noticed
that he seemed sleepy and inattentive. So I kept a close watch on the
other fellows. Presently I observed that one of his opponents was
occasionally dropping a card in his hat, which he held in his lap,
until a number of cards had been laid away for future use in the game.

The pot had gone around several times and was steadily raised by some
of the players, Bill staying right along, though he still seemed to be
drowsy.

The bets kept rising. At last the man with the hatful of cards picked a
hand out of his reserves, put the hat on his head and raised Bill two
hundred dollars. Bill came back with a raise of two hundred, and as the
other covered it he quietly shoved a pistol into his face and observed:

"I am calling the hand that is in your hat!"

[Illustration: HE SHOVED A PISTOL IN THE MAN'S FACE AND SAID "I'M
CALLING THE HAND THAT'S IN YOUR HAT"]

Gathering in the pot with his left hand, he held the pistol with his
right and inquired if any of the players had any objections to offer.
They hastened to reply that they had no objections whatever and we went
away from there.

"Bill," I said, when we were well outside the place, "I had been
noticing that fellow's play right along, but I thought you hadn't. I
was going to get into the game myself if he beat you out of that
money."

"Billy," replied Hickock, "I don't want you ever to learn it, but that
is one of my favorite poker tricks. It always wins against crooked
players."

Not all of the gunmen of the West began straight. Some of them--many,
in fact--were thieves and murderers from the beginning. Such were the
members of the McCandless gang, which Hickock disposed of so
thoroughly. All along the stage route were robbers and man-killers far
more vicious than the Indians. Very early in my career as a
frontiersman I had an encounter with a party of these from which I was
extremely fortunate to escape with my life.

I employed the leisure afforded me by my assignment as an extra rider
in hunting excursions, in which I took a keen delight. I was returning
home empty-handed from a bear hunt, when night overtook me in a lonely
spot near a mountain stream. I had killed two sage-hens and built a
little fire over which to broil them before my night's rest.

Suddenly I heard a horse whinny farther up the stream. Thinking
instantly of Indians, I ran quickly to my own horse to prevent him from
answering the call, and thus revealing my presence.

Filled with