Hagars Daughter | Page 9

gamblers.
St. Clair and his party found an empty table, and Isaac, obedient to a
sign from his master, brought him the box containing implements for a
game of poker. All the men were inveterate gamblers, but Enson was
an expert. Gradually the on-lookers gathered about that one particular
table. Not a word was said; the men gripped their cards and held their
breaths, with now and then an oath to punctuate a loss more severe than

usual.
The slaver-trader Walker sauntered up to the place where St. Clair sat,
and stood behind him.
"What's the stakes?" he asked of his next neighbor. The man addressed
smiled significantly: "Not a bagatelle to begin with; they've raised them
three times."
"Whew!" with a whistle. "And who is winning?"
"Oh, Enson, of course."
"Why 'of course?'" asked Walker with a wicked smile on his ugly face.
"He always wins."
"I reckon not now," returned Walker, as he pointed to the play just
made.
"He's dealing above board and square, and luck's agin him."
It was true. From this time on Enson played again and again, and lost.
The other players left their seats and stood near watching the famous
gambler make his play. Finally, with a muttered curse, he staggered up
from his chair and started to leave the table with desperate eyes and
reeling gate. But he stopped as if struck by a sudden inspiration, and
resumed his seat.
"What will he do now?" was the unspoken thought of the crowd.
"Isaac, come here," called out Enson. "I will see you and five hundred
better," he continued, addressing his opponent, as the boy approached,
and at a signal from him climbed upon the table. The crowd watched
the strange scene in breathless silence.
"What price do you set on the boy?" asked the winner, whose name
was Johnson, taking a large roll of bills from his pocket.

"He will bring eighteen hundred dollars any day in the New Orleans
market."
"I reckon he ain't noways vicious?" asked Johnson, looking in the
Negro's smiling face.
"I've never seen him angry."
"I'll give you fifteen hundred for him."
"Eighteen," returned Enson, with an ominous tightening about the
mouth.
"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do, the very best; I'll make it sixteen
hundred, no more, no less. That's fair. Is it a bargain?"
Enson nodded assent. The crowd heaved a sigh of relief.
"Then you bet the whole of this boy, do you?" continued Johnson.
"Yes."
"I call you, then," said Johnson.
"I've got three queens," replied Enson.
"Not enough," said the other.
"Then if you beat three queens, you beat me."
"I have four jacks, and the boy is mine." The crowd heaved another
sigh as one man.
"Hold on! Not so fast!" shouted Enson. "You don't take him till you
show me that you beat three queens." Johnson threw his five cards upon
the table, and four of them were jacks! "Sure," said Johnson, as he
looked at Enson and then at the crowd.
"Sure!" came in a hoarse murmur from many throats. For a moment all

things whirled and danced before Enson's eyes as he realized what he
had lost. The lights from the chandelier shot out sparkles from piles of
golden coin, the table heaved, faces were indistinct. He seemed to hear
his father's voice again in stern condemnation, as he had heard it for the
last time on earth. His face was white and set. He was a man ready for
desperate needs. It seemed an hour to him, that short second. Then he
turned to the winner:
"Mr. Johnson, I quit you."
Isaac was standing upon the table with the money at his feet. As he
stepped down, Johnson said:
"You will not forget that you belong to me."
"No, sir."
"Be up in time to brush my clothes and clean my boots; do you hear?"
"Yas, sir," responded Isaac, with a good-natured smile and a long
side-glance at Enson, in which one might have seen the lurking deviltry
of a spirit kindred to his master's. Enson turned to leave the saloon,
saying:
"I claim the right of redeeming that boy, Mr. Johnson. My father gave
him to me when I was a lad. I promised never to part with him."
"Most certainly, sir; the boy shall be yours whenever you hand me over
a cool sixteen hundred," returned Johnson. As Enson moved away,
chewing the bitter curd of disappointment, Walker strolled up to him.
"That's a bad bargain Johnson's got in your man, Mr. Enson."
"How? Explain yourself."
"If he finds him after tomorrow morning, it's my belief it won't be the
fault of Isaac's legs."
"Do you mean to say, sir, that I would connive at robbing a gentleman

in fair play?"
"Oh, no; it won't be your fault,"