Some men are born natural winners. A silver spoon in their mouth or a watchful eye of their pocket saviour keep them from getting burned on their mistakes and their confidence always inspired lesser men. Some men aren't so lucky, but their drive, their determination pushes them ever further forwards. They pull themselves by their bootstraps until they can match with the best of men.
Some men are simply persistent. And even a blind man could see the persistence of Crank Hank. Nothing could stop him, not danger, not fear, not bloody good reason. That meant that when he confidently approached the gamblers he felt no fear as he insulted the richest man in the room into betting against him rodeoing the maddest brahmin in the city. If Hank won? He'd get more caps than he could count. If he lost, he'd enlist in the local militia and "hopefully get his scrawny ass shot to bits".
But Crank Hank never loses.
That's why when the brahmin threw him off within a second Crank Hank beamed with pride. His master plan was getting to fruition and not even the man himself knew what the master plan was. The only problem that remained was getting his hands on some cash. Sure enough, when Hank stepped out of the big tent, he saw a group that could only be filled with marks. A hobo, some doctory type, a random chap, a perfectly standard and uninteresting man with mild mutations and a girl with some weird dog sound like a group full of uninteresting lives and which most likely never saw action.
Then, Hank approached the man in the middle, the one who looked like an Edgar (it's in the expression, you see).
"Howdy, buddy! Say, you in for a little gamblin'? I bet ya you can't outwrangle me on dem brahmin, boy. I bet ya my healing powder for yer Nuka."