Diamond Dick, Jr.'s Call Down; or, The King of the Silver Box — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

2 ——_—_ —_ i rrr — ee — Diamon The King of the Silver Box. By W. B. LAWSON. d CHAPTER I. THE PRINCE OF SPORTS AND HIS VICTIM. “‘By George! He’s coppered the queen!”’ *“What'a fool!”’ DIAMOND DICK LIBRARY. (Dick, de's Call Down:| No. i756. ‘It’s a matter of life or death to me!’’ was the hoarse reply. ‘‘I can take that hand and capture the pot.’’ ‘*Im possible!’’ ‘“*T will do it.”’ ‘You will?”’ ‘‘Providing you will do whatever I may ask you in case I succeed and give you the winnings. ”’ ‘It’s a bargain.’’ ‘*You swear it?”’ ‘*Yes.”’ ‘*Very well.”’ Then.aloud, to the rest of the players, the Don addressed himself: ‘‘This young man is green at the game. He has much The young fellow who had made the bet, however, | money at stake, and I propose to take his hand and play ‘watched the run of the cards with a passive eye. Flip, flip! Had he played the queen in the box, he would have won. As it was, he lost. it. You all know me to be a square, eighteen-carat sport. Are you agreed that I come in?’”’ He swept his eyes around the table as he spoke, The remaining three players nodded, and Don sank into ae 3 One more chance,’’ he muttered, as he turned away. the.cashier’e chair, ‘‘T must make a winning or—or blow my brains out, one or the other.”’ The above scene took place in one of the fifty-nine saloons and gambling-dens that run ‘‘wide open’’ in the town of Cripple Creek. A young fellow, scarcely more than five-and-twenty, had been playing at the faro-table. His name was Joe Evans, and he was cashier of one of ‘the city banks. The faro-dealer was a handsome man of thirty or thirty- five. That he was an adept in his professional line was plainly to be seen, for his long, slender fingers manipulated the cards with a proficiency that could only come from life- long practice. : When the bottom had dropped out of things at the silver camp of Creede, Felipe Ortego, otherwise known as the *‘Spanish Don,’’ had come to Cripple Creek with his faro lay-out. He was the Prince of Sports and known throughout the south-west as the King of the Silver Box. For some time the Don had had his eye on Evans. When the young fellow turned away Ortego spoke a few words toa man at his elbow and left his chair, the other taking his place. Evans’ last words had caught the Don’s ear, and a sud- den gleam of satisfaction had passed through the wily Spaniard's eyes. The pot was opened for the size of it. The spectators were breathless with excitement. Great games were not phenomenal in Cripple Creek, but this pot was a little the largest that had ever been played for, in the history of the camp. The Don was as cool as a summer’s evening and calmly met the first man’s bet and was ready to draw cards. Three only remained. The dealer picked up the pack and dealt one card to the man on his left. ‘‘Give me one card,’’ said the Don. The card was dealt, but it fell face up. It was a heart. ‘“‘T’ll take that card,’’ said the Don. ‘‘No, you don’t,’’ said the dealer, laying his hand over the bit of pasteboard; ‘‘by all the rules that card is out of the game.”’ “You dealt it that way purposely to discover the strength of my hand.”’ A nasty look came into the dealer’s face. Both men drew revolvers and laid them on the table. “You can’t play that card,’’ said the dealer, decisively; ‘you'll have to play the next one.’’ ‘‘Look you,’’ cried the Don, passionately, ‘‘I have the right to call for the next card face up. If it isa heart, we ; Play the game; if it is any other card, we fight.”’ Would the game be finished, or would there bea resort to Walking to the poker-table, the cashier paid out his last | the duello? dollar for chips. Behind him stood the Don, watching his every move- ment. The play progressed with indifferent success to Evans. At last a ‘‘jack pot’’ was developed. Around and around went the deal, no one finding openers. | The pot grew to prodigious proportions, for in that game the limit was the ceiling—no less. Four plavers were in the game, and one of them finally opened. Evans had absolutely nothing to come in with. He was in despair. “Do you want to win?”’ The Don leaned forward and whispered these words in ‘tthe young man’s ear. The crowd was in an agony of suspense. The second card was dealt face up. It proved to be a heart. A long sigh of relief went up from the spectators. The Don picked up his heart, and the game proceeded. The supposition was that the Don had filled his flush. The first player showed his openers And dropped out. The Don laid a crisp one thousand dollar bank-note in the pot. ‘It’s yours,’’ said the dealer, throwing down his hand. The Don gave a short laugh and laid his hand, face up, on the table. Four clubs and a heart! A mighty yell went up from the crowd. The King of the Silver Box had worked a successful bluff against three of the oldest poker players in town. CONIC MHOOKS. EO