CHAPTER VII.

Cherokee Hall Plays Poker.


"Nacherally I'm not much of a sport," remarked the Old Cattleman,
as he laid down a paper which told a Monte Carlo story of a fortune
lost and won. "Which I'm not remorseless enough to be a cleanstrain
gambler. Of course, a kyard sharp can make benevolences an' lavish
dust on the needy on the side, but when it gets to a game for money,
he can't afford no ruthfulness that a-way, tryin' not to hurt the
sore people. He must play his system through, an' with no more
conscience than cows, no matter who's run down in the stampede. "For
which causes, bein' plumb tender an' sympathetic, I'm shore no good
with kyards; an' whenever I dallies tharwith, it is onder the head
of amoosements. "Do I regyard gamblin' as immoral? No; I don't
reckon none now I do. This bein' what you--all church sharps calls
moral is somewhat a matter of health, an' likewise the way you
feels. Sick folks usual is a heap more moral than when their
health's that excellent it's tantalizin'. "Speakin' of morals, I
recalls people who would scorn kyards, but who'd admire to buy a
widow's steers for four dollars an' saw 'em off ag'in for forty.
They'd take four hundred dollars if some party, locoed to a degree
which permits said outrage, would turn up. The right or wrong, what
you calls the morality of gatherin' steers for four dollars an'
plunderin' people with 'em at forty dollars, wouldn't bother 'em a
bit. Which the question with these yere wolves is simply: 'How
little can I pay an' how much can I get?' An' yet, as I says, sech
parties mighty likely holds themse'fs moral to a degree which is
mountainous, an' wouldn't take a twist at faro-bank, or pick up a