“I’m glad I found you, Devol,” I said. “I’ve been hoping to ask you about what happened to Jones on the War Eagle after he tried to shoot you.”
“Some sucker tried to shoot you?” the other gambler asked with a laugh. “You must have gotten greedy.”
“It was a big score,” said Devol. “For a big score, I’m prepared to face an unloaded gun.”
“For a big score, I’d face a loaded gun.”
Devol smiled and said, “You’re a braver man than me.”
He put down a full house, sevens over fours, and took the pot. The other gambler gathered up the cards and shuffled. The two gamblers had continued to play their hands throughout the conversation, their eyes never once leaving the cards.
“Devol, can we talk about Jones?” I tried again.
“Most certainly,” he said, “once I’ve given satisfaction to my old friend High Miller here. High owns the Alton tables, so when he brought out his deck and invited me to play, it seemed ungentlemanly to refuse.”
“I’m not sure I own Alton,” replied Miller, “but there aren’t too many folks around who can beat me on a regular basis. And I don’t think I’m braver than you, Devol,” he continued. “Just more trusting in God.”
“I believed in God until I was aboard the Princess when she blew up,” said Devol as he took the pot with three threes. “We’d just left Baton Rouge, bound for New Orleans, with fourteen preachers aboard heading to a revival. I’d opened up the roulette wheel in the barbershop, and I was doing land-office business. There’s about thirty persons in there with me, throwing down their money and watching the wheel spin.”
Miller took a hand with two queens and dealt again.
“All of a sudden, there’s this terrific explosion. Bam! Then comes the hissing sound of escaping steam mingled with the screams and groans of the dying. The boat’s been blown to bits. It’s a total wreck. Most of the passengers are lost. All the preachers—drowned in the river.” He paused for effect. “The only part of the ship that remained was the barbershop. Not a single one of the gamblers was so much as scratched.”
“I must be a true believer,” Miller said with a smile. He put down a straight and claimed the coins in the center of the table. “Because, to me, your story proves there is a God.”
A shout of laughter arose from the crowd. By now, a dozen persons had joined me to watch the two gamblers battle. I saw the fool standing casually in the back row. From the snatches of conversation I overheard, it was clear that seeing the local champion being given a good game was a novelty of sorts to the patrons of the Tontine.
Most of the crowd had gathered next to me behind Miller. Though he was holding his cards low and close to the table so we couldn’t see them, he said, “Can all of you move off to the side? This may be my town, but I wouldn’t put it past Devol to have a confederate hidden among you who’s signaling him.”
The group of us watching shuffled several paces to the side, where we could not possibly see either man’s hand. Miller took two deals in a row. By my rough count, backed up by the sizes of the piles of coins in front of each man, he’d somewhat gotten the better of Devol so far this evening.
“I’m shocked you’d even suggest such a thing,” said Devol in an obviously joshing tone.
“You’d be shocked if I didn’t,” returned Miller.
“I once played a Jew who laid his pocket watch on the table and used the shiny inside cover as a looking glass to try to spy my hand,” said Devol as he won a small pot with a full house, jacks over sevens.
“I once played a man whose partner was hidden behind a curtain at my back,” said Miller as he won the next hand with two pairs. “The partner held a string running all the way under the carpet and wrapped around my opponent’s thumb. The partner tugged the string whenever he was supposed to bet.”
Devol nodded in appreciation. He shuffled and dealt. “I played a good scienced man in Natchez whose partner was sitting right next to me,” he said. “I spent the whole night staring at him, but I couldn’t figure out how he was doing the signaling. Finally I focused on the toothpick he’d been chewing, and I couldn’t believe I’d missed it. Pick in the right corner of his mouth meant bid. Pick in the left corner meant fold.”
Devol put down three jacks with a flourish and was halfway through collecting the coins in the center of the table when his opponent put down three queens. He glared as Miller reached over and dragged the coins into his pile, which was now twice the size of Devol’s.
I realized I should have asked Willie about Bingham’s suggestion that there was some kind of secret gambling operation aboard the War Eagle. I turned and craned my neck—but the fool was nowhere to be seen.
The two gamblers continued to battle as more and more patrons joined the crowd. There were several dozen men gathered around me now, cheering lustily every time the hometown favorite, Miller, won a hand and booing the throws that went Devol’s way. As if spurred on by the hostile crowd, Devol won a string of hands, and his stack of coins edged past Miller’s in size.
Miller took the cards, shuffled, and dealt. All at once, we could tell this hand was different. Both gamblers scrutinized their cards, and the other man’s face, with extreme care. Devol pushed a sizeable stack into the center of the table, and Miller raised him. Then another raise and another. The crowd shouted with excitement. Soon both men had pushed all their coins to the center. Devol glanced at his hand one more time and carefully unwound his gold pocket watch and tossed it onto the table.
The crowd was hushed, waiting for Miller’s move. There was a moment of crystalline silence. Then Miller began to unstrap his Jürgensen watch, and a giant roar of approval went up from the crowd.
“Call,” said Miller.
“Dealer first,” said Devol.
“Four queens,” said Miller, displaying the lovely ladies and starting to sweep the glittering heap in the center of the table toward him. The crowd screamed with excitement.
Devol sighed and laid his hand on the table, face up. The two of clubs—and all four kings.
Miller stared in disbelief. The crowd went silent, then began shouting tumultuously. Devol took out his purse and began filling it with his winnings.
“Wait—show me your hands!” shouted Miller.
Devol put his hands out, palms up, and rotated them. Nothing.
“Your sleeves!” screamed Miller. “Your pockets! You’ve got extra cards hiding somewhere. You must!”
Devol rolled up his sleeves, shook out his jacket, and turned out his pockets. No hidden cards tumbled out. “Count the deck if you want,” he said.
Devol was standing now, preparing to make his exit, and while he gathered the remaining coins into his purse, Miller stacked the deck and counted the cards out as many in the crowd counted along with him. There were fifty-four, all right: the fifty-two suited cards and two “jokers,” all accounted for. None missing, none extra. Devol stepped away from the table.
“You’ve got to keep playing,” Miller cried.
“Perhaps next time I’m in town,” said Devol. “I need my sleep. I’m back on the waters tomorrow.” He turned to me and added, “I haven’t forgotten you, Speed. I can’t tarry now, but let’s meet tomorrow morning for breakfast.”
“I insist you stay,” shouted Miller.
“Sorry, friend. Maybe next time.”
As Devol started to push through the mass of onlookers toward the exit, a commotion arose from the direction of the door. “Make way, make way,” came an unmistakable French-accented voice. The patrons parted and Devol and Avocat Daumier stood face-to-face, ringed by the roiling crowd.
“George Devol,” announced the levee copper, brandishing an official-looking document, “I have a warrant for your arrest.”
CHAPTER 10
When I got down to breakfast the next morning, Lincoln was dressed for court and already making ready to depart.
“I collected another client overnight,” he said, “a friend of yours, I g
ather. I think you’ll want to come see his trial today.”
“Devol’s being tried already? I thought there was no more room on the docket on this round of the circuit.”
“Judge Thomas made time for this one,” returned Lincoln with a smile. “Turns out he’s a regular playing partner of the complaining witness, this fellow High Miller. His honor told me last night he’s determined to see justice done—inflicted, more like it—upon Devol before we leave town. Anyway, make sure you’re at Ryder’s building by noon. It’ll be worth your time.”
As we walked through the lobby of the hotel, we saw Nanny Mae knitting peaceably on her chair while interrogating a farmer about how much he’d received per bushel for his corn harvest. She waved at us.
“I see you’ve met the town directory,” said Lincoln as we pushed through the front door.
“Is that who she is? I thought perhaps the town gossip.”
“That too, I imagine. There seems to be no piece of information about Alton too large or too small to escape her ken.”
A few hours later, when I arrived at the temporary courtroom at Ryder’s building, most of the principal players were already in place. Devol was sitting awkwardly on the left-hand side of the room. His hands were tied behind his back, and his feet were lashed to the legs of the chair. Lincoln was next to him, leaning over and whispering back and forth.
On the other side of the room, Prickett, Daumier, and Miller sat in a sturdy row. Miller had his deck of cards from last night in his hands, and he was absent-mindedly shuffling it. In the light of day, I could see the reverse side of the deck, which was tinted red and featured an elaborate floral design. Every now and then, Miller would flick out one card, twirl it around his fingers as if on a string, and return it to the deck. His countenance, broken when I’d last seen him, was serene and confident. He’s certain where the cards lie today, I thought as I watched him.
I sat down behind Devol. Perhaps I could manage a few words with him before Judge Thomas sent him off to prison. Hearing my arrival, he turned and grinned at me under his straw hat.
“Not exactly what I had in mind,” he said, “when I suggested we meet today.”
At that moment, Judge Thomas strode through the room and took up his position between the two large picture windows looking out on the river.
“Good day, Your Honor,” said High Miller brightly before any of the lawyers could speak.
“Good day, High,” responded Judge Thomas with a familiar nod. “I understand you’re the complainant today?”
“That’s right, Your Honor. That man over there swindled me last night. He put up the cards on me in a game of poker. Cheated me out of my money. He’s a gambler.” Miller punctuated his accusation with an emphatic wave of his arms.
Prickett began to rise to make his own presentation on behalf of the People, but the judge indicated he could retain his seat.
“If there’s one form of human life I cannot stand above all others,” said Judge Thomas, sneering at Devol, “it’s a damned gambler. I happen to be familiar with the complaining witness and I know him to be a man of integrity. When he makes an accusation, I take him at his word. How dare you”—he wagged his forefinger at Devol—“come to this town and try to rob its respectable citizens of their money? I intend to teach you a lesson you’ll not soon forget.”
“Your Honor—” began Lincoln.
“I warn you, Mr. Lincoln, any time of mine you take up by way of attempted defense will be added a hundred-fold to the sentence I intend to pronounce on this criminal.”
“Your Honor,” persisted Lincoln, “we plead not guilty. And we put the People to their proof.”
Judge Thomas fixed a hard, unblinking stare on Lincoln. He took two long pulls from his cigar and blew out two huge clouds of smoke.
“In that case,” he said at last, “let me hear from your witness, Prickett. But make it quick. I see no need for a formal trial. I trust you know how to read the predilections of your audience.”
In ten efficient minutes, Prickett led Miller through the events of the prior night. Meanwhile, Devol studied the traffic on the river through the windows in front of him, as if it was the only interesting thing in the world.
“Anything to add?” the judge asked Lincoln when Prickett was done.
“That’s your regular deck you played with last night, Mr. Miller?” Lincoln indicated the pack of cards in Miller’s hand.
“Yep.”
“No further questions.”
“The People rest,” said Prickett, leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied grin.
“In the matter of the People against George Devol,” began the judge, “the Court finds—”
“We call George Devol as our first and only witness,” interposed Lincoln.
Thomas turned red-faced. “Your client will repay this time a thousand-fold, Lincoln,” he said, shaking his smoldering cigar.
“Very well,” said Lincoln calmly. “Mr. Devol, what happened last night?”
“This fellow High invited me to play a game of poker with him,” the gambler said matter-of-factly in his clear voice. “He took me for a sucker, but I beat him at his own game.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we sat down at the table, he brought out his deck. I recognized it at once. It’s an old marked deck—it’s been around on the river for as long as I have. I happen to know it as well as he does. Better, it turned out.
“He calls me a gambler,” Devol continued, a tiny flicker of emotion coming into his voice, “but he himself is much worse. He attempted to rob me with those marked cards. Far as I know, it’s no crime to refuse to allow a robbery to be committed on one’s person.”
“How did you become aware—” said Lincoln, but Judge Thomas cut him off with a swipe of his hand, saying, “Hold on, Mr. Devol. Are you saying High’s deck is marked?”
“It is, Your Honor,” Devol said solemnly.
“Prove it,” said Thomas. “Let me have those cards.” The judge reached out toward Miller, who was clutching his deck with knuckles turning pale. Miller looked for all the world like he would never relinquish his cards, but Prickett, giving his witness a skeptical glare, snatched the deck from his grasp and handed it to the judge.
The judge cut the deck and held up the new top card, backside first, toward Devol. “What’s this?” he demanded.
“Five of hearts.”
“How do you know?”
“That petal right there at the top has an extra line. That’s the mark for the five of hearts.”
Judge Thomas let go of the card, and it fluttered to the ground, landing face up on the wood-planked floor of Ryder’s back room. Five of hearts. Lincoln allowed himself a small smile.
“How about this one?” the judge barked, holding a new card in front of Devol.
“The leaf next to that marigold in the top left corner has an extra vein running through it. Jack of spades.”
Judge Thomas let the jack of spades fall to the ground. His face was red and swelling up so quickly it looked like it might burst at any moment. “And this one?”
Devol glanced at the new card in the judge’s outstretched hand. “That one’s almost too obvious,” the gambler said. “The little fly down there in the corner? Ten of hearts. I can keep going through the whole deck if you want,” he added with apparent sincerity.
By this time, I was biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud. In front of me, Lincoln seemed to be doing the same. The judge, however, was in no mood for laughter.
“No, that’ll do,” said Thomas, shaking his head. “This is the same deck this damned rascal has been playing on me. The other night, this ten of hearts fell in the spit, and I remember the mark you just pointed out. This rascal has been swindling me all these years. Untie this man at once, Constable.” He motioned angrily at Daumier, who, taking one look at the judge’s purple face, had the good sense to get to work silently on the knots restraining Devol.
“As for you,” J
udge Thomas continued, his eyes boring in on Miller, who’d gone white as a sheet, “you are fined one hundred dollars and assessed costs as well. If you don’t pay it here and now, I’ll send you directly to the state prison.”
“But—but Your Honor,” began Miller, his whole body trembling. “I haven’t any money on me, Your Honor. This damned . . . this . . . Devol won it all last night.”
“Then you’ll sit in prison until you come up with the money to pay. The case is dismissed.” The judge smacked his hands together with an ear-shattering crack.
Rubbing his wrists where the ropes had bound him, Devol strode from Ryder’s offices, with Lincoln and me trailing close behind. We managed to make it into the cool light of the gray late-October afternoon before bursting out in laughter.
“After I talked to Devol last night, I had a feeling how it’d go,” said Lincoln, tears of laughter in his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a judge turned around so quickly. There’s an old line, isn’t there, about not knowing who the mark is?”
“‘If you’ve been at the tables for ten minutes and haven’t figured who the sucker is, you’re the sucker,’” said the gambler.
“That was even better played than the monte, Devol,” I said.
“Here’s the fee we agreed upon,” the gambler said, slipping a clutch of silver coins into Lincoln’s palm even as he continued to walk rapidly toward the river. “Now, if you gentleman will excuse me. I learned long ago not to linger at the site of a score, especially when it was a big one.”
“Wait,” I said as Lincoln and I hurried to keep pace. “About what happened aboard the War Eagle—we still have questions.”
“It’s the War Eagle I’m heading to. Your questions will have to wait. The next time we’re together, perhaps.”
“But the War Eagle’s not due back until tomorrow.”
“Due or not, she’s here. I watched her steam in during the trial.” At that moment, we rounded a corner and I gaped in disbelief. My father’s ship was tied up at the dock in front of us, the signature oversize bale of cotton high above us between its twin smokestacks.
Perish from the Earth Page 8
