Ace in the Hole

by J. R. Roberts

  “By God!” Morgan said after his first sip of coffee.

  “It takes getting used to,” Clint said. “If you don’t like it, just drink water.”

  “No, no,” Morgan said, “I just wasn’t ready. It’s both hot and strong.”

  The banker took a forkful of bacon and beans and shoveled it into his mouth.

  “How’s that?” Clint asked.

  “Actually not bad,” the banker said. “Not bad at all. It’s not a steak at the Stockman, but…”

  Clint thought the man was taking the change in his diet very well.

  “And it is only for one night,” Morgan added.

  “Yes, it is.”

  When it came to sleeping, though, Morgan had more of a hard time.

  “My God, how do you sleep on the ground?”

  “I usually use my saddle as a pillow,” Clint said. “Would you like to try?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “It’s a mild night,” Clint said. “You could use your blanket as a pillow.”

  The banker tried that, but it didn’t work either.

  “Why don’t you try sleeping on the buggy seat?” Clint asked. “At least there are springs there.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  Morgan stood up, took his blanket and his gun and headed for the buckboard.

  Before he climbed up, he asked. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

  “I’m going to stand watch for a while,” Clint said, “just in case.”

  “All night?”

  “Maybe just till daylight.”

  “That’s not fair,” the banker said. “If you were traveling with someone else, wouldn’t you split it up?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “I will do my share, Clint,” Morgan said. “Wake me when you want to go to sleep.”

  Clint was going to argue at first, but then he decided to go along with it.

  “All right, I will,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

  “After all,” Morgan said, “if anyone is after us, you’re the one who is going to keep us alive, right? You’ll need some rest.”

  “You have a point,” Clint said. “Okay, then, get some rest and I’ll wake you.”

  “Good night, then.”

  “’Night.”

  Clint hunkered down by the fire and prepared another pot of coffee.

  In another camp Dave Coffin accepted a cup of coffee from Tito Calhoun and said, “If we rode at night, we could catch up to them.”

  “We don’t want to catch up to them,” Calhoun said. “We want them to get where they’re goin’.”

  They had stopped in one small town where no one had ever heard of a rancher named John Deal. In the morning they’d try the town of Frankford, which was only a few miles ahead.

  “You know, there’s somethin’ about that name,” Coffin said.

  “Which one?”

  “Deal.”

  “What about it?”

  “Sounds phony.”

  “You mean, like an alias?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “A bunch of bigwigs goin’ to play poker at a ranch owned by somebody named Deal. Come on!”

  “Coincidence.”

  “I just don’t like coincidences,” Coffin said. “I never have, and I never will.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  When Clint woke in the morning, he could see Arliss Morgan sitting at the fire, trying to keep his head up and his eyes open. The fire was still going, though, and there was the smell of fresh coffee in the air.

  He approached the fire and startled the man.

  “Oh, good morning,” Morgan said, rubbing his face. “I made fresh coffee.”

  “I can smell it,” Clint said. “Why don’t we just have this and then get moving? We should be there by afternoon.”

  “Suits me,” the man said. “I’m going to appreciate a bed after only one night on the trail. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “You get used to it,” Clint said. “Some nights the sky is so beautiful I wouldn’t want to sleep anywhere else.”

  “Well, I don’t think I could do it,” Morgan said. “Do you know that after you told me not to stare into the fire it took all my willpower not to do so?”

  “That’s human nature,” Clint said. “Somebody tells you not to do something, your first instinct is to do it.”

  “You’re an intelligent man, Clint,” Morgan said. “That’s not something that comes across in your reputation.”

  “It wouldn’t,” Clint said. “A man with a reputation for being smart isn’t very interesting.”

  They finished their coffee, broke camp, and then Clint hitched the horse to the buggy and saddled his own.

  As they rode along, Clint asked, “This fellow we’re going to see. John Deal?”

  “Yes?”

  “That his real name, or am I in for a surprise?”

  “It’s his real name, as far as I know,” Morgan said. “As to whether or not you’re in for a surprise, I would bet the answer to that would probably be yes.”

  “The other players, you mean?”

  “I mean who the other players might get to represent them,” Morgan said.

  “And what about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Will I be a surprise to anyone?”

  “Good Lord,” the banker said, “I hope so.”

  “John Deal?” the man said. “Of course I’ve heard of him. He’s a big rancher got a spread over near Sacramento.”

  Calhoun and Coffin both looked at the bartender.

  “How close to Sacramento?”

  “Well, it’s actually outside of a town called Gardner,” the barkeep said. “But you can’t miss it, it’s huge.”

  “What’s the brand?” Coffin asked.

  “Double-D.”

  “Why double?” Calhoun asked.

  The bartender shrugged. “I guess you gotta ask Mr. Deal.”

  “You know what?” Calhoun said. “We will. Much obliged for the information.”

  As they stepped outside the saloon, Coffin said to Calhoun, “What’s gonna happen when the game gets hit and this fella remembers talkin’ to us?”

  Calhoun looked behind them at the batwing doors.

  “You got a point,” he said. “Maybe we should stick around town just a little longer.”

  “And maybe not,” Coffin said. “It’s early and there’s nobody else in there. You go and send your telegram, I’ll go back inside, and then we’ll get outta town.”

  “Okay,” Calhoun said. “But be quick about it—and quiet.”

  “Oh,” Coffin said, “I’ll be quiet…”

  Calhoun went to the telegraph office and sent off a missive to Tom Kent in Carson City. It was simple: “MEET ME IN GARDNER AS SOON AS YOU CAN.” When he left the telegraph office, he hoped Kent was smart enough to know he meant Gardner, California.

  “Here’s your telegram, Sheriff,” the telegraph operator said to Kent. “Finally came in.”

  This was the fourth time that morning that Kent had stopped in to check.

  “Thanks.”

  “Must be real important.”

  “It is.” Kent started to leave, then turned back. “Did you read it?”

  The clerk smiled and said, “You know, I been on this job so long I can take the messages without even reading them.” He pointed with his pencil. “I couldn’t even tell you what that said.”

  Kent believed him.

  Over in the Dry Gulch Saloon—one of the smaller ones in Carson City—Kent found the other four men waiting for him. Somehow Tito Calhoun had managed to hire these jaspers, either from Virginia City or before he even came there.

  The spokesman of the four seemed also to be the oldest. His name was Alex Ruger.

  “Time to go, finally?” he asked Kent as the man entered.

  “Yes, it’s time. Let’s mount up.”

  “Where are we goin’, exactly?” Ruger asked.
<
br />   “I’ll tell you along the way.”

  Kent started to leave, but the four held back.

  “What is it?”

  “We was all wonderin’ if you was gonna wear that badge the whole time,” Ruger said.

  “Why?”

  “Kinda makes us nervous.”

  Kent looked down at the tin star. He’d kept it on so that the telegraph operator would give him more attention. Now that the telegram had arrived, there really was no reason to wear it. But did he just want to toss it away?

  He thought a moment, then unpinned it and dropped it into his vest pocket.

  “I won’t be wearin’ it anymore,” he told them.

  “Then why keep it?” Ruger asked.

  “I’m not,” Kent said. “I’m gonna drop it somewhere along the trail.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Ruger said.

  “You boys ready to ride now?” Kent asked.

  “We’re ready,” Ruger said.

  After the sheriff left the telegraph office, the clerk took out the copy he always made of telegrams, just in case. He read it, didn’t understand what it meant beyond what it actually said, and then dropped it into a drawer. He’d hold onto it for a little while, then discard it and a bunch of others.

  What he’d told the sheriff was true enough. He didn’t remember telegrams after he took them down. He did keep the copies for a while, though.

  Just in case.

  THIRTY

  Clint was impressed with the spread owned by John Deal. They knew exactly when they were on his land, because they were approached by three armed riders, all wearing trail clothes, all in their midthirties to late thirties.

  “Hold up, there,” one of them shouted.

  “Rein in,” Clint said to Morgan. As the riders approached, Clint said, “You do the talking, since you’re the one who was invited.”

  “Right.”

  “What are you gents doin’ on Mr. Deal’s land?” the man asked. “This is Double-D property.”

  “My name is Arliss Morgan,” the banker said. “I’ve been invited by Mr. Deal.”

  “And him?” the man asked, jerking a thumb at Clint.

  “He’s been invited by me.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?” Morgan said.

  “What about it, friend?” the man asked. “You got a name?”

  “Clint Adams.”

  “What?” the man asked, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard right the first time.

  “My name is Clint Adams.”

  The three men exchanged glances, and then the leader looked at Arliss Morgan again.

  “You got a gun, sir?”

  “I do.”

  “I’ll have to ask you for it.”

  Morgan looked at Clint, who nodded. The rider came up close to the buggy. Morgan took the gun from his shoulder rig and handed it over. Then the rider looked at Clint.

  “Don’t even think about asking for my gun,” Clint said, cutting the man off at the pass.

  Again the men exchanged glances.

  “We’re supposed to ask for everyone’s gun, Mr. Adams,” the leader said.

  “Not mine.”

  “Well…okay,” the man said. “I’ll probably lose my job, but we’ll take you in.”

  “I’ll see that you don’t lose your job, son,” Morgan said.

  “I’d be obliged for that, sir,” the man admitted.

  “This way.”

  The three riders rode up ahead and Clint and Morgan fell in behind them.

  “That went well,” Morgan said.

  “Are you going to introduce me when we get into the house, or just have me introduce myself?”

  “I thought I’d introduce you.”

  “Then why didn’t you do that just now?” Clint asked. “Why’d you have me do it myself? To impress them?”

  “Well, these were men with guns,” Morgan said. “I thought—Did I do something wrong? Offend you?”

  “I asked you to do the talking,” Clint said. “That was all.”

  “All right,” the banker said, “when we get inside I’ll introduce you. You won’t have to say a word.”

  “Cat’s out of the bag now,” Clint said. “Those men will pass the word, and I’m sure our host will hear it before we can even get to the front door.”

  “I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “I thought I was making our way easier.”

  “It never pays to give away too much too soon,” Clint said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  Too damn late now, Clint thought.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The three men all dismounted when they reached the house, a three-story structure painted all white. One of them took the buggy, the other took Eclipse to the livery. The leader said, “Wait here,” and went into the house. He came back with a white-haired, fit-looking man in tow.

  “My name is John Deal,” he said with a British accent. “You are Arliss Morgan?”

  Morgan stepped forward and said, “That’s right.”

  Deal stuck out his hand.

  “Happy to meet you. You and your companion are actually the first ones to arrive.”

  “We’re not early—”

  “No, no, merely prompt,” Deal said. “And your friend, Mr….”

  “Adams,” Arliss Morgan said, “Clint Adams.”

  “Yes, that was what my man told me,” Deal said. “I was…puzzled as to why you would feel the need to bring…well, is he a, um, bodyguard?”

  “Not at all,” Morgan said. “Mr. Adams is going to play in my place.”

  “Oh, I see,” John Deal said. “Well, Mr. Adams, welcome to my home.” He put his hand out again and Clint shook it. “I’m sure your presence will add some excitement and—shall we say spice?—to the game.”

  Clint studied Deal as they shook hands. As far as he could see, the man was who he said he was. Clint wasn’t seeing anyone else beneath the white hair. John Deal seemed to be simply who he said he was, and no more.

  “Please, follow me and I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  They followed him up the stairs and into the house, Clint carrying his saddlebags and Morgan a small carpetbag.

  From the man’s ramrod-straight stature and his use of the word “quarters,” Clint assumed that he had been in the military at some time.

  They followed him through the front door and found themselves in a large entry hall. Clint wondered if Deal had built the house, or if he had bought it.

  A middle-aged woman with brown hair worn in a bun was standing in the entry hall. She was solidly built, wearing a simple housedress.

  “This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Pyatt,” Deal said. “She runs my house and will see to all your needs. Mrs. Pyatt, will you show these gentlemen to their rooms? I believe you have one chosen for Mr. Morgan from Virginia City. Simply find Mr. Adams a room that suits him, please.”

  “Yes, sir. This way, gentlemen.”

  As they followed her up the stairs, her scent wafted down to them. Clint found it refreshing and wondered if it was just soap. Watching her from behind was not unpleasant. Although she was somewhat solidly built, Clint found her not unattractive. He thought if she tried, she could be very attractive.

  They trailed behind her as she went down the second-floor hallway.

  “Mr. Morgan, this will be your room.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Pyatt.”

  “Please tell me if it is not satisfactory.”

  Morgan took a step inside, a quick look, and pronounced it very satisfying.

  “Considering I had to sleep on the ground last night,” he added, “it’s marvelous.”

  “Thank you, sir. Mr. Adams?”

  “I’ll see you when I see you, Arliss,” Clint said.

  “That will probably be at dinnertime,” Arliss said.

  “Dinner, then,” Clint said, and followed Mrs. Pyatt.

  She took him to the end of the hall and another stairca
se.

  “Since your arrival was not…anticipated,” she told him, “I will have to give you a nook on the third floor.”

  “That’s fine, Mrs. Pyatt.”

  “Follow me, then.”

  Once again he followed her solid, swaying behind up a flight of stairs. Here the scent was even more powerful. He thought about asking her what it was, but did not want to seem too forward with her.

  “Here is your room,” she said as they walked down the third-floor hall. “It is actually almost directly above Mr. Morgan’s.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Pyatt.”

  “Please let me know—”

  Without stepping into the room, he said, “I’m sure this will be fine.”

  She appeared taken aback that he had cut her off, but she regained her composure very quickly.

  “Dinner will be served promptly at six,” she said, “in the dining room.”

  “Thank you.”

  She looked him up and down and sniffed. “If you would like a bath, it can be arranged.”

  “Actually,” Clint said, “that sounds good.”

  “I’ll have a girl come up and prepare your bath.”

  “That won’t be—”

  This time she cut him off.

  “It is the way we do things, sir,” she said.

  “Well, then, Mrs. Pyatt,” Clint said, “I’ll…anticipate her arrival.”

  If she thought he was making fun of her, she gave no sign of it.

  “Until dinner, then.”

  He watched her walk down the hall to the front stairs and then descend. When she was gone, he went into his room. It was easily larger and more luxurious then most hotels he had been in, but he was sure that it was not the same caliber as the room Arliss Morgan was standing in.

  After all, his arrival had been anticipated.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Fresh from a hot bath, Clint decided to come down before dinner was served, thereby probably risking the wrath of Mrs. Pyatt. He decided to take a walk around outside for two reasons. One, he’d never been there before and he always liked to familiarize himself with new surroundings. And two, for the purposes of security for the game. He didn’t know yet what part of the house the game would take place in, but he decided to walk around the entire house, and then check the grounds as well.