The Desert Valley

by Jackson Gregory

  Chapter VIII

  Poker and the Scientific Mind

  Barbee, as he himself would have expressed it, was soured on life. Atleast for the moment, and after all that is about all that life is, theinstant that it is passing. When Longstreet called to him he gruntedin disgust. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and spat outthe cold stump of his cigarette. It was Barbee's natural way to swingalong with his hat far back, so that he might see the stars. Now hishat brim was dragged low, and for Barbee the stars were only lessremote and frigid than a certain fickle woman.

  'I say, Barbee,' called the professor a second time.

  Barbee slumped on without turning, but growled over his shoulder:

  'Can't you leave a man alone?'

  Longstreet doubted his ears; the boy had been so friendly. He triedhurriedly and in vain to recall some trifle in which perhaps, beingmisunderstood, he had offended. During his mental uncertainty thenatural physical hesitancy had resulted in Barbee's gaining a lead of adozen steps. Hence when a white figure flitted out from the shadows tothe boy's side, Longstreet was not near enough to hear the whisperedwords; the soft trill of a laugh he caught, to be sure, and immediatelyrecognized as Mrs. Murray's. Then she had drawn away from Barbee,called good night and passed on to the hotel, so close to Longstreetthat her skirts brushed him. Barbee stood still watching her until shedisappeared under the porch vines. Longstreet came on to his sidethen. They fell into step and again Barbee was swaggering with his oldbuoyancy; again his hat was far back, and his eyes were on the stars.

  'Hello, old sport,' he said affably. 'Some night, ain't it?'

  To know why a man of the type of James Edward Longstreet should beflattered at being called 'old sport' by one of the type of YellowBarbee is to understand human nature; Longstreet was utterly human.The bonds of environment are bands of steel; the little boy that closeto threescore years ago was Johnny Longstreet had been restricted bythem, his growth had been that of a gourd with a strap about itsmiddle; he had perforce grown in conformity with the commands of theoutside pressure. Had he been born in Poco Poco and reared on a ranch,it is at least likely that he would not have been a professor in anEastern university. Now that the steel girdles of environment werestricken off it appeared that the youthful heart of him stimulated newgrowth. As for heredity, environment's collaborator, both he andBarbee were lineal descendants of father Adam and mother Eve. But, bethe explanation where it may, 'the everlasting miracle' was the same,and the 'old sport' beamed as he would not have done had the Universityof Edinburgh bestowed upon him a new degree.

  'Let's frolic a few,' suggested Barbee, with a sidelong glance.

  'I have some business to attend to,' said Longstreet eagerly. 'I'llhurry through with it. Then--then I assure you that I shall be glad towitness with you the--the gaiety of the--of the places of amusementhere.'

  He explained what his business was.

  'You stop at the store, then,' said Barbee. 'Tell Mexico Pete to haveyour grub and truck ready; I'll mosey on up to the saloon and scare upTod and tell him about the team. I'll wait for you up there. And,since we ain't got all night, suppose you shake a foot, pardner.'

  When a few minutes later Longstreet reached the adobe saloon of 'TonioMoraga, he found Yellow Barbee smoking a cigarette outside the deep-setdoor.

  'Kind of quiet,' apologized the young fellow. 'But we'll look 'emover.'

  He struck the door open with his shoulder and Longstreet followed himinto a big room sufficiently well lighted by a couple of hangingkerosene lamps. At one side was an ancient, battered bar; behind thebar a lazy Mexican in shirt sleeves; at one end Tod Barstow pouring thecool contents of a pint bottle of some pinkish beverage directly fromthe throat of the bottle into his own throat; lounging idly in chairsof various interesting stages of dilapidation half a dozen men, alldark-skinned, black of moustache and hair. Barstow's positionnecessitated the fixing of his eyes upon the ceiling; all otherglances, ignoring Barbee, centred upon Longstreet. He was smiling andeager.

  'Come alive, gents!' called Barbee genially. 'Stack up alongside thebar and I'll buy! Moraga,' to the bartender, 'you know me. I got areal bad case of alkali throat. Roll up, boys!--Say, wait a minute.Moraga, meet my friend Longstreet.' Moraga showed many large whiteteeth in a friendly smile and gave into Longstreet's keeping a small,moist and very flabby hand. The other men, silently accepting theinvitation, came forward; Barbee introduced them all. Longstreet's wasthe emotion of one being initiated into a new fraternity.

  They named their poison, in the parlance of the neighbourhood, andstood to their glasses like so many valiant gunners. Longstreet, bigenough in his views of humanity, to look upon them as so many boyishsouls, beamed. Then he noted that they seemed to be waiting forsomething, wondered what it might be, glanced over his shoulder, lookedback at them and understood. They were waiting for him. So he saidhastily, and in their own phrase:

  'Same thing.'

  Which, of course, brought down to his place on the bar a small glassand a large bottle. He had never done a thing like this in all thecalm days of his existence, but now the deed came naturally enough. Hepoured his glass and even echoed the other remarks of 'Here's how.'When the fiery liquor arrived in his stomachical regions he realizedwith perfect clarity that it was without doubt some newly inventedsubstitute for whisky; perhaps that jackass-brandy which he had heardof. His emotion was twofold: he was glad that Helen was at the hoteland he was determined not to repeat the dose.

  'That's the goods,' said Longstreet jocularly, trying to smack his lips.

  Barbee led the way to the nearest table and out of the nowhere broughtinto the here a deck of cards. Longstreet was on the verge ofapplauding when he noted that every one else accepted the act as amatter of fact, and subsided into himself and into a chair at the samemoment.

  'Who'll make it four-cornered?' demanded Barbee. 'Short, but livelywhile she lasts. Little old game, name of stud horse?'

  Two of the Mexicans, having hesitated and then looked to Barbee, cameforward and deposited themselves carelessly in the two chairs. Barbeeshuffled, cut, shuffled again and put the cards down.

  'Cut for deal,' he ordered.

  When each of the other men had leaned forward and lifted a sheaf ofcards, Longstreet divided the remainder. The deal went to Barbee. Andwhat is more, Longstreet understood why; Barbee showed the highestcard, a king. Longstreet straightened in his chair and his interestgrew; he went over in mind what he had learned at the ranch. A pairbeats a stiff, two pair beat a pair, threes beat two pair and so on.It was simplicity itself and here was he, Professor Edward Longstreet,measuring his judgment against that of Mexican Mendoza, Mexican Chavezand Yellow Barbee, cowpuncher. Ready from the flip of the first cardto concede that these gentlemen had had a rather wider experience withcard-playing, none the less he realized the superiority of hismentality, his greater intellectual training, and fully expectedsomething more than just an 'even break.' He concealed the faces ofhis cards cannily and gave his scholarly brain entirely to a pleasanttask in mathematics.

  Through many years of training he was familiar with abstruse problems;hence it may be forgiven him, if, at first blush, this form of pokerappeared simplicity itself. He reasoned thus: There were fifty-twocards in the full deck; there were exactly four, neither more nor less,of each ace, deuce, trey and so forth until one got to the king; therewere, also, just four men drawing cards; each man, if he played hishand out, could draw five cards. All of this was data; it seemed asthough he had _x_ and _y_ given and was merely to find _z_. His eye,as the game began, registered zest.

  He remembered former instructions: Each man's first card, dealt facedown, was to remain face down until the hand was played out; the ownerof that first card, and no other man, had the right to turn up thecorner and discover what it was. So when Barbee tossed his card tohim, Longstreet wasted no time in peeking at it. It was the ace ofclubs; not a better card in the deck! He lifted his face and beamed
;it was a good start. And this time the emotion registered in his frankeye was that of a guileless old gentleman who has an ace in the hole.There was no misreading that triumphant gleam.

  Again the cards fell gently from Barbee's practised hand, each of thefour faces up this time. Longstreet's was a king; he nodded hisacceptance and approval. All of the time his brain was busied with hisdeveloping theory of chances: there were four aces, four kings in thedeck, and he already had one of each. There were four players in all;there were fifty-two cards; it was unlikely that in this hand anotherking should turn up. And no other king did; he had the high card. Hesmiled warmly.

  'The high card bets,' drawled Barbee.

  'Oh!' exclaimed Longstreet. 'Yes, to be sure. Let me see.'

  His sparkling eye roved about the table. Barbee's exposed card was ajack, one of the Mexicans had a ten and the other a four. Longstreetfelt both warmed with triumph and yet a little sorry for them. So hedid the kind thing by them and bet only a dollar. The two Mexicanslifted their brows at him, looked to Barbee, and then with a splendidshow of nonchalance both came in. Barbee chinked his silver dollardown upon the others and dealt the third card. Longstreet waitedbreathlessly.

  This time there came to him another king, the king of spades, and hislittle exclamation of genuine delight was a pretty thing to hear. Butthe next second a look of frowning incredulity overspread his features;the king of hearts fell to Chavez and the king of diamonds to Mendoza.Barbee gave himself an ace. But it was not the ace that interestedLongstreet; his newly-born theory of chances was a trifle upset. Thatthree kings, when there were only three left in the deck, should comeone on the heels of another was a matter for reflection. But evidentlythere was no time granted for readjustment of preconceived ideas.

  'Longstreet's the only man with a pair in sight,' said Barbee. 'It'syour bet again, Longstreet.'

  Longstreet hurriedly bet a dollar. Chavez, with a king and ten inview, raised the bet four dollars. Mendoza withdrew his hand and hisattention and began rolling a cigarette, never once taking his eyesfrom Longstreet's eager face. Barbee tossed in his five dollars, andLongstreet was brought to realize that if he wished to remain in thegame it was in order for him to add another four dollars to his bet.He did so without a moment's hesitation. And again he began his searchof the deathless underlying mathematical law of the game of stud poker.

  Meanwhile Barbee dealt the fourth card. When the fates had it that asecond ace fell to Longstreet's lot they should have been amply repaidby the glowing smile that widened his good-humoured mouth. He now had,and he realized to the full his strategic position in that no one elsecould have his secret knowledge, a pair of kings _and_ a pair of aces.The two biggest pairs in the deck! He looked with renewed interest atthe other cards. Chavez now had two tens exposed; before Barbee lay nopair at all, just a jack, an ace and a five. There was but one morecard to be dealt. He could therefore count Barbee out of the running.It remained to him and Chavez, and Chavez had only a pair of tens insight.

  'Your bet again, Longstreet,' Barbee reminded him. He started and bethis dollar. Chavez repeated his earlier performance and raised the betfour dollars. Barbee tossed away his cards; Longstreet noted the acttriumphantly, and nodded in the manner of a father approving the wiseact of a young untried son.

  'What you do, _senor_?' asked the Mexican. Longstreet withdrew hiseyes from Barbee and gave his attention to his antagonist, a half-bredMexican of low-grade mentality who was offering a duel of wits! He betthe requisite four dollars.

  And now from Barbee's fingers came the last cards, one for Longstreetand one for Chavez. Longstreet drew a queen and went into the silenceof deep meditation; to Chavez came a lowly seven. Longstreet needed noprompting that it was time to bet; further he understood that this wasthe last round, the final opportunity. He did not wait for thecustomary raise of Chavez, but slipped five dollars into the pot andsat back, beaming.

  Nor did the Mexican hesitate. He pushed out to the centre of the tablewith slow brown fingers two twenty-dollar gold pieces.

  'You--you raise me?' asked Longstreet.

  '_Si, senor_. Tirty-fife _pesos mas_.'

  Longstreet curbed a desire to warn the man, to insist that hereconsider. But in the end he kept his own counsel and made hiscomplementary bet of thirty-five dollars.

  'Call you,' he said quite in his best form.

  The Mexican extracted from the bottom of his cards the first one dealthim face down and flipped it over carelessly. It was a ten; he hadthree tens, and the professor's extremely handsome pairs of aces andkings were as nothing. The Mexican's brown fingers drew the winningsin toward him, Longstreet's fifty-one dollars among them. Longstreetstared at him and at Barbee and at the treacherous cards themselves insheer bewilderment.

  It was not that he was shocked at the loss of a rather large sum ofmoney in his present circumstances; his brain did not focus on thepoint. He was trying to see in what his advance theories hadmiscarried. For certainly it had seemed extremely unlikely that Chavezwould have had three tens. Why, there were only four tens in the deckof fifty-two, there were four men playing, there remained in the deck,untouched, thirty-two cards----

  'Deal 'em up,' said Barbee. 'Your deal, old boy.'

  'It lies entirely within the scope of conservative probability,' saidLongstreet blandly, his eyes carrying the look of a man who in spiritis far away from his physical environment, 'that, after all, my datawere not sufficient.'

  'Talking to me?' said Barbee. He made a playful show of looking overhis shoulder to the invisible recipient of Longstreet's confidences; atthe moment a door behind him opened and a new face did actually appear.Barbee's glance grew into a stare of surprise. Then he turned squareabout in his chair again and snapped out: 'Deal, can't you?' Longstreetsaw that the boy's face was red; that his eyes burned malignantly.

  'Hello, Barbee,' said the man in the newly opened door. He came fullyinto the room and closed the door after him.

  'Hello, Courtot,' answered Barbee colourlessly.

  With an effort Longstreet had withdrawn his analytic faculties from theconsideration of the recent problem that had been solved for him by thecards themselves; now he was busied with collecting them, arrangingthem and getting ready to shuffle. Among the amused eyes watching himhe was conscious of a pair of eyes that were not simply amused, theeyes of Jim Courtot. He looked up and took stock of the new-comer,impelled to something more exhaustive than a superficial interest bythat intangible but potent thing termed personality. This man who hadentered the room in familiar fashion through a back door and a rearroom, was of the magnetic order; were he silent in a gathering oftalking men he must have been none the less a conspicuous figure. Andnot because of any unusual saliency of physical attributes; rather forthat emanation of personality which is like electricity--which,perhaps, is electricity.

  He was tall, thin, very dark; his eyes were of beady blackness; heaffected the sombre in garb from black hat and dark shirt to darkertrousers and black boots. His face was clean-shaven; maybe he had justnow been shaving in the rear room. His age might have lain anywherebetween thirty-five and fifty. There are men like Jim Courtot, of darkvisages and impenetrable eyes, thin and sallow men, upon whom thepassing years appear to work all of their havoc early and then be likevicious stinging things deprived of their stings.

  'For God's sake!' spoke up Barbee, querulously and nervously. 'Are yougoing to shuffle all the spots off? Come alive, Longstreet.'

  Longstreet allowed Barbee to cut and began dealing. Jim Courtot, hisstep quick but strangely noiseless, came to the table. His eyes werefor Barbee as he said quietly:

  'Just a little game for fun? Any objection if I kick in?'

  Barbee frowned. Further, he hesitated--and hesitation played but asmall part in El Joven's make-up. Finally he evaded.

  'Where've you been all this long time, Courtot?' he asked sullenly.'The biggest game of six years was pulled off down in Poco Poco lastweek an
d you wasn't there. I heard a man say you must be dead.'

  Courtot considered him gravely. Longstreet regarded the man,fascinated. He did not believe that the man knew how to smile. Toimagine Jim Courtot laughing was to fancy a statue laughing.

  'When there's a big game pulled off and I'm not there, kid,' heanswered when he was good and ready to answer, 'it's because there's abigger game somewhere else. And I'm heeled to play in your little gameif you think you're man enough to take me on.'

  Barbee snarled at him.

  'Damn you,' he said savagely.

  Jim Courtot drew up his chair and sat down. There was a strange sortof swiftness and precision in the man's smallest acts. Now he broughtfrom his hip pocket a handful of loose coins and set the heap on thetable before him. For the most part the coins were gold; he stoodready to put into play several hundred dollars.

  'Heeled, kid,' he repeated. The voice was as nearly dead andexpressionless as a human voice can be; only the words themselvescarried his insolence. 'Please, can I play in your game?'

  To Barbee's youth it was plain challenge and, though he hated the manwith his whole soul, Barbee's youth answered hotly:

  'I'll take you on, Jim Courtot, any day.'

  Thereafter Courtot ignored Barbee. He turned to Longstreet and watchedhim deal five cards face down. Then he appeared to lose interest ineverything saving his own hand. Longstreet dealt the second fivecards, faces up. They fell in the order of nine, four, jack, ace and,to himself, a seven. He did not believe that the new player had seenany but his own card. Barbee, to whose lot the ace had fallen, placedhis bet. There was bright bitter challenge in his eyes as he staredacross the table at Courtot.

  'Ten bucks to start her off,' he said shortly.

  Longstreet had supposed it customary to begin with a dollar; in hismind, however, there was little difference between one and ten.Therefore he made no remark and placed his own money in the pot. Thetwo Mexicans tossed their cards away. Courtot, looking at no one, andwithout speaking, came in. Longstreet dealt a second round. NowCourtot had two fours in sight; Barbee had two aces; Longstreet a kingand a seven exposed, but also a king hidden. When Barbee said, 'Twentybucks to play,' and said it viciously with a jeering stare at Courtot,Longstreet began counting out his money. But before he had completedthe slow process the street door opened.

  It was Alan Howard. He stood a moment on the threshold, his look oneof sheer amazement. He had come looking for Professor James EdwardLongstreet, eminent authority upon certain geological subjects. Hadanyone told him that he would find his man playing stud poker withBarbee and two Mexicans and Jim Courtot----

  'Barbee!' he cried out angrily, coming on swiftly until he stood overthe table. 'What in hell's name do you mean by steering Longstreetinto a mess like this?'

  'What do _you_ mean?' retorted Barbee hotly. 'What business is it ofyours?'

  'I mean Jim Courtot,' cut in Howard shortly. 'You know better than todrag any friend of mine into a game with him.'

  Courtot appeared calm and unconcerned.

  'The bet's made, gents,' he said briefly. 'Coming in, Longstreet?'

  Longstreet looked confused. Before he could frame his answer, Howardmade it for him. And he directed it straight to Courtot.

  'I haven't had time to tell Mr. Longstreet about all of the undesirablecitizens hereabouts,' he announced steadily. 'No, he's not coming in.'

  'I imagine you'll spill an earful when you get going, Alan,' saidCourtot. 'I'd like to listen in on it.'

  Straightway the two Mexicans rose and left the table. Barbee, thoughhe scorned to do so, pushed his chair back a little and kept his eyesupon the faces of the two men. Longstreet went from confusion tobewilderment. Howard considered the matter briefly; then, watching JimCourtot while he spoke, he said crisply:

  'Mr. Longstreet, you should get acquainted a bit before you play cardsout here. Jim Courtot there, who plans to rob you the shortest way, isa crook, a thief, a dirty liar and a treacherous man-killer. He'srotten all the way through.'

  A man does not fire a fuse without expecting the explosion. On theinstant that Jim Courtot's hand left his pile of coins, Alan Howard'sboots left the floor. The cattleman threw himself forward and acrossthe table almost with his last word. Courtot came up from his chair, ashort-barrelled revolver in his hand. But, before he was well on hisfeet, before the short barrel had made its required brief arc, Howard'sblow landed. With all of his force, with all of the weight of hisbody, he struck Jim Courtot square upon the chin. Courtot went overbackwards, spilling out of the chair that crumpled and snapped andbroke to pieces; his gun flew wide across the room. Howard's impetuscarried him on across the table so that he too fell, and across thebody of the man he had struck. But when Alan got to his feet, JimCourtot lay still and unconscious. And, for one, Longstreet thoughtthat he had seen manslaughter done; the man's look was of death.

  Howard picked up his hat and then what few of the scattered coins hejudged were Longstreet's. Then he took the gaping little man by thearm and led him to the door.

  'Miss Helen wanted you,' he said as they passed outside.

  'Did you kill him?' Longstreet was shuddering.

  'No,' was the cool answer. 'But it looks as if I'd have to some day.Better not say anything about this to Miss Helen.'

  'Good heavens, no!' ejaculated Longstreet. 'Not a word!'