oodruff. As they played, they drank
from flasks produced by each in turn. Doc drank with the others, and
deeper than any of them. They talked more and more, he less and less,
until finally he interrupted their noisy volubility only when the game
compelled. I saw that he was one of those rare men upon whom amiable
conversation or liquor or any other relaxing force has the reverse of
the usual effect. Instead of relaxing, he drew himself together and
concentrated more obstinately upon his game. Luck, so far as the cards
controlled it, was rather against him, and the other three players took
turns at audacious and by no means unskilful play. I was soon admiring
the way he "sized up" and met each in turn. Prudence did not make him
timid. He advanced and retreated, "bluffed" and held aloof, with
acuteness and daring.

At a station perhaps fifty miles from Chicago, the other three
left,--and Doc had four hundred-odd dollars of their money.

I dropped into the seat opposite him--it was by the window--and amused
myself watching him, while waiting for a chance to talk with him; for I
saw that he was a superior person, and, in those days, when I was
inconspicuous and so was not compelled constantly to be on guard, I
never missed a chance to benefit by such exchanges of ideas.

He was apparently about forty years old, to strike a balance between the
youth of eyes, mouth, and contour, and the age of deep lines and
grayish, thinning hair. He had large, frank, blue eyes, a large nose, a
strong forehead and chin, a grossly self-indulgent mouth,--there was the
weakness, there, as usual! Evidently, the strength his mind and
character gave him went in pandering to physical appetites. In
confirmation of this, there were two curious marks on him,--a nick in
the rim of his left ear, a souvenir of a bullet or a knife, and a scar
just under the edge of his chin to the right. When he compressed his
lips, this scar, not especially noticeable at other times, lifted up
into his face, became of a sickly, bluish white, and transformed a
careless, good-humored cynic into a man of danger, of terror.

His reverie began, as I gathered from his unguarded face, in cynical
amusement, probably at his triumph over his friends. It passed on to
still more agreeable things,--something in the expression of the mouth
suggested thoughts of how he was going to enjoy himself as he "blew in"
his winnings. Then his features shadowed, darkened, and I had my first