Hornswogglers, Fourflushers & Snake-Oil Salesmen Read Online Free PDF Page B

ever higher, bidders backed off, irked they’d not be the one to reap the promising reward, but relieved, too, that they would not have to explain to an irate spouse why their weekly wage had dwindled noticeably between work and home.
    Once the soap cakes had all been sold, Smith closed his display suitcase, folded the supporting tripod, and, doffing his hat to the various lingerers in the crowd, made his way down the sidewalk, turning left, right, left . . . before ducking into a side-street saloon where everyone knew his name.
    Shortly, in walked the fat man who had won a $5 bill, followed by the thin man who had also won money wrapped around soap. They flanked the soap salesman at the bar and soon all three were exchanging looks, giggling, then elbowing each other and chuckling.
    â€œWorked like a charm,” said the thin man.
    Smith nodded. “Just like last time. And the time before.”
    â€œHey, Jeff, you read what the Denver paper is calling you?”
    â€œCalling me?” said Smith, raising his dark eyebrows as he quaffed the foamy head off his beer.
    â€œYep, they’re calling you Soapy Smith.”
    The tall, dark-haired man knitted his brows a moment, then smiled wide and nodded. “Yes sir, I’d guess that’s about right. I’d say I earned that name. What do you think, boys?”
    The other two men nodded. “Drink up,” he said. “Soapy’s buying!”
    Over the next few months and years, Soapy Smith concentrated his ample efforts on exploiting the wide-open, free-for-all market that was Denver, Colorado. The town offered few restrictions on games of chance. Short cons such as his so-called “Prize Package Soap Sell” were merely a means to an end, some would say a way for Soapy to stay sharp. But they also provided a vital flow of always-useful cash that helped fund the more elaborate setups of his larger cons that included, at various times, sales of “stocks.”
    These stocks were anything but, as were the “offices” where one might go to place bets or gamble the lottery. With Soapy Smith at the helm, a gambler was guaranteed to come out on the short end of the stick. But in Denver in the latter decades of the nineteenth century, anything went, and for a time, most of it “went” to Soapy Smith. By 1879 he and his ever-growing gang had laid well-earned claim to the role of kings of the city’s criminal undertakings.
    How was he able to work out in the open, largely unharried by city government? Smith did what had always come easy to him. He paid off, threatened, blackmailed, and cajoled persons of official nature in Denver. He paid bribe money to a number of business owners—those he wasn’t shaking down, that is—so that he and his men might operate unmolested in the relative safety of those establishments. He was so well-connected with the city’s overseers that local newspapers referred to the triumvirate of Soapy, Denver’s Mayor Londoner, and police chief Farley as “the firm of Londoner, Farley, and Smith.”
    Soapy wasn’t wholly without heart, though. As he gained in reputation as a swindler, so he gained a reputation for fierce devotion to anyone who was likewise devoted to him. If a member of his gang needed help, and that member had proved himself of worth to the organization, Soapy went out of his way to ensure that man was provided with whatever he might require, be that help in a fight, a wee loan (with interest, of course), or with a bail bond should the hapless thug land in the jailhouse.
    Likewise, Smith was careful not to drain the local population of cash, instead concentrating on milking travelers—businessmen, people just passing through on their way elsewhere. Shrewdest of all his kindly moves might well have been his not-so-private support of various charitable institutions, notably churches and the town’s impoverished.
    By 1888 Soapy Smith had assumed