest of 
 beasts, she never finished never met my eye 
 
 254 
 
THE RESCUE OF CONNELLY. 
 
 again. I asked someone what had become of her. 
 He said that, taking advantage of sundry missing 
 boards over on the back-stretch, Blue Bells had 
 bolted and gone out through the fence. This may 
 have been fact or it may have been sarcasmal fic 
 tion; the truth important is, I lost my wager. 
 
 Still true to a first impresion though I confess 
 to confidence a trifle shaken I again sought 
 Coburn. 
 
 " That was a great tip you gave me ! " I said. 
 " That suggestion of Blue Bells was a marvel ! 
 What do you pick for the next? " 
 
 " Get Tambourine ! " retorted Coburn. " It s a 
 sure thing." 
 
 Another five I placed on Tambourine ; not with 
 out misgivings. But what might I do better? My 
 judgment was worthless where I did not know 
 one horse from another. I might as well take 
 Coburn s advice; the more since he went often 
 wrong and might name a winner by mistake. Five, 
 therefore, on Tambourine; and when he started 
 my hopes and Connelly whose consoling quart 
 must be a pint by now went with him. 
 
 At the worst I may so far compliment Tam 
 bourine as to say that I saw him again. He finish 
 ed far in the rear; but at least he had the honesty 
 to go around the course. Yet it was five dollars 
 lost. When Tambourine went back to his stable, 
 my capital was reduced by half, and Connelly and 
 liberty as far apart as when we started. 
 
 255 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Following the disaster of Tambourine I sought 
 no more the Coburn. Clearly it was not that 
 philosopher s afternoon for naming winners. Or 
 if it were, he was keeping their names a secret. 
 
 Thus ruminating, I sat reading the race card, 
 when of a blinking sudden my eye was caught by 
 the words " Bill Breen." The title seemed a sug 
 gestion. Bill Breen had been my roommate my 
 best friend in the days of old Trinity. I pondered 
 the coincidence. 
 
 " If this Bill Breen," I reflected, " is half as fast 
 as my Bill Breen, he s fit to carry Caesar and his 
 fortunes." 
 
 The more I considered, the more I w r as im 
 pressed. It was like sinking in a quicksand. In 
 the end I was caught. I waxed reckless and 
 placed ten dollars fairly my residue of riches 
 on Bill Breen in one of those old-fashioned French 
 Mutual pools common of that hour; having done 
 so, I crept away to a lonesome seat in the grand 
 stand and trembled. It was now or never, and 
 Bill Breen would race freighted with the fate of 
 Connelly. 
 
 About two seats to my right, and with no one 
 between, sat a round, bloated body of a man. He 
 looked so much like a pig that, had he been put 
 in a sty, you would have had nothing save the 
 fact that he wore a hat to distinguish him from 
 the other inmates. And yet I could tell by the 
 mien of him, and his airs of lofty isolation and 
 
 256 
 
THE RESCUE OF CONNELLY. 
 
 superiority, that he knew all about a horse knew 
 so much more than common folk that he despised 
 them and withdrew from their society. It was 
 like tempting the skies to speak to him, so wrap 
 ped was he in the dignity of his vast knowledge, 
 but my quaking solicitude over Bill Breen and the 
 awful stakes he ran for in poor Connelly s evil 
 case, emboldened me. With a look, deprecatory 
 at once and apologetic, I turned to this oracle : 
 
 " Do you know a horse named Bill Breen? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " I do," he replied coldly. Then ungrammatic 
 ally: "That s him walking down the track to the 
 scales for the jock to weigh in," and he pointed 
 to a greyhound-shaped chestnut. 
 
 " Can he race? " I said, with a gingerly air of 
 merest curiosity. 
 
 " He can race, but he won t," and the swinish 
 man twined the huge gold chain about his right 
 fore-hoof. " I lost fifty dollars on him Choosday. 
 The horse can race, but he won t ; he s crazy." 
 
 " He looks well," I observed timidly. 
 
 " Sure ! he looks well," assented the swinish one ; 
 " but never mind his looks; he won t win." 
 
 Then came the start and the horses got away 
 on the first trial. They went off in a bunch, and 
 it gave me some color of satisfaction to note 
 Bill Breen well to the front. 
 
 " He has a good start," I ventured. 
 
 " Hang the start ! " derided the swinish one. 
 n 257 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " He won t win, I tell you ; he ll go and jump over 
 the fence and never come back." 
 
 As the horses went from the quarter to the half 
 mile post, Bill Breen, running easily, was strongly 
 in the lead and increasing. My blood began to 
 tingle. 
 
 " He s ahead at the half mile." 
 
 " And what of it ? " retorted the swinish one, 
 disgustedly. " Now keep your eye on him. In 
 ten seconds he ll fly up in the air and stay there. 
 He won t win; the horse is crazy." 
 
 As the field swung into the homestretch and 
 each jockey picked his route for the run to the 
 wire, Bill Breen was going like a bird, twenty 
 yards to the good if a foot. The swinish one 
 placed the heavy member that had been caressing 
 the watch-chain on my shoulder. He did not wait 
 for any comment from me. 
 
 "Sit still," he howled; "sit still. He won t 
 win. If he can t lose any other way, he ll stop 
 back beyant on the stretch and bite the boy off 
 his back. That s what he ll do; he ll bite the 
 jockey off his back." 
 
 To this last assurance, delivered with a roar, I 
 made no answer. The horses were coming like a 
 whirlwind ; riders lashing, nostrils straining. The 
 roll of the hoofs put my heart to a sympathetic 
 gallop. I could not have said a word if I had 
 tried. With the grandstand in a tumult, the 
 
 258 
 
THE RESCUE OF CONNELLY. 
 
 horses flashed under the wire, Bill Breen winner 
 with a flourish by a dozen lengths. 
 
 Connelly was saved. 
 
 As the horses were being dismissed, and " Bill 
 Breen" was hung from the judges stand as "first," 
 the swinish one contemplated me gravely and in 
 silence. 
 
 " Have you a ticket on him? " 
 
 " I have," I replied. 
 
 " Then you ll win a million dollars." This with 
 a toss as he arose to go. " You ll win a million 
 dollars. You re the only fool who has." 
 
 It s like the stories you read. The swinish one 
 was so nearly correct in his last remark that I 
 found but two tickets besides my own on Bill 
 Breen. It has the ring of fable, but I was richer by 
 eleven hundred and thirty-two dollars when that 
 race was over. Blue Bells and Tambourine were 
 forgotten; Bill Breen had redeemed the day! It 
 was pleasant when I had cashed my ticket to ob 
 serve me go about recovering the lost Connelly. 
 
 " Now, there," cried the Jolly Doctor, " there 
 is a story which tells of a joy your rich man never 
 knows the joy of being rescued from a money 
 difficulty." 
 
 " And do you think a rich man is for that un 
 lucky? " asked the Sour Gentleman. 
 
 259 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 "Verily, do I," returned the Jolly Doctor, 
 earnestly. " I can conceive of nothing more 
 dreary than endless riches the wealth that is by 
 the cradle that from birth to death is as easy 
 to one s hand as water. How should he know 
 the sweet who has not known the bitter? Man! 
 the thorn is ever the charm of the rose." 
 
 It was discovered in the chat which followed 
 the Red Nosed Gentleman s tale that Sioux Sam 
 might properly be regarded as the one who should 
 next take up the burden of the company s enter 
 tainment. It stood a gratifying characteristic of 
 our comrade from the Yellowstone that he was 
 not once found to dispute the common wish. He 
 never proffered a story; but he promptly told one 
 when asked to do so. He was taciturn, but he 
 was no less ready for that, and the moment his 
 name was called he proceeded with the fable of 
 " Moh-Kwa and the Three Gifts." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GIFTS. 
 
 This is in the long time ago when the sun is 
 younger an not so big an hot as now, an Kwa- 
 Sind, the Strong Man, is a chief of the Upper 
 Yellowstone Sioux. It is on a day in the Moon- 
 of-the-first-frost an Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, is 
 gathering black-berries an filling his mouth. As 
 Moh-Kwa pulls the bush towards him, he pierces 
 his paw with a great thorn so that it makes him 
 howl an shout, for much is his rage an pain. 
 Moh-Kwa cannot get the great thorn out; be 
 cause Moh-Kwa s claws while sharp an strong 
 are not fingers to pull out a thorn; an the more 
 Moh-Kwa bites his paw to get at the thorn, the 
 further he pushes it in. At last Moh-Kwa sits 
 growling an looking at the thorn an wondering 
 what he is to do. 
 
 While Moh-Kwa is wondering an growling, 
 there comes walking Shaw-shaw, the Swallow, 
 who is a young man of the Sioux. The Swallow 
 has a good heart ; but his spirit is light an his 
 nature as easily blown about on each new wind as 
 a dead leaf. So the Sioux have no respect for the 
 
 261 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Swallow but laugh when he comes among them, 
 an some even call him Shau-goh-dah-wah, the 
 Coward, for they do not look close, an mistake 
 lightness for fear. 
 
 When the Swallow came near, Moh-Kwa, still 
 growling, held forth his paw an showed the Swal 
 low how the thorn was buried in the big pad so 
 that he could not bite it out an only made it go 
 deeper. An with that the Swallow, who had a 
 good heart, took Moh-Kwa s big paw between 
 his knees an pulled out the great thorn; for the 
 Swallow had ringers an not claws like Moh-Kwa, 
 an the Swallow s fingers were deft an nimble to 
 do any desired deed. 
 
 When Moh-Kwa felt the relief of that great 
 thorn out of his paw, he was grateful to the Swal 
 low an thought to do him a favor. 
 
 :< You are laughed at," said Moh-Kwa to the 
 Swallow, " because your spirit is light as dead 
 leaves an too much blown about like a tumble- 
 weed wasting its seeds in foolish travelings to go 
 nowhere for no purpose so that only it goes. 
 Your heart is good, but your work is of no con 
 sequence, an your name will win no respect; an 
 with years you will be hated since you will do no 
 great deeds. Already men call you Shau-goh- 
 dah-wah, the Coward. I am Moh-Kwa, the Wise 
 Bear of the Yellowstone, an I would do you a 
 favor for taking my paw an the thorn apart. 
 But I cannot change your nature; only Pau-guk, 
 
 262 
 
KWA-SIND. 
 
MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GIFTS. 
 
 the Death, can do that; an no man may touch 
 Pau-guk an live. Yet for a favor I will give you 
 three gifts, which if you keep safe will make you 
 rich an strong an happy; an all men will love 
 you an no longer think to call you Shau-goh-dah- 
 wah, the Coward." 
 
 Moh-Kwa when he had ended this long talk, 
 licked his paw where had been the great thorn, 
 an now that the smart was gone an he could put 
 his foot to the ground an not howl, he took the 
 Swallow an carried him to his house in the rocks. 
 An Moh-Kwa gave the Swallow a knife, a neck 
 lace of bear-claws, an a buffalo robe. 
 
 " While you carry the knife," said Moh-Kwa, 
 " all men will respect an fear you an the squaws 
 will cherish you in their hearts. While you wear 
 the bear-claws, you will be brave an strong, an 
 whatever you want you will get. As for the skin 
 of the buffalo, it is big medicine, an if you sit 
 upon it an wish, it will carry you wherever you 
 ask to go." 
 
 Besides the knife, the bear-claws an the big 
 medicine robe, Moh-Kwa gave the Swallow the 
 thorn he had pulled from his foot, telling him to 
 sew it in his moccasin, an when he was in trouble 
 it would bring Moh-Kwa to him to be a help. 
 Also, Moh-Kwa warned the Swallow to beware 
 of a cunning squaw. 
 
 " For," said Moh-Kwa, " your nature is light 
 
 263 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 like dead leaves, an such as you seek ever to be 
 a fool about a cunning squaw." 
 
 When the Swallow came again among the Sioux 
 he wore the knife an the bear-claws that Moh- 
 Kwa had given him; an in his lodge he spread 
 the big medicine robe. An because of the knife 
 an the bear-claws, the warriors respected an 
 feared him, an the squaws loved him in their 
 hearts an followed where he went with their eyes. 
 Also, when he wanted anything, the Swallow ever 
 got it; an as he was swift an ready to want 
 things, the Swallow grew quickly rich among the 
 Sioux, an his lodge was full of robes an furs an 
 weapons an new dresses of skins an feathers, 
 while more than fifty ponies ate the grass about it. 
 
 Now, this made Kwa-Sind, the Strong Man, 
 angry in his soul s soul; for Kwa-Sind was a 
 mighty Sioux, an had killed a Pawnee for each 
 of his fingers, an a Blackfoot an a Crow for 
 each of his toes, an it made his breast sore 
 to see the Swallow, who had been also called 
 Shau-goh-dah-wah, the Coward, thought higher 
 among the Sioux an be a richer man than himself. 
 Yet Kwa-Sind was afraid to kill the Swallow lest 
 the Sioux who now sung the Swallow s praises 
 should rise against him for revenge. 
 
 Kwa-Sind told his hate to Wah-bee-noh, who 
 was a medicine man an juggler, an agreed that 
 he would give Wah-bee-noh twenty ponies to 
 make the Swallow again as he was so that the 
 
 264 
 
MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GIFTS. 
 
 Sioux would laugh at him an call him Shau-goh- 
 dah-wah, the Coward. 
 
 Wah-bee-noh, the medicine man, was glad to 
 hear the offer of Kwa-Sind, for he was a miser an 
 thought only how he might add another pony to 
 his herd. Wah-bee-noh told Kwa-Sind he would 
 surely do as he asked, an that the Swallow within 
 three moons would be despised among all the 
 Sioux. 
 
 Wah-bee-noh went to his lodge an made his 
 strongest medicine an called Jee-bi, the Spirit. 
 An Jee-bi, the Spirit, told Wah-bee-noh of the 
 Swallow s knife an bear-claws an the medicine 
 robe. 
 
 An now Wah-bee-noh made a plan an gave it 
 to his daughter who was called Oh-pee-chee, the 
 Robin, to carry out; for the Robin was full of 
 craft an cunning, an moreover, beautiful among 
 the young girls of the Sioux. 
 
 The Robin dressed herself until she was like 
 the red bird ; an then she walked up an down 
 in front of the lodge of the Swallow. An when 
 the Swallow saw her, his nature which was light 
 as dead leaves at once became drawn to the 
 Robin, an the Swallow laughed an made a place 
 by his side for the Robin to sit down. With that 
 the Robin came an sat by his side; an after a 
 little she sang to him Ewah-yeah, the Sleep-song, 
 an the Swallow was overcome; his eyes closed 
 
 265 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 an slumber settled down upon him like a night- 
 fog. 
 
 Then the Robin stole the knife from its sheath 
 an the bear-claws from about the neck of the 
 Swallow; but the medicine robe the Robin could 
 not get because the Swallow was asleep upon it, 
 an if she pulled it from beneath him he would 
 wake up. 
 
 The Robin took the knife an the bear-claws an* 
 carried them to Wah-bee-noh, her father, who got 
 twelve ponies from Kwa-Sind for them an added 
 the ponies to his herd. An the heart of Wah- 
 bee-noh danced the miser s dance of gain in his 
 bosom from mere gladness ; an because he would 
 have eight more ponies from Kwa-Sind, he sent 
 the Robin back to steal the medicine robe when 
 the Swallow should wake up. 
 
 The Robin went back, an finding the Swallow 
 still asleep on the medicine robe, lay down by his 
 side; an soon she too fell asleep, for the Robin 
 was a very tired squaw since to be cunning an 
 full of craft is hard work an soon wearies one. 
 
 When the Swallow woke up he missed his knife 
 an bear-claws. Also, he remembered that Moh- 
 Kwa had warned him for the lightness of his 
 spirit to beware of a cunning squaw. When these 
 thoughts came to the Swallow, an seeing the 
 Robin still sleeping by his side, he knew well that 
 she had stolen his knife an bear-claws. 
 
 Now, the Swallow fell into a great anger an 
 266 
 
MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GIFTS. 
 
 thought an thought what he should do to make 
 the Robin return the knife an bear-claws she had 
 stolen. Without them the Sioux would laugh at 
 him an despise him as before, an many would 
 again call him Shau-goh-dah-wah, the Coward, 
 an the name bit into the Swallow s heart like a 
 rattlesnake an poisoned it with much grief. 
 
 While the Swallow thought an the Robin still 
 lay sleeping, a plan came to him; an with that, 
 the Swallow seeing he was with the Robin lying 
 on the medicine robe, sat up an wished that both 
 himself an the Robin were in a far land of rocks 
 an sand where a great pack of wolves lived. 
 
 Like the flash an the flight of an arrow, the 
 Swallow with the Robin still asleep by his side, 
 an with the medicine robe still beneath them on 
 the ground, found himself in a desolate land of 
 rocks an sands, an all about him came a band 
 of wolves who yelped an showed their teeth with 
 the hunger that gnawed their flanks. 
 
 Because the wolves yelped, the Robin waked 
 up; an when she saw their white teeth shining 
 with hunger she fell down from a big fear an 
 cried an twisted one hand with the other, think 
 ing Pau-guk, the Death, was on his way to get 
 her. The Robin wept an turned to the Swallow 
 an begged him to put her back before the lodge 
 of Wah-bee-noh, her father. 
 
 But the Swallow, with the anger of him who 
 is robbed, spoke hard words out of his mouth. 
 
 267 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 " Give me back the knife an the bear-claws 
 you have stolen. You are a bad squaw, full of 
 cunning an very crafty; but here I shall keep 
 you an feed you legs an arms an head an 
 body to my wolf-friends who yelp an show 
 their teeth out yonder, unless I have my knife 
 an bear-claws again." 
 
 This brought more fear on the Robin, an she 
 felt that the Swallow s words were as a shout for 
 Pau-guk, the Death, to make haste an claim her ; 
 yet her cunning was not stampeded but stood 
 firm in her heart. 
 
 The Robin said that the Swallow must give her 
 time to grow calm an then she would find the 
 knife an bear-claws for him. While the Swallow 
 waited, the Robin still wept an sobbed for fear 
 of the white teeth of the wolves who stood in a 
 circle about them. But little by little, the crafty 
 Robin turned her sobs softly into Ewah-yeah, the 
 Sleep-song; an soon slumber again tied the hands 
 an feet an stole the eyes of the Swallow. 
 
 Now the Robin did not hesitate. She tore the 
 big medicine robe from beneath the Swallow; 
 throwing herself into its folds, the Robin wished 
 herself again before Wah-bee-noh s lodge, an 
 with that the robe rushed with her away across 
 the skies like the swoop of a hawk. The Swallow 
 was only awake in time to see the Robin go out 
 of sight like a bee hunting its hive. 
 
 Now the Swallow was so cast down with shame 
 268 
 
MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GIFTS. 
 
 that he thought he would call Pau-guk, the Death, 
 an give himself to the wolves who sat watching 
 with their hungry eyes. But soon his heart came 
 back, an his spirit which was light as dead leaves, 
 stirred about hopefully in his bosom. 
 
 While he considered what he should now do, 
 helpless an hungry, in this desolate stretch of 
 rocks an sand an no water, the thorn which had 
 been in Moh-Kwa s paw pricked his foot where 
 it lay sewed in his moccasin. With that the Swal 
 low wished he might only see the Wise Bear to 
 tell him his troubles. 
 
 As the Swallow made this wish, an as if to 
 answer it, he saw Moh-Kwa coming across the 
 rocks an the sand. When the wolves saw Moh- 
 Kwa, they gave a last howl an ran for their 
 hiding places. 
 
 Moh-Kwa himself said nothing when he came 
 up, an the Swallow spoke not for shame but lay 
 quiet while Moh-Kwa took him by the belt which 
 was about his middle an throwing him over his 
 shoulder as if the Swallow were a dead deer, gal 
 loped off like the wind for his own house. 
 
 When Moh-Kwa had reached his house, he 
 gave the Swallow a piece of buffalo meat to eat. 
 Then Moh-Kwa said: 
 
 " Because you would be a fool over a beautiful 
 squaw who was cunning, you have lost my three 
 gifts that were your fortune an good fame. Still, 
 because you were only a fool, I will get them 
 
 269 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 back for you. You must stay here, for you can 
 not help since your spirit is as light as dead leaves, 
 an would not be steady for so long a trail an 
 one which calls for so much care to follow." 
 
 Then Moh-Kwa went to the door of his house 
 an called his three friends, Sug-gee-mah, the 
 Mosquito, Sub-bee-kah-shee, the Spider, an 
 Wah-wah-tah-see, the Firefly; an to these he 
 said: 
 
 " Because you are great warriors an fear noth 
 ing in your hearts I have called you." 
 
 An at that, Wah-wah-tah-see, an Sub-bee-kah- 
 shee, an Sug-gee-mah stood very straight an 
 high, for being little men it made them proud 
 because so big a bear as Moh-Kwa had called 
 them to be his help. 
 
 " To you, Sub-bee-kah-shee," said Moh-Kwa, 
 turning to the Spider, " I leave Kwa-Sind; to you, 
 Wah-wah-tah-see, the Firefly, falls the honor of 
 slaying Wah-bee-noh, the bad medicine man; 
 while unto you, Sug-gee-mah descends the hard 
 est task, for you must fight a great battle with 
 Nee-pah-win, the Sleep." 
 
 Moh-Kwa gave his orders to his three friends; 
 an with that Sub-bee-kah-shee, crept to the side 
 of Kwa-Sind where he slept an bit him on the 
 cheek; an Kwa-Sind turned first gray an then 
 black with the spider s venom, an then died in 
 the hands of Pau-guk, the Death, who had fol 
 lowed the Spider to Kwa-Sind s lodge. 
 
 270 
 
THE MEDICINE MAN. 
 
MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GIFTS. 
 
 While this was going forward, Wah-wah-tah-see, 
 the Firefly, came as swift as wing could carry to 
 the lodge where Wah-bee-noh was asleep rolled 
 up in a bear-skin. Wah-bee-noh was happy, for 
 with the big medicine robe which the Robin had 
 brought him, he already had bought the eight 
 further ponies from Kwa-Sind an they then 
 grazed in Wah-bee-noh s herd. As Wah-bee-noh 
 laughed in his sleep because he dreamed of the 
 twenty ponies he had earned from Kwa-Sind, the 
 Firefly stooped an stung him inside his mouth. 
 An so perished Wah-bee-noh in a flame of fever, 
 for the poison of Wah-wah-tah-see, the Firefly, 
 burns one to death like live coals. 
 
 Sug-gee-mah, the Mosquito, found Nee-pah- 
 win, the Sleep, holding the Robin fast. But Sug- 
 gee-mah was stout, an he stooped an stung the 
 Sleep so hard he let go of the Robin an stood 
 up to fight. 
 
 All night an all day an all night, an yet many 
 days an nights, did Sug-gee-mah, the bold Mos 
 quito, an Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, fight for the 
 Robin. An whenever Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, 
 would take the Robin in his arms, Sug-gee-mah, 
 the Mosquito> would strike him with his little 
 lance. For many days an nights did Sug-gee- 
 mah, the Mosquito, hold Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, 
 at bay; an in the end the Robin turned wild an 
 crazy, for unless Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, takes 
 each man an woman in his arms when the sun 
 
 271 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 goes down it is as if they were bitten by the evil 
 polecats who are rabid; an the men an women 
 who are not held in the arms of Nee-pah-win go 
 mad an rave like starved wolves till they die. 
 An thus it was with the Robin. After many days 
 an nights, Pau-guk, the Death, came for her also, 
 an those three who had done evil to the Swallow 
 were punished. 
 
 Moh-Kwa, collecting the knife, the bear-claws 
 an the big medicine robe from the lodge of Kwa- 
 Sind, gave them to the Swallow again. This 
 time the Swallow stood better guard, an no 
 squaw, however cunning, might make a fool of 
 him though many tried so he kept his knife, 
 the bear-claws, an the big medicine robe these 
 many years while he lived. 
 
 As for Sub-bee-kah-shee, the Spider, an Wah- 
 wah-tah-see, the Firefly, an Sug-gee-mah, the 
 brave Mosquito, Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, for 
 a reward gave them an their countless squaws 
 an papooses forever that fine swamp where 
 Apuk-wah, the Bulrush, grows thick an green, 
 an makes a best hunting grounds for the three 
 little warriors who killed Kwa-Sind, Wah-bee- 
 noh, an the Robin on that day when Moh-Kwa 
 called them his enemies. An now when every 
 man was at peace an happy, Moh-Kwa brought 
 the Sioux together an re-named the Swallow 
 " Thorn-Puller;" an by that name was he known 
 till he died. 
 
 272 
 
MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GIFTS. 
 
 " How many are there of these Sioux folk-lore 
 tales? " asked the Jolly Doctor of Sioux Sam. 
 
 "How many leaves in June?" asked Sioux 
 Sam. " If our Great Medicine " so he called 
 the Jolly Doctor " were with the Dakotahs, the 
 old men an the squaws would tell him a fresh 
 one for every fresh hour of his life. There is no 
 end." 
 
 While the Jolly Doctor was reflecting on this 
 reply, the Red Nosed Gentleman, raising his glass 
 of burgundy to the Sour Gentleman who returned 
 the compliment in whiskey, said : 
 
 " My respects to you, sir; and may we hope 
 you will now give us that adventure of The Ger 
 man Girl s Diamonds ? " 
 
 " I shall have the utmost pleasure," responded 
 the Sour Gentleman. " You may not consider 
 it of mighty value as a story, but perhaps as a 
 chapter in former Custom s iniquity one may 
 concede it a use." 
 
 18 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE GERMAN GIRI/S DIAMONDS. 
 
 It cannot be said, my friends, that I liked my 
 position in that sink of evil, the New York Cus 
 toms. I was on good terms with my comrades, 
 but I founded no friendships among them. It 
 has been and still is a belief of mine, and one 
 formed at an early age, that everybody wears 
 suggestive resemblance to some bird or fish or 
 beast. I ve seen a human serpent s face, trian 
 gular, poisonous, menacing with ophidian eyes; 
 I ve seen a dove s face, soft, gentle, harmless, and 
 with lips that cooed as they framed and uttered 
 words. And there are faces to remind one of 
 dogs, of sheep, of apes, of swine, of eagles, of 
 pike ravenous, wide-mouthed, swift. I ve even 
 encountered a bear s face on Broadway one full 
 of a window-peering curiosity, yet showing a con 
 tented, sluggish sagacity withal. And every face 
 about me in the Customs would carry out my 
 theory. As I glanced from Lorns to Quin, and 
 from Quin to another, and so to the last upon 
 the list, I beheld reflected as in a glass, a hawk, 
 or an owl, or a wolf, or a fox, or a ferret, or even 
 
 274 
 
THE GERMAN GIRL S DIAMONDS. 
 
 a cat. But each rapacious; each stamped with 
 the instinct of predation as though the word 
 " Wolf " were written across his forehead. Even 
 Betelnut Jack gave one the impression that be 
 longs with some old, rusty black-eagle with worn 
 and tumbled plumage. I took no joy of my 
 comrades; saw no more of them than I might; 
 despised my trade of land-pirate for what better 
 could it be called? and following that warning 
 from " Josephus " was ever haunted of a weird 
 fear of what might come. Still, I remained and 
 claimed my loot with the rest. And you ask 
 why? When all is said, I was as voracious as the 
 others ; I clinked the coins in my pocket, and con 
 soled myself against the foul character of such 
 profits with that thought of Vespasian : " The 
 smell of all money is sweet." 
 
 Following my downfall of tobacco, I had given 
 up my rich apartments in Twenty-second Street; 
 and while I retained my membership, I went no 
 more to the two or three clubs into which I d 
 been received. In truth, these Custom House 
 days I seldom strolled as far northward as 
 Twenty-third Street ; but taking a couple of mod 
 erate rooms to the south of Washington Square, 
 I stuck to them or to the park in front as much 
 as ever I might ; passing a lonely life and meeting 
 none I d known before. 
 
 One sun-filled September afternoon, being free 
 at that hour, I was occupying a bench in Wash- 
 
 275 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 ington Square, amusing my idleness with the 
 shadows chequered across the walk by an over 
 spreading tree. A sound caught my ear; I 
 looked up to be mildly amazed by the appearance 
 of Betelnut Jack. It was seldom my chief was 
 found so far from his eyrie in the Bowery; evi 
 dently he was seeking me. His first words 
 averred as much. 
 
 " I was over to your rooms," remarked Betel- 
 nut Jack; " they told me you were here." 
 
 Then he gave me a pure Havana for we of 
 the Customs might smoke what cigars we would 
 lighted another and betook himself to a few 
 moments of fragrant, wordless tranquility. I was 
 aware, of course, that Betelnut Jack had a pur 
 pose in coming; but curiosity was never among 
 my vices, and I did not ask his mission. With a 
 feeling of indifference, I awaited its development 
 in his own good way and time. 
 
 Betelnut Jack was more apt to listen than talk ; 
 but upon this Washington Square afternoon, he 
 so far departed those habits of taciturnity com 
 monly his own as to furnish the weight of conver 
 sation. He did not hurry to his business, but 
 rambled among a score of topics. He even de 
 scribed to me by what accident he arrived at his 
 by-name of Betelnut Jack. He said he was a 
 sailor in his youth. Then he related how he went 
 on deep water ships to India and to the China 
 seas ; how he learned to chew betel from the Ori- 
 
THE GERMAN GIRL S DIAMONDS. 
 
 entals; how after he came ashore he was still ad 
 dicted to betel ; how a physician, ignorant of betel 
 and its crimson consequences, fell into vast excite 
 ment over what he concevied to be a perilous 
 hemorrhage; and how before Jack could explain, 
 seized on him and hurried him into a near-by drug 
 shop. When he understood his mistake, the 
 physician took it in dudgeon, and was in 
 clined to blame Jack for those sanguinary yet 
 fraudulent symptoms. One result of the adven 
 ture was to re-christen him "Betelnut Jack," the 
 name still sticking, albeit he had for long aban 
 doned betel as a taste outgrown. 
 
 Betelnut Jack continued touching his career 
 in New York; always with caution, however, 
 slurring some parts and jumping others; from 
 which I argued that portions of my chief s story 
 were made better by not being divulged. It 
 occurred, too, as a deduction drawn from his con 
 fidences that Betelnut Jack had been valorous as 
 a Know-Nothing; and he spoke with rapture of 
 the great prize-fighter, Tom Hyer, who beat 
 Yankee Sullivan; and then of the fistic virtues of 
 the brave Bill Poole, coming near to tears as he 
 set forth the latter s murder in Stanwix Hall. 
 
 Also, I gathered that Betelnut Jack had been 
 no laggard at hurling stones and smashing win 
 dows in the Astor Place riot of 1849. 
 
 " And the soldiers killed one hundred and 
 thirty-four," sighed Betelnut Jack, when de- 
 
 277 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 scribing the battle; "and wounded four times as 
 many more. And all, mind you! for a no-good 
 English actor with an Irish name ! " This last in 
 accents of profound disgust. 
 
 In the end Betelnut Jack began to wax uneasy; 
 it was apparent how he yearned for his nest in the 
 familiar Bowery. With that he came bluntly to 
 the purpose. 
 
 " To-morrow, early," he said, " take one of the 
 women inspectors and go down to quarantine. 
 Some time in the course of the day, the steamship 
 Wolfgang/ from Bremen, will arrive. Go 
 aboard at once. In the second cabin you will 
 find a tall, gray, old German; thin, with longish 
 hair. He may have on dark goggles ; if he hasn t, 
 you will observe that he is blind of the right eye. 
 His daughter, a girl of twenty-three, will be with 
 him. Her hair will be done up in that heavy roll 
 which hair-dressers call the waterfall/ and hang 
 in a silk close-meshed net low on her neck. Hid 
 den in the girl s hair are diamonds of a Berlin 
 value of over one hundred and twenty thousand 
 dollars. You will search the old man, and have 
 the woman inspector search the girl. Don t con 
 duct yourselves as though you knew what you 
 were looking for. Tell your assistant to find the 
 girl s diamonds naturally; let her work to them 
 by degrees, not swoop on them." 
 
 Then Betelnut Jack disposed himself for home- 
 
 278 
 
THE GERMAN GIRL S DIAMONDS. 
 
 ward flight. I asked how he became aware of 
 the jewels and the place of their concealment. 
 
 " Never mind that now," was his reply; " you ll 
 know later. But get the diamonds ; they re there 
 and you must not fail. I ve come for you, as 
 you re more capable of doing the gentleman than 
 some of the others, and this is a case where a 
 dash of refinement won t hurt the trick." 
 
 With that Betelnut Jack lounged over to 
 Fourth Street and disappeared towards Broad 
 way and the Bowery further east. 
 
 Following my chief s departure, I continued in 
 idle contemplation of the shadows. This occupa 
 tion did not forbid a mental looking up and down 
 of what would be my next day s work. The 
 prospect was far from refreshing. When one is 
 under thirty, a proposal to plunder a girl a 
 beautiful girl, doubtless of her diamonds, does 
 not appeal to one. There would be woe, tears, 
 lamentations, misery with much wringing of 
 hands. I began to call myself a villain. 
 
 Then, as against her, and defensive of myself, 
 I argued the outlaw character of the girl s work. 
 Be she beautiful or be she favored ill, still she is 
 breaking the law. It was our oath to seize the 
 gems ; whatever of later wrong was acted, at best 
 or worst, it was no wrong done her. In truth ! 
 when she was at last left free and at liberty, she 
 would be favored beyond her deserts; for those 
 
 279 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Customs laws which she was cheating spoke of 
 grates and keys and bars and bolts. 
 
 In this wise, and as much as might be, I com 
 forted myself against the disgrace of an enterprise 
 from which I naturally recoiled, hardening myself 
 as to the poor girl marked to be our prey. I 
 confess I gained no great success; say what I 
 might, I contemned myself. 
 
 While thus ruminating that dishonor into 
 which I conceived myself to have fallen, I recalled 
 a story written by Edgar Allen Poe. It is a 
 sketch wherein a wicked man is ever followed and 
 thwarted by one who lives his exact semblance in 
 each line of face and form. This doppel-ganger, 
 as the Germans name him, while the same with 
 himself in appearance and dress, is his precise 
 opposite in moral nature. This struggle between 
 the haunted one and his weird, begins in boyhood 
 and continues till middle age. At the last, frantic 
 under a final opposition, the haunted one draws 
 sword and slays his enemy. Too late, as he wipes 
 the blood from his blade, he finds that he has 
 killed his better self; too late he sees that from 
 that time to the end, the present will have no hope, 
 the future hold no heaven ; that he must sink and 
 sink and sink, until he is grasped by those hands 
 outstretched of hell to forever have him for their 
 horrid own. I wondered if I were not like that 
 man unhappy; I asked if I did not, by these vari 
 ous defenses and apologies which I made ever for 
 
 280 
 
THE GERMAN GIRL S DIAMONDS. 
 
 my wickedness, work towards the death of my 
 better nature whose destruction when it did come 
 would mean the departure forever of my soul s 
 chance. 
 
 I stood up and shook myself in a canine way. 
 Decidedly, loneliness was making me morbid! 
 However that may have been, I passed a far from 
 happy afternoon. 
 
 Fairly speaking, these contentions shook me 
 somewhat in my resolves. There were moments 
 when I determined to refuse my diamond-hunting 
 commission and resign my place. I even settled 
 the style of my resignation; it should be full of 
 sarcasm. 
 
 But alas! these white dreams faded; in the end 
 I was ready to execute the orders of Betelnut 
 Jack; and that which decided me was surely the 
 weakest thought of all. Somehow, I had in my 
 thoughts put down the coming German maiden 
 as beautiful; Betelnut Jack had said her age was 
 twenty-three, which helped me to this thought of 
 girlish loveliness. Thus, my imaginings worked 
 in favor of the girl. 
 
 But next the thought fell blackly that she 
 would some day probably a near day love 
 some man unknown and marry him. Possibly this 
 lover she already knew; perhaps he was here 
 and she on her way to meet him! This will 
 sound like jest; it will earn derision from health 
 ful, balanced spirits; and yet I tell but the truth. 
 
 281 
 
THE BLACK LlbN INN. 
 
 I experienced a vague, resentful jealousy, hated 
 this imagined lover of a girl I d never met, and 
 waxed contemptuous of aught of leniency to 
 wards one or both. I would do as Betelnut Jack 
 ordered; I would go down to quarantine on the 
 morrow; and I would find the diamonds. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when with a woman 
 assistant, I boarded the " Wolfgang " in the Nar 
 rows. My aged German was readily picked up; 
 his daughter was with him. And her beauty was 
 as I d painted on the canvas of my thoughts. 
 Yet when I beheld the loveliness which should 
 have melted me, I recalled that lover to whose 
 arms she might be coming and was hardened be 
 yond recall. I told the inspectress to take her 
 into her private room and find the diamonds. 
 With that, I turned my back and strolled to the 
 forward deck. Even at that distance I heard the 
 shriek of the girl when her treasure was discov 
 ered. 
 
 " There will be less for the lover ! " I thought. 
 
 When my woman assistant accomplice might 
 be the truer term joined me, she had the jewels. 
 They were in a long eel-skin receptacle, sewed 
 tightly, and had been secreted in the girl s hair as 
 described by Betelnut Jack. I took the gems, 
 and buttoning them in my coat, told my aide 
 who with a feminine fashion of bitterness seemed 
 exultant over having deprived another of her 
 gew-gaws to arrest the girl, hold her until the 
 
 282 
 
THE GERMAN GIRL S DIAMONDS. 
 
 boat docked, frighten her with tales of fetters and 
 dungeons and clanging bars, and at the last to 
 lose her on the wharf. It would be nine o clock 
 of the night by then, and murk dark; this loss of 
 her prisoner would seem to come honestly about. 
 
 If I were making a romance, rather than bend 
 ing to a relation of cold, gray, hard, untender 
 facts, I would at this crisis defy Betelnut Jack, 
 rescue the beautiful girl, restore her jewels, love 
 her, win her, wed her, and with her true, dear 
 arms about me, live happy ever after. As it was, 
 however, I did nothing of that good sort. My 
 aide obeyed directions in a mood at once thor 
 ough, blithe, and spiteful, and never more did I 
 set eyes on the half-blind father or the tearful, 
 pretty, poor victim of our diamond hunting. 
 Lost in the crush and bustle of the wharf, they 
 were never found, never looked for, and never 
 rendered themselves. 
 
 I had considered what profit from these jewels 
 might accrue to the ring and the means by which 
 it would be arrived at. I took it for granted that 
 some substitutional arts when paste would take 
 the places of old mine gems would be resorted 
 to as in the excellent instance of The Emperor s 
 Cigars. But Betelnut Jack shook his careful 
 head; there would be no hokus-pokus of substi 
 tution; there were good reasons. Also, there 
 was another way secure. If our profits were 
 somewhat shaved, our safety would be aug- 
 
 283 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 mented; and Betelnut Jack s watchword was 
 " Safety first ! " I was bound to acquiesce ; I the 
 more readily did so since, like Lorns and Quin, I 
 had grown to perfect confidence in the plans of 
 Betelnut Jack. However, when now I had brushed 
 aside etiquette and broken the ice of the matter 
 with my chief, I asked how he meant to manceuver 
 in the affair. 
 
 " Wait ! " retorted Betelnut Jack, and that was 
 the utmost he would say. 
 
 In due time came the usual auction and the 
 gems were sold. They were snapped up by a 
 syndicate of wise folk of Maiden Lane who paid 
 therefor into the hands of the government the 
 even sum of one hundred thousand dollars. 
 
 Still I saw not how our ring would have advan 
 tage; no way could open for us to handle those 
 one hundred thousand dollars in whole or in part. 
 I was in error; a condition whereof I was soon 
 to be made pleasantly aware. 
 
 On the day following the sale, and while the 
 price paid still slept unbanked in the Customs 
 boxes of proof-steel, there came one to see our 
 canny chief. It is useless to waste description on 
 this man. Suffice it that he was in fact and in 
 appearance as skulkingly the coward scoundrel as 
 might anywhere be met. This creeping creature 
 was shown into the private rooms of Betelnut 
 Jack. A moment later, I was sent for. 
 
 Betelnut Jack was occupying a chair; he wore 
 284 
 
THE GERMAN GIRL S DIAMONDS. 
 
 an air of easy confidence; and over that, a senti 
 ment of contempt for his visitor. This latter was 
 posed in the middle of the room; and while an 
 apprehension of impending evil showed on his 
 face, he made cringing and deprecatory gestures 
 with shoulders hunched and palms turned out 
 ward. 
 
 " Sit down," observed Betelnut Jack, pushing 
 a chair towards me. When I was seated, he 
 spoke on. " Since it was you who found the 
 diamonds, I thought it right to have you present 
 now. You asked me once how I knew in advance 
 of those gems and their scheme of concealment. 
 To-day you may learn. This is the gentleman 
 who gave me the information. He did it to 
 obtain the reward to receive that great per cent, 
 of the seizure s proceeds which is promised the 
 informer by the law. His information was right ; 
 he is entitled to the reward. That is what he is 
 here for; he has come to be paid." Then to the 
 hangdog, cringing one : " Pretty good day s work 
 for you, eh? Over fifty thousand dollars for a 
 little piece of information is stiff pay ! " The 
 hangdog one bowed lower and a smirk of partial 
 confidence began to broaden his face. " And 
 now you ve come for your money fifty odd 
 thousand ! " 
 
 " If you please, sir ! yes, sir ! " More and wider 
 smirks. 
 
 " All right ! " retorted Betelnut Jack. " You 
 285 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 shall have it, friend ; but not now not to-day." 
 
 " Then when ? " and the smirk fled. 
 
 " To-morrow," said Betelnut Jack. " To-mor 
 row, next day, any day in fact when you bring 
 before me to be witnesses of the transaction the 
 father, the sister, and your wife." 
 
 Across the face of the hangdog one spread a 
 pallor that was as the whiteness of death. There 
 burned the fires of a hot agony in his eyes as 
 though a dirk had slowly pierced him. His voice 
 fell in a husky whisper. 
 
 " You would cheat me ! " 
 
 " No; I would do you perfect justice," replied 
 Betelnut Jack. " Not a splinter do you finger 
 until you bring your people. Your wife and her 
 sister and their father shall know this story, and 
 stand here while the money is paid. Not a stiver 
 else ! Now, go ! " 
 
 Betelnut Jack s tones were as remorseless as a 
 storm ; they offered nothing to hope ; the hang 
 dog one heard and crept away with a look on his 
 face that was but ill to see. Once the door was 
 closed behind him, Betelnut Jack turned with a 
 cheerful gleam to me. 
 
 " That ends him ! It s as you guess. This in 
 former is the son-in-law of the old German. He 
 married the elder daughter. They came over 
 four years ago and live in Hoboken. Then the 
 father and the younger sister were to come. 
 They put their whole fortune into the diamonds, 
 
 286 
 
THE GERMAN GIRL S DIAMONDS. 
 
 aiming to cheat the Customs and manage a profit; 
 and the girl wrote their plans and how they would 
 hide the jewels to her sister. It was she who 
 told her husband this fellow who s just sneaked 
 out. He came to me and betrayed them ; he was 
 willing to ruin the old man and the girl to win 
 riches for himself. But he s gone; he ll not re 
 turn ; we ve seen and heard the last of them ; one 
 fears the jail, the other the wrath of his wife ; and 
 that s the end." Then Betelnut Jack, as he 
 lighted a cigar, spoke the word which told to folk 
 initiate of a division of spoil on the morrow. As 
 I arose, he said : " Ask Lorns to come here." 
 
 " Well," remarked the Old Cattleman when the 
 Sour Gentleman was done, " I don t want to say 
 nothin to discourage you-all, but if I d picked up 
 your hand that time I wouldn t have played it. 
 I shorely would have let that Dutch girl keep her 
 beads. Didn t the thing ha nt you afterwards? " 
 
 " It gave me a deal of uneasiness," responded 
 the Sour Gentleman. " I am not proud of my 
 performance. And yet, I don t see what else I 
 might have done. Those diamonds were as good 
 as in the hands of Betelnut Jack from the moment 
 the skulking brother-in-law brought him the in 
 formation." 
 
 " It s one relief/ observed the Red Nosed 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Gentleman, " to know how that scoundrel came 
 off no richer by his treachery." 
 
 " What I observes partic lar in the narration," 
 said the Old Cattleman, " is how luck is the 
 preedominatin feacher throughout. The girl an 
 her old pap has bad luck in losin the gew 
 gaw s. You-all customs sharps has good luck in 
 havin the news brought to your hand as to where 
 them diamonds is hid, by a coyote whom you can 
 bluff plumb outen the play at the finish. As for 
 the coyote informer, why he has luck in bein al 
 lowed to live. 
 
 " An speakin of luck, seein that in this yere 
 story-tellin arrangement that seems to have 
 grown up in our midst, I m the next chicken on 
 the roost, I ll onfold to you gents concernin The 
 Luck of Cold-sober Simms. " 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE LUCK OF COLD-SOBER SIMMS. 
 
 Which this yere tale is mighty devious, not to 
 say disjointed, because, d you see! from first to last, 
 she s all the truth. Now, thar is folks sech as In 
 juns an them sagacious sports which we-all terms 
 philosophers, who talks of truth bein straight. In 
 juns will say a liar has a forked tongue, while phi 
 losophers will speak of a straight ondeviatin narra 
 tive, meanin tharby to indooce you to regyard said 
 story as the emanation of honesty in its every word. 
 For myse f I don t subscribe none to these yere 
 phrases. In my own experience it s the lies that 
 runs in a straight line like a bullet, whereas the truth 
 goes onder an over, an up an down, doubles an 
 jumps sideways a dozen times before ever it fi 
 nally finds its camp in what book-sharps call the 
 " climax." Which I says ag in that this tale, bein 
 troo, has nacherally as many kinks in it as a new 
 lariat. 
 
 Bein thoughtful that a-way, an preyed on by a 
 
 desire to back-track every fact to its fountain-head, 
 
 meanwhile considerin how different the kyards 
 
 would have fallen final if something prior had been 
 
 19 289 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 done or left on done, has ever been my weakness. 
 It s allers so with me. I can recall as a child how 
 back in Tennessee I deevotes hours when fish- 
 in or otherwise uselessly engaged, to wonderin who 
 ever I d have been personal if my maw had died in 
 her girlhood an pap had wedded someone else. It s 
 plumb too many for me; an now an then when in 
 a sperit of onusual cog tation, I ups an wonders 
 where I d be if both my maw an pap had cashed 
 in as colts, I d jest simply set down he pless, on- 
 qualified to think at all. It s plain that in sech on- 
 toward events as my two parents dyin , say, at the 
 age of three, I sort o wouldn t have happened none. 
 This yere solemn view never fails to give me the 
 horrors. 
 
 I fixes the time of this story easy as bein that 
 eepock when Jim East an Bob Pierce is sheriffs 
 of the Panhandle, with headquarters in Tascosa, 
 an Bob Roberson is chief of the LIT ranch. These 
 yere evidences of merit on the parts of them three 
 gents has not, however, anything to do with how 
 Cold-sober Simms gets rich at farobank; how two 
 hold-ups plots to rob him; how he s saved by the 
 inadvertent capture of a bob-cat who s strange to 
 him entire; an how the two hold-ups in their cha 
 grin over Cold-sober s escape an the mootual 
 doubts it engenders, pulls on each other an relieves 
 the Stranglers from the labor of stringin em to a 
 cotton wood. 
 
 These doin s whereof I gives you a rapid rehear- 
 290 
 
THE LUCK OF COLD-SOBER SIMMS. 
 
 sal, has their start when Old Scotty an Locoed 
 Charlie gets drunk in Tascosa prior to startin west 
 on their buckboard with the mailbags of the Lee- 
 Scott ranch. Locoed Charlie an Old Scotty is 
 drunk when they pulls out; Cold-sober Simms is 
 with em as a passenger. At their night camp half 
 way to the Lee-Scott, Locoed Charlie, whose head 
 can t stand the strain of Jenkins nose-paint, makes 
 war-medicine an lays for Old Scotty all spraddled 
 out. As the upcome of these yere hostilities, Old 
 Scotty confers a most elab rate beatin on Locoed 
 Charlie ; after which they-all cooks their grub, feeds, 
 an goes to sleep. 
 
 But Locoed Charlie don t go to sleep ; he lays thar 
 drunk an disgruntled an hungerin to play even. 
 As a good revengeful scheme, Locoed Charlie al 
 lows he ll get up an secrete the mailbag, thinkin 
 tharby to worry Old Scotty till he sweats blood. 
 Locoed Charlie packs the mailbag over among some 
 rocks which is thick grown with cedar bresh. 
 When it comes sun-up an Locoed Charlie is sober 
 an repents, an tells Old Scotty of his little game, 
 neither he nor Scotty can find that mailbag nohow. 
 Locoed Charlie shore hides her good. 
 
 Locoed Charlie an Scotty don t dare go on with 
 out it, but stays an searches; Cold-sober Simms 
 who is given this yere nom-de-guerre, as Colonel 
 Sterett terms it, because he s the only sport in the 
 Panhandle who don t drink stays with em to help 
 on the hunt. At last, failin utter to discover the 
 
 291 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 missin mail, Locoed Charlie an Old Scotty re 
 turns to Tascosa in fear an tremblin , not packin 
 the nerve to face McAllister, who manages for the 
 Lee-Scott, an inform him of the yoonique dis 
 position they makes of his outfit s letters. This 
 return to Tascosa is, after all, mere proodence, since 
 McAllister is a mighty emotional manager, that 
 a-way, an it s as good as even money he hangs 
 both of them culprits in that first gust of enthoosi- 
 asm which would be shore to follow any explana 
 tion they can make. So they returns; an because 
 he can t he p himse f none, bein he s only a pas 
 senger on that buckboard, Cold-sober Simms re 
 turns with em. No, the mailbag is found a week 
 later by a Lee-Scott rider, an for the standin of 
 Locoed Charlie an Scotty it s as well he does. 
 
 Cold-sober is some sore at bein baffled in his trip 
 to the Lee-Scott since he aims to go to work thar as 
 a rider. To console himse f, he turns in an bucks 
 a faro game that a brace of onknown black-laigs 
 who shows in Tascosa from Fort Elliot the day 
 prior, has onfurled in James s loon. As some 
 times happens, Cold-sober plays in all brands an 
 y earmarks of luck, an in four hours breaks the 
 bank. It ain t overstrong, no sech institootion of 
 finance in fact as Cherokee Hall s faro game in 
 Wolfville, an when Cold-sober calls the last nine- 
 king turn for one hundred, an has besides a hun 
 dred on the nine, coppered, an another hundred 
 open on the king, tharby reapin six hundred dol- 
 
 292 
 
THE LUCK OF COLD-SOBER SIMMS. 
 
 lars as the froots of said feat, the sharp who s deal- 
 in turns up his box an tells Cold-sober to set in 
 his chips to be cashed. Cold-sober sets em in; 
 nine thousand five hundred dollars bein the round 
 up, an the dealer-sharp hands over the dinero. 
 Then in a sperit of resentment the dealer-sharp 
 picks up the faro-box an smashes it ag in the wall. 
 
 " Thar bein nothin left," he says to his fellow 
 black-laig, who s settin in the look-out s chair, " for 
 you an me but to prance out an stand up a stage, 
 we may as well dismiss that deal-box from our af 
 fairs. I knowed that box was a hoodoo ever since 
 Black Morgan gets killed over it in Mobeetie; an 
 so I tells you, but you-all wouldn t heed." 
 
 Cold-sober is shore elated about his luck; them 
 nine thousand odd dollars is more wealth than he 
 ever sees; an how to dispose of it, now he s got 
 it, begins to bother Cold-sober a heap. One gent 
 says, " Hive it in Howard s Store!" another 
 su gests he leave it with old man Colin; while still 
 others agrees it s Cold-sober s dooty to blow it in. 
 
 " Which if I was you-all," says Johnny Cook of 
 the LIT outfit, " I d shore sally forth an buy nose- 
 paint with that treasure while a peso remained." 
 
 But Cold-sober turns down these divers proposals 
 an allows he ll pack said roll in his pocket a whole 
 lot, which he accordm does. 
 
 Cold-sober hangs round Tascosa for mighty near 
 a week, surrenderin all thought of gettin to the 
 Lee-Scott ranch, feelin that he s now too rich to 
 
 293 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 punch cattle. Doorin this season of idleness art 
 ease, Cold-sober bunks in with a jimcrow English 
 doctor who s got a doby in Tascosa an who calls 
 himse f Chepp. He s a decent form of maverick, 
 however, this yere Chepp, an him an Cold-sober 
 becomes as thick as thieves. 
 
 Cold-sober s stay with Chepp is brief as I states; 
 in a week he gets restless ag in for work; where 
 upon he hooks up with Roberson, an goes p intin 
 south across the Canadian on a L I T hoss to hold 
 down one of that brand s sign-camps in Mitchell s 
 canyon. It s only twenty miles, an he s thar in 
 half a day him an Wat Peacock who s to be his 
 mate. An Cold-sober packs with him that fortune 
 of ninety-five hundred. 
 
 The two black-laigs who s been depleted that a- 
 way still hankers about Tascosa; but as mighty 
 likely they don t own the riches to take em out o 
 town, not much is thought. Nor does it ruffle the 
 feathers of commoonal suspicion when the two dis 
 appears a few days after Cold-sober goes ridin away 
 to assoome them LIT reesponsibilities in Mitchell s 
 canyon. The public is too busy to bother itse f 
 about em. It comes out later, however, that the 
 goin of Cold-sober has everything to do with the 
 exodus of them hold-ups, an that they ve been layin 
 about since they loses their roll on a chance of get- 
 tin it back. When Cold-sober p ints south for 
 Mitchell s that time, it s as good as these outlaws 
 asks. They riggers on trailin him to Mitchell s an 
 
 294 
 
THE LUCK OF COLD-SOBER SIMMS. 
 
 hiclin out ontil some hour when Peacock s off fool- 
 in about the range; when they argues Cold-sober 
 would be plumb easy, an they ll kill an skelp him 
 an clean him up for his money, an ride away. 
 
 " In fact," explains the one Cold-sober an Pea 
 cock finds alive, " it s our idee that the killin an 
 skelpin an pillagin of Cold-sober would get layed 
 to Peacock, which would mean safety for us an 
 at the same time be a jest on Peacock that would 
 be plumb hard to beat." That was the plan of these 
 outlaws ; an the cause of its failure is the followin 
 episode, to wit : 
 
 It looks like this Doc Chepp is locoed to collect 
 wild anamiles that a-way. 
 
 " Which I wants," says this shorthorn Chepp, 
 " a speciment of every sort o the fauna of these 
 yere regions, savin an exceptin polecats. I 
 knows enough of the latter pungent beast from an 
 encounter I has with one, to form notions ag in 
 em over which not even the anxious cry of science 
 can preevail. Polecats is barred from my c llec- 
 tions. But," an said Chepp imparts this last to 
 Cold-sober as the latter starts for Mitchell s, " if by 
 any sleight or dexterity you-all accomplishes the 
 capture of a bob-cat, bring the interestin creature 
 to me at once. An bring him alive so I may ob 
 serve an note his pecooliar traits." 
 
 It s the third mornin in Mitchell s when a bob 
 cat is seen by Cold-sober an Peacock to go sa nter- 
 in up the valley. Mebby this yere bob-cat s home- 
 
 295 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 less; mebby he s a dissoloote bob-cat an has been 
 out all night carousin with other bob-cats an is 
 simply late gettin in; be the reason of his appear 
 ance what it may, Cold-sober remembers about Doc 
 Chepp s wish to own a bob-cat, an him an Peacock 
 lets go all holds, leaps for their ponies an gives 
 chase. Thar s a scramblin run up the canyon ; then 
 Peacock gets his rope onto it, an next Cold-sober 
 fastens with his rope, an you hear me, gents, be 
 tween em they almost rends this yere onhappy bob 
 cat in two. They pauses in time, however, an 
 after a fearful struggle they succeeds in stuffin the 
 bob-cat into Peacock s leather laiggin s, which the 
 latter gent removes for that purpose. Bound hand 
 an foot, an wropped in the laiggin s so tight he 
 can hardly squawl, that bob-cat s put before Cold- 
 sober on his saddle; an this bein fixed, Cold-sober 
 heads for Tascosa to present him to his naturalist 
 friend, Chepp, Peacock scamperin cheerfully along 
 like a drunkard to a barbecue regyardin the racket 
 as a oncleniable excuse for gettin soaked. 
 
 This adventure of the bob-cat is the savin clause 
 in the case of Cold-sober Simms. As the bob 
 cat an him an Peacock rides away, them two male 
 factors is camped not five miles off, over by the 
 Serrita la Cruz, an arrangin to go projectin round 
 for Cold-sober an his ninety-five hundred that very 
 evenin . In truth, they execootes their scheme ; but 
 only to find when they jumps his camp in Mitchell s 
 that Cold-sober s done vamosed a whole lot. 
 
 296 
 
THE LUCK OF COLD-SOBER SIMMS. 
 
 It s then trouble begins to gather for the two 
 rustlers. The one who deals the game that time 
 is so overcome by Cokl-sober s absence, he peevish 
 ly puts it up that his pard gives Cold-sober warnin 
 with the idee of later whackin up the roll with him 
 by way of a reward for his virchoo. Nacherally 
 no se f-respectin miscreant will submit to sech im 
 peachments, an the accoosed makes a heated retort, 
 punctuatin his observations with his gun. Thar- 
 tipon the other proceeds to voice his feelin s with 
 his six-shooter; an the mootual remarks of these 
 yere dispootants is so well aimed an ackerate that 
 next evenin when Cold-sober an Peacock returns, 
 they finds one dead an t other dyin with even an 
 exact jestice broodin over all. 
 
 As Cold-sober an Peacock is settin by their fire 
 that night, restin from their labors in plantin 
 the two hold-ups, Cold-sober starts up sudden an 
 says : 
 
 " Yereafter I adopts a bob-cat for my coat-o - 
 arms. Also, I changes my mind about Howard, 
 an to-morry I ll go chargin into Tascosa an leave 
 said ninety-five hundred in his iron box. Thar s 
 more bad men at Fort Elliot than them two we 
 plants, an mebby some more of em may come 
 a-weavin up the Canadian with me an my wealth 
 as their objective p int." 
 
 Peacock endorses the notion enthoosiastic, an 
 declar s himse f in on the play as a body-guard; 
 
 297 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 for he sees in this yere second expedition a new 
 o casion for another drunk, an Peacock jest nacher- 
 ally dotes on a debauch. 
 
 " And what did your Cold-sober Simms," asked 
 the Sour Gentleman, " finally do with his money ? 
 Did he go into the cattle business ? " 
 
 " Never buys a hoof, returned the Old Cattle 
 man. " No, indeed ; he loses it ag in monte in 
 Kelly s s loon in Dodge. Charley Bassett who s 
 marshal at the time tries to git Cold-sober to pass 
 up that monte game. But thar ain t no headin 
 him; he would buck it, an so the sharp who s deal- 
 in , Butcher Knife Bill it is turns in an knocks 
 Cold-sober s horns plumb off." 
 
 The sudden collapse of the volatile Cold-sober s 
 fortunes was quite a dampener to the Sour Gen 
 tleman; he evidently entertained a hope that the 
 lucky cow-boy was fated to a rise in life. The news 
 of his final losses had less effect on the Red Nosed 
 Gentleman who, having witnessed no little gambling 
 in his earlier years, seemed better prepared. In 
 truth, a remark he let fall would show as much. 
 
 " I was sure he would lose it," said the Red Nosed 
 Gentleman. " Men win money only to lose it to the 
 first game they can find. However, to change the 
 subject : " Here the Red Nosed Gentleman beamed 
 upon the Jolly Doctor. " Sir, the hour is young. 
 
 298 
 
THE LUCK OF COLD-SOBER SIMMS. 
 
 Can t you aid us to finish the evening with another 
 story?" 
 
 " There is one I might give you/ responded the 
 Jolly Doctor. " It is of a horse-race like that Res 
 cue of Connelly you related and was told me by an 
 old friend and patient who I fear was a trifle wild 
 as a youth. This is the story as set forth by him 
 self, and for want of a more impressive title, we 
 may call it How Prince Rupert Lost/ 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 And now Fll tell you how I once threw stones 
 at Hartford and thereby gained queer money to 
 carry me to the bedside of my mother at her 
 death. 
 
 My father, you should know, was a lawyer of 
 eminence and wide practice at the New York bar. 
 His income was magnificent; yet thriftless and 
 well living he spent it with both hands. My 
 mother, who took as little concern for the future 
 as himself, aided pleasantly in scattering the dol 
 lars as fast as they were earned. 
 
 With no original estate on either side, and not 
 a shilling saved, it was to be expected that my 
 father s death should leave us wanting a penny. 
 I was twenty-two when the blow fell ; he died 
 stricken of an apoplexy, his full habit and want 
 of physical exercise marking him to that malady 
 as a certain prey. 
 
 I well recall how this death came upon us as a 
 bolt from the blue. And while his partner stood 
 over our affairs like a brother, when the debts 
 were paid there remained no more than would 
 
 300 
 
HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 manage an annuity for my mother of some six 
 hundred dollars. With that she retreated to West- 
 chester and lived the little balance of her years 
 with a maiden sister who owned a starved farm, 
 all chequered of stone fences, in that region of 
 breath-taking hills. 
 
 It stood my misfortune that I was bred as the 
 son of a wealthy man. Columbia was my school 
 and the generosity of my father gilded those col 
 lege days with an allowance of five thousand a 
 year. I became proficient like many another 
 hare-brain in everything save books, and was a 
 notable guard on the University Eleven and pulled 
 the bow oar in the University Eight. When I 
 came from college the year before my father s 
 death I could write myself adept of a score of 
 sciences, each physical, not one of which might 
 serve to bring a splinter of return not one, in 
 deed, that did not demand the possession of larg 
 est wealth in its pursuit. I was poor in that I did 
 not have a dollar when brought to face the world ; 
 I was doubly poor with a training that had taught 
 me to spend thousands. Therefore, during the 
 eighteen years to succeed my father s going, was 
 I tossed on the waves of existence like so much 
 wreckage ; and that I am not still so thrown about 
 is the offspring of happy exigency rather than a 
 condition due to wisdom of my own. 
 
 My ship of money did not come in until after 
 I d encountered my fortieth year. For those 
 
 301 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 eighteen years next prior, if truth must out, lid 
 picked up intermittent small money following the 
 races. Turf interest of that day settled about 
 such speedy ones as Goldsmith Maid, Lucy, Judge 
 Fullerton and American Girl, while Budd Doble, 
 Dan Mace and Jack Splan were more often in the 
 papers than was the President. I followed the 
 races, I say; sometimes I was flush of money, 
 more often I was poor; but one way or another 
 I clung to the skirts of the circuits and managed 
 to live. 
 
 Now, since age has come to my head and gold 
 to my fingers, and I ve had time and the cooled 
 blood wherewith to think, I ve laid my ill courses 
 of those eighteen evil years to the doors of what 
 vile ideals of life are taught in circles of our very 
 rich. What is true now, was true then. Among 
 our " best people " if " best " be the word where 
 " worst " might better fit the case who is held up 
 to youthful emulation? Is it the great lawyer, 
 or writer, or preacher, or merchant, or man of 
 medicine ? Is it he of any trade or calling who 
 stands usefully and profitably at the head of his 
 fellows ? Never ; such gentry of decent effort and 
 clean dollars to flow therefrom are not mentioned ; 
 or if they be, it is not for compliment and often 
 with disdain. 
 
 And who has honor in the social conventions 
 of our American aristocrats? It is young A, who 
 drives an automobile some eighty miles an hour; 
 
 302 
 
HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 or young B, who sails a single-sticker until her 
 canvas is blown from the bolt ropes ; or young C, 
 who rides like an Arab at polo; or young D, who 
 drives farthest at golf; or young E, who is the 
 headlong first in a paper chase. These be the 
 ideals; these the promontories to steer by. Is it 
 marvel then when a youth raised of those " best 
 circles " falls out of his nest of money that he 
 lies sprawling, unable to honestly aid himself? Is 
 it strange that he afterward lives drunken and pre 
 cariously and seldom in walks asking industry and 
 hard work? His training has been to spend 
 money, while his contempt was reserved for those 
 who labored its honorable accumulation. Such 
 wrong-taught creatures, bereft of bank accounts, 
 are left to adopt the races, the gambling tables, 
 or the wine trade; and with all my black wealth 
 of experience, I sit unable to determine which is 
 basest and most loathly of the three. 
 
 During those eighteen roving, race-course years 
 I saw my mother but seldom ; and I never exposed 
 to her my methods of life. I told her that I 
 " traveled ;" and she, good, innocent girl ! gained 
 from the phrase a cloudy notion that I went the 
 trusted ambassador to various courts of trade of 
 some great manufactory. I protected her from 
 the truth to the end, and she died brightly con 
 fident that her son made a brilliant figure in the 
 world. 
 
 While on my ignoble wanderings I kept myself 
 303 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 in touch with one whom I might trust, and who, 
 dwelling near my mother, saw her day by day. 
 He was ever in possession of my whereabouts. 
 Her health w r as a bit perilous from heart troubles, 
 and I, as much as I might, maintained arrange 
 ments to warn me should she turn seriously ill. 
 
 At first I looked hourly for such notice ; but as 
 month after month went by and no bad tidings- 
 nothing save word at intervals that she was pass 
 ing her quiet, uneventful days in comfort, and as 
 each occasional visit made to Westchester con 
 firmed such news, my apprehension became dulled 
 and dormant. It was a surprise then, and pierced 
 me hideously, when I opened the message that 
 told how her days were down to hours and she 
 lay dying. 
 
 The telegram reached me in Hartford. When 
 I took it from the messenger s hand I was so poor 
 I could not give him a dime for finding me ; and 
 as he had been to some detective pains in the 
 business, he left with an ugly face as one cheated 
 of appreciation. I could not help it; there dwelt 
 not so much as one cheap copper in my pocket. 
 Also, my clothes w r ere none of the best; for I d 
 been in ill fortune, and months of bankruptcy had 
 dealt unkindly with my wardrobe. But there 
 should be no such word as fail; I must find the 
 money to go to her find it even though it ar 
 rive on the tides of robbery. 
 
 Luck came to me. Within the minute to fol- 
 304 
 
HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 low the summons, and while the yellow message 
 still fluttered between my fingers, I was hailed 
 from across the street. The hail came from a 
 certain coarse gentleman who seemed born to 
 horse-races as to an heritage and was, withal, one 
 of the few who reaped a harvest from them. This 
 fortunate one was known to the guild as Sure- 
 thing Pete. 
 
 It was fairly early of the morning, eight o clock, 
 and Surething Pete in the wake of his several 
 morning drinks he was a celebrated sot was 
 having his boots cleaned. It is a curious thing 
 that half-drunken folk are prone to this improve 
 ment. That is why a boot-black s chair is found 
 so frequently just outside the portals of a rum 
 shop. The prospect of a seat allures your drunk 
 ard fresh from his latest drink; he may sit at 
 secure ease and please his rum-contented fancy 
 with a review of the passing crowds; also, the 
 Italian digging and brushing about his soles gives 
 an impression that he is subject of concern to 
 some one and this nurses a sense of importance 
 and comes as vague tickle to his vanity. 
 
 Surething Pete, as related, was under the hands 
 of a boot-black when I approached. He was 
 much older than I and regarded me as a boy. 
 
 " Broke, eh?" said Surething Pete. His eye, 
 
 though bleary, was keen. Then he tendered a 
 
 quarter. " Take this and go and eat. I ll wait 
 
 for you here. Come back in fifteen minutes and 
 
 20 305 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 I ll put you in line to make some money. I d 
 give you more, but I m afraid you wouldn t re 
 turn." 
 
 Make money ! I bolted two eggs and a cup of 
 coffee and was back in ten minutes. Surething s 
 second shoe was receiving its last polish. He 
 paid the artist, and then turning led me to a rear 
 room of the nearby ginmill. 
 
 11 This is it," said Surething. His voice was 
 rum-husky but he made himself clear. " There s 
 the special race between Prince Rupert and Creole 
 Belle. You know about that ? " 
 
 Of course I knew. These cracks had been 
 especially matched against each other. It would 
 be a great contest; the odds were five to three 
 on Prince Rupert ; thousands were being wagered ; 
 the fraternity had talked of nothing else for three 
 weeks. Of course I knew! 
 
 " Well," went on Surething, " I ve been put 
 wrong, understand ! I ve got my bundle on Creole 
 Belle and stand to win a fortune if Prince Rupert 
 is beaten. I supposed that I d got his driver 
 fixed. I paid this crook a thousand cold and gave 
 him tickets on Creole Belle which stand him to 
 win five thousand more to throw the race. But 
 now, with the race to be called at two o clock, I 
 get it straight he s out to double-cross me. He ll 
 drive Rupert to win; an if he does I m a gone 
 fawnskin. But I ve thought of another trick." 
 
 306 
 
HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 Then suddenly: "1*11 tell you what you do; get 
 into this wagon outside and come with me." 
 
 With the last word, Surething again headed for 
 the street. We took a carriage that stood at the 
 door. In thirty minutes we were on the Charter 
 Oak track. At this early hour, we had the course 
 to ourselves. Surething walked up the home 
 stretch until we arrived at a point midway be 
 tween the half mile post and the entrance to the 
 stretch. 
 
 " See that tree? " said Surething, and he point 
 ed to a huge buttonwood a native that stood 
 perhaps twenty feet inside the rail. " Come over 
 and take a look at it." 
 
 The great buttonwood was hollow; or rather a 
 half had been torn away by some storm. What 
 remained, however, was growing green and strong 
 and stood in such fashion towards the course that 
 it offered a perfect hiding place. By lying close 
 within the hollow one was screened from any who 
 might drive along. 
 
 " This is the proposition," continued Surething, 
 when I had taken in the convenient buttonwood 
 and its advantages. " This Rupert can beat the 
 Belle if he s driven. But he s as nervous as a 
 girl. If a fly should light on him he d go ten 
 feet in the air understand? Here now is what 
 I want of you. I ll tell you what you re to do; 
 then I ll tell you what you re to get. I want you 
 to plant yourself behind this tree better come 
 
 307 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 here as early as the noon hour. The track ll be 
 clear and no one ll see you go under cover, under 
 stand ! As I say, I want you to plant yourself in 
 the sheltering hollow of this buttonwood. You 
 ought to have three rocks say as big as a guinea s 
 egg three stones, d ye see, cause the race is 
 heats, best three in five. You must lay dead so 
 no one ll get on. As Rupert and the Belle sweep 
 round the curve for the stretch, you want to let 
 em get a trifle past you. Then you re to step 
 out and nail Rupert he ll have the pole without 
 a doubt and nail Rupert, I say, with a rock. 
 That ll settle him; he ll be up in the air like a 
 swallow-bird. It ll give the Belle the heat." 
 
 Having gotten thus far, Surething fell into a 
 mighty fit of coughing; his face congested and his 
 eyes rolled. For a moment I feared that apoplexy 
 my father s death might take him in the midst 
 of his hopeful enterprise and deprive me of this 
 chance of riches. I was not a little relieved there 
 fore when he somewhat recovered and went on : 
 
 " That trick s as safe as seven-up," continued 
 Surething. " You ll be alone up here, as every 
 body else will be down about the finish. The 
 drivers, driving like mad, won t see you won t 
 see anything but their horses ears. You must 
 get Rupert get him three times every time he 
 comes round understand ? " 
 
 I understood. 
 
 " Right you are," concluded Surething. " And 
 
 308 
 
HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 to make it worth your while, here are tickets on 
 the Belle that call for five hundred dollars if she 
 wins. And here s a dollar also for a drink and 
 another feed to steady your wrists for the stone- 
 throwing." 
 
 It will seem strange and may even attract resent 
 ment that I, a college graduate and come of good 
 folk, should accept such commission from a felon 
 like Surething Pete. All I say is that I did 
 accept it; was glad to get it; and for two hours 
 before the great contest between Prince Rupert 
 and Creole Belle was called, I lay ensconced in 
 my buttonwood ambush, armed of three stones 
 like David without the sling, ready to play my 
 part towards the acquirement of those promised 
 hundreds. And with that, my thoughts were on 
 my mother. The money would count handsomely 
 to procure me proper clothes and take me home. 
 To me the proposed bombardment of the nervous 
 Rupert appeared an opportunity heaven-sent when 
 my need was most. 
 
 For fear of discovery and woe to follow, I put 
 my tickets in the hands of one who, while as poor 
 as I, could yet be trusted. He was, if the Belle 
 won, to cash them; and should I be observed at 
 my sleight of hand work and made to fly, he 
 would meet me in a near-by village with the pro 
 ceeds. 
 
 At prompt two o clock the race was called. 
 There were bustling crowds of spectators; but 
 
 309 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 none came near my hiding place, as Surething 
 Pete had foreseen. The horses got off with the 
 second trial. They trotted as steadily as clock 
 work. As the pair rounded the second curve 
 they were coming like the wind; drivers leaning 
 far forward in their sulkies, eagle of glance, steady 
 of rein, soothing with encouraging words, and 
 " sending them," as the phrase is, for every inch. 
 It was a splendid race and splendidly driven, 
 with Rupert on the pole and a half length to the 
 good. They flashed by my post like twin meteors. 
 
 As they passed I stepped free of my button- 
 wood; and then, as unerringly as one might send 
 a bullet for I had not been long enough from 
 school to forget how to throw my first pebble, 
 full two ounces, caught the hurrying Rupert in 
 mid-rib. 
 
 Mighty were the results. Prince Rupert leaped 
 into the air stumbled came almost to a halt 
 then into the air a second time and following 
 that, went galloping and pitching down the 
 course, his driver sawing and whipping in dis 
 tracted alternation. Meanwhile, Creole Belle 
 slipped away like a spirit in harness and finished 
 a wide winner. I took in results from my button- 
 wood. There was no untoward excitement about 
 the grandstand or among the judges. Good; I 
 was not suspected ! 
 
 There ensued a long wait ; planted close to my 
 tree I wearied with the aching length of it. Then 
 
 310 
 
HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 Rupert and the Belle were on the track again. 
 The gong sounded ; I heard the word " Go ! " even 
 in my faraway hiding ; the second heat was on. It 
 was patterned of the first; the two took the curve 
 and flew for the head of the stretch as they did 
 before; Rupert on the pole and leading with half 
 a length. I repeated the former success. The 
 stone struck poor Rupert squarely. He shot 
 straight toward the skies and all but fell in the 
 sulky when he came down. It was near to end 
 ing matters; for Rupert regained his feet in 
 scantiest time to get inside the distance flag be 
 fore the Belle streamed under the wire. 
 
 Creole Belle ! two straight heats ! What a row 
 and a roar went up about the pools ! What hedg 
 ing was done ! From five to three on Rupert 
 the odds shifted to seven to two on Creole Belle. 
 I could hear the riot and interpret it. I clung 
 closely to the protecting buttonwood; there was 
 still a last act before the play was done. 
 
 It was the third heat. The pace, comparatively, 
 was neither hot nor hard; the previous exertions 
 of both Rupert and the Belle had worn away the 
 wire edge and abated their appetites for any ut 
 most speed. Relatively, however, conditions were 
 equal and each as tired as the other; and as 
 Rupert was the quicker in the get-away and never 
 failed of the pole in the first quarter, the two 
 as they neared me offered the old picture of 
 Rupert on the rail and leading by half his length. 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Had I owned a better chance of observation, I 
 might have noted as Prince Rupert drew near the 
 buttonwood that his mind was not at ease. He 
 remembered those two biting flints; they were 
 lessons not lost on him. As I stepped from con 
 cealment to hurl my last stone, it is to be be 
 lieved that Rupert his alarmed eyes roving for 
 lions in his path glimpsed me. Certain it is 
 that as the missile flew from my hand, Rupert 
 swerved across the track, the hub of his sulky 
 narrowly missing the shoulder of the mare. 
 
 The sudden shift confused my markmanship, 
 and instead of Rupert, the stone smote the driver 
 on the ear and all but swept him from his seat. 
 It did the work, however ; whether from the stone, 
 the whip, or that state of general perturbation 
 wherein his fell experiences had left his nerves, 
 Rupert went fairly to pieces. Before he was on 
 his feet again and squared away, the Belle had 
 won. 
 
 Peeping from my hiding place I could tell that 
 my adroit interference in the late contest was be 
 coming the subject of public concern. Rupert s 
 driver, still sitting in his sulky, was holding high 
 his whip in professional invocation of the judges 
 eyes. And that ill-used horseman was talking; at 
 intervals he pointed with the utmost feeling 
 towards my butonwood. Nor was his oratory 
 without power; he had not discoursed long when 
 amid an abundance of shouts and oaths and 
 
 312 
 
HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 brandished canes, one thousand gentlemen of the 
 turf were under head in my direction. 
 
 It was interesting, but I did not stay in con 
 templation of the spectacle; I out and bolted. I 
 crossed the track and ran straight for the end 
 fence. This latter barrier looked somewhat high; 
 I made no essay to climb, but, picking a broadest 
 board, launched myself against it, shoulder on. 
 The board fell and I was through the gap and in an 
 open field. 
 
 But why waste time with that hustling hue and 
 cry? It was futile for all its indignant energy; I 
 promise you, I made good my distance. Young, 
 strung like a harp, with a third of a mile start and 
 able to speed like a deer, I ran the hunt out of 
 sight in the first ten minutes. It was all earnest 
 ness, that flight of mine. I fled through three vil 
 lages and a puny little river that fell across my 
 path. I welcomed the river, for I knew it would 
 cool the quest. 
 
 Of a verity ! I got my money, and my stone 
 throwing was not to be in vain. True, the driver 
 and the owner of Rupert both protested, but the 
 track statutes were inexorable. The judges could 
 take no cognizance of that cannonading from the 
 buttonwood and gave the race three straight 
 heats to Creole Belle. Surething Pete won his 
 thousands ; and as for me, my friend and I en 
 countered according to our tryst and he brought 
 me my money safe. Within fifteen hours from 
 
 313 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 that time when I dealt disaster to Rupert from 
 the sheltering buttonwood, clothed and in respect 
 able tears, I was kneeling by my mother s side 
 and taking what sorrowful joy I might for having 
 arrived while she was yet equal to the bestowal 
 of her blessing. 
 
 It was to be our last evening about the great 
 stone fireplace; the last of our stories would be 
 told. The roads were now broken, and though 
 a now-and-then upset was more than likely to 
 enliven one s goings about, sleighs and sleds as 
 schemes of conveyance were pronounced to be 
 among things possible. As we drew our chairs 
 about the blaze, the jangle of an occasional leash 
 of bells showed how some brave spirit was even 
 then abroad. 
 
 Under these inspiring conditions, the Sour 
 Gentleman and the Red Nosed Gentleman de 
 clared their purpose of on the morrow pressing 
 for the railway station eighteen miles away. To 
 this end they had already chartered a sleigh, and 
 the word was out that it be at the Inn door by 
 ten of the morning clock. 
 
 For myself, nothing was driving me of business 
 or concern, and I was in no haste to leave ; and 
 the Old Cattleman and his ward, Sioux Sam, 
 were also of a mind to abide where they were for 
 
HOW PRINCE RUPERT LOST. 
 
 a farther day or two at least. But the going of 
 the Sour Gentleman and the Red Nosed Gentle 
 man would destroy our circle, wherefore we were 
 driven to regard this as " our last evening," and 
 to crown it honorably the Jolly Doctor brewed 
 a giant bowl of what he described as punch. The 
 others, both by voice and the loyalty wherewith 
 they applied themselves to its disappearance, 
 avowed its excellencies, and on that point Sioux 
 Sam and I were content to receive their words. 
 
 The Red Nosed Gentleman who had put aside 
 his burgundy in compliment to the Jolly Doctor 
 and his punch, and seemed sensibly exhilarated by 
 this change of beverage was the first to give the 
 company a story. It was of his younger, green- 
 cloth days, and the title by which he distinguished 
 it was " When I Ran the Shotgun." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN. 
 
 About this time the city of Providence fell mid- 
 spasm in a fit of civic morality. Communities, 
 like individuals, are prone to starts of strenuous 
 virtue, and Providence, bewailing her past ini 
 quities, was pushing" towards a pure if not a 
 festive life. And because in this new mood to be 
 excellent it was the easiest, nearest thing, Provi 
 dence smote upon the gambling brotherhood with 
 the heavy hand of the police. The faro games 
 and wheels of roulette were swept away and more 
 than one who had shared their feverish profits 
 were sent into captivity. Yea forsooth! the gay 
 fraternity of fortune whose staff of life was cards 
 found themselves borne upon with the burden of 
 bad days. 
 
 For myself I conceived this to be the propitious 
 moment to open a faro room of my own. I had 
 been for long of the guild of gamblers yet had 
 never soared to the brave heights of proprietor 
 ship. I had bucked the games, but never dealt 
 them. It came to me as a thought that in the 
 beating midst of this moral tempest dwelt my 
 
 316 
 
WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN. 
 
 opportunity. Had I chosen a day of police apathy 
 an hour of gambling security for such a move, 
 I would have been set upon by every established 
 proprietor. He would have resented my rivalry 
 as a game warden would the intromissions of a 
 poacher. And I d have been wiped out devoured 
 horn and hide and hoof as by a band of wolves. 
 
 Under these new conditions of communal virtue, 
 however, and with the clan of former proprietors 
 broken and dispersed, the field was free of menace 
 from within; I would face no risk more grievous 
 than the constabulary. These latter I believed I 
 might for a season avoid; particularly if I un 
 veiled my venture in regions new and not there 
 tofore the home of such lawless speculation. 
 
 Filled with these thoughts, I secured apartments 
 sufficiently obscure and smuggled in the para 
 phernalia under cloud of night. The room was 
 small twenty feet square; there was space for 
 no more than one faro table, and with such scant 
 furnishing I went to work. For reasons which 
 now escape me I called my place " The Shotgun." 
 
 Heretofore I gave you assurance of the lapse 
 of years since last I gambled at any game save 
 the Wall Street game of stocks. I quit cards for 
 that they were disreputable and the gains but 
 small. Stocks, on the contrary, are endorsed as 
 " respectable ;" at stocks one may gamble without 
 forfeiture of position ; also, there exist no frontiers 
 
 317 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 to the profits which a cunning stock plan well 
 executed may bring. 
 
 In my old simpler days, I well recall those de 
 fences of the pure gambler wherein my regard 
 indulged. Elia once separated humanity into two 
 tribes those who borrow and those who lend. In 
 my younger philosophy I also saw two septs: 
 those who lose and those who win. To me all 
 men were gamblers. Life itself was one continu 
 ous game of chance; and the stakes, that shelter 
 and raiment and food and drink to compose the 
 body s bulwark against an instant conquest by 
 Death. Of the inherent morality of gambling 
 I nurtured no doubts. Or, at the worst, I felt 
 certain of its comparative morality when laid be 
 side such commerces as banks and markets and 
 fields of plain barter and sale. There is no trade 
 (I said) save that of the hands which is held by 
 the tether of any honesty. The carpenter sawing 
 boards, the smith who beats out a horseshoe, the 
 mason busy with trowel and mortar on sun- 
 blistered scaffolds, hoarsely shouting " More 
 bricks ! " they in their way of life are honest. 
 They are bound to integrity because they couldn t 
 cheat if they would. But is the merchant selling 
 the false for the real the shoddy for the true 
 is the merchant whose advertisements are as so 
 many false pretences paid for by the line is he 
 more honest than the one who cheats with cards? 
 Is the lawyer looking looks of wisdom to hide 
 
 318 
 
WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN. 
 
 the emptiness of his ignorance? Is the doctor, 
 profound of mien, who shakes portentous head, 
 medicining a victim not because he has a malady 
 but because he has a million dollars? 
 
 And if it become a question of fashion, why 
 then, age in and age out, the gambler has been 
 often noble and sometimes royal. In the days 
 of the Stuarts, or later among the dull ones of 
 Hanover, was it the peasant or the prince who 
 wagered his gold at cards? Why man! every 
 royal court was a gambling house; every king, 
 save one and he disloved and at the last insane 
 a gambler. Are not two-thirds of the homes 
 of our American nobility our folk of millions and 
 Fifth Avenue replete of faro and roulette and the 
 very hotbed of a poisonous bridge whist? Fy, 
 man, fy! you who denounce gambling but preach 
 your own plebeianism proclaim your own vul 
 garity ! The gambler has been ever the patrician. 
 
 With but one table, whereat I would preside as 
 dealer, I required no multitude to man The Shot 
 gun. I called to my aid three gentlemen of for 
 tune seedy and in want they were and glad to 
 earn a dollar. One was to be sentinel at the door, 
 one would perch Argus-like on the lookout s stool, 
 while the third, an old suspicious camp-follower 
 of Chance, kept the case. This latter, cautious 
 man ! declined my service unless I put steel bars 
 on the only door, and as well on the only window. 
 These he conceived to be some safeguard against 
 
 319 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 invasions. They were not ; but I spent money to 
 put them in place to the end that his fluttered 
 nerves be stilled and he won to my standard. And 
 at that, he later pursued his business as case- 
 keeper with an ear on the door and an eye on the 
 small barred window, sitting the while half aloof 
 from the table and pushing the case-buttons as 
 the cards fell from the box with a timid forefinger 
 and as though he proposed no further immersion 
 in current crime than was absolutely demanded by 
 the duties of his place. He sat throughout the 
 games a picture of apprehension. 
 
 For myself, and to promote my profits, I gave 
 both my people and my customers every verbal 
 bond of safety. The story went abroad that I 
 was " protected;" that no wolf of the police dared 
 so much as glance at flock of mine. The Shotgun 
 was immune of arrest, so ran the common tale, 
 and as much as leer and look and smile and shrug 
 of shoulder might furnish them I gave the story 
 wings. 
 
 This public theory of safety was necessary 
 to success. In the then hectic conditions, and 
 briskly in the rear of a stern suppression of 
 resorts that had flourished for decades unshaken 
 of the law, wanting this feeling of security there 
 would have come not one dollar to take its hope 
 ful chances at The Shotgun. As it was, how 
 ever, the belief that I lived amply " protected " 
 took prompt deep root. And the fact that The 
 
 320 
 
WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN. 
 
 Shotgun opened in the face of storms which 
 smote without pity upon others, was itself re 
 garded as proof beyond dispute. No one would 
 court such dangers unless his footing were as un 
 shakable as Gibraltar. Thereupon folk with a 
 heart for faro came blithely and stood four deep 
 about my one table; vast was the business I ac 
 complished and vast were the sums changed in. 
 And behold! I widely prospered. 
 
 When I founded The Shotgun, I was richer of 
 hope than of money ; but fortune smiled and with 
 in a fortnight my treasure was told by thousands. 
 Indeed, my patrons played as play those who are 
 starved to gamble; that recess of faro enforced of 
 the police had made them hawk-hungry. And my 
 gains rolled in. 
 
 While I fostered the common thought that no 
 interference of the law would occur and The Shot 
 gun was sacred ground, I felt within my own 
 breast a sense of much unsafety. Damocles with 
 his sword hung of a hair and shaken of a breeze 
 could have been no more eaten of unease. I 
 knew that I was wooing disaster, challenging a 
 deepest peril. The moment The Shotgun be 
 came a part of police knowledge, I was lost. 
 
 Still, I dealt on ; the richness of my rewards the 
 inducement and the optimism of the born gambler 
 giving me courage to proceed. It fed my vanity, 
 too, and hugely pleased my pride to be thus looked 
 upon as eminent in my relations with the powers 
 21 321 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 that ruled. They were proud, even though par 
 lous days, those days when I ran The Shotgun. 
 
 While I walked the field of my enterprise like 
 a conqueror, I was not without the prudence that 
 taketh account in advance and prepareth for a 
 fall. Aside from the table whereon dwelt the lay 
 out, box and check rack, and those half-dozen 
 chairs which encircled it, the one lone piece of 
 furniture which The Shotgun boasted was a rotund 
 lounge. Those who now and then reposed them 
 selves thereon noted and denounced its hard un- 
 fitness. There \vas neither softness nor spring to 
 that lounge ; to sit upon it was as though one sat 
 upon a Saratoga trunk. But it w r as in a farthest 
 corner and distant as much as might be from the 
 game ; and therefore there arose but few to try its 
 indurated merits and complain. 
 
 That lounge of unsympathetic seat was my 
 secret my refuge my last resort. I alone was 
 aware of its construction; and that I might be 
 thus alone, I had been to hidden and especial 
 pains to bring it from New York myself. That 
 lounge was no more, no less than a huge, capaci 
 ous box. You might lift the seat and it would 
 open like a trunk. Within was ample room for 
 one to lie at length. Once in one could let down 
 the cover and lock it on the inside; that done, 
 there again it stood to the casual eye, a lounge, 
 nothing save a lounge and neither hint nor token 
 of the fugitive within. 
 
 322 
 
WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN. 
 
 My plan to save myself when the crash should 
 come was plain and sure. There were but two 
 lights gas jets, both in The Shotgun ; these were 
 immediately above the table, low hung and capped 
 with green shades to save the eyes of players. The 
 light was reflected upon the layout; all else was 
 in the shadow. This lack of light was no draw 
 back to my popularity. Your folk who gamble 
 cavil not at shadows for themselves so long as 
 cards and deal-box are kept strongly in the 
 glare. In event of a raid, it was my programme 
 to extinguish the two lights a feat easily per- 
 formable from the dealer s chair and seizing the 
 money in the drawer, grope my way under cover 
 of darkness for that excellent lounge and conceal 
 myself. It would be the work of a moment; the 
 folk would be huddled about the table and not 
 about the lounge ; the time lost by the police while 
 breaking through those defences of bars and bolts 
 would be more than enough. 
 
 By the time the lights were again turned on 
 and the Goths in possession, I would have disap 
 peared. No one would know how and none know 
 where. When the blue enemy, despairing of my 
 apprehension, had at last withdrawn with what 
 prisoners had been made, I would be left alone. 
 I might then uncover myself and take such sub 
 sequent flight as best became my liberty and its 
 continuance. 
 
 Often I went over this plan in my thoughts 
 
 3 2 3 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 a fashion of mental rehearsal, as it were and the 
 more I considered the more certain I became that 
 when the pinch arrived it would not fail. As I ve 
 stated, none shared with me my secret of that 
 hinged and hollow couch; it was my insurance 
 my cave of retreat in any tornado of the law ; and 
 the knowledge thereof steadied me and aided my 
 courage to compose those airs of cheerful con 
 fidence which taught others safety and gave coun 
 tenance to the story of my unqualified and sure 
 " protection ! " Alas ! for the hour that unmasked 
 me; from that moment The Shotgun fell away; 
 my stream of golden profits ran dry; from a 
 spectacle of reverence and respect I became the 
 nine-day byword of my tribe! 
 
 It was a crowded, thriving midnight at The 
 Shotgun. I had been running an uninterrupted 
 quartette of months ; and having had good luck to 
 the point of miracles, my finances were flourish 
 ing with five figures in their plethoric count. 
 From a few poor hundreds, my " roll " when I 
 snapped the rubber band about it and planted 
 it deep within the safety of my pocket, held 
 over fifty thousand dollars. Quite a fortune; 
 and so I thought myself. 
 
 It was, I repeat, a busy, winning midnight at 
 The Shotgun. There were doubtless full forty 
 visitors in the cramped room. These were crowd 
 ed about the table, for the most part playing, 
 reaching over each other s shoulders or under 
 
 324 
 
WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN. 
 
 each other s elbows, any way and every way to 
 get their wagers on the layout. I was dealing, 
 while to right and left sat my henchmen of the 
 lookout and the case. 
 
 As on every evening, I lived on the feather- 
 edge of apprehension, fearing a raid. My eye 
 might be on the thirteen cards and the little for 
 tunes they carried, but my ear was ever alert for 
 a first dull footfall that would tell of destruction 
 on its lowering way. 
 
 There had been four hours of brisk, remunera 
 tive play for the game began at eight when, in 
 the middle of a deal, there came the rush of heavy 
 feet and a tumult of stumblings and blunderings 
 on the stair. It was as if folk unaccustomed to 
 the way it being pitch dark on the stairway for 
 caution s sake and in vast eagerness to reach 
 the door, had tripped and fallen. Also, if one 
 might judge from the uproar and smothered, deep 
 profanity of many voices there were a score en 
 gaged. 
 
 To my quick intelligence, itself for long on the 
 rack of expectancy and therefore doubly keen, 
 there seemed but one answer to the question, of 
 that riot on the stair. It was the police; the 
 Philistines were upon me ; my gold mine of The 
 Shotgun had become the target of a raid ! 
 
 It was the labor of an instant. With both hands 
 I turned out the lights ; then stuffing my entire 
 fortune into my pockets I began to push through 
 
 325 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 the ranks of bewildered gentlemen who stood 
 swearing in frightened undertones expecting evil. 
 Silently and with a cat s stealth, I found my way 
 in the pitch blackness to the lounge. As I had 
 foreseen, no one was about it to discover or to 
 interfere. Softly I raised the cover; in a moment 
 I was within. Lying on my side for comfort s 
 sake, I again turned ear to passing events. I had 
 locked the lounge and believed myself insured. 
 
 Meanwhile, within the room and in the hall be 
 yond my grated door, the tumult gathered and 
 grew. There came various exclamations. 
 
 " Who doused those glims ? " 
 
 " Light up, somebody." 
 
 Also, there befell a volley of blows and kicks 
 and thumps on The Shotgun s iron portals; and 
 gruff commands : 
 
 "Open the door!" 
 
 Then some one produced a match and relighted 
 the gas. I might tell that by a ray about the size 
 and color of a wheat-straw which suddenly bored 
 its yellow way through a hole in my shelter. The 
 clamor still proceeded at the door; it seemed to 
 augment. 
 
 Since there could be no escape for every soul 
 saw himself caught like a rat in a trap the door 
 was at last unbarred and opened, desperately. Of 
 what avail would it be to force the arresting party 
 to break its way? In despair the door was thrown 
 wide and each of those within braced himself to 
 
 326 
 
WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN. 
 
 meet his fate. After all, to visit a gambling place 
 was not the great crime ; the cornered ones might 
 feel fairly secure. It was the " proprietor " for 
 whom the law kept sharpest tooth! 
 
 When the door opened, it opened to the admis 
 sion of a most delightful disappointment. There 
 appeared no police; no grim array of those sky- 
 lined watch-dogs of the city s peace and order 
 rushed through in search of quarry. Instead 
 came innocently, deviously, and with uncertain, 
 shuffling steps, five separate drunken gentlemen. 
 There had been a dinner; they had fed deeply, 
 drunk deeply; it was now their pleasure to relax 
 themselves at play. That was all ; they had sought 
 The Shotgun with the best of motives; the con 
 fusion on the stair was the offspring of darkness 
 and drink when brought to a conjunction. Now T 
 they were within, and reading in the faces about 
 them even through the mists of their condition 
 the terrors their advent inspired, the visiting sots 
 were much abashed; they stood silent, and like 
 the lamb before the shearer, they were dumb and 
 opened not their mouths. 
 
 But discovering a danger past, the general 
 mood soon changed. There was a space of tacit 
 staring; then came a rout of laughter. Every 
 throat, lately so parched, now shouted with de 
 rision. The common fear became the common 
 jeer. 
 
 3 2 7 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Then up started the surprised question: 
 
 "Where s Jack?" 
 
 It had origin with one to be repeated by twenty. 
 
 "Where s Jack?" 
 
 The barred window was still barred; I had not 
 gone through the door; how had I managed my 
 disappearance? It was witchery! or like the 
 flitting of a ghost ! Even in my refuge I could 
 feel the awe and the chill that began to creep 
 about my visitors as they looked uneasily and re 
 peated, as folk who touch some graveyard mys 
 tery: 
 
 "Where s Jack?" 
 
 There was no help; fate held me in a corner 
 and never a crack of escape ! Shame-faced, dust- 
 sprinkled and perspiring like a harvest hand for 
 my hiding place was not Nova Zembla I threw 
 back the top of the lounge and stood there the 
 image of confusion the " man with a pull " the 
 ally of the powers the " protected " proprietor 
 of The Shotgun ! There was a moment of silence ; 
 and next fell a whirlwind of mirth. 
 
 There is no argument for saying more. I was 
 laughed out of Providence and into New York. 
 The Shotgun was laughed out of existence. And 
 with it all, I too, laughed; for was it not good, 
 even though inadvertent comedy? Also, was it 
 not valuable comedy to leave me better by half a 
 hundred thousand dollars that comedy of The 
 Shotgun? And thereupon, while I closed my 
 
 328 
 
WHEN I RAN THE SHOTGUN. 
 
 game, I opened my mouth widely and laughed 
 with the others. In green-cloth circles the story 
 is still told; and whenever I encounter a friend 
 of former days, I m inevitably recalled to my 
 lounge-holdout and that midnight stampede of 
 The Shotgun. 
 
 " That s where the west/ observed the Old Cat 
 tleman, who had given delighted ear to the Red 
 Nosed Gentleman s story, " that s where the west 
 has the best of the east. In Arizona a passel of 
 folks engaged in testin the demerits of farobank 
 ain t runnin no more resks of the constables than 
 they be of chills an fever." 
 
 " There are laws against gambling in the west ? " 
 This from the Jolly Doctor. 
 
 " Shore, thar s laws." 
 
 "Why, then, aren t they enforced?" 
 
 " This yere s the reason," responded the Old 
 Cattleman. " Thar s so much more law than force, 
 that what force exists is wholly deevoted to a 
 round-up of rustlers an stage hold-ups an sech. 
 Besides, it s the western notion to let every gent 
 skin his own eel, an the last thing thought of is 
 to protect you from yourse f. No kyard sharp 
 can put a crimp in you onless you freely offers 
 him a chance, an if you-all is willin , why should 
 the public paint for war? In the east every gent 
 
 3 2 9 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 is tryin to play some other gent s hand; not so 
 in that tolerant region styled the west. Which it 
 ain t too much to say that folks get killed an 
 properly in the west for possessin what the east 
 calls virchoos." And here the Old Cattleman 
 shook his head sagely over a western superiority. 
 [< The east mixes itse f too much in a gent s private 
 affairs. Now if Deef Smith an Colonel Morton " 
 he concluded, " had ondertook to pull off their 
 dooel in the east that Texas time, the east would 
 have come down on em like a fallin star an 
 squelched it." 
 
 " And what was this duel you speak of? " asked 
 the Sour Gentleman. " I, for one, would be most 
 ready to hear the story. 1 
 
 " Which it s the story of * When the Capitol 
 Was Moved. " 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 WHEN THE CAPITOL WAS MOVED. 
 
 When the joobilant Texans set down to kyarve 
 out the destinies of that empire they wrests from 
 the feeble paws of the Mexicans an Santa Anna, 
 they decides on Austin for the Capitol an Old 
 Houston to be President. An I ll say right yere, 
 Old Houston, by all roomer an tradition, is 
 mighty likely the most presidential president that 
 ever keeps a republic guessin as to whatever is 
 he goin to do next. Which he s as full of sur 
 prises as a night in Red Dog. 
 
 About the first dash outen the box, Old Hous 
 ton gets himse f into trouble with two Lone Star 
 leadin citizens whose names, respective, is Colonel 
 Morton an jedge Webb. 
 
 Old Houston himse f on the hocks of them 
 victories he partic pates in, an bein selected presi 
 dent like I say, grows as full of vanity as a 
 prairie dog. Shore! he s a hero; the drawback 
 is that his notion of demeanin himse f as sech 
 is to spread his tail feathers an strut. Old Hous 
 ton gets that puffed up, an his dignity is that 
 
 331 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 egreegious, he feels crowded if a gent tries to 
 walk on the same street with him. 
 
 Colonel Morton an Jedge Webb themse fs 
 wades through that carnage from soda to hock 
 freein Texas, an they sort o riggers that these 
 yere services entitles them to be heard some. 
 Old Houston, who s born with a notion that he s 
 doo- to make what public uproar every o casion 
 demands, don t encourage them two patriots. He 
 only listens now an then to Morton ; an as for 
 Jedge Webb, he jest won t let that jurist talk at 
 all. 
 
 " An for these yere followin reasons to wit," 
 explains Old Houston, when some Austin sports 
 puts it to him p lite, but steadfast, that he s onjust 
 to Webb. " I permits Morton to talk some, be 
 cause it don t make a splinter of difference what 
 Morton says. He can talk on any side of any 
 subject an no one s ediot enough to pay the least 
 attention to them remarks. But this sityooation 
 is changed when you-all gets to Webb. He s a 
 disaster. Webb never opens his mouth without 
 subtractin from the sum total of hooman knowl 
 edge." 
 
 When Morton hears of them remarks he re- 
 gyards himse f as wronged. 
 
 " An if Old Houston," observes Morton, who s 
 a knife fighter an has sliced offensive gents from 
 time to time; "an if Old Houston ain t more 
 
 332 
 
COLONEL MORTON. 
 
WHEN THE CAPITOL WAS MOVED. 
 
 gyarded in his remarks, I ll take to disapproval 
 of his conduct with a bowie." 
 
 As I intimates, Old Houston is that pride-blown 
 that you-all couldn t stay on the same range where 
 he is. An he s worried to a standstill for a openin 
 to onload on the Texas public a speciment of his 
 dignity. At last, seein the chances comin some 
 slow, he ups an constructs the opportunity him- 
 se f. 
 
 Old Houston s home-camp, that a-way, is at a 
 hamlet named Washington down on the Brazos. 
 It s thar he squanders the heft of his leesure when 
 not back of the game as President over to Austin. 
 Thar s a clause in the constitootion which, while 
 pitchin onto Austin as the public s home-ranche 
 or capitol, permits the President in the event of 
 perils onforeseen or invasions or sech, to round 
 up the archives an move the capitol camp a whole 
 lot. Old Houston, eager to be great, seizes onto 
 this yere tenet. 
 
 " I ll jest sort o order the capitol to come clown, 
 yere where I live at," says Old Houston, " an 
 tharby call the waverin attention of the Lone Star 
 public to who I be." 
 
 As leadin up to this atrocity an to come within 
 the constitootion, Old Houston allows that Austin 
 is menaced by Comanches. Shore, it ain t men 
 aced none ; Austin would esteem the cleanin out 
 of that entire Comanche tribe as the labors of a 
 holiday. But it fills into Old Houston s hand to 
 
 333 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 make this bluff as a excuse. An with that, he 
 issues the order to bring the whole gov ment lay 
 out down to where he lives. 
 
 No, as I tells you-all before, Austin ain t in no 
 more danger of Comanches than she is of j inin 
 the church. Troo, these yere rannikaboo savages 
 does show up in paint an feathers over across 
 the Colorado once or twice ; but beyond a whoop 
 or two an a little permiscus shootin into town 
 which nobody minds, them vis tations don t count. 
 
 To give you-all gents a idee how little is deemed 
 of Comanches by them Texas forefathers, let me 
 say a word of Bill Spence who keeps a store in 
 Austin. Bill s addin up Virg Home s accounts 
 one afternoon in his books. 
 
 " One pa r of yaller-top, copper-toe boots for 
 Virg, joonior, three dollars; one red caFco dress 
 for Missis Virg, two dollars," goes on Bill. 
 
 At this epock Bill hears a yowl ; glancin out of 
 the winder, he counts a couple of hundred Injuns 
 who s proselytin about over on t other side of 
 the river. Bill don t get up none; he jests looks 
 annoyed on account of that yellin puttin him 
 out in his book-keepin . 
 
 As a bullet from them savages comes singin in 
 the r ar door an buries itse f in a ham, Bill even 
 gets incensed. 
 
 " Hiram," he calls to his twelve-year old son, 
 who s down cellar drawin red-eye for a customer ; 
 " Hiram, you-all take pop s rifle, raise the hind- 
 
 334 
 
WHEN THE CAPITOL WAS MOVED. 
 
 sight for three hundred yards, an reprove them 
 hostiles. Aim low, Hiram, an if you fetches one, 
 pop ll give you a seegyar an let you smoke it 
 yourse f." 
 
 Bill goes back to Virg Home s account, an* 
 Hiram after slammin away with Bill s old Haw 
 kins once or twice comes in an gets his seegyar. 
 
 No; Old Houston does wrong when he flings 
 forth this yere ukase about movin the capitol. 
 Austin, even if a gent does have to dodge a arrer 
 or duck a bullet as he prosecootes his daily tasks, 
 is as safe as a camp-meetin . 
 
 When Old Houston makes the order, one of 
 his Brazos pards reemonstrates with him. 
 
 " Which Austin will simply go into the air all 
 spraddled out," says this pard. 
 
 " If Austin sails up in the air an stays thar," 
 says Old Houston, " still you-all can gamble that 
 this yere order goes." 
 
 " You hears," says another, " Elder Peters when 
 he tells of how a Mexican named Mohammed 
 commands the mountain to come to him ? But the 
 mountain calls his bluff; that promontory stands 
 pat, an Mohammed has to go to the mountain." 
 
 " My name s Sam Houston an it ain t Mo- 
 hommed," retorts Old Houston. " Moreover, 
 Mohammed don t have no written constitootion." 
 
 Nacherally, when Austin gets notice of Old 
 Houston s plan, that meetropolis r ars back an* 
 screams. The faro-bank folks an the tavern folks 
 
 335 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 is speshul malignant, an it ain t no time before 
 they-all convenes a meetin to express their views 
 on Old Houston. Morton an Jedge Webb does 
 the oratory. An you hear me ! that assembly 
 is shore sultry. Which the epithets they applies 
 to Old Houston kills the grass for twenty rods 
 about. 
 
 Austin won t move. 
 
 Austin resolves to go to war first ; a small army 
 is organized with Morton in command to gyard 
 the State House an the State books that a-way, 
 an keep Old Houston from romancin over an 
 packin em off a heap. 
 
 Morton is talkin an Webb is presidin over 
 this yere convocation which the said meetin is 
 that large an enthoosiastic it plumb chokes up 
 the hall an overflows into the street when all of 
 a sudden a party comes swingin through the open 
 winder from the top of a scrub-oak that grows 
 alongside the buildin , an drops light as a cat 
 onto the platform with Morton an Webb. At 
 this yere interruption, affairs comes to a halt, an 
 the local sports turns in to consider an count up 
 the -invader. 
 
 This gent who swoops through the w r inder is 
 dark, big, bony an ? tall ; his ha r is lank an long 
 as the mane of a hoss; his eyes is deep an black; 
 his face, tanned like a Injun s, seems hard as iron. 
 He s dressed in leather from foretop to fetlock, 
 is shod with a pa r of Comanche moccasins, an 
 
 336 
 
WHEN THE CAPITOL WAS MOVED. 
 
 besides a leven inch knife in his belt, packs a 
 rifle with a 48-inch bar l. It will weigh twenty 
 pounds, an yet this stranger handles it like it s 
 a willow switch. 
 
 As this darksome gent lands in among Morton 
 an Webb, he stands thar without sayin a word. 
 Webb, on his part, is amazed, while Morton 
 glowers. 
 
 " Whatever do you-all regyard as a market 
 price for your skelp? " says Morton to the black 
 interloper, at the same time loosenin his knife. 
 
 The black stranger makes no reply; his hand 
 flashes to hit, bowie, while his face still wears its 
 iron look. 
 
 Webb, some hurried, pushes in between Morton 
 an the black stranger. Webb is more for peace 
 an 9 don t believe in beginnin negotiations with a 
 knife. 
 
 Webb dictates a passel of p lite queries to this 
 yere black stranger. Tharupon, the black stranger 
 bows p lite an formal, an goin over to the 
 table writes down in good English, " I m deef 
 an dumb. Next, he searches outen his war- 
 bags a letter. It s from Old Houston over on 
 the Brazos. Old Houston allows that onless 
 Austin comes trailin in with them records within 
 three days, he ll ride over a whole lot an make 
 the round-up himse f. Old Houston declar s that 
 Austin by virchoo of them Comanches is as on- 
 safe as a Christian in Mississippi, an he don t 
 22 337 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 aim to face no sech dangers while performin his 
 dooties as President of the Commonwealth. 
 
 After the black stranger flings the letter on the 
 table, he s organizin to go out through the winder 
 ag in. But Morton sort o detains him. Morton 
 writes on the paper that now the black stranger 
 is through his dooties as a postman, he will, if he s 
 a dead game sport, stay over a day, an him an 
 Morton will entertain themse fs by pullin off a 
 war of their own. The idee strikes the black 
 stranger as plenty good, an while his face still 
 wears its ca m, hard look, he writes onder Mor 
 ton s bluff: 
 
 " Rifles ; no th bank of the Colorado ; sun-down, 
 this evenin ." 
 
 The next moment he leaps from the platform 
 to the winder an from thar to the ground, an 
 is gone. 
 
 " But Colonel Morton," reemonstrates Webb, 
 who s some scand lized at Morton hookin up for 
 blood with this yere black stranger ; " you-all 
 shorely don t aim to fight this party? He s deef 
 an dumb, which is next to bein locoed outright. 
 Moreover, a gent of your standin can t afford to 
 go ramblin about, lockin horns with every on- 
 known miscreant who comes buttin in with a 
 missif from President Houston, an then goes 
 stampedin through a winder by way of exit." 
 
 "Onknown!" retorts Morton. "That letter- 
 
 338 
 
WHEN THE CAPITOL WAS MOVED. 
 
 packin person is as well known as the Rio Grande. 
 That s Deef Smith." 
 
 " Colonel Morton," observes Webb, some hor 
 rified when he learns the name of the black 
 stranger, " this yere Deef Smith is a shore shot. 
 They say he can empty a Comanche saddle four 
 times in five at three hundred yards." 
 
 " That may be as it may," returns Morton. 
 " If I downs him, so much the more credit ; if he 
 gets me, at the worst I dies by a famous hand." 
 
 The sun is restin on the sky-line over to the 
 west. Austin has done crossed the Colorado an 
 lined up to witness this yere dooel. Deef Smith 
 comes ridin in from some ers to the no th, slides 
 outen the saddle, pats his hoss on the neck, an 
 leaves him organized an ready fifty yards to one 
 side. Then Deef Smith steps to the center an 
 touches his hat, mil tary fashion, to Morton an 
 Webb. 
 
 These yere cavaliers is to shoot it out at one 
 hundred yards. As they takes their places, Mor 
 ton says: 
 
 " Jedge Webb, if this Deef Smith party gets 
 me, as most like he will, send my watch to my 
 mother in Looeyville." 
 
 Then they fronts each other; one in brown 
 leather, the other in cloth as good as gold can 
 buy. No one thinks of any difference between 
 em, however, in a day when courage is the test 
 of aristocracy. 
 
 339 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Since one gent can t hear, Webb is to give the 
 word with a handkerchief. At the first flourish 
 the rifles fall to a hor zontal as still an steady as 
 a rock. Thar s a brief pause; then Webb drops 
 his handkerchief. 
 
 Thar is a crack like one gun; Deef Smith s hat 
 half turns on his head as the bullet cuts it, while 
 Morton stands a moment an then, without a 
 sound, falls dead on his face. The lead from Deef 
 Smith s big rifle drills him through the heart. 
 Also, since it perforates that gold repeater, an as 
 the blood sort o clogs the works, the Austin 
 folks decides it s no use to send it on to Looey- 
 ville, but retains it that a-way as a keepsake. 
 
 With the bark of the guns an while the white 
 smoke s still hangin to mark the spot where he 
 stands, Deef Smith s hoss runs to him like a dog. 
 The next instant Deef Smith is in the saddle an 
 away. It s jest as well. Morton s plenty pop lar 
 with the Austin folks an mebby some sharp, in 
 the first hysteria of a great loss, overlooks what s 
 doo to honor an ups an plugs this yere Deef 
 Smith. 
 
 The Old Cattleman made a long halt as indica 
 tive that his story was at an end. There was a 
 moment of silence, and then the Jolly Doctor 
 spoke up. 
 
 340 
 
WHEN THE CAPITOL WAS MOVED. 
 
 " But how about the books and papers? " asked 
 the Jolly Doctor. 
 
 " Oh, nothin partic lar," said the Old Cattle 
 man. " It turns out like Old Houston prophe 
 sies. Three days later, vain an soopercilious, he 
 rides in, corrals them archives, an totes em 
 haughtily off to the Brazos." 
 
 Following- the Old Cattleman s leaf from Lone 
 Star annals, the Sour Gentleman prepared him 
 self to give us his farewell page from the un 
 written records of the Customs. 
 
 " On this, our last evening," observed the Sour 
 Gentleman, " it seems the excellent thing to tell 
 you what was practically my final act of service 
 or, if you will, disservice with the Customs. We 
 may call the story How the Filibusterer Sailed. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 HOW THE FILIBUSTERER SAILED. 
 
 It will come to you as strange, my friends, to 
 hear objection as though against an ill trait 
 to that open-handed generosity which is held by 
 many to be among the marks of supreme virtue. 
 Generosity, whether it be evidenced by gifts of 
 money, of sympathy, of effort or of time, is only 
 another word for weakness. If one were to go 
 into careful consideration of the life-failure of 
 any man, it would be found most often that his 
 fortunes were slain by his generosity; and while, 
 without consideration, he gave to others his 
 countenance, his friendship, his money, his toil or 
 whatever he conferred, he in truth but parted 
 with his own future with those raw materials 
 wherewith he would otherwise have fashioned a 
 victorious career. Generosity, in a commonest 
 expression, is giving more than one receives; it 
 is to give two hundred and get one hundred; he 
 is blind, therefore, who does not see that any 
 ardor of generosity would destroy a Rothschild. 
 
 From birth, and as an attribute inborn, I have 
 342 
 
HOW THE FILIBUSTERER SAILED. 
 
 been ever too quick to give. For a first part 
 of my life at least, and until I shackled my impulse 
 of liberality, I was the constant victim of that 
 natural readiness. And I was cheated and swin 
 dled with every rising sun. I gave friendship and 
 took pretense ; I parted with money for words ; 
 ever I rendered the real and received the false, 
 and sold the substance for the shadow to any and 
 all who came pleasantly to smile across my 
 counter. I was not over-old, however, when these 
 dour truths broke on me, and I began to teach 
 myself the solvent beauty of saying " No." 
 
 During those months of exile for exile it was 
 which I spent in Washington Square, I culti 
 vated misanthropy a hardness of spirit; almost, 
 I might say, I fostered a hatred of my fellow man. 
 And more or less I had success. I became owner 
 of much stiffness of sentiment and a proneness to 
 be practical; and kept ever before me like a star 
 that, no matter how unimportant I might be to 
 others, to myself at least I was most important 
 of mankind. Doubtless, I lost in grace by such 
 studies ; but in its stead I succeeded to safety, and 
 when we are at a final word, we live by what we 
 keep and die by what we quit, and of all loyalties 
 there s no loyalty like loyalty to one s self. 
 
 While I can record a conquest of my generosity 
 and its subjugation to lines of careful tit-for-tat, 
 there were other emotions against which I was 
 unable to toughen my soul. I became never so 
 
 343 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 redoubtable that I could beat off the assaults of 
 shame; never so puissant of sentiment but I was 
 prey to regrets. For which weaknesses, I could 
 not think on the affairs of The Emperor s Cigars 
 and The German Girl s Diamonds, nor on the 
 sordid money I pouched as their fruits, without 
 the blush mounting; nor was I strong enough to 
 consider the latter adventure and escape a stab 
 of sore remorse. Later could I have found the 
 girl I would have made her restitution. Even 
 now I hear again that scream which reached me 
 on the forward deck of the " Wolfgang " that 
 September afternoon. 
 
 But concerning the Cuban filibusterer, his out 
 sailing against Spain ; and the gold I got for his 
 going for these I say, I never have experienced 
 either confusion or sorrow. My orders were to 
 keep him in; I opened the port s gate and let 
 him out; I pocketed my yellow profits. And 
 under equal conditions I would do as much again. 
 It was an act of war against Spain ; yet why 
 should one shrink from one s interest for a reason 
 like that? Where was the moral wrong? Na 
 tions make war; and what is right for a country, 
 is right for a man. That is rock-embedded verity, 
 if one will but look, and that which is dishonest 
 for an individual cannot be honest for a flag. 
 You may if you so choose make war on Spain, 
 and with as much of justice as any proudest people 
 that ever put to sea. The question of difference 
 
 344 
 
HOW THE FILIBUSTERER SAILED. 
 
 is but a question of strength; and so you be 
 strong enough you ll be right enough, I warrant ! 
 For what says the poet? 
 
 " Right follows might 
 Like tail follows kite." 
 
 It is a merest truism; we hear it in the storm; 
 the very waves are its witnesses. Everywhere 
 and under each condition, it is true. The proof 
 lies all about. We read it on every page of his 
 tory; behold it when armies overthrow a throne 
 or the oak falls beneath the axe of the woodman. 
 Do I disfavor war? On the contrary, I approve 
 it as an institution of greatest excellence. War 
 slays; war has its blood. But has peace no vic 
 tims ? Peace kills thousands where war kills tens ; 
 and if one is to consider misery, why then there 
 be more starvation, more cold, more pain, and 
 more suffering in one year of New York City 
 peace than pinched and gnawed throughout the 
 whole four years of civil war. And human life 
 is of comparative small moment. We say other 
 wise ; we believe otherwise ; but we don t act other 
 wise. Action is life s text. Humanity is itself the 
 preacher; in that silent sermon of existence an 
 existence of world s goods and their acquirement 
 we forever show the thing of least consequence 
 to be the life of man. However, I am not myself 
 to preach, I who pushed forth to tell a story. It 
 
 345 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 is the defect of age to be garrulous, and as one s 
 power to do departs, its place is ever taken by a 
 weakness to talk. 
 
 This filibusterer whom I liberated to sail against 
 Spain, I long ago told you was called Ryan. 
 That, however, is a fictitious name; there was a 
 Ryan, and the Spaniards took his life at Santiago. 
 And because he with whom I dealt \vas also put 
 up against a wall and riddled with Spanish lead, 
 and further, because it is not well to give his true 
 name, I call him Ryan now. His ship rode on 
 her rope in New York bay; I was given the Har 
 riet Lane to hold him from sailing away; his 
 owners ashore merchants these and folk on 
 change offered me ten thousand dollars ; the 
 gold was in bags, forty pounds of it ; I turned 
 my back at evening and in the morning he was 
 gone. 
 
 You have been told how I never thought on 
 those adventures of The Emperor s Cigars, and 
 The German Girl s Diamonds, without sensations 
 of shame, and pain. Indeed! they were engage 
 ments of ignobility! Following the latter affair 
 I felt a strongest impulse to change somewhat my 
 occupation. I longed for an employment a bit 
 safer and less foul. I counted my fortunes ; I was 
 rich with over seventy thousand dollars; that 
 might do, even though I gained no more. And 
 so it fell that I was almost ready to leave the 
 
 346 
 
HOW THE FILIBUSTERER SAILED. 
 
 Customs, and forswear and, if possible, forget, 
 those sins I had helped commit in its name. 
 
 In the former days, my home tribe was not 
 without consequence in Old Dominion politics. 
 And while we could not be said to have strength 
 ened ourselves by that part we took against the 
 Union, still, now that peace was come, the family 
 began little by little to regather a former weight. 
 It had enough at this time to interfere for my 
 advantage and rescue me from my present duty. 
 I was detailed from Washington to go secretly 
 to Europe, make the careless tour of her capitols, 
 and keep an eye alive to the interests of both the 
 Treasury and the State Department. 
 
 It was a gentleman s work; this loafing from 
 London to Paris, and from Paris to Berlin, with 
 an occasional glance into Holland and its diamond 
 cutting. And aside from expenses which were 
 paid by the government I drew two salaries; 
 one from the Customs and a second from the 
 Secret Service. My business was to detect in 
 tended smuggling and cable the story, to the end 
 that Betelnut Jack and Lorns and Quin and the 
 others make intelligent seizures when the smug 
 glers came into New York. The better to gain 
 such news, I put myself on closest terms and 
 still keep myself a secret with chief folk among 
 houses of export ; I went about with them, drank 
 with them, dined with them ; and I wheedled and 
 lay in ambush for information of big sales. I sent 
 
 347 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 in many a good story; and many a rich seizure 
 came off through my interference. Also I lived 
 vastly among legation underlings, and despatched 
 what I found to the Department of State. There 
 was no complaint that I didn t earn my money 
 from either my customs or my secret service pay 
 master. In truth ! I stood high in their esteem. 
 
 At times, too, I was baffled. There was a lady, 
 the handsome wife of a diamond dealer in Maiden 
 Lane. She came twice a year to Europe. Ob 
 viously and in plain view like the vulgarian she 
 was not this beautiful woman, as she went 
 aboard ship in New York, would wear at throat 
 and ears and on her hands full two hundred thou 
 sand dollars worth of stones apparently. And 
 there they seemed to be when she returned; and, 
 of course, never a dime of duty. We were mor 
 ally sure this beautiful woman was a beautiful 
 smuggler; we were morally sure those stones 
 were paste when she sailed from New York; we 
 were morally sure they were genuine, of purest 
 water, when she returned; we were morally sure 
 the shift was made in Paris, and that a harvest 
 of thousands was garnered with every trip. But 
 what might we do? We had no proof; we could 
 get none ; we could only guess. 
 
 And there were other instances when we slipped. 
 More than once I tracked a would-be smuggler 
 to his ship and saw him out of port. And yet, 
 when acting on my cables, the smuggler coming 
 
 348 
 
HOW THE FILIBUSTERER SAILED. 
 
 down the New York gang-plank was snapped up 
 by my old comrades and searched, nothing was 
 found. This mystery, for mystery it was, oc 
 curred a score of times. At last we learned the 
 trick. The particular room occupied by the 
 smuggler was taken both ways for a round dozen 
 trips ahead. There were seven members of the 
 smuggling combine. When one left the room, 
 his voyage ended, and came ashore in New York, 
 another went duly aboard and took possession for 
 the return trip. The diamonds had not gone 
 ashore. They were hidden in a sure place some 
 where about the room; he who took it to go to 
 Europe knew where. And in those several times 
 to follow when the outgoer was on and off the 
 boat before she cleared, he found no difficulty in 
 carrying the gems ashore. The Customs folk 
 aren t watching departures; their vigilance is for 
 those who arrive. However, after a full score 
 of defeats, we solved this last riddle, and man 
 aged a seizure which lost the rogues what profits 
 they had gathered on all the trips before. 
 
 Also, as I pried about the smuggling industry, 
 I came across more than one interesting bit of 
 knowledge. I found a French firm making ru 
 bies actual rubies. It was a great secret in my 
 time, though more is known of it now. The ruby 
 was real; stood every test save the one test a 
 hard one to enforce of specific gravity. The 
 made ruby was a shadow lighter, bulk for bulk, 
 
 349 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 than the true ruby of the mines. This made ruby 
 was called the "scientific ruby;" and indeed! it 
 was scientific to such a degree of delusion that the 
 best experts were for long deceived and rubies 
 which cost no more than two hundred dollars to 
 make, were sold for ten thousand dollars. 
 
 As a curious discovery of my ramblings, I stum 
 bled on a diamond, the one only of its brood. 
 It was small, no more than three-quarters of a 
 carat. But of a color pure orange and by day 
 or by night blazing like a spark of fire. That 
 stone if lost could be found ; it is the one lone 
 member of its orange house. What was its fate? 
 Set in the open mouth of a little lion s head, one 
 may now find it on the finger of a prince of the 
 Bourse. 
 
 It was while in Madrid, during my European 
 hunting, that those seeds were sown which a few 
 months later grew into a smart willingness to let 
 down the bars for my filibusterer s escape. I was 
 by stress of duty held a month in Madrid. And, 
 first to last, I heard nothing from the natives 
 when they spoke of America but malediction and 
 vilest epithet. It kept me something warm, I 
 promise, for all I had once ridden saber in hand to 
 smite that same American government hip and 
 thigh. I left Madrid when my work was done 
 with never a moment s delay; and I carried away 
 a profound hate for Spain and all things Spanish. 
 
 As I was brought home by commands from 
 350 
 
HOW THE FILIBUSTERER SAILED. 
 
 my superiors at the end of my Madrid work, 
 these anti-Spanish sentiments had by no means 
 cooled when I made the New York wharf. De 
 cidedly if I d been searched for a sentiment, I 
 would have been discovered hostile to Spanish 
 interest when, within three weeks following- my 
 home-coming , I was given the Harriet Lane, 
 shown the suspect and his ship, and told to have 
 a sleepless eye and seize him if he moved. 
 
 It s the Norse instinct to hate Spain; and I 
 was blood and lineage, decisively Norse. That 
 affair of instinct is a mighty matter. It is curious 
 to note how one s partisanship will back-track 
 one s racial trail and pick up old race feuds and 
 friendships ; hating where one s forbears hated, 
 loving where they loved. Even as a child, being 
 then a devourer of history, I well recall how 
 while loathing England as the foe of this country 
 I still went with her in sympathy was she 
 warring with France or Spain. I remember, too, 
 that, in England s civil wars, I was ever for the 
 Roundhead and against the King. This, you say, 
 sounds strangely for my theory, coming as I do 
 from Virginia, that state of the Cavalier. One 
 should reflect that Cavalierism to invent a word 
 is naught save a Southern boast. Virginia, 
 like most seaboard Southern states, was in its 
 time a sort of Botany Bay whereunto, with other 
 delinquents, political prisoners were condemned; 
 my own ancestors coming, in good truth ! by edict 
 
 351 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 of the Bloody Jeffreys for the hand they took in 
 Monmouth s rebellion. It is true as I state, even 
 as a child, too young for emotions save emotions 
 of instinct, I was ever the friend, as I read history, 
 first of my own country; and next of England, 
 Germany, Holland, Denmark and Sweden-Nor 
 way old race-camps of my forefathers, these 
 and like those same forefathers the uncompromis 
 ing foe of France, Spain, Italy, and the entire 
 Latin tribe, as soon as ever my reading taught 
 me their existence. 
 
 My filibusterer swung on his cable down the 
 bay from Governor s Island. During daylight I 
 held the Harriet Lane at decent distance ; when 
 night came down I lay as closely by him as I 
 might and give the ships room as they swept bow 
 for stern with the tide. Also, we had a small- 
 boat patrol in the water. 
 
 It w r as the fourth day of my watch. I was 
 ashore to stretch my legs, and at that particular 
 moment, grown weary of walking, on a bench in 
 Battery Park, from which coign I had both my 
 filibusterer and the Harriet Lane beneath my eye, 
 and could signal the latter whenever I would. 
 
 On the bench with me sat a well-dressed 
 stranger; I had before observed him during my 
 walk. With an ease that bespoke the trained 
 gentleman, and in manner unobtrusive, my fellow 
 bencher stole into talk with me. Sharpened of 
 my trade, he had not discoursed a moment before 
 
 352 
 
HOW THE FILIBUSTERER SAILED. 
 
 I felt and knew his purpose; he was friend to my 
 filibusterer whose black freeboard showed broad 
 side on as she tugged and strove with her cable 
 not a mile away. 
 
 He carried the talk to her at last. 
 
 " I don t beiieve she s a filibusterer," he said. 
 Her character was common gossip, and he had 
 referred to that. " I don t believe she s a filibus 
 terer. I d be glad to see her get out if I thought 
 she were," and he turned on me a tentative eye. 
 
 Doubtless he observed a smile, and therein read 
 encouragement. I told him my present business ; 
 not through vain jauntiness of pride, but I was 
 aware that he well knew my mission before ever 
 he sat down, and I thought I d fog him up a bit 
 with airs of innocence, and lead him to suppose 
 I suspected him not. 
 
 After much tacking and going about, first port 
 and then starboard to use the nautical phrase 
 he came straight at me. 
 
 " Friend," he said ; " the cause of liberty Cu 
 ban liberty, if you will is dear to me. If that 
 ship be a filibusterer and meant for Cuba s aid, 
 speaking as a humanitarian, I could give you ten 
 thousand reasons, the best in the world, why you 
 should let her sail." This last, wistfully. 
 
 Thereupon I lighted a cigar, having trouble by 
 
 reason of the breeze. Then getting up, I took 
 
 my handkerchief and wig-wagged the Harriet 
 
 Lane to send the gig ashore. As I prepared to 
 
 23 353 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 go down to the water-front, I turned to my hu 
 manitarian who so loved liberty. 
 
 " Give your reasons to Betelnut Jack," I said; 
 " he delights in abstract deductions touching the 
 rights of man as against the rights of states as 
 deeply as did that Thetford Corset maker, Thomas 
 Paine." 
 
 " Betelnut Jack ! " said my humanitarian. 
 " He shall have every reason within an hour." 
 
 " Should you convince him," I retorted, " tell 
 him as marking a fact in which I shall take the 
 utmost interest to come to this spot at five o clock 
 and show me his handkerchief." 
 
 Then I joined the Harriet Lane. 
 
 At the hour suggested, Betelnut Jack stood on 
 the water s edge and flew the signal. I put the 
 captain s glass on him to make sure. He had 
 been given the reasons, and was convinced. 
 There abode no doubt of it ; the humanitarian was 
 right and Cuba should be free. Besides, I re 
 membered Madrid and hated Spain. 
 
 " Captain," I observed, as I handed that dig 
 nitary the glasses, " we will, if you please, lie in 
 the Narrows to-night. If this fellow leave 
 which he won t he ll leave that way. And we ll 
 pinch him." 
 
 The Captain bowed. We dropped down to the 
 Narrows as the night fell black as pitch. The 
 Captain and I cracked a bottle. As we toasted 
 each other, our suspect crept out through the 
 
 354 
 
HOW THE FILIBUSTERER SAILED. 
 
 Sound, and by sunrise had long cleared Montauk 
 and far and away was southward bound and safe 
 on the open ocean. 
 
 " I believe," observed the Jolly Doctor to the 
 Sour Gentleman when the latter paused, " I be 
 lieve you said that the Filibusterer was in the end 
 taken and shot." 
 
 " Seized when he made his landing," returned 
 the Sour Gentleman, " and killed against a wall 
 in the morning." 
 
 " It was a cheap finish for a io,ooo-dollar start," 
 remarked the Red Nosed Gentleman, senten- 
 tiously. " But why should this adventurer, Ryan, 
 as you call him, go into the business of freeing 
 Cuba? Where would lie his profit? I don t 
 suppose now it was a love of liberty which put 
 him in motion." 
 
 The Cuban rebellionists," said the Sour Gen 
 tleman, " were from first to last sustained by 
 certain business firms in New York who had 
 arranged to make money by their success. It is 
 a kind of piracy quite common, this setting our 
 Spanish-Americans to cutting throats that a 
 profit may flow in Wall and Broad streets. 
 Every revolution and almost every war in South 
 and Central America have their inspirations in the 
 counting-rooms of some great New York firm. 
 
 355 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 I ve known rival houses in New York to set 
 a pair of South American republics to battling 
 with each other like a brace of game cocks. 
 Thousands were slain with that war. Sure, it is 
 the merest blackest piracy; the deeds of Kidd 
 or Morgan were milk-white by comparison." 
 
 " It shows also," observed the Jolly Doctor, 
 " how little the race has changed. In our hearts 
 we are the same vikings of savage blood and 
 pillage, and with no more of ruth, we were in 
 the day of Harold Fairhair." 
 
 Sioux Sam, at the Old Cattleman s suggestion, 
 came now to relate the story of " How Moh-Kwa 
 Saved the Strike Axe." 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 HOW MOH-KWA SAVED STRIKE-AXE. 
 
 This shall be the story of how Moh-Kwa, the 
 Wise Bear, saved Strike Axe from the medicine 
 of Yellow Face, the bad medicine man, who would 
 take his life an steal the Feather, his squaw. 
 An it is a story good to show that you should 
 never lose a chance to do a kind deed, since kind 
 deeds are the steeps up which the Great Spirit 
 makes you climb to reach the happiness at the 
 top. When you do good, you climb up ; when 
 you do bad, you climb down; an at the top is 
 happiness which is white, an at the bottom is pain 
 which is black, an the Great Spirit says every 
 man shall take his choice. 
 
 Strike Axe is of the war-clan an is young. 
 Also he is a big fighter next to Ugly Elk who is 
 the war chief. An Strike Axe for all he is only a 
 young man an has been but four times on the war 
 trail, has already taken five skelps one Crow, 
 one Blackfoot, three Pawnees. This makes big 
 talk among all the Sioux along the Yellowstone, 
 an Strike Axe is proud an gay, for he is held a 
 
 357 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 great warrior next to Ugly Elk; an it is the 
 Pawnees an Crows an Blackfeet who say this, 
 which makes it better than if it is only the talk 
 of the Sioux. 
 
 When Ugly Elk sets up the war-pole, an calls 
 to his young men to make ready to go against 
 the Pawnees to take skelps an steal ponies, Strike 
 Axe is the first to beat the war-pole with his stone 
 club, an his war pony is the first that is saddled 
 for the start. 
 
 Strike Axe has a squaw an the name of the 
 squaw is the Feather. Of the girls of the Sioux, 
 the Feather is one of the most beautiful. Yet 
 she is restless an wicked, an thinks plots an is 
 hungry an thirsty to do evil. But that is not the 
 Feather s fault. 
 
 Yellow Face, the bad medicine man, has made 
 a spell over the Feather. Yellow Face hates 
 Strike Axe because of so much big talk about 
 him. Also, he loves the Feather an would have 
 her for his squaw. He tells her she is like the 
 sunset, but she will not hear; then he says she 
 is like the sunrise, but still she shakes her head, 
 only she shakes it slow; so at last Yellow Face 
 tells her she is like the Wild Rose, an at that she 
 laughs an listens. 
 
 But the Feather will not leave Strike Axe an 
 go with Yellow Face, for Strike Axe is a big 
 fighter; an moreover, he kills many elk an buf 
 falo, an his lodge is full of beef an robes, an the 
 
 358 
 
THE STRIKE-AXE. 
 
HOW MOH-KWA SAVED STRIKE-AXE. 
 
 Feather is no fool. Besides, at this time her 
 heart is not bad, but only restless. 
 
 Then Yellow Face sees he must give her a 
 bad heart or he will never win the Feather. So 
 Yellow Face kills the Great Rattlesnake of the 
 Rocks, who is his brother medicine, an cooks an 
 feeds his heart to the Feather. Then she loves 
 Yellow Face an hates Strike Axe, an would help 
 the Yellow Face slay him. For the heart of the 
 Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks is evil, an evil 
 breeds evil where it touches, an so the Feather s 
 heart turns black like the snake s heart which 
 she swallowed from the hand of Yellow Face. 
 
 Strike Axe does not know what the Feather 
 an Yellow Face say an do, for he is busy sharp 
 ening his lance an making arrows to shoot 
 against the Pawnees, an his ears an eyes have 
 no time to run new trails. But Strike Axe can 
 tell that the Feather s heart is against him; an 
 this makes him to wonder, because he is a big 
 fighter; an besides he has more than any Sioux, 
 meat an furs an beads an blankets an paint an 
 feathers, all of which are good to the eyes of 
 squaws, an the Feather is no fool. An , remem 
 bering these things, Strike Axe wonders an 
 wonders; but he cannot tell why the heart of the 
 Feather is against him. An at last Strike Axe 
 puts away the puzzle of the Feather s heart. 
 
 " It is a trail in running water," says Strike 
 Axe, " an no one may follow it. The heart of a 
 
 359 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 squaw is a bird an flies in the air an no one may 
 trace it." With that, Strike Axe washes his 
 memory free of the puzzle of the Feather s heart 
 an goes away to the big trees by the Yellowstone 
 to hunt. 
 
 Strike Axe tells the Feather he will be gone 
 one moon ; for now while her heart is against him 
 his lodge is cold an his blankets hard an the fire 
 no longer burns for Strike Axe, an his own heart 
 is tired to be alone. 
 
 It is among the big trees by the Yellowstone 
 that Strike Axe meets Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, 
 while Moh-Kwa is hunting for a bee tree. But 
 he can t find one, an he is sad an hungry an tells 
 Strike Axe he fears the bees have gone far away 
 to live with the Pawnees. 
 
 But Strike Axe says " No ! " an takes Moh- 
 Kwa to a bee-tree he has found ; an Moh-Kwa 
 sings in his joy, an climbs an eats until he is in 
 pain ; while Strike Axe stands a long way off, for 
 the bees are angry an their knives are out. 
 
 Moh-Kwa is grateful to Strike Axe when his 
 pain from much honey is gone, an says he will 
 come each day, an eat an fight with the bees 
 while there is honey left. An Moh-Kwa asks 
 Strike Axe to remember that he is the Great Wise 
 Bear of the Yellowstone, an to tell him what is 
 evil with him so Moh-Kwa can do him good. 
 
 Strike Axe thinks very hard ; then he tells Moh- 
 Kwa how the Feather s heart is against him an 
 
 360 
 
HOW MOH-KWA SAVED STRIKE-AXE. 
 
 has left him; he would know what the Feather 
 will do an where her heart has gone. 
 
 Moh-Kwa puts his paw above his eyes to keep 
 out the sun so he can think better; an soon Moh- 
 Kwa remembers that the wife of the Great Rattle 
 snake of the Rocks, when he met her hunting rats 
 among the cliffs, told him she was now a widow, 
 for Yellow Face had killed the Great Rattlesnake 
 of the Rocks who was his brother medicine 
 an fed his heart to the Feather. 
 
 Moh-Kwa tells Strike Axe how the Feather 
 was bewitched by Yellow Face. 
 
 " Come now with me," said Moh-Kwa to 
 Strike Axe, " an I will show you what the 
 Feather an Yellow Face do while you are gone. 
 You are a young buck an a good buck, an be 
 cause of your youth an the kind deed you did 
 when you found for me the bees to whom I shall 
 go back an fight with for more honey to-morrow 
 and every day while it lasts I will show you a 
 danger like a lance, an how to hold your shield so 
 you may come safe from it." 
 
 Moh-Kwa took Strike Axe by the hand an led 
 him up a deep canyon an into his cavern where a 
 big fire burned in the floor s middle for light. 
 An bats flew about the roof of Moh-Kwa s cavern 
 an owls sat on points of rock high up on the 
 sides an made sad talks; but Strike Axe being 
 brave an with a good heart, was not afraid an 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 went close to the fire in the floor s middle an sat 
 down. 
 
 Moh-Kwa got him a fish to eat ; an when it 
 was baked on the coals an eaten, brought him a 
 pipe with kinnikinick to smoke. When that was 
 done, Moh-Kwa said: 
 
 " Now that your stomach is full an strong to 
 stand grief, I will show you what the Feather an 
 Yellow Face do while you are gone; for they 
 make medicine against you an reach out to kill 
 you an take your life." Moh-Kwa then turned 
 over a great stone with his black paws an took 
 out of a hole which was under the stone, a looking 
 glass. Moh-Kwa gave Strike Axe the looking 
 glass an said, " Look ; for there you shall see the 
 story of what the Feather an the wicked Yellow 
 Face do." 
 
 Strike Axe looked, an saw that Yellow Face 
 was wrapping up a log in a blanket. When he 
 had done this, he belted it with the belts of Strike 
 Axe; an then he put on its head the war-bonnet 
 of Strike Axe which hung on the lodge pole. An 
 now that it was finished, Yellow Face said the log 
 in the blanket an wearing the belts an war- 
 bonnet was Strike Axe as Strike Axe saw truly 
 in the looking glass an Yellow Face stood up 
 the log in its blanket an belts an war-bonnet, an* 
 made his bow ready to kill it with an arrow. As 
 Yellow Face did these things, the Feather stood 
 watching him with a smile on her face while the 
 
 362 
 
HOW MOH-KWA SAVED STRIKE-AXE. 
 
 blood-hope shone in her eyes; for she had eaten 
 the snake s heart an all her spirit was black. 
 
 Strike Axe saw what went on with the Feather 
 an Yellow Face, an told it as the glass told it, 
 word for word to Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, who 
 sat by his side to listen. 
 
 Then Moh-Kwa, when he knew that now Yel 
 low Face with three arrows in his left hand was 
 stringing a bow to shoot against the log which 
 he had dressed up an named " Strike Axe," said 
 there was little time to be lost; an Moh-Kwa 
 hurried Strike Axe to the round deep spring of 
 clear water which was in the cavern, an told him 
 to stand on the edge of the spring an look hard 
 in the looking glass an take sharp notice just as 
 Yellow Face was to shoot the arrow against the 
 log. 
 
 " An you must dive in the spring when Yellow 
 Face shoots," said Moh-Kwa to Strike Axe; 
 " you must dive like the loon dives when you shoot 
 at him on the river." 
 
 Strike Axe looked hard in the looking glass like 
 Moh-Kwa said, an dived in the spring when the 
 arrow left the bow of Yellow Face. 
 
 When he came up, he looked again in the glass 
 an saw that Yellow Face had missed the log. 
 Yellow Face had a half-fear because he had 
 missed, an Strike Axe looking in Moh-Kwa s 
 glass could see the half-fear rising up as a mist 
 in his eyes like a morning fog lifts up from the 
 
 363 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Yellowstone. Also, the Feather stood watching 
 Yellow Face, an her eyes, which were grown 
 hard an little an bright, like a snake s eyes, 
 showed that she did not care what happened only 
 so that it was evil. 
 
 But Moh-Kwa told Strike Axe to still watch 
 closely, an would not let his mind pull up its 
 pickets an stray; because Yellow Face would 
 shoot twice more with the arrows which were left; 
 an he must be quick an ready each time to dive 
 like the loon dives, or he would surely die by 
 the log s wound. 
 
 Strike Axe, because he had eaten the fish an 
 smoked, an had a full stomach an was bold an 
 steady with a heart made brave with much food, 
 again looked hard in the glass; an when the 
 second arrow left the bow of Yellow Face he 
 dived sharply in the spring like a loon ; an when 
 he came up an held the looking glass before his 
 eyes he saw that Yellow Face had missed the log 
 a second time. 
 
 An now there was a whole-fear in the eyes of 
 Yellow Face a white fear that comes when a 
 man sees Pau-guk, the Death, walk into the 
 lodge; an the hand of Yellow Face trembled as 
 he made ready his last third arrow on the bow. 
 But in the eyes of the Feather shone no fear ; only 
 she lapped out her tongue like the snake does, 
 with the black pleasure of new evil at the door. 
 
 Moh-Kwa warned Strike Axe to look only at 
 3 6 4 
 
HOW MOH-KWA SAVED STRIKE-AXE. 
 
 Yellow Face that he might be sure an swift as 
 the loon to dive from the last arrow. Strike Axe 
 did as Moh-Kwa counselled; an when the last 
 arrow flew from the bow, Strike Axe with a big 
 splash was safe an deep beneath the waters of 
 the spring. 
 
 " An now," said Moh-Kwa to Strike Axe, 
 " look in the glass an laugh, for a blessing of 
 revenge has been bestowed on you through the 
 Great Spirit." 
 
 Strike Axe looked an saw that not only did 
 Yellow Face miss the log, but the arrow flew back 
 an pierced the throat of Yellow Face, even up to 
 the three eagle feathers on the arrow s shaft. As 
 Strike Axe looked, he saw Yellow Face die ; an 
 a feeling like the smell of new grass came about 
 the heart of Strike Axe, for there is nothing so 
 warm an sweet an quick with peace as revenge 
 when it sees an smells the fresh blood of its 
 enemy. 
 
 Moh-Kwa told Strike Axe to still look in the 
 glass; for while the danger was gone he would 
 know what the Feather did when now that Yellow 
 Face was killed by the turning of his own medicine. 
 
 Strike Axe looked, an saw how the Feather 
 dammed up the water in a little brook near the 
 lodge ; an when the bed of the brook was free 
 of water the Feather dug a hole in the soft ground 
 with her hands like a wolf digs with his paws. 
 An the Feather made it deep an long an wide; 
 
 365 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 an then she put the dead Yellow Face in this 
 grave in the brook s bed. When she had covered 
 him with sand an stones, the Feather let the 
 waters free; an the brook went back to its old 
 trail which it loved, an laughed an ran on, never 
 caring about the dead Yellow Face who lay under 
 its wet feet. 
 
 Then the Feather went again into the lodge an 
 undressed the log of its blankets, belts an war- 
 bonnet; an the Feather burned the bow an the 
 arrows of Yellow Face, an made everything as 
 it was before. Only now Yellow Face lay dead 
 under the brook; but no one knew, an the brook 
 itself already had forgot for the brook s memory 
 is slippery an thin an not a good memory, hold 
 ing nothing beyond a moment an the Feather 
 felt safe an happy; for her heart fed on evil an 
 evil had been done. 
 
 Strike Axe came out from the cave with Moh- 
 Kwa, the Wise Bear. 
 
 You have given me life," said Strike Axe. 
 You have given me honey," said Moh-Kwa. 
 
 Then Strike Axe was troubled in his mind, an 
 he told Moh-Kwa that he knew not what he must 
 do with the Feather when he returned. But Moh- 
 Kwa said that he should make his breast light, 
 an free his thought of the Feather as a burden, 
 for one would be in his lodge before him with 
 the answer to his question. 
 
 " It is the Widow," said Moh-Kwa, " who was 
 366 
 
HOW MOH-KWA SAVED STRIKE-AXE. 
 
 the wife of the Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks; 
 she will go to your tepee to be close to the heart 
 of her husband. In her mouth the Widow will 
 bring a message from Yellow Face to the Feather 
 for whom he died an was hid beneath the careless 
 brook." 
 
 Thus said Moh-Kwa. An Strike Axe found 
 that Moh-Kwa spoke with but one tongue; for 
 when he stood again in his lodge the Feather lay 
 across the door, dead an black with the message 
 of Yellow Face which was sent to her in the 
 mouth of the Widow. An as Strike Axe looked 
 on the Feather, the Widow rattled joyfully where 
 she lay coiled on the Feather s breast ; for the 
 Widow was glad because she was near to her 
 husband s heart. 
 
 But Moh-Kwa was not there to look ; Moh-Kwa 
 had gone early to the bee-tree, an now with his 
 nose in a honey comb was high an hearty up 
 among the angry bees. 
 
 There arose no little approbative comment on 
 the folk-lore tales of Sioux Sam, and it was 
 common opinion that his were by odds and away 
 the best stories to be told among us. These 
 hearty plaudits were not without pleasant effect 
 on Sioux Sam, and one might see his dark cheek 
 flush to a color darker still with the joy he felt. 
 
 367 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 And yet someone has said how the American 
 Indian is stolid and cold. 
 
 It was the Red Nosed Gentleman, as the clock 
 struck midnight on this our last evening and we 
 threw our last log on the coals, who suggested 
 that the Jolly Doctor, having told the first story, 
 should in all propriety close in the procession by 
 furnishing the last. There was but one voice for 
 it, and the Jolly Doctor, who would have demurred 
 for that it seemed to lack of modesty on his side, 
 in the end conceded the point with grace. 
 
 " This," said the Jolly Doctor, composing him 
 self to a comfortable position in his great chair, 
 " this, then, shall be the story of The Flim Flam 
 Murphy/ " 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE FLIM FLAM MURPHY. 
 
 Chicken Bill was not beautiful with his shock 
 of coarse hair and foul pipe in mouth. Doubtless, 
 Chicken Bill was likewise an uncompromising 
 villain. Indeed, Pike s Peak Martin, expert both 
 of men and mines, one evening in the Four Flush 
 saloon, casually, but with insulting fullness, set these 
 things forth to Chicken Bill himself; and while 
 Pike s Peak Martin was always talking, he was not 
 always wrong. 
 
 On this occasion of Pike s Peak Martin s frank 
 ness, Chicken Bill, albeit he carried contradiction at 
 his belt in the shape of a six-shooter, walked away 
 without attempting either denial or reproof. This 
 conduct, painful to the sentiment of Timberline, had 
 the two-fold effect of confirming Pike s Peak Mar 
 tin s utterances in the minds of men, and telling 
 against the repute of Chicken Bill for that personal 
 courage which is the great first virtue the South 
 west demands. 
 
 Old Man Granger found the earliest gold in Ari 
 zona Gulch. And hot on the news of the strike 
 a* 369 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 came Chicken Bill. It was the latter s boast about 
 the bar-rooms of Timberline that he was second 
 to come into the canyon; and as this was the only 
 word of truth of w T hich Chicken Bill was guilty 
 while he honored the camp with his presence, it de 
 serves a record. 
 
 Following Old Man Granger s discovery of his 
 Old Age mine, came not only Chicken Bill, but 
 others ; within a week there arose the bubbling camp 
 of Timberline. There were saloons and hurdy- 
 gurdies and stores and restaurants and a bank and 
 a corral and a stage station and an express office and 
 a post-office and an assay office and board side 
 walks and red lights and many another plain evi 
 dence of civilization. Even a theatre was threatened ; 
 and, to add to the gayety as well as the wealth 
 of the baby metropolis, those sundry cattlemen hav 
 ing ranges and habitats within the oak-brushed hills 
 about, began to make Timberline their headquarters 
 and transact their business and their debauches in 
 its throbbing midst. 
 
 Chicken Bill was reasonably perfect in all accom 
 plishments of the Southwest. He could work cat 
 tle; he could rope, throw, and hog-tie his steer; he 
 could keep up his end at flanking, branding, and 
 ear-marking in a June corral; he could saddle and 
 ride a \vild, unbroken bronco; he could make bak 
 ing-powder biscuit so well flavored and light as to 
 compel the compliments of those jealous epicures 
 of the cow-camps who devoured them. 
 
 370 
 
CHICKEN BILL. 
 
THE FLIM FLAM MURPHY. 
 
 Yet Chicken Bill would not work on the ranges. 
 There were no cards permitted in the camps, and 
 whiskey was debarred as if each bottle held a rattle 
 snake. Altogether a jovial soul, and one given to 
 revelry, would fly from them in disgust. 
 
 " It s too lonesome a play for me, this punchin 
 cattle/ observed Chicken Bill, and so eschewed it. 
 
 While Pike s Peak Martin expounded this aver 
 sion on the part of Chicken Bill, as well as the lat- 
 ter s refusal to pick and dig and drill and blast in the 
 Timberline mines, as mere laziness, public feeling, 
 though it despised the culprit, was inclined to toler 
 ate him in his shiftlessness. American independence 
 in the Southwest is held to be inclusive of the per 
 sonal right to refuse all forms of labor. Wherefore 
 Chicken Bill was safe even from criticism as he 
 hung about the saloons and faro rooms and lived his 
 life of chosen vagabondage. 
 
 Our low-flung hero made shift in various ways. 
 Did he find a tenderfoot whom he could cheat at 
 cards, he borrowed a stake sometimes, when the 
 subject was uncommonly tender, from the victim 
 himself and therewith took a small sum at poker 
 or seven-tip. Another method of trivial fraud, now 
 and then successful with Chicken Bill, was to plant 
 a handful of brass nuggets, each of about an ounce 
 in weight, under a little waterfall that broke into 
 the canyon just below the windmill. There was a 
 deal of mineral in this feeble side-stream, and the 
 brass nuggets became coated and queer of color. 
 
 371 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 One of these Chicken Bill was able at intervals to 
 impose at a profit upon a stranger, by swearing 
 doughtily that it was virgin gold. 
 
 It came to pass, however, that Chicken Bill, de 
 spairing of fortune by the cheap processes of penny- 
 ante and spurious nuggets, decided on a coup. He 
 would stake out a claim, drift it and timber it, and 
 then salt it to the limit of all that was possible in 
 the science of claim-salting. Then would he sell 
 it to the first Christian with more money than 
 sagacity who came moved to buy a mine. 
 
 Chicken Bill was no amateur of mines. He knew 
 the business as he knew the cow trade, and avoided 
 it for the same reason of indolence. In his time, 
 and after some windfall at faro-bank, Chicken Bill 
 had grub-staked prospectors who were to " give him 
 half " and who never came back. In his turn 
 Chicken Bill was grub-staked by others, in which 
 event he never came back. But it went with other 
 experiences to teach him the trade, and on the morn 
 ing when with pick and paraphernalia Chicken Bill 
 pitched camp in Arizona Gulch a mile beyond the 
 farthest, and where it was known to all no mineral 
 lurked, he brought with him a knowledge of the 
 miner s art, and began his digging with intelligent 
 spirit. Moreover, the heart of Chicken Bill was 
 stout for the work ; for was he not planning a swin 
 dle? and did not that thought of itself swell his 
 bosom with a mighty peace? 
 
 Once upon a time Chicken Bill had had a partner. 
 3/2 
 
THE FLIM FLAM MURPHY. 
 
 This partner was frequently on the lips of Chicken 
 Bill, especially when our hero was in his cups. He 
 was always mentioned with a gush of tears, this 
 partner, and his name as furnished by Chicken Bill 
 was Film Flam Murphy. Flim Flam had met death 
 somewhere in the Gunnison country while making 
 good his name, and passed with the smoke of the 
 Colt s-44 that dismissed him. But Chicken Bill 
 reverenced the memory of this talented man and was 
 ready to honor him, and, having staked out his claim 
 with the fraudulent purpose aforesaid, filed on it 
 appropriately as " The Flim Flam Murphy." 
 
 It would be unjust to the intelligence of Timber- 
 line to permit one for a moment to suppose that the 
 dullest of her male citizenry lived unaware of the ig 
 noble plans of Chicken Bill. That he proposed to 
 salt a claim and therewith ensnare the stranger with 
 in the local gates were truths which all men knew. 
 But all men cared not ; and mention of the enter 
 prise when the miracle of Chicken Bill at work 
 found occasional comment over the bars, aroused 
 nothing save a sluggish curiosity as to whether 
 Chicken Bill would succeed. No thought of warn 
 ing the unwary arose in the Timberline heart. 
 
 " It s the proper play/ observed Pike s Peak Mar 
 tin, representative of Timberline feeling, " to let 
 every gent seelect his own licker an hobble his own 
 hoss. If Chicken Bill can down anybody for his 
 bankroll without making a gun play to land the 
 trick, thar s no call for the public to interfere." 
 
 373 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 It was about this time that Chicken Bill added 
 to his ornate scheme of claim-salting a plain affair 
 of the heart. The lady to thus cast her spell over 
 Chicken Bill was known as Deadwood Maggie and 
 flourished a popular waitress in the Belle Union 
 Hotel. Timber line thought well of Deadwood Mag 
 gie, and her place in general favor found sugges 
 tion in a remark of Pike s Peak Martin. 
 
 " Deadwood Maggie," observed that excellent 
 spirit, as he replaced his glass on the Four Flush 
 bar and turned to an individual who had been guilty 
 of words derogatory to the lady in question ; " Dead- 
 wood Maggie is a virchoous young female, an it 
 shore frets me to hear her lightly allooded to." 
 
 As Pike s Peak Martin s disapproval took the vio 
 lent form of smiting the maligner upon the head 
 with an 8-inch pistol, the social status of the lady 
 was ever after regarded as fixed. 
 
 Chicken Bill was not the one to eat his heart in 
 silence, and his passion was but one day old when 
 he laid hand and fortune at Deadwood Maggie s 
 feet. That maiden for her part displayed a sus 
 picious front, born perhaps of an experience of the 
 perfidy of man. Deadwood Maggie was inclined 
 to a scorn of Chicken Bill and his proffer of in 
 stant wedlock. 
 
 " Not on your life!" was Deadwood Maggie s 
 reply. 
 
 But Chicken Bill persisted; he longed more ar 
 dently because of this rebuff. To soften Deadwood 
 
 374 
 
THE FLIM FLAM MURPHY. 
 
 Maggie he threw a gallant arm about her and drew 
 her to his bosom. 
 
 " Don t be in sech a hurry to lose me," said 
 Chicken Bill on this sentimental occasion. 
 
 Deadwood Maggie was arranging tables at the 
 time for those guests who from mine and store and 
 bar-room would come, stamping and famishing, an 
 hour later. Chicken Bill and she for the moment 
 had the apartment to themselves. Goaded by her 
 lover s sweet persistency, and unable to phrase a 
 retort that should do her feelings justice, Deadwood 
 Maggie fell to the trite expedient of breaking a but 
 ter-dish on the head of Chicken Bill. 
 
 " Now pull your freight," said she, " or I ll chunk 
 you up with all the crockery in the camp." 
 
 Finding Deadwood Maggie obdurate, Chicken 
 Bill for the nonce withdrew to consider the situa 
 tion. He was in no sort dispirited ; he regarded the 
 butter-dish and those threats which came after it 
 as marks of maiden coyness; they were decisive of 
 nothing. 
 
 " She wasn t in the mood," said Chicken Bill, as 
 he explained his repulse to the bar-keeper of the 
 Four Flush Saloon ; " but I ll get my lariat on her 
 yet. Next time I ll rope with a larger loop." 
 
 " That s the racket ! " said the bar-keeper. 
 
 Chicken Bill in a small way was a gifted rascal. 
 After profound contemplation of Deadwood Mag 
 gie in her obstinacy, he determined to win her 
 with the conveyance of a one-quarter interest in The 
 
 375 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 Film Flam Murphy. Deadwood Maggie knew 
 nothing of the worthlessness of The Flim Flam 
 Murphy. Chicken Bill would represent it to her 
 as a richer strike than Old Man Granger s Old Age 
 Mine. He would give her one-quarter. There 
 would be no risk; Deadwood Maggie, when once 
 his wife and getting a good figure for the mine, 
 would make no demur to selling to whatever tender 
 foot he might dupe. This plan had merit; at least 
 one must suppose so, for the soul of Deadwood 
 Maggie was visibly softened thereby. 
 
 " I must have you, Maggie," wooed Chicken Bill, 
 w^hen he had put forth the sterling character of The 
 Flim Flam Murphy and expressed himself as de 
 termined to bestow on her the one-fourth interest, 
 a conveyance whereof in writing he held then in 
 his hand ; " I can t live without you. When you 
 busted me with that yootensil you made me yours 
 forever. I swear by this gun I pack, I ll not outlive 
 your refusal to wed me longer than to jest get good 
 an drunk an put a bullet through my head." 
 
 Who could resist such love and such hyperbole? 
 Deadwood Maggie wept; then she took the deed to 
 the one-fourth interest in The Flim Flam Murphy, 
 kissed Chicken Bill, and said she would drift into 
 his arms as his wife at the end of two months. 
 Chicken Bill objected strenuously to such a recess 
 for his affections, but with the last of it was driven 
 to yield. 
 
 There came a time when The Flim Flam Mur- 
 
 376 
 
THE FLIM FLAM MURPHY. 
 
 phy salted to the last degree of salt was as perfect 
 a trap for a tenderfoot as any ever set. And as 
 though luck were seeking Chicken Bill, a probable 
 prey stepped from the stage next day. 
 
 Chicken Bill and the stranger were seen in prompt 
 and lengthy conference. Timberline, looking on, 
 grinned in a tolerant way. For two days Chicken 
 Bill and the stranger did nothing but explore the 
 drift, inspect the timbering, and consider specimens 
 taken from The Flim Flam Murphy. 
 
 At last the stranger filled ten small canvas sacks 
 with specimens of ore and brought them into camp 
 on a buckboard to be assayed. Chicken Bill was 
 with him; and pleading internal pains that made 
 it impossible to ride upright, our wily one lay back 
 with the bags of specimens while the stranger drove. 
 From time to time the astute Chicken Bill, having 
 advantage of rough places in the canyon s bed which 
 engaged the faculties of the stranger, emptied some 
 two or three quills of powdered gold into each speci 
 men sack by the ingenius process of forcing the 
 sharpened point of the quill through the web of the 
 canvas, and blowing the treasure in among the ore. 
 
 " It s a cinch ! " ruminated Chicken Bill, when he 
 had completed these improvements. Then he re 
 freshed himself from a whiskey flask, said that he 
 felt better, and climbed back beside the stranger on 
 the buckboard s seat. 
 
 There came the assay next day. With that cere 
 mony Chicken Bill had nothing to do, and could only 
 
 377 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 wait. But he owned no misgivings; there would 
 come but one result; the ore would show a richness 
 not to be resisted. 
 
 Chicken Bill put in his time preparing Deadwood 
 Maggie for the sale. He told her that not a cent 
 less than sixty thousand dollars would be accepted. 
 
 " It s worth more," declared Chicken Bill, " but 
 me an you, Maggie, ain t got the long green to de 
 velop it. Our best play is to cash in if we can get 
 the figure." 
 
 But disaster was striding on the trail of Chicken 
 Bill. That evening, as Deadwood Maggie was re 
 turning to the Belle Union from the Dutch Woman s 
 Store, to which mart she had been driven for a 
 tooth-brush, she was blasted with the spectacle of 
 Chicken Bill and a Mexican girl in confidential con 
 verse just ahead. Deadwood Maggie, a bit violent 
 of nature, had been in no wise calmed by her several 
 years on the border. While not wildly in love, 
 still her impulse was to dismantle, if not dismem 
 ber, the senorita thus softly whispering and being 
 whispered to by the recreant Chicken Bill. But 
 on second thought Deadwood Maggie restrained 
 herself. She would observe the full untruth of 
 Chicken Bill. 
 
 The next day, when Chicken Bill called on Dead- 
 wood Maggie, he was met with a smothering flight 
 of table furniture and told never to come back. 
 
 It was a crisis with Chicken Bill. The assay 
 had been a victory and the stranger stood ready, 
 
 378 
 
PIKE S PEAK MARTIN. 
 
THE FLIM FLAM MURPHY. 
 
 cash in hand, to pay the sixty thousand dollars de 
 manded for The Flim Flam Murphy. Chicken Bill 
 felt the necessity of getting the money without de 
 lay. Any marplot, whether from drink or that 
 mean officiousness which hypocrites call " con 
 science," might say the word that would arm the 
 tenderfoot with a knowledge of his peril. But 
 Chicken Bill could not come to speech with Dead- 
 wood Maggie. In a blaze of jealousy, that wronged 
 woman would begin throwing things the moment 
 he appeared. As a last resort, Chicken Bill dis 
 patched the bar-keeper of the Four Flush to Dead- 
 wood Maggie. This diplomat was told to set forth 
 the crying needs of the hour, Chicken Bill promis 
 ing friendship for life and five hundred dollars if 
 he made Deadwood Maggie see reason. 
 
 Ten minutes later the bar-keeper returned, bleed 
 ing from a cut over his eye. 
 
 " Did it with a stove-lifter," he explained, as he 
 laved the wound in a basin at the corner of the bar. 
 " Say ! you can t get near enough to that lady to 
 give her a diamond ring." 
 
 Chicken Bill made a gesture of despair; he saw 
 that Deadwood Maggie was lost to him forever. 
 
 But the sale of The Flim Flam Murphy must go 
 on. Chicken Bill sought the tenderfoot. He found 
 him with a smile on his face reading the report of 
 The Flim Flam Murphy assay. Chicken Bill 
 guardedly explained that he had a partner, name not 
 given, who objected to the sale. The partner held 
 
 379 
 
THE BLACK LION INN. 
 
 a one-quarter share in The Film Flam Murphy. 
 The stranger, who knew it all along from the rec 
 ords, pondered briefly. Finally he broke the si 
 lence : 
 
 "Would Chicken Bill sell his three-quarters?" 
 
 Chicken Bill composed his face. Chicken Bill 
 would sell. 
 
 Nothing is big in the Southwest; transactions of 
 millions are disposed of while one eats a flap-jack. 
 In an hour the stranger had acquired The Flim 
 Flam Murphy interest which was vested in Chicken 
 Bill ; in two hours that immoralist was speeding by 
 vague trails to regions new, forty-five thousand dol 
 lars in his belt and a soreness in his heart. 
 
 Timberline felt a quiet amusement in the 
 situation. It leaned back and waited in a superior 
 way for the stranger to set up the low wail of the 
 robbed. The outcry couldn t be long deferred; the 
 fraud must be soon unmasked since the development 
 of The Flim Flam Murphy was gone about with 
 diligence and on a dazzling scale. 
 
 But the stranger did not complain. 
 
 Two weeks were added to that vast eternity which 
 had preceded them and the sobered sentiment of 
 Timberline began to think it might better investi 
 gate. Timberline, however, would proceed with 
 caution ; missing its laugh, it must now guard it 
 self against being laughed at. 
 
 It turned as the wise ones had begun to appre 
 hend. The Flim Flam Murphy was a two-million- 
 
 380 
 
THE FLIM FLAM MURPHY. 
 
 dollar wonder. The talented Chicken Bill had over 
 reached himself. With no hope beyond a plan to 
 salt a claim, he had not thought to secure an assay 
 for himself. The Flim Flam Murphy loomed upon 
 mankind as Timberline s richest strike. 
 
 Pike s Peak Martin was the first to collect him 
 self. Crawling from beneath that landslide of 
 amazement which had caught and covered Timber- 
 line, he visited the Belle Union with a resolved air. 
 Pointedly but fully Pike s Peak Martin tendered 
 himself in marriage to Dead wood Maggie. That 
 lady did not hurl a butter-dish; such feats would 
 seem too effervescent on the part of a gentlewoman 
 worth five hundred thousand dollars. 
 
 Deadwood Maggie blushed with drooping lids 
 as she heard the words of Pike s Peak Martin. 
 
 " Which your offer shore makes a hit with me," 
 murmured Deadwood Maggie. Then, when a mo 
 ment later, her head lay on Pike s Peak Martin s 
 shoulder like some tired flower at rest, Deadwood 
 Maggie gave a sigh, and lifting her eyes to the deep 
 inquiring gaze of Pike s Peak Martin, she 
 whispered : " You re the only gent I ever loved." 
 
 THE END. 
 
BY OWEN WISTER 
 
 THE JIMMY JOHN BOSS, and Other Stories. 
 Illustrated. $i 50. 
 
 LIN MCLEAN. Illustrated by FREDERIC REM 
 INGTON. Post 8vo, Ornamented Cloth, $i 50. 
 
 There is a uniformity about the merit of Mr. Owen Wister s 
 work which is in itself engaging. . . . His pages have 
 that mark of thoroughness which is so rare in contemporary 
 fiction. Success has not hurried his pen nor has fashion in 
 clined him to turn towards sensationalism, to seek effects 
 which will not come of themselves. , * . His latest volume 
 is full of episode ; it is romantic, pathetic, droll, dramatic, and 
 invariably veracious. . . . Mr. Wister writes as if this 
 striking existence he depicts were as natural, as matter-of- 
 fact, as the existence of an Eastern clerk. From this method 
 springs his charm. Lin McLean becomes a veritable com 
 panion of the reader, and the latter follows his fortunes with 
 downright solicitude, sympathizing with the man s woes, 
 rejoicing in his happiness and in his extraordinary flow of 
 animal spirits. N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 RED MEN AND WHITE. Stories. Illustrated 
 by FREDERIC REMINGTON. Post 8vo, Orna 
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 Desperadoes, good and bad, have been done before; red 
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 ranchmen, and the whole wicked world of the border have 
 been done before, though never, I think, so well as Mr. Wis 
 ter has done them. But the politicians of the far West, with 
 their various origins North and South, remained for him, 
 and he has made them immortal; or, if not quite that, then 
 he has made them what they really are, and that is perhaps 
 more difficult. W. D. HOWELLS. 
 
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 CROOKED TRAILS. Illustrated by the Author. 8vo, 
 
 Cloth, Ornamental, $2 00. 
 
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 tion . Philadelphia Telegraph. 
 
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 bearing upon the other. Albany Journal. 
 
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 Half Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75. 
 
 This is a spicy account of real experiences among Indians and 
 cowboys on the plains and in the mountains, and will be read with 
 a great deal of interest by all who are fond of an adventurous 
 life. No better illustrated book of frontier adventure has been 
 published. Boston Journal. 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
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