Troubled range (11 page)

Normally Dusty Fog would have been the trail boss and Mark the segundo, but Dusty and the Ysabel Kid were handling a chore for Ole Devil in the town of Holbrock,* and could not make the drive. Not that Ole Devil had need or cause to worry, for Mark was a master hand with cattle and delivered the herd safely. Now, with the buyer's certified bank draft in the special pocket let into the top of his left Justin boot, Mark was free to have a celebration in the Texas sea-port before he and Johnny attended to some private business. •

"You should see the place, Mark," Johnny said enthusias-

*Told in The Half-Breed by J. T. Edson.

tically as they walked towards a saloon away from the dock area. "I was up there for three months last year before I came back to the O.D. Connected. It sure was a swell lil spread, and I can make it grow. Never thought Uncle Zeke would leave it to me, though."

"We'll ride up there and look it over comes the morning," Mark replied.

Johnny was a good hand with cattle and had rode for the O.D. Connected for almost three years, except for brief spells when he wandered off to see what the rest of the world looked like. However, an uncle had died and left him a small ranch up in the San Vegas hills about fifty miles from Brownsville.

With his characteristic generosity, Ole Devil sent Johnny as segundo on the drive, which gave him extra pay that he could use, and told Mark to go out to the ranch with Johnny and see him settled in on it.

"The Last Battle Saloon," Johnny grinned. "It's as good as any, I'd say. Well, I've bought my supplies, hired me a rig to tote 'em. Now I want to howl."

"We'll go in and howl, then," Mark agreed.

The saloon was one of the better places in Brownsville and drew its custom from a cross-section of the town's residents and visitors. Cowhands gathered at tables; blue clad soldiers mingled with both U.S. Navy and merchant sailors; dock workers and townsmen rubbed elbows. It could be an explosive mixture when the whisky flowed free, but at this early hour of the evening all seemed quiet and peaceable enough. The faro layout, the chuck-a-luck and blackjack tables all had clients and the wheel-of-fortune drew a small crowd.

"Not for me," Johnny drawled. "There's no hope in bucking the house percentage in a game."

"Let's try the poker game then," Mark replied. "And let's get sat in on it afore those two gals by the bar come over and eat us."

"What a way to die," grinned Johnny, throwing a glance at the pair of painted saloon-girls who looked them over with predatory gaze.

The girls' interest was understandable, for every woman in the room gave the new arrivals more than just a casual looking over.

Johnny stood six foot one, was handsome with curly black hair and. a neatly trimmed black moustache. He wore good range clothes and had the build to set them off. Around his waist hung a gunbelt, a matched brace of walnut handled 1860 Army Colts butt forward in the low Cavalry draw holsters.

In any company Johnny might be expected to catch the eye, for he had wide shoulders, a slim waist, and a great muscular development which most men might have envied.

However, Johnny stood two inches shorter than Mark and Mark possessed even wider shoulders and greater muscle development, as well as being even more handsome. All in all, it had been a long time, if ever, since two more eyecatching, female-attracting, men walked into the Last Battle Saloon.

Before the two girls could cross the room and reach them, Mark and Johnny walked to the table where a poker game was in progress.

"Is there room for players, gents?" Johnny asked.

"Settle in and get your feet wet," the tall, slim, well dressed gambler replied, waving a hand towards the empty chairs. "Game's straight stud, no dealer's choice, no wild cards—and no limit."

"Then she's the game for me. How about you, Mark?"

"Three things I never could stand are dealer's choice, wild cards and a limit. Let's sit a spell and take instruction in how it's done."

None of the four players in the game raised any objection

.to Mark or Johnny sitting in. The gambler's warning about

the lack of a limit had told the cowhands what to expect.

They were men grown and as such ought to know whether

they could afford to sit in and play under those conditions.

Mark could afford to play in the game. An eccentric maiden aunt left all her money to him when she died and the greater part of the money lay on deposit to him in the Polveroso City bank back in Rio Hondo County.

While not being rich, Johnny had managed to save some of his pay—a thing that came as a surprise to all who knew him—and had drawn his savings from the bank before leaving to help on the trail drive. So, even after buying

supplies for his ranch, he could afford to chance a few hands of stud even in a no limit game. If the worst came to the worst, he had the deeds to the ranch with which to cover his losses. Not that Johnny wanted to lose the place. He was a cowhand, a tophand at his work, but like most cowhands he tended to live for the moment and let the future take care of itself.

As he sat at the table, Mark studied his fellow players. He knew the gambler to be honest, though obviously an expert at the game or he could not make a living gambling. The man at the gambler's right looked like a senior teller at a bank, or maybe in the county offices. He was fat, stodgy looking, yet he gave the impression he knew the time of day when it came to playing stud poker. To the fat man's right sat a leathery old Army sergeant, short, stocky and tanned to the colour of old oak. Nothing about him suggested he would be a rabbit in the game.

That left the fourth player. He sat hunched in a chair facing Mark. A peaked uniform hat rested on the back of his head. His face looked harsh, weather-beaten and the nose bore testimony that the glass of liquor on the table before him was not the first, nor the thousandth, drink he had ever taken. In dress he looked like an officer of a boat, either master of a small trading craft, or a mate on some larger vessel. The butt of what appeared to be an Adams revolver showed in his waistband. His white shirt looked dirty, the string tie unfastened. His white trousers were tucked into heavy sea-boots. All in all he looked as mean as hell and, while not drunk, carried enough of that sickly-smelling liquor to slow down his perceptions.

Behind the seaman stood a young woman and at first glance Mark dismissed her as one of the saloon workers. She stood only about five foot two and her mass of long black hair hung down well below her shoulders. It framed a pretty face, a face tanned almost as brown as a Mexican's. She had dark eyes, almost Oriental in appearance, this was emphasised by her rather high cheek-bones and the clothes she wore. Mark had seen the style of dress before, on Chinese girls in cat-houses at the end-of-trail towns, or in Quiet Town while he served as a deputy under Dusty Fog there just after the War Between The States. The dress was shiny material,

green in colour, fastened high to the neck and slit from hem to thigh. Yet the girl did not look Chinese. Oriental maybe, but no Chinese ever had skin that colour and very few showed a round, firm bosom such as forced against the material of the dress. Her arms were bare, brown and undecorated by any of the jewellery a dancehall or saloon-girl usually sported.

"This's Ben Goff," the gambler introduced, waving a hand to the fat man, "Sarge Killet of the 12th Infantry and the Cap'n. Gents, meet Mark Counter from theO.D. Connected and—?"

Under other circumstances it would have been regarded as a breach of range etiquette to ask such a question. However, it could be asked in the informal setting of a card game and the one questioned did not have to give his correct name.

"Johnny Wade," Johnny finished for the gambler, looking at the girl behind the seaman with interest.

"She don't work here, cowboy," the seaman growled. "She's mine."

Not by a flicker of her face did the girl show any interest in either Johnny's frankly admiring glance, or the man's words.

"No offence, mister," Johnny replied quietly.

Mark, the gambler, the soldier and the fat man exchanged glances. All knew that when a cowhand called a man mister after being introduced he did not like the man. Not that they blamed Johnny, the seaman's comment had been uncalled for. The young cowhand had done no more than look at the girl and could not be expected to know she did not work in the saloon.

Riffling the cards, Packer, the gambler, placed them down for Mark to cut.

"Cut 'em light, lose all night," Mark drawled. "Flip 'em out and let's see who's going to take it from me."

Out flipped the cards, the first face down and then the second exposed.

"And it's the ace to bet," Packer remarked.

"I'll open it with ten," Johnny, who held the ace, replied.

From the start two things became clear to Mark; that the standard of play would be high; and that the seaman was out

of his depth in such a game. So would Johnny have been, for he played the way he lived, on impulse more than sound judgment.

Where the other three closed a hand that did not show firm hope of being worthwhile, Johnny and the seaman clung to it, staying in the pot and hoping for a last card miracle to save the day. This was not, and never had been, good poker, as the seaman found out to his cost. Johnny might have found it also, but he seemed to be in the middle of one of those flows of luck which made gambling so fascinating to most people. Time after time he would sit with poor hands, betting on them and the last card brought off a winner, or he would run a bluff and scoop the pot.

The seaman was the heavy loser. None of the others took such chances and held their own, or lost a little, knowing the law of averages would in the end crack the run of luck.

After the game had been going for an hour, Johnny glanced at the girl. She still stood behind the seaman's chair and he had not given her as much as a glance as he played his hands and drank glass after glass of rum without it showing any effect.

While the fat man shuffled the cards, Johnny came to his feet, fetching a chair from another table.

"Here, ma'am," he said, putting the chair behind the girl. "Have a seat."

Swinging around, the seaman glared up at Johnny, his drink-reddened face going a shade or two deeper coloured. For a long moment he studied Johnny's big frame, read the challenge in the cowhand's eyes and shrugged.

"Sit down!" he growled.

Obediently the girl sank into the chair, sitting primly on the edge of it and folding her hands on her lap. She gave Johnny a look of silent gratitude as he returned to his seat and took up his cards.

A few hands went by and the seaman grew more surly with each one. His losses had been heavy and his consumption of rum almost continuous. Fumbling into his coat's inside pocket, he took out a stiff white sheet of paper and tossed it towards Johnny with an angry gesture.

"Here, the bill of sale for Jaya, give me two hundred on it!"

"Two hundred?" Johnny replied, wondering why the man would offer his ship for such a small sum.

"She's worth it."

"Reckon she might be to you," Johnny agreed, then he shrugged. "Sure, two hundred it is."

Easy come, easy go, that was Johnny. He had no use for a ship, but could always let the seaman redeem the bill of sale after the game. Way Johnny saw it, a man who had suffered from such stinking luck in the game deserved a chance to break even.

"Let's call this the last hand, shall weT' the fat man asked, watching Mark riffle the cards.

None of the others objected, although the seaman muttered something under his breath. The other players in the game, poker addicts though they were, did not like the seaman's attitude enough to want to continue playing with him. All had played enough poker to know such a man in his present condition might make trouble that could end up in gun play. So, rather than wind up with a corpse and cartridge affair, they would break up the game.

"I'll do it!" the seaman growled as Mark passed the cards to Johnny for the cut.

Under the rules of poker any player could ask to cut the cards before the deal. Yet the seaman's attitude annoyed Mark, brought a frown of disapproval to the gambler's face, an angry grunt from the soldier and a worried look to the fat townsman. Johnny's hands clenched, but he caught a warning head-shake from Mark and kept his thoughts to himself. Only he sure hoped that loud-mouth made some remark after the game. It would give Johnny the pleasure to bounce that sullen yahoo around the room.

Out sailed the cards, landing face down on the table, followed by the next turned face up for all to see. The seaman peeked at his hole card, the king of hearts and he had the ace of spades showing. Across the table Johnny sat with the four of hearts showing.

"I'll open," growled the seaman.

Mark threw his cards in, the three of clubs and nine of diamonds did not have enough possibility of improvement to make it worth his while staying in on them. The others stayed in and Mark dealt them their third cards. The seaman

caught the queen of diamonds and Johnny received the nine of hearts. After seeing the card he received, the fat man followed the other players out, leaving the pot between Johnny and the seaman.

On receiving a ten of spades, the seaman pushed up the betting and Johnny drew the seven of hearts. Again they bet and the last cards flipped to them from the deck. Nobody spoke, but every eye went first to the jack of clubs before the seaman and the six of hearts which lay on Johnny's hand.

"Ace to bet," the gambler said quietly.

Indecision showed on the seaman's face, a trickle of sweat ran down his brow and he brushed it aside. Although he held as high a straight as a man could get, one little heart in the hole would give Johnny a flush; and that would beat any straight no matter how high.

Having seen how Johnny's luck ran through the game, the seaman felt uneasy. Nothing in the young cowhand's face or attitude showed any hint of alarm, or sign that he might be running a bluff.

"I'll check," the seaman said.

"Then she's loose for a hundred," Johnny answered.

Once again the man paused and studied the cards. He lifted his face to look at Johnny. The other players stayed silent, waiting to see the outcome of the game.

Slowly the seaman reached out a hand. He looked at the money before him and gave an angry scowl.

"I'm in!" he snarled and folded his cards.

With a broad grin, Johnny scooped in the pot and thrust back his chair. He looked at the other players.

"Drinks are on me, gents," he said. "Let's head for the bar."

All but the seaman rose to accept Johnny's invitation. They left the cards on the table just as when the deal finished. The seaman leaned over and lifted up Johnny's hole card. A snarl of fury came from the man's lips. He dropped the two of spades face up on the table. Johnny had run a bluff and the seaman knew he had fallen for it.

Coming to his feet and throwing his chair over, the seaman drew the Adams revolver from his waistband.

"Look out!"

The girl had not moved from her chair, nor had her eyes left Johnny since he accepted the bill of sale from the seaman. Now she came to her feet and screamed a warning.

It came almost too late. The Adams's bullet missed Johnny by inches as he started to turn, thrusting the gambler and fat man aside and twisting his right hand palm out to hook around its gun butt.