ded me out 'cold turkey,' but I took my
medicine.

"Right then I said I'd be a crook too. I learned to play with marked
cards. I could tell every card in the deck. I ran a stud-poker game,
with a Jap an' a Chinaman for partners. They were quicker than white
men, an' less likely to lose their nerve. It was easy money, like taking
candy from a kid. Often I would play on the square. No man can bluff
strong without showing it. Maybe it's just a quiver of the eyelash,
maybe a shuffle of the foot. I've studied a man for a month till I found
the sign that gave him away. Then I've raised an' raised him till the
sweat pricked through his brow. He was my meat. I went after the men
that robbed me, an' I went one better. Here, shuffle this deck."

He produced a pack of cards from a drawer.

"I'll never go back to the old trade. I'm saved. I trust in God, but
just for diversion I keep my hand in."

Talking to me, he shuffled the pack a few times.

"Here, I'm dealing; what do you want? Three kings?"

I nodded.

He dealt four hands. In mine there were three kings.

Taking up another he showed me three aces.

"I'm out of practice," he said apologetically. "My hands are calloused.
I used to keep them as soft as velvet."

He showed me some false shuffles, dealing from under the deck, and other
tricks.

"Yes, I got even with the ones that got my money. It was eat or be
eaten. I went after the suckers. There was never a man did me dirt but I
paid him with interest. Of course, it's different now. The Good Book
says: 'Do good unto them that harm you.' I guess I would, but I wouldn't
recommend no one to try and harm me. I might forget."

The heavy, aggressive jaw shot forward; the eyes gleamed with a fearless
ferocity, and for a moment the man took on an air that was almost
tigerish. I could scarce believe my sight; yet the next instant it was
the same cheerful, benevolent face, and I thought my eyes must have
played me some trick.

Perhaps it was that sedate Puritan strain in me that appealed to him,
but we became great friends. We talked of many things, and most of all I
loved to get him to tell of his early life. It was just like a story:
thrown on the world while yet a child; a shoeblack in New York, fighting
for his stand; a lumber-jack in the woods of Michigan; lastly a miner in
Arizona. He told me of long months on the desert with only his pipe for
company, talking to himself over the fire at night, and trying not to go