He looked around for his sombrero, muttering savagely.
"Where you goin'?" she asked in surprise.
"To get it back. He ain't goin' to keep it, th' coyote!"
"Why, he won't give it back to you if he would n't to me. Anyhow, he
won it."
"_Won_ it!" he snapped. "He stole it, that's how much he won it. He
'll give it back or get shot."
"Now look here," she said, quickly. "You ain't goin' gunnin' for no
friend of mine. If you want to get that money for me, an' I certainly
can use it about now, you got to try some other way. Say! Why don't
you win it from him?" she exulted. "That's th' way--get it back th' way
it went."
He weighed her words and a grin slowly crept across his face. "Why, I
reckon you called it, that time, Annie. That's th' way I 'll try first,
anyhow, Li'l Girl. Where is this good friend of yourn that steals yore
money? Where is this feller?"
As if in answer to his inquiry the heavy-set man strolled in, humming
cheerily. And as he did so the sleepy occupant of the barber's chair
slowly awoke, rubbed his eyes, stretched luxuriously and, paying his
bill, loafed out and lazily sauntered down the street, swearing softly.
"Why, here he is now," laughed the woman. "You must 'a' heard us talkin'
about you, Jim. I'm goin' to get my money back--this is Mr. Porter, Jim,
who 's goin' to do it."
The gambler smiled and held out his hand. "Howd'y, Mr. Porter," he said.
Sammy glared at him: "Put yore paw down," he said, thickly. "I ain't
shakin' han's with no dogs or tin-horns."
The gambler recoiled and flushed, fighting hard to repress his anger.
"What you mean?" he growled, furiously.
"What I said. If you want revenge sit down there an' play, if you 've
got th' nerve to play with a man. I never let no coyote steal a woman's
money, an' I 'm goin' to get Annie her twenty. Savvy?"
The gambler's reply was a snarl. "Play!" he sneered. "I'll play, all
right. It'll take more 'n a sassy kid to get that money back, too. I 'm
goin' to take yore last red cent. You can't talk to me like that an'
get it over. An' don't let me hear you call her 'Annie' no more,
neither. Yo 're too cussed familiar!"
Her hand on Sammy's arm stopped the draw and he let the gun drop back
into the holster. "_No!_" she whispered. "Make a fool of him, Sammy!
Beat him at his own game."
Sammy nodded and scowled blackly. "I call th' names as suits me," he
retorted. "When I see you on th' street I 'm goin' to call you some
that I 'm savin' up now because a lady 's present. They 're hefty, too."
At first he won, but always small amounts. Becoming reckless, he plunged
heavily on a fair hand and lost. He plunged again on a better hand and
lost. Then he steadied as much as his befuddled brain would permit and
played a careful game, winning a small pot. Another small winning
destroyed his caution and he plunged again, losing heavily. Steadying
himself once more he began a new deal with excess caution and was
bluffed out of the pot, the gambler sneeringly showing his cards as he
threw them down. Sammy glanced around to say something to the woman,
but found she had gone. "Aw, never mind her!" growled his opponent.
"She 'll be back--she can't stay away from a kid like you."
The woman was passing through the barroom and, winking at the bartender,
opened the door and stepped to the street. She smiled as she caught
sight of the limping stranger coming toward her. He might have found
money, but she was certain he had found something else and in generous
quantities. He removed his sombrero with an exaggerated sweep of his
hand and hastened to meet her, walking with the conscious erectness of a
man whose feet are the last part of him to succumb. "Hullo, Sugar," he
grinned. "I found some, a'right. Now we 'll have some music. Come
long."
"There ain't no hurry," she answered. "We 'll take a little walk
first."
"No, we won't. We 'll have some music an' somethin' to drink. If you
won't make th' music, I will; or shoot up th' machine. Come 'long,
Sugar," he leered, pushing open the door with a resounding slam. He
nodded to the bartender and apologized. "No harm meant, Friend. It
sorta slipped; jus' slipped, tha's all. Th' young lady an' me is goin'
to have some music. What? All right for you, Sugar! Then I'll make it
myself," and he paraded stiffly toward the inner door.
The bartender leaned suddenly forward. "Keep out of there! You 'll bust
that pianner!"
The puncher stopped with a jerk, swung ponderously on his heel and
leveled a forefinger at the dispenser of drinks. "I won't," he said.
"An' if I do, I 'll pay for it. Come on, Sugar--le's play th' old
thing, jus' for spite." Grasping her arm he gently but firmly escorted
her into the dance hall and seated her at the piano. As he straightened
up he noticed the card players and, bowing low to her, turned and
addressed them.
"Gents," he announced, bowing again, "we are goin' to have a li'l music
an' we hopes you won't objec'. Not that we gives a d--n, but we jus'
hopes you won't." He laughed loudly at his joke and leaned against the
piano. "Let 'er go," he cried, beating time. "Allaman lef an' ladies
change! Swing yore partner's gal--I mean, swing some other gal: but
what's th' difference? All join han's an' hop to th' middle--nope! It's
all han's roun' an' swing 'em again. But it don't make no difference,
does it, Lulu?" He whooped loudly and marched across the room, executed
a few fancy steps and marched back again. As he passed the card table
Sammy threw down his hand and arose with a curse. The marcher stopped,
fiddled a bit with his feet until obtaining his balance, and then
regarded the youth quizzically. "S'matter, Sonny?" he inquired.
Sammy scowled, slowly recognized the owner of the imported cigars and
shook his head. "Big han's, but not big enough; an' I lost my pile."
Staggering to the piano he plumped down on a chair near it and watched
the rippling fingers of the player in drunken interest.
The hilarious cowpuncher, leaning backward perilously, recovered his
poise for a moment and then lurched forward into the chair the youth had
just left. "Come on, pardner," he grinned across at the gambler. "Le's
gamble. I been honin' for a game, an' here she is." He picked up the
cards, shuffled them clumsily and pushed them out for the cut. The
gambler hesitated, considered and then turned over a jack. He lost the
deal and shoved out a quarter without interest.
The puncher leaned over, looked at it closely and grinned. "Two bits?
That ain't poker; that's--that's dominoes!" he blurted, angrily, with
the quick change of mood of a man in his cups.
"I ain't anxious to play," replied the gambler. "I 'll kill a li'l time
at a two-bit game, though. Otherwise I 'll quit."
"A'right," replied the dealer. "I did n't expec' nothin' else from a
tin-horn, no-how. I want two cards after you get yourn." The gambler
called on the second raise and smiled to himself when he saw that his
opponent had drawn to a pair and an ace. He won on his own deal and on
the one following.
The puncher increased the ante on the fourth deal and looked up
inquiringly, a grin on his face. "Le's move out th' infant class," he
suggested.
The gambler regarded him sharply. "Well, th' other _was_ sorta tender,"
he admitted, nodding.
The puncher pulled out a handful of gold coins and clumsily tried to
stalk them, which he succeeded in doing after three attempts. He was so
busy that he did not notice the look in the other's eyes. Picking up
his hand he winked at it and discarded one. "Goin' to raise th' ante a
few," he chuckled. "I got a feelin' I 'm goin' t' be lucky." When the
card was dealt to him he let it lay and bet heavily. The gambler saw it
and raised in turn, and the puncher, frowning in indecision, nodded his
head wisely and met it, calling as he did so. His four fives were just
two spots shy to win and he grumbled loudly at his luck. "Huh," he
finished, "she 's a jack pot, eh?" He slid a double eagle out to the
center of the table and laughed recklessly. The deals went around
rapidly, each one calling for a ten-dollar sweetener and when the
seventh hand was dealt the puncher picked his cards and laughed. "She 's
open," he cried, "for fifty," and shoved out the money with one hand
while he dug up a reserve pile from his pocket with the other.
The gambler saw the opener and raised it fifty, smiling at his
opponent's expression. The puncher grunted his surprise, studied his
hand, glanced at the pot and shrugging his shoulders, saw the raise. He
drew two cards and chuckled as he slid them into his hand; but before
the dealer could make his own draw the puncher's chuckle died out and he
stared over the gambler's shoulder. With an oath he jerked out his gun
and fired. The gambler leaped to his feet and whirled around to look
behind. Then he angrily faced the frowning puncher. "What you think yo
're doin'?" he demanded, his hand resting inside his coat, the thumb
hooked over the edge of the vest.
The puncher waved his hand apologetically. "I never have no luck when I
sees a cat," he explained. "A black cat is worse; but a yaller one's
bad enough. I 'll bet that yaller devil won't come back in a
hurry--judgin' by th' way it started. I won't miss him, if he does."
The gambler, still frowning, glanced at the deck suspiciously and saw
that it lay as he had dropped it. The bartender, grinning at them from
the door, cracked a joke and went back to the bar. Sammy, after a wild
look around, settled back in his chair and soothed the pianist a little
before going back to sleep.
Drawing two cards the gambler shoved them in his hand without a change
in his expression--but he was greatly puzzled. It was seldom that he
bungled and he was not certain that he had. The discard contained the
right number of cards and his opponent's face gave no hint to the
thoughts behind it. He hesitated before he saw the bet--ten dollars was
not much, for the size of the pot justified more. He slowly saw it,
willing to lose the ten in order to see his opponent's cards. There was
something he wished to know, and he wanted to know it as soon as he
could. "I call that," he said. The puncher's expression of tenseness
relaxed into one of great relief and he hurriedly dropped his cards.
Three kings, an eight, and a deuce was his offering. The gambler laid
down a pair of queens, a ten, an eight and a four, waved his hand and
smiled. "It's just as well I did n't draw another queen," he observed,
calmly. "I might 'a' raised once for luck."
The puncher raked in the pot and turned around in his chair. "I cleaned
up that time," he exulted to the woman. She had stopped playing and was
stroking Sammy's forehead. Smiling at the exuberant winner she nodded.
"You should have let the cat stay--I think it really brought you luck."
He shook his head emphatically. "_No_, ma'am! It was chasin' it away
as did that. That's what did it, a'right."
The gambler glanced quickly at the two top cards on the deck and was
picking up those scattered on the table when his opponent turned around
again. How that queen and ten had got two cards too deep puzzled him
greatly--he was willing to wager even money that he would not look away
again until the game was finished, not if all the cats in the world were
being slaughtered. One hundred and ninety dollars was too much money to
pay for being caught off his guard, as he was tempted to believe he had
been. He did not know how much liquor the other had consumed, but he
seemed to be sobering rapidly.
The next few deals did not amount to much. Then a jackpot came around
and was pushed hard. The puncher was dealing and as he picked up the
deck after the cut he grinned and winked. "Th' skirmishin' now bein'
over, th' battle begins. If that cat stays away long enough mebby I 'll
make a killin'."
"All right; but don't make no more gun-plays," warned the gambler,
coldly. "I allus get excited when I smells gun-powder an' I do reckless
things sometimes," he added, significantly.
"Then I shore hopes you keep ca'm," laughed the puncher, loud enough to
be heard over the noise of the piano, which was now going again.
The pot was sweetened three times and then the gambler dealt his
opponent openers. The puncher looked anxiously through the door,
grinning coltishly. He slowly pushed out twenty dollars. "There's th'
key," he grunted. "A'right; see that an' raise you back. Good for you!
I'm stayin' an' boostin' same as ever. Fine! See it again, an' add
this. I 'm playin' with yore money, so I c'n afford to be reckless. All
right; I'm satisfied, too. Gimme one li'l card. I shore am glad I
don't need th' king of hearts--that was shore on th' bottom when th'
deal _begun_."
The gambler, having drawn, cursed and reached swiftly toward his vest
pocket; but he stopped suddenly and contemplated the Colt that peeked
over the edge of the table. It looked squarely at his short ribs and
was backed by a sober, angry man who gazed steadily into his eyes.
"Drop that hand," said the puncher in a whisper just loud enough to be
heard by the other over the noise of the piano. "I never did like them
shoulder holsters--I carry my irons where everybody can see 'em."
Leaning forward swiftly he reached out his left hand and cautiously
turned over the other's cards. The fourth one was the king of hearts.
"Don't move," he whispered, not wishing to have the bartender take a
hand from behind. "An' don't talk," he warned as he leaned farther
forward and shoved his Colt against the other's vest and with his left
hand extracted a short-barreled gun from the sheath under the gambler's
armpit. Sinking back in his chair he listened a moment and, raking in
the pot, stowed it away with the other winnings in his pockets.
The gambler stirred, but stopped as the Colt leaped like a flash of
light to the edge of the table. "Tin-horn," said the puncher, softly,
"you ain't slick enough. I did n't stop you when you wanted that queen
an' ten because I wanted you to go on with th' crookedness. Yaller cats
is more unlucky to you than they are to me. But when I saw that last
play I lost my temper; an' I stopped you. Now if you 'll cheat with me,
you 'll cheat with a drunk boy. So, havin' cheated him, you really
stole his money away from him. That bein' so, you will dig up six
month's wages at about fifty per month. I 'd shoot you just as quick as
I 'd shoot a snake; so don't get no fool notions in yore head. Dig it
right up."
The gambler studied the man across from him, but after a moment he
silently placed some money on the table. "It was only two forty," he
observed, holding to three double eagles. The puncher nodded: "I 'll
take yore word for that. Now, in th' beginnin' I only wanted to get th'
boy his money; but when you started cheatin' against me I changed my
mind. I played fair. Now here's your short-five," he said as he slid
the gun across the table. "Mebby you might want to use it sometime," he
smiled. "Now you vamoose; an' if I see you in town after th' next train
leaves, I 'll _make_ you use that shoulder holster. An' tell yore
friends that Hopalong Cassidy says, that for a country where men can
tote their hardware in plain sight, a shoulder layout ain't no good: you
gotta reach too high. Adios."
He watched the silent, philosophical man-of-cards walk slowly toward the
door, upright, dignified and calm. Then he turned and approached the
piano. "Sister," he said, politely, "yore gamblin' friend is leavin'
town on th' next train. He has pressin' business back east a couple of
stations an' wonders if you 'll join him at th' depot in time for th'
next train."
She had stopped playing and was staring at him in amazement. "Why
didn't he come an' tell me himself, 'stead of sneakin' away an' sendin'
you over?" she at last demanded, angrily.
"Well, he wanted to, but he saw a man an' slipped out with his gun in
his hand. Mebby there'll be trouble; but I dunno. I'm just tellin'
you. Gee," he laughed, looking at the snoring youth in the chair, "he
got _that_ quick. Why, I saw him less 'n two hours ago an' he was sober
as a judge. Reckon I 'll take him over to th' hotel an' put him to
bed." He went over to the helpless Sammy, shook him and made him get on
his feet. "Come along, Kid," he said, slipping his arm under the
sagging shoulder. "We'll get along. Good-by, Sugar," and, supporting
the feebly protesting cub, he slowly made his way to the rear door and
was gone, a grin wreathing his face as he heard the chink of gold coins
in his several pockets.