Render Unto God...

by S. F. Wood

  “No. If that is what they want, there is a very old book that already covers that.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Indeed. Indeed, it was once said of George that some men are born rascals, some men have rascality thrust upon them, others achieve it. George Devol was born a rascal.”

  “Ah,” said Jackson.

  “But if he hadn’t been born a rascal, he most assuredly would have achieved it. George is that kind of man.”

  “Good,” said Jackson, “But I say that purely from a journalistic standpoint. What can you tell me?”

  “Maybe it is better not to tell you, but... but to show you!” said Lovéd. “Yes, that’s it. I think that the best way for me to describe Devol to you, is for me to play the part of the man.”

  The bemused look on Jackson’s face was genuine. “Play the part?” He leant back in his seat, cradling the glass of bourbon in the crook of his elbow. Lovéd needed space to expand upon his idea.

  “Yes.” Lovéd leant into that space, eager to share his brilliant idea. He softened his voice. “You see, I have worked with George Devol. Played the part of George Devol’s partner often enough to know his ways. Been his partner, his capper, as we say on the rivers. You can be my er...capper. I was looking for someone who could...” Lovéd paused and then said, “I will cheat at Monte. Tonight! There, I have said it! That is what George would do, so I will do the same. Just for you. Especially for you. In order that you can get the full picture, you understand. This very evening.” Then almost immediately, “Why do you look so horrified young man?”

  That Jackson was taken aback was true. “Well I admire your frankness sir. But…” He didn’t know how to confront this frankness.

  “Everyone cheats.” Lovéd filled his glass, and then poured more into Jackson’s even though it wasn’t empty. “The difference between me and everyone else is that I am honest about it.”

  “An honest cheat?”

  “Honest with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why cheat?”

  “No. I mean yes. Why cheat?”

  “Everyone cheats. Which means that everyone I play against is also a cheat. You acknowledge this?”

  Jackson nodded. The logic seemed sound.

  “So, I am like George, I play against cheats. Ain’t no crime in that now is there? Playing against cheats?”

  “I would rather pit my wits against an honest man,” said Jackson.

  Lovéd threw back his head and roared with laughter at this. Jackson was somewhat taken aback. Lovéd reached out to pat Jackson on the shoulder. “There are honest men Jackson, and there are rich men. The two are mutually exclusive, and there ain’t no law in America that compels a fellow to bet his money on anything.” He placed the stopper back in the bottle. “I will go to my stateroom now. Number 14. Leave here in ten minutes then come to my room. There I shall show you what to do this evening. But make sure no one sees you.”

  Jackson persisted, “But you want me to help you to cheat this evening? How can that be right?”

  “Cheating is no moral crime. Some think it is. But it ain’t. And do you know why? Because they are looking to cheat me! So why not teach ‘em a lesson?”

  “You know Henry. You’re not the first person I’ve met who’s told me that. What do you do with your winnings? If I’m not mistaken, I doubt that you’re going to be building a chapel out in California.”

  Lovéd looked at Jackson askance, then said, “I give all my winnings to charity. And before you go and get all Christian with me Jackson, if I believe in anything, it is that charity begins at home.”

  Jackson grunted. Should’ve known. “So how about those that don’t cheat? What about them?”

  “Thems that don’t cheat, lose. Fact of life. They don’t stay gambling longer than the day they either come to their senses, or the day they find they’ve lost everything. Either way they’re gone. Which is for the best, you will acknowledge that, I am sure.” Lovéd didn’t wait for an answer. He drained his glass. Time to go. “Devol prefers Monte. Easiest and quickest way to relieve suckers of their gains, which are oft ill-gotten anyways. I don’t leach honest men; just greedy ones. Which I think is fair by the Good Book, don’t you?”

  “Seems to me that all gamblers think that everyone else is either greedy or a cheat. And why do you think the Bible thinks that’s fair?”

  “It says it is easier for a rich man wearing a big Mexican sombrero to go through the eye of a needle on the back of a burrow, than get into heaven. Or something akin to that.”

  Lovéd stood up, took his hat and the bottle.

  “But how can you trust me? I might be a very successful cheat. I’m told I have the face for it.”

  “Jackson, I knows we ain’t stopping mid-morning. If you cheat on me that gives me plenty of time to find you and to kill you. But I trust you.”

  Jackson thought it best to ignore that. “You know your Bible then.” He remained sitting, looking up now at Lovéd.

  “The bits that matter to me.”

  “So you are relieving these er, rich men, of their gains, ill-gotten through cheating, in order that they can pass through them pearly gates?”

  “Gives ‘em a better chance, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “What about you? You must be a wealthy man.”

  “I ain’t a particularly religious fellow. And anyways, I’m not as rich as George. He has made at least a million.”

  “A million dollars! Why does he continue to gamble? Surely he has enough to set himself up on a ranch and retire.”

  Lovéd laughed at this, a bitter laugh. “He can’t. It cost him nearly two million to make the one.”

  And with that, the man called Lovéd turned heel and left the cabin.

  Chapter 13

  Later that evening at the dining table, Jackson was enjoying the company of some of his fellow passengers. The soup had been cleared away, wine was being poured by the waiter, and everyone was looking forward to the main course. A small orchestra was playing a fashionable waltz in a tolerable manner. “The service has improved markedly since we boarded at St Joseph. It is really quite good now, considering...” said the Colonel’s wife to the table in general, but to Jackson in particular.

  “I’ve traveled on this river quite a lot recently, and I can tell you ma’am, I have experienced considerably worse, and only marginally better.”

  “Your friend not joining us again this evening, Mr. Beauregard?” asked Colonel Bridges. “Or is he planning to grace us with his charming company later?” The sarcasm was mooted, but evident.

  “He’s no longer with us, Colonel.” Then feeling he should offer an explanation, even though he was under no obligation, Jackson added, “He stayed behind in Sioux City. Business there to attend to.”

  “A rather dour gentleman, I must say,” said the Colonel’s wife. Had some airs and graces did the Colonel’s wife. She had hoped her husband would get a better commission than that of Fort Benton. I mean, Montana! She fully expected that ‘standards’ there, whatever that meant, would be below what she should accept as a minimum. Mind you, it would give her something to do. The wives of the other officers there would no doubt be looking to her to take the lead on matters of decorum, manners, taste.

  “Strange behavior for a religious man,” stated the Colonel, looking across at Jackson. “Whenever I saw him he was either reading his Bible or playing poker! Most irregular.” If the Colonel had been a Britisher, no doubt he would have harrumphed at that point. Instead he paused as the main course arrived, borne by any number of black waiters, all dressed in white jackets and under the supervision of a French Maître d’. He always paid special attention to the Colonel’s table did the Frenchman, which was much appreciated by the Colonel’s wife.

  “Such grace and charm don’t you agree?” she said after he’d given her just the right amount of attention. “And that accent! French is just so sophisticated, don’t you think?” Neither of these questions were offered up for de
bate.

  Jackson remembered how the Preacher had thought the accent a fake, an act to attract more in tips. And he did feel obliged to defend his erstwhile companion. Not that he personally took offence at the Colonel’s comments, and he knew that the Preacher would not give a damn himself. “He would say, Colonel Bridges, that Jesus mixed with tax collectors and,” here he checked himself owing to there being gentle company present, “and worse. So he would not see his behavior reproachable in any way.”

  “Seemed to me that he did very well at the tables the other night,” continued the Colonel. “Whenever I looked he had more chips in front of him than anyone else. He even took twenty dollars off of me!” The Colonel’s indignation got the desired result.

  “Why Dear,” said the Colonel’s wife, patting his arm affectionately. “And you are such a good poker player too.” Her husband placed his hand on that of his wife appreciatively.

  The Colonel liked Jackson. The Colonel’s wife liked Jackson. And as for their daughter… “The soup was exceptional, don’t you agree?” she said in an attempt to catch Jackson’s attention. It was a circular dining table and the young Miss Bridges sat to Jackson’s right and opposite her father. Raven-black hair she had, with snow white skin that easily colored when Jackson looked at her. That he wasn’t looking at her at that moment, being engaged in conversation with her father, was worse. Hence her comment about the soup was to Jackson and no one else.

  “I agree miss.” Jackson smiled at her, “The perfect amount of seasoning.” He raised his glass, his eyes continuing to smile at her as he sipped his wine.

  “Well I certainly hope the cooks at Fort Benton are as good as on this ship, Madeleine,” said her mother. Then turning to Jackson, “My husband’s commission there is for at least a year.”

  “Boat, my dear. It’s not a ship, it’s a boat,” explained the Colonel. The resigned tone of his voice suggested to Jackson that this was not the first time he’d felt compelled to correct this particular mistake by his wife.

  “Mama is always getting it wrong,” said Madeleine, laughing. “Are you going to be with us all the way to Benton, sir?” Jackson found her mouth attractive. Red lips, rather full, with teeth that were surprisingly white and even. He had always admired women who had long necks, and the way Madeleine held her head high drew his attention to her throat. Being clearly not yet twenty, she wore her hair long, cascading down it framed her alabaster neck. It would be a lengthy trip to Benton, maybe 20 days. But he felt it would be more than tolerable to travel there in Madeleine’s company. Maybe get to kiss that neck? Not that Jackson had intended to go as far as Fort Benton: it would make for a long trip back south with winter approaching.

  “Sadly no, Miss Bridges. I will only be aboard for a few more days.” But how many more, Jackson did not know. Maybe he could risk travelling north a bit longer.

  “Oh Mr. Beauregard,” laughed the girl. That laugh again, so infectious. “Do call me Madeleine, especially as it seems the Maître d’ has fixed his seating plans so that we will always be dining together. Surely we should drop the formalities, don’t you think?” Jackson was somewhat taken aback by this. Not so much by Madeleine’s openness - indeed he rather warmed to that - but to the fact that her parents were within earshot. He had to be careful how he responded. Not least because he was real keen to be on first name terms with the highly attractive Madeleine.

  But the Colonel’s wife spared his blushes. “Do forgive our daughter, Mr. Beauregard. She is, like so many of her age, much more adventurous when it comes to social niceties. And I am sure that also applies to you too, young man! And like so many of your generation, she gets her way more often than not.” Despite the fact that Mrs. The Colonel was shaking her head in mock despair, Jackson noted that there was a great deal of affection between both the parents and their daughter.

  “There is nothing to forgive, Mrs. Bridges.” Then, turning to Madeleine, he said, “Only you will have to agree to call me Jackson in return.”

  And so it continued until it was time for the Ladies to retire to the rear of the cabin for coffee and some rather fine ‘French’ pastries. The men gathered around tables set with crystal decanters containing French brandy and scotch whisky. They talked small talk and smoked big cigars before moving over to the gaming tables. It was at this time, while talking with a couple of salesmen, that Jackson noticed Lovéd enter the cabin. There was not even a flicker of recognition from the gambler. Jackson saw that he was in conversation with some of the crew.

  For a while it seemed as if everyone in the cabin was playing one game or another, Faro being particularly popular. As was typical, spades were used for the layout and Jackson joined in, placing bets in the form of $5 chips. The stakes were not very high and the object with many of the players was amusement, not profit. Jackson surmised that these would be the ‘honest’ players, people in whom Lovéd had declared he had no interest. He also observed that some men had retired early to their rooms. Generally, these were men who had a wife with them. Or at least a woman. After some time Jackson realized that Lovéd was nowhere to be seen. That would mean he had gone to the barbershop.

  Jackson had rehearsed his role a dozen times in his room, and a dozen more in his mind while he took the air on the promenade deck waiting for the agreed time. And as the clock struck the appointed hour, he found himself outside the barbershop. He took a deep breath, knocked and – after a brief ‘once over’ by a lookout – was allowed to enter. A couple of games of poker were underway and Lovéd was holding a game of Monte.

  “Hello sir! Welcome to our game!” said Lovéd, encouraging the new entrant to join his game as opposed to one of the others. Jackson, as nonchalantly as he could, stood with the three or four men who had gathered around Lovéd and the upturned chest that served as his card table. The men looked at him. Once they were satisfied that Jackson was just another hustler they turned back to the game.

  Lovéd played a new round of Monte. “Gentlemen! You can see here the two black knaves and a queen. Lucky in love is the Queen of Hearts. But who will be bold enough to win her?” With that Lovéd picked up the cards, two in one hand, one in the other. Everyone could see the queen. Then he threw the cards face-down on the box and play began.

  Lovéd moved the cards quickly: left to the center, center to the right, swapping center and left, right to the center, center around the left card and back to the center where it immediately swapped places with the right card and... All the while his audience was watching acutely. Lovéd finally pulled his hands clear and opened his palms to the hustlers. “So, who is to back their judgement this time? You all know where the Lady is. You’re smart players, no doubt about that.”

  A thin, weasel looking fellow produced five twenty dollar bills. Jackson noted his unkempt hair, gray, greasy, covering the shirt collar. The nose was hard, pointed, with a moustache in sore need of a trim, being wet at the edges where he’d been chewing it anxiously. The chin steeply receding. The Weasel was leaning forward now, hands rubbing together in anticipation of luck going his way.

  Luck was in a playful mood. “One hundred dollars to you, sir! This is your lucky night!” exclaimed Lovéd, sounding not in the least begrudging at having to hand over money. “I make it that you have won three times now, to my one. You are an experienced player and that’s no lie.”

  Weasel’s grin threatened to separate the top half of his head from his lower jaw. Next up was a tall, somber player with the look of an undertaker about him. Indeed, his complexion was so pale he could have been a mortician’s cadaver. He shoved Weasel out of the way, wanting for himself a piece of the play. But Lovéd had now focused on Jackson. “Sir! I can tell by your fine attire that you are a gentleman. Are you also a player?” Eyes now turned to Jackson. He was indeed dressed well. But then again, he had been dining with the lovely Madeleine. His black frock coat contrasted nicely with the silky sheen of his waistcoat. Shirt topped off with a neatly fixed bootlace tie.

  It was time for Jac
kson to step into the part prepared for him by Lovéd. If he wanted to write a story about Devol, best to play along. “I am keen to join sir. Monte is it not?”

  “But of course. Care to wager some dollars?”

  The hustlers made way for Jackson. Standing in front of the card table, he had them in a semicircle behind him. “Do you have a limit?” Jackson was looking Lovéd in the eye. The hustlers were all ears.

  “No limit sir, no limit,” answered Lovéd. “Should you wish to wager 20, or even 50 dollars, you will find my credit is good. What is it to be sir? Did I hear you say fifty?” Lovéd laughed. It was an inclusive laugh, the sort of laugh that draws people in, makes them feel part of something.

  “Before I decide to wager, sir, may I inspect the cards?”

  Lovéd looked bemused. He smiled, gathered up the three cards, and offered them to Jackson.

  Jackson took the cards, passing them from left hand to right and back again. He turned the cards over, and then over again. He held them at arm’s length, he held them up to the light, he brought them up close to scrutinize. “Do you mind if I show them to my friends here?”

  Lovéd nodded and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Friends’. Good. Jackson was following his instructions to the letter. Make the hustlers feel that Jackson is one of them.

  Jackson briefly showed the cards to the men then handed them back to Lovéd. Turning to his ‘friends’ Jackson gave a knowing smile and said, “I feel very lucky today gentlemen. Very lucky indeed.”

  Then as one they looked at Lovéd and watched as he lay the cards, face down, around the table. His hands moved at speed. Jackson immediately lost track of the Lady. Left, left, left, right, center, right, center, right... It didn’t seem that Lovéd would stop. Center, right, right, left and over and finally... He pulled his hands clear. “Find the Lady sir.”

  Jackson stood motionless for fully three, maybe five seconds. Lovéd had said that to do so would add to the drama. Then Jackson withdrew a bill clip from his pocket and counted out 10 fifty dollar bills, all bearing the image of former Secretary of State Henry Clay.