- turbably dealt out the cards from faro boxes, or set in motion the
balls in roulette.
There used to be in great favor among the Mexicans, and the Americans, too, for that matter, a modification of roulette called "chusas," which never failed to draw a cluster of earnest players, who would remain by the tables until the first suggestion of daylight. High above the squeak of Pan's pipes or the plinkety-plink-plunk of the harps sounded the voice of the "banker:" "Make yer little bets, gents; make yer little bets; all's set, the game's made, 'n' th' ball's a-rollin'." Blue chips, red chips, white chips would be stacked high upon cards or numbers, as the case might be, but all eventually seemed to gravitate into the maw of the bank, and when, for any reason, the "game" flagged in energy, there would be a tap upon the bell by the dealer's side, and "drinks all round" be ordered at the expense of the house.
It was a curious exhibit of one of the saddest passions of human nature, and a curious jumble of types which would never press against each other elsewhere. Over by the faro bank, in the corner, stood Bob Crandall, a faithful wooer of the fickle goddess Chance. He was one of the handsomest men in the Southwest, and really endowed with many fine qualities; he had drifted away from the restraints of home life years ago, and was then in Tucson making such a livelihood as he could pick up as a gambler, wasting brain and attainments which, if better applied, would have been a credit to himself and his country.
The beautiful diamond glistening upon Bob Crandall's breast had a romantic history. I give it as I remember it:
During the months that Maximilian remained in Mexico there was a French brigade stationed at the two towns of Hermosillo and Magdalena, in Sonora. Desertions were not rare, and, naturally enough, the fugitives made their way when they could across the boundary into the United States, which maintained a by no means dubious attitude in regard to the foreign occupation.
One of these deserters approached Crandall on the street, and asked him for assistance to enable him to get to San Francisco. He had a stone which he believed was of great value, which was part of the plunder coming to him when he and some comrades had looted the hacienda of an affluent Mexican planter. He would sell this for four hundred francs—eighty dollars.
Crandall was no judge of gems, but there was something so
