Wheeling Sunday Register

THIMBLERIG BENNETT.
A Man Who Painted His Horse to Fool the Indians.
St. Louis Republic.
Who in the South has never heard of "Thimblerig" Bennett, a man who had developed an inordinate propensity to bet on any and everything from a faro game to a church lottery and from a horse race to the tenor of the next Presidential message? Bennett, some years ago, went from track to track throughout the South with a valuable piece of racing flesh, and was uniformly successful. Panting for fresh fields, he took his horse up into the Indian nation, where all the noble red men were inveterate sports and where races were held constantly. Their "plugs" were no match for Bennett's equine, so that worthy resorted to strategy. He allowed his horse's mane and tail to grow, and gave his jockey particular instructions never to curry him above the knees. Then he painted the horse, and the disguise was perfect. He won several races, but, to his consternation, the lynx-eyed red men "got onto" his game and discovered the imposition practised upon them. Thenceforth there was no rest for Bennett. He hurriedly shipped his horse to Memphis and left between two days in order to save his scalp, being fearful that the half-civilized and not wholly enlightened "talent" whom he had been fleecing meant to do him great bodily harm. Bennett stayed not upon the order of his going, and never stopped until he reached Washington, Ark. He put up at the leading and only hotel in the place, and for a few days found his life a burden because he could not register a wager. His opportunity came, however, with the arrival of a number of the genus drummer from Missouri. One afternoon, as the party sat upon the veranda in front of the hotel, a statistically inclined gentleman boldly asserted that a large rock which lay out in the middle street weighed "steen" pounds. "I'll bet you"-this from the ever-ready Bennett-"that it weighs 1,000 pounds." One by one the others came in with their estimates, and Bennett, seizing the advantage of a shadow of a rock in a weary land, bet high and low, taking everything offered, until his risks footed up into the hundreds. It was decided that the stone should be dug up on the following day and weighed, after which all wagers were to be settled. Bennett could not sleep that night, so he sat by his window, commanding a view of the rock. About 3 o'clock in the morning his weary vigil was rewarded by the antics of a St. Louis drummer-one of the Lord's chosen people-who slipped out of the house in an abbreviated costume, carefully measured the stone, then seized an axe from the woodpile and deliberately chipped off a considerable fragment from the boulder, which he proceeded to carry to the rear of the hotel.
"So that's your game," grunted Bennett. Out came his book, followed by intense reflection. Then he concluded to protect his own interests, and down he went and knocked off a second chunk. Just as he turned to sneak back to his room whom should he meet but the shrewd Israelite, who had witnessed the performance. Mutual promises and explanations were made, but all to no purpose, for when the rest of the crowd saw the condition of the rock they at once declared all bets off. "Thimblerig" Bennett sat disconsolately upon the porch late that afternoon, being severely let alone by his companions. All at once he brightened up. "D'ye see that boy coming down the hill yonder?" he said. They saw. "Well, I'll just go you ten to one that he's got no more sense than to walk right through that mud puddle," indicating one that graced the middle of the road. "These fellows in Arkansas never use their eyes anyway, and mud doesn't phase 'em." The crowd, seeing an opportunity to get even with Bennett, almost bankrupted itself in taking his reckless odds as fast as he could call them out. Meanwhile the boy came straight down the road, and in spite of warning cries from the hotel, marched straight into and fell flat in the puddle. This was more than the crowd could endure. They paid Bennett without a murmur, and left the town the same night. Bennett paid the boy for his services the next day, with the remark, "You are a trump, my lad; you did just as I told you, and timed your trip admirably. Here's an extra five." The story was too good to keep, but when the travelers next met in Washington Thimblerig was following the races several hundred miles away, else it might have gone hard with him.