I was so overcome with emotion that I could hardly find voice to say a word. I finally managed, however, to give a brief eulogy of the dead man, revolving chiefly around the incident that happened in the San Francisco gambling-house on the occasion when I met Jim for the first time. My remarks were received with a running fire of muttered eulogies of the deceased hero, which were as sincere as they were inelegant. Dixie now mustered up the necessary courage, mounted a stump and began: “Feller citizens, we air hyar ter do a solemn dooty. One uv our most prom’nent an’ respected citizens is a lyin’ hyar dead, an’ we, ez his fren’s, air hyar ter give him a good send off. Poker Jim hez passed in his checks; he hez cashed in fer the las’ time, an’ thar aint nobody hyar whut’ll say that his last deal wasn’t a squar one. Sum mout say ez how Jim was a d--d fool, ter play agin sich a dead open-an’-shut game, with a d--d Chinaman fer stakes, but, my feller citizens, Jim cut the cards on the squar’, an’ he died ez squar’ ez enny man that ever stepped in shoe leather. “An’ Jim died game, an’ with his boots on. He wasn’t no white-livered coyote, Jim wasn’t. Ef thar was enny yaller streaks in him, w’y nobody ever knowed it. He wuz a sandy man frum way up the creek, y’u bet! He wuz a dead-game cock fer fair. “I wish we knowed whut Jim’s States’ name was, but thar aint nobody hyar ter tell us, an’ ez we hev allus knowed him as Poker Jim, w’y that’s the name we’ll bury him by. It was good ’nuff fer him, livin’, an’ it’s good ’nuff fer us, now that he’s dead. “I aint no speechifier, ez y’u all know, an’ Doc, hyar, hez done the hansum thing by Jim in that line, so I aint a goin’ ter spile a good thing, but I’m jes’ goin’ ter say one thing, an’ say it plain. We all made mistakes on the diseased. He mout hev been a gambler--I don’t say ez he wasn’t--but, my fren’s, Poker Jim was a gentleman, an’ he died like one, d--d ef he didn’t!” And Dixie looked about him defiantly, as though challenging dissent and stamping it as hazardous. A white head-board, rather more pretentious than was the prevailing fashion in Jacksonville, was erected at Jim’s grave. I was consulted regarding an epitaph, but could find no fault with the rudely carved inscription suggested by Dixie-- “HERE LIES THE BODY OF POKER JIM--GENTLEMAN.” A few days later, the flood had subsided sufficiently to warrant an attempt at crossing the river. Having succeeded in procuring a large boat from one of the neighboring towns, a party of us crossed over to Toppy’s cabin in quest of Jim’s family.