"He was shore satisfied," answered Tex as the bartender, turning his
back on the room, shook with the ague.
The last questioner bobbed his head decisively. "Then it shore was
fair."
Williams nodded slowly, for his opinions were not lightly given. "I'd
say it was. What about it?"
"Oh, nothin' much," growled Tex. "I reckon he changed his mind later
on." He looked over at the gambler leaning against the wall, the same
gambler he had seen on the train. At this notice Denver Jim, sensing
possible bets, straightened up, winked, and made a sign which among his
class was a notification that he had declared himself in for half the
winnings of a game. Tex shook his head slightly and frowned, as if
deeply puzzled over Murphy's conduct. The gambler repeated the sign and
moved forward.
Tex did some quick thinking. He could not afford to be linked to a
tin-horn and he did not intend to make any money out of his joke.
Whatever he won in this town he would win at cards, and win it alone.
His second signal of refusal was backed up by his hand dropping
carelessly and resting on the butt of his gun. The gambler scowled,
barely nodded his acquiescence and went to the bar for a drink. Bud
Haines glanced up from the weekly paper he was reading, saw nothing to
hold his interest, and returned to his reading.
Tex went on with his story, telling about the supper and his scene with
Murphy at the station, repeating the latter word for word as nearly as
he could from the time when he had detected the approach of the
eavesdropper. From the constantly repeated looks of satisfaction on
Williams' face he knew that the local boss had been given a detailed
account of the incident, and that he was checking it up, step by step.
Briefly sketching his trouble in the saloon, Tex threw the cigarette
butt at a distant box cuspidor and stretched. "An' here I am," he
finished.
Williams picked up his hand, glancing absent-mindedly at the cards.
"Yes," he grunted, "here you are." Putting the cards back on the table
he carelessly pushed them from him, squaring the edges with zealous
care. "You come near not bein' here, though," he said, his level look
steady and accusing. "Whatever made you jump on Jake that way?" he
demanded coldly.
"Shucks! Here it comes again!" said Tex. He looked suspicious and
defiant. "I did it to stop a murder, an' a lynchin'," he answered
shortly.
"Very fine!" muttered Williams. "You was a little mite
overanxious--there wouldn't 'a' been no lynchin' of Jake; but there
might 'a' been one, just th' same. I had to do some real talkin' to
stop it. It ain't wise for strangers to act sudden in a frontier
town--'specially in this town. That's somethin' you hadn't ought to
forget, Mr. Jones."
"If I get yore meanin' plain, yo're intendin' me to think I was in
danger of bein' lynched?"
"You shore was."
"Then yo're admittin' that this town of Windsor will lynch a man because
he keeps a murder from bein' committed, by lickin' th' man who tried to
do it?"
"Exactly. Jake has lots of friends."
"He's plumb welcome to 'em, an' I reckon, if he's that kind of a man, he
shore needs 'em bad. But from what I saw of Jake he ain't that kind of
a man. I'm a friend of his'n, too. I'm so much a friend of Jake's that
if he treads on my toes I'll save him from facin' th' trials an'
hardships that come with old age. His existence is precarious, anyhow.
He's allus just one step ahead of poverty an' grub stakes. Life for
Jake is just one placer disappointment after another. He allus has to
figger on a hard winter. Then he has to dodge sickness an' saddles,
wrestlin' tricks, boxin' tricks, an' fast gunplay. But Jake is th' kind
of a man that does his own fightin' for hisself. Yo're plumb mistaken
about him."
"Mebby I am," admitted Williams. "I didn't know you was acquainted with
anybody around here, 'specially th' C Bar outfit."
"I wasn't," replied Tex. "It ain't my nature to be distant an'
disdainful, however." He grinned. "I get acquainted fast."
"You acted prompt in helpin' that Watkins," accused Williams.
"I shore had to, or he'd 'a' quit bein' Watkins," retorted Tex. "You
look here: We'll be savin' a lot of time if we come right down to cases.
I saw a big man tryin' to kick th' head off another man, a smaller one,
that was down. I stopped him from doin' it without hurtin' him serious.
If it'd been th' other way 'round I'd done th' same thing. As it
stands, it's between Jake an' me. We'll let it stay that way until th'
lynchin' party starts out. Then anybody will be plumb welcome to cut in
an' stop it. Excuse me for interferin' with yore game--but th' fault
ain't mine. Talkin' is dry work--bartender, set 'em up for all hands.
Who's winnin'?"
Williams picked up his cards again, looked at them, puckered his lips
and glanced around at his companions. He cleared his throat and looked
back at Tex. "I reckon I was, a little. Want to sit in? After all,
Jake's troubles are his own: we got enough without 'em."
Tex looked at the table and the players, shrugged his shoulders and
answered carelessly. "Don't feel like playin' very much--ate too much
supper, I reckon. Later on, when I ain't so heavy with grub, mebby I'll
take cards. I'd rather play ag'in' fewer hands, tonight, anyhow."
Williams looked up and sneered. "Think you got a better chance, that
way?"
"I get sort of confused when there's so many playin'," confessed Tex;
"but I shore can beat th' man that invented th' game, playin' it
two-handed. I used to play for hosses, two-hand. Allus had luck,
somehow, playin' for them. Why, once I owned six cayuses at one time,
that I'd won."
"That so? You like that gray: how much will you put up ag'in' him?"
"I wouldn't play for no gray hoss--they're plumb unlucky with me. I
ain't superstitious, but I shore don't like gray hosses."
"Got anythin' ag'in' sorrels?" Williams asked with deep sarcasm.
"Nothin' much; but I'm shore stuck on blacks an roans. I call them
hosses!" Tex grinned at the crowd and looked back at Williams. "Yes,
sir; I shore do."
"How much will you put up ag'in' a good roan, then?"
"Ain't got much money," evaded Tex, backing away.
"Got two hundred dollars?"
"Not for no cayuse. Besides, I don't know th' hoss yo're meanin'."
"That roan you saw today," replied Williams. "John said you liked him a
lot. I'll play you one hand, th' roan, ag'in' two hundred."
Tex glanced furtively at the front door and then at the stairway. "Let
it go till tomorrow night," he mumbled.
"Yo're a great talker, ain't you?" sneered Williams. "I'll put up th'
roan ag'in' a hundred an' fifty. One hand, just me an' you."
"Well, mebby," replied Tex. "Better make her th' best two out of three.
I might have bad luck th' first hand."
Williams' disgust was obvious and a snicker ran through the room. "I
wouldn't play that long for a miserable sum like that ag'in' a stranger.
One hand, draw poker, my roan ag'in' yore one-fifty. Put up, or shut
up!"
"All right," reluctantly acquiesced Tex. "We allus used to make it two
out of three up my way; but I may be lucky. After you get through--I
ain't in no hurry."
Williams laughed contemptuously: "You shore don't have to say so!" He
smiled at his grinning companions and resumed his play.
Tex dropped into the seat next to the sneering nephew, from where he
could watch the gun-fighter. Bud's expression duplicated that of his
boss and he paid but little attention to the wordy fool who was timid
about playing poker for a horse.
"Hot, ain't it?" said Tex pleasantly. "Hot, an' close."
"Some folks find it so; reckon mebby it is," answered the nephew. "What
did you people talk about at supper?" he asked.
"Hens," answered Tex, grinning. "She's got a dozen. You'd think they
was rubies, she's that stuck up about 'em. Kind of high-toned, ain't
she?"
The nephew laughed sneeringly. "She'll lose that," he promised. "I
don't aim to be put off much longer."
"Mebby yo're callin' too steady," suggested Tex. "Sometimes that gives
'em th' idea they own a man. You don't want to let 'em feel too shore
of you."
Henry Williams shifted a little. "No," he replied; "I ain't callin' too
often. In fact, I ain't done no callin' at all, yet. I've sort of run
acrost her on th' right-of-way, an' watched her a little. I get a
little bit scary, somehow--just can't explain it. But I aim to call at
th' house, for I'm shore gettin' tired of ridin' wide."
"Ain't they smart, though?" chuckled Tex; "holdin' back an' actin'
skittish. I cured a gal of that, once; but I don't reckon you can do
it. It takes a lot of nerve an' will-power. You feel like playin'
show-downs, two-bits a game?"
"Make it a dollar, an' I will. How'd you cure that one of yourn?"
"Dollar's purty steep," objected Tex. "Make it a half." He leaned back
and laughed reminiscently. "I worked a system on her. Lemme deal
first?"
"Suit yourself. Turn 'em face up--it'll save time. What did you do?"
"Made her think I didn't care a snap about her. Want to cut? Well, I
didn't know--some don't want to," he explained. "Saves time, that's
all. Reckon it's yore pot on that queen. Deal 'em up."
"How'd you do it? snub her?"
"Gosh, no! Don't you ever do that: it makes 'em mad. Just let 'em
alone--sort of look at 'em without seein' 'em real well. You dassn't
make 'em mad! You win ag'in. Yo're lucky at this game: want to quit?"
"Give you a chance to get it back," sneered the nephew. "Think it would
work with her?"
"Don't know: she got any other beaux?"
"I've seen to that. She ain't. Take th' money an' push over yore
cards. Do you think it will work with her?" Henry persisted.
"Gosh, sonny: don't you ask me that! No man knows very much about
wimmin', an' me less than most men. It's a gamble. She's got to jump
one way or th' other, ain't she? How was you figgerin' to win?"
"Just go get her, that's all. She'll tame down after awhile."
"But you allus can do that, can't you? Now, if it was me I'd try to get
her to come of her own accord, for things would be sweeter right at th'
very start. But, then, I'm a gambler, allus willin' to run a risk. A
man's got to foller his own nature. I got you beat ag'in: this shore is
a nice game."
"Too weak," objected the nephew. "Dollar a hand would suit me better.
My eights win this. Want to boost her?"
Tex reflected covetously. "Well, I might go high as a dollar, but not
no more."
"Dollar it is, then. What's yore opinion of that gal?"
"Shucks," laughed Tex. "She's nice enough, I reckon; but she ain't my
style. Yore uncle's game is bustin' up an' he's lookin' at me. See you
later. You win ag'in, but I allus have bad luck doublin' th' stakes,
'though I ain't what you might call superstitious. See you later."
Tex arose and went over to the other table, raked in the cards, squared
them to feel if they had been trimmed, thought they had been, and pushed
them out for the cut, watching closely to see how the face cards had
been shaved. Williams turned the pack, announced that high dealt,
grasped the sides of the pack and turned a queen. Tex also grasped the
sides of the pack remaining and also turned a queen. He clumsily
dropped the deck, growled something and bunched it again, shoving it
toward his companion in such a way that Williams would have to show a
deliberate preference for the side grip. This he did and Tex followed
his lead. The ends of the face cards and aces had been trimmed and the
sides of the rest of the deck had been treated the same way. Because of
this the sides of the face cards stuck out from the deck and the ends of
the spot cards projected. Yet so carefully had it been done that it was
not noticeable. Williams cut again, turning another queen. Tex cut a
king and picked up the pack. As he shuffled he was careful not to show
any of his characteristic motions, for although his opponent had
forgotten his face in the score of years behind their former meeting, it
might take but very little to start his memory backtracking.
"My money ag'in' th' roan," said the dealer, pushing out the cards for
the cut. "Hundred an' fifty," he explained.
Williams cut deep and nodded. "This one game decides it: a discard, a
draw, an' a show-down. Right?"
"Right," grunted Tex, swiftly dropping the cards before them. Williams
picked up his hand, but gave no sign of his disappointment. There was
not a face card in it. He made his selection, discarded, and called for
three cards. Tex had discarded two. Williams wanted no face cards on
the draw, since he held a pair of nines. One more nine would give him a
fair hand, and another would just about win for him. He drew a black
queen and a pair of red jacks.
"Well," he said, "ready to show?"
Tex grunted again, glanced at Bud Haines, and lay down three queens, a
nine, and a jack. "What you got?" he anxiously asked.
"An empty box stall, I reckon," growled his adversary, spreading his
hand. He pushed back without another word to Tex, looked at his
stableman and spoke gruffly. "John, give that roan to Mr. Jones when he
calls for it. He's to keep it somewhere else. I'm turnin' in. Good
night, all."
*CHAPTER VI*
*FRIENDLY INTEREST*
Freshly shaven, his boots well rubbed, and his clothes as free from dust
as possible, Tex sauntered down the street after breakfast the next
morning and stepped into the stable. John Graves met him, nodded, and
led the way to the roan's stall.
"You got a fine hoss, Mr. Jones," he said, opening the gate.
"Yes, I have; an' you've taken good care of him. His coat couldn't be
better. I like a man that looks after a hoss."
"I ain't sayin' nothin' about nobody, but I'm glad to see him change
owners," said Graves, glancing around. "Rub yore hand on his flank. I
got th' coat so it hides 'em real well."
Tex stroked the white nose, rubbed the neck and shoulders, and slowly
passed his hand over the flank. The scars were easily found. He wheeled
and looked at the stableman. "Who in h--l did that, an' why?" he
demanded.
"That ain't for me to say, an' sayin' wouldn't do no good; but I'm plumb
glad he's in other hands. Just because a hoss fights back when he's
bein' abused ain't no reason to cut him to pieces. An' a big man can
kick hard when he's mad."
Tex held a lump of sugar to the sensitive, velvety lips before replying.
"Yes, he can," he admitted. "Anybody in town that'll treat this hoss
right, an' give him a stall?"
"Better see Jim Carney in his saloon. He's a good, reliable man an'
likes hosses. He'll take good care of Oh My."