by Mike Blakely
“I’ll come back with my own damn axe handle,” John Hatcher said as I pulled him toward the door, taking just enough time to wink at Rosa. Blue was holding the door open for us, and we somehow got out of there without one of Sheffield’s little bullets in us. We went on down the street to a place that didn’t mind calling itself a cantina and had one grand time.
Five
The next night, I went back to Sheffield’s gambling parlor alone. The first thing I did was to throw the bartender a five-dollar gold piece as an apology. He didn’t speak, but he did put the coin in his pocket. Then I waited for Rosa to show herself, and told her to put on a pot of coffee for me. When finally I had my cup of coffee in hand, I wandered over to Sheffield’s table and watched a while. He had a knack for fleecing his victims gradually, almost politely, letting them win just enough to keep them at the table. At length, a soldier lost what was left of his pay, and had to vacate his seat. It was a good seat, in that it was across the table from Sheffield, where he would be least likely to see my moves.
“Would you like to join us for a friendly hand or two?” he offered.
I shook my head. “I don’t like the odds. Mathematically, I mean.”
“Mathematically?”
“Blackjack favors the dealer. I prefer draw poker, provided every man at the table gets a chance to deal.”
Sheffield’s mouth curled as he chuckled, but his eyes did not share the mirth. “You mean, provided you get a chance to deal.”
“No,” I said.
“Then you mean provided I don’t deal every hand.”
I shrugged as I pretended to sip my coffee. “That’s not at all what I said, Mr. Sheffield. I said every man at the table ought to have the chance to deal.”
A couple of other soldiers who still had some pay left agreed with me.
“Let’s say the winner deals,” Sheffield offered. “That way, the odds will give every man an equal chance.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
“Deal everybody one card,” a soldier said. “The high card deals first.”
Sheffield shrugged as I took a seat. He dealt the two soldiers low cards. He dealt me a queen. A Missouri teamster sitting to my left got a ten. Sheffield dealt himself a king.
“A lucky beginning,” he said.
It was early in the evening and the stakes stayed low. Sheffield won two hands in a row. If he cheated, I could not tell how. Then he let one of the soldiers win. The soldier slowed the game down with his clumsy dealing, but no one seemed to care. I won a hand and a small pot by pure luck of the draw and some rudimentary statistical observations. As I dealt the next hand, I used the cup of coffee to practice my trick of getting a peek at each card. The light was poor in the parlor, and the cards difficult to see, but I managed. I didn’t use what I saw to cheat, and I lost the hand and the deal to the Missouri teamster beside me.
Sheffield won the deal back and began to shuffle. “Mr. Greenwood,” he said. “It is Mr. Greenwood?”
“Yes. Honoré Greenwood.”
“Your reputation precedes you.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Most people are disappointed when I show up after my reputation.”
Sheffield began dealing. “Perhaps the story has been exaggerated, then.”
“Which story?”
“The one about the duel with Snakehead Jackson.”
“I don’t know what all has been told,” I admitted, “but I’ll tell you what happened. Snakehead would have killed me if his Colt hadn’t chain-fired. It exploded in his hand and made him miss. I didn’t miss. I’m a pretty good shot.” I looked at my poker hand, called the bet on the table, and threw two cards back.
“Still, it was a noble thing just to have the courage to meet a man for a duel of honor.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “There was no honor in it. We were on the run from a bunch of Mescalero Apaches. Snakehead’s horse gave out. He wanted mine. There was no time to arrange for rules or seconds. No surgeon on hand. We just pulled our guns and shot.”
Sheffield flipped a couple of cards my way. “I hear you haven’t been seen in Santa Fe for some time. Speculation held that you’d been scalped.”
I looked at the cards Sheffield gave me, frowned, and folded my hand. “Not as badly as I’m getting scalped here. I’ve been trading with the Indians, that’s all. Working through William Bent’s post up at Big Timbers.”
Sheffield finished the deal and collected the pot. “How’s business?”
I took another small sip of coffee. It tasted terrible. I had never liked the stuff. It was like drinking hot, dirty water to me. “Profitable,” I said.
Sheffield was shuffling. “I’ve never understood. What does an Indian possibly have worth trading?”
“Most tribes trade fine furs and buffalo robes,” I explained. “The Comanches, however, are rich in horses, and there’s always a demand for good riding stock. Then, there’s the rescate.”
“The what?” I saw a true glint of curiosity in Sheffield’s eye as he flipped a card my way.
“Spanish for ‘ransom.’”
“Ransom?”
“Captives from the settlements. Mexican and white. Mostly children. Sometimes women. I ransom them back from the Indians.”
“Doesn’t that just encourage them to take more captives?”
“They don’t need encouragement. It’s been their way since Christopher Columbus was a deckhand. They capture the children of their enemies. That’s just what they do.”
“Why?” Sheffield let a faint look of abomination show in his eyes.
“Perhaps to replace a dead child of their own. Perhaps as revenge for a child captured from them. Some get enslaved and beaten, some get loved and adopted.”
Sheffield dealt each man his last card. “Luck of the draw,” he said.
I nodded. “High stakes.”
We played a few more hands, and I managed to win one. On the following hand, as I dealt, I kept close account of the cards I glimpsed in the surface of the coffee. My memory has always been perfect, and I can read from it in my mind as if reading from the page of a book, so I had no trouble remembering every man’s hand. I could also guess pretty accurately which card or cards each man would want to exchange in order to improve his hand. I also saw that the bottom card on the deck was a four.
When Sheffield asked for a card, I dealt him the four from the bottom of the deck, because I knew it would be of no use for him. Getting rid of the four exposed the next card on the bottom—a nine. As I tossed cards around the table, I always dealt the bottom one as long as that card would not help the man I dealt it to—for I intended to win this hand, and retain the deal.
I had two jacks in my hand already, and as I dealt off the bottom, I exposed another jack, which I saved for myself. I won the hand with three jacks, as I expected. Sheffield’s eyes showed no suspicion.
One of the soldiers picked up his remaining currency, and left as I shuffled the cards. Rosa brought me a new, fresh, hot cup of coffee in a porcelain cup that Sheffield must have carted from Ohio. She hung over my shoulders and kissed my face a while as I continued to shuffle, then passed the cards to the Missouri teamster to cut.
“Go on, now,” I ordered, pushing Rosa away as I got ready to deal. “I’m busy.”
Rosa pouted and left.
“It’s plain to see who won that fistfight last night,” Sheffield said.
I took the deck back after the cut and started to deal. “Well, Blue and I used to be pretty good friends, but I don’t think a man should treat a woman that way. Even if she is a harlot.”
“A what?” the teamster asked.
“A whore,” the soldier explained.
“Oh.”
“You’re a mighty civilized man for this territory,” Sheffield said to me.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from a son of Ohio. You are from Ohio, aren’t you?”
“Born and raised. I used to ply the Ohio and the Mississippi on t
he riverboats. That’s where I learned to play cards. A fellow who learns the rules and the odds, and exercises his memory can make a tolerable profit playing cards fair and square. I’d drift down to the Old South and fleece those rich plantation owners. I enjoyed that. No man has any business getting that rich off the sweat and blood of a slave. It isn’t right.”
“I’m from Mississippi,” the soldier said, a slight warning in his voice.
“I’ll bet you never owned a slave in your life, though, did you?”
“Nope.”
Sheffield called and raised the bet of the teamster to his right. “Then I have no quarrel with you, my good fellow. You’ve earned your own way in this world.”
The soldier called the bet. “I hope to earn a chunk more right here and now,” he said, as he tossed in his raise.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Sheffield said. “I wouldn’t want any darkies at my card table. And you won’t see any Mexicans in here, either, except for the courtesans.”
“The what?” said the Missouri teamster.
“Whores!” the soldier said.
“Oh.”
“Every man ought to know his place, but no man ought to be made a slave.”
I called the bet on the table and tried to sort out Luther Sheffield’s values. I started dealing each player his new cards. The teamster didn’t have much to begin with, and I didn’t help him. I knew Sheffield already had a pair of aces, so I dealt him two cards from the bottom that would not help him. This uncovered a queen that I knew would give the soldier three of a kind, so I fixed his hand to win. I did not intend to win the hand myself, because I didn’t want to draw too much of Sheffield’s suspicion too soon.
The betting through, each man showed his cards. I knew the soldier should win. I knew it in the core of my heart. But sometimes what you think you know just doesn’t turn out to be so. Sheffield showed three aces, including the ace of diamonds that I knew damned good and well I had not dealt to him, for I had seen every card I dealt in the surface of the coffee cup. Somehow, he had stashed that ace somewhere during a previous hand, and had produced it now to complete his three-of-a-kind. I felt my own face gawking stupidly as I saw the gambler’s hand, then quickly realized that I should not have been looking at his hand with such wonder had I not had any preconceived notion of what it would yield. I wondered if Sheffield was watching me. I raised my eyes to meet his, and found them piercing my stare.
Now I knew four things. One, Sheffield was cheating. Two, he knew I was cheating. Three, he knew that we both were on to each other. Four, neither one of us knew how the other was getting away with it.
I wondered what to do. Should I take a sip of coffee to bolster the illusion that it was actually there for me to drink? No, I decided. That would only draw attention to my secret, like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime. Instead, I glanced at the soldier, so that Sheffield might think I was in partnership with the man from Mississippi. In a way, I was. Though the soldier didn’t know it, I had tried to fix his hand for him.
“Damn,” the soldier said, seeing the three aces.
“Double damn,” said the teamster.
I glanced back at Sheffield and found him still looking at me.
“I’ll call your two damns and raise you a son of a bitch,” I said.
Sheffield burst into laughter, and shook his head as if nothing had been learned.
The gambler won two more hands, then let the soldier win. I guess he wanted to see if the soldier was helping me cheat. Luckily a distraction walked into the parlor about that time in the form of Blue Wiggins.
“Mind if I sit in this chair,” he said to the whole table.
The teamster shrugged and the soldier actually pulled the chair out for Blue. I said nothing. I looked briefly at Blue’s face, and judged him to be perfectly sober, which was an improvement over the night before.
“As long as there’s not going to be any trouble,” Sheffield said.
“I’m here to play cards, not cause trouble.”
Sheffield looked at me.
“I never start trouble,” I said.
“Five-card draw,” the gambler said. “Jacks or better.”
Blue sat down, and Sheffield began to deal. That gambler was smooth. He won three hands in a row, then let Blue win one. Blue didn’t know how to do any cheating, so it was a fair hand that the teamster won. I almost won the teamster’s deal, but Sheffield showed a pair of aces. He won another four hands in a row, then dealt me a winning hand. I knew he had done it intentionally, somehow. He probably wanted to watch me and figure out my secret. I managed to deal myself a winning hand off the bottom of the deck, and won the pot. Blue threw his discarded hand down in pretend disgust.
I gathered the deadwood in, and found the ace of hearts where Blue had left it for me. This, I stashed on the bottom of the deck. By using Blue’s discards, and my cup of coffee, I won four hands in a row, and began to rake in a pretty good pile of winnings. But it was too early to go for the big pot, and Blue was running low on money, so I gave him a signal we had agreed on before: I cupped my hands around the mug of coffee as if warming my fingers. This was his sign to bet high, for I was going to deal him a winning hand. I made sure I didn’t deal Sheffield anything high, because I had no way of knowing what card or cards he might have slipped up his sleeve, or wherever it was that he kept them, but I knew that if he had stashed a card, it was probably going to be a big one. Blue whistled at his hand and began to bet high. He discarded two cards, and by logic I knew what they were. I dealt him three fives with an ace to boot. We both drove the betting up, and he won, which allowed him to stay in the game.
The evening wore on, and Sheffield and I managed to keep everyone in the game, though my pile and the gambler’s continued to grow. We were still trying to figure each other out. Rosa brought me more coffee. I watched Sheffield. I couldn’t see how he was stashing his cards. I knew the answer was right in front of me. I had learned enough so-called magic tricks to know that his method had to be as simple as my trick of using the cup of coffee as a mirror. His hand never went near enough to his cuff to slip something up his sleeve. The only thing that seemed peculiar was his way of dragging a card all the way to the edge of the table before he picked it up to look at it.
Blue won the deal, and I took a break to go out back and relieve myself. When I came back, I had a fresh cup of hot black coffee. I sat down and played, and eventually won a hand. The timing was perfect. The betting had just about wiped out the soldier and teamster. I dealt two more hands that broke them both, and they got up from the table to retire.
“No hard feelings, gentlemen,” I said, handing them each a coin. “Please have a drink on me.”
Each man accepted, and walked to the bar. Now it was down to me, Sheffield, and Blue, and I had the deal. I decided it was time to make our move. I began dealing hand after winning hand to myself, and I drove up the betting even when the cards didn’t call for it. I won a huge pot from Sheffield with three fives. He had three fours and an ace.
“That’s a pretty tall bet for three fives,” he remarked.
I smiled. “You hung right in there with three fours, yourself.”
The pile of winnings began to heap up on my side of the table, and a small crowd gathered to watch the game. Twice more, I beat Sheffield, and he began to get angry. Now was the time to finish it. I gave Blue the sign, cupping my hands around the mug of coffee. By now I knew Luther Sheffield had an ace or two stashed somewhere at his disposal. If he wanted aces, I’d give him aces. I had seven cards stacked on the bottom of the deck the way I wanted them. I shuffled deep enough to keep them that way. Sheffield cut the deck, but I returned it. He watched me like a hawk, but didn’t catch my sleight of hand.
From the bottom of the deck, I dealt the gambler an ace. Blue: the two of diamonds. I took something off the top for myself. It didn’t matter what. Blue was going to win this hand, not me. To Sheffield, I dealt a second ace from the bottom. Blue: the
three of diamonds. Again, I took my card from the top. Now, I dealt the rest of Sheffield’s hand, and mine, from the top. Whenever I gave Blue a card, it came from the bottom, and he got the makings for a straight flush—the two through the six of diamonds. Now, even if Sheffield could produce four aces, Blue would win. We looked at our cards and bet, driving the wagers high.
Sheffield asked for one card, though I knew he didn’t need it. I knew Blue needed nothing, but I looked at him as if I knew nothing of the kind. He just stared at his hand.
“Blue?” I said.
“Just a minute. I’m thinkin’.”
I sighed.
“I’ll take three cards,” he said, putting three facedown on the table.
My heart pumped a load of dread into my stomach. What the hell was he doing? I had dealt him a perfect straight flush! But I knew I could say or do nothing other than pick up the deck and deal the three cards that would wreck this whole scheme for us. Slowly, I picked up the deck and, with much hidden regret, started to pull a card from the top.
“Wait,” Blue said. He retrieved his three cards and rearranged them several times in his hand. “Oh, never mind, I’ll just try my luck with these.”
I sighed again, bigger this time, and more sincerely. I took one card for myself. My hand amounted to nothing. I didn’t even have a pair. But I bet last, and when my turn came to raise, I shoved my whole pile of gold coins into the middle of the table. “This is for the whole game,” I said. “No need to count. You can tell I’ve got more to lose than either of you. Just push in what you’ve got showing, and we’ll call the bet even.”
Blue shoved in the small pile he had left. Sheffield hesitated a few seconds, then added his stacks of gold, which amounted to just over twenty-seven hundred dollars. You may not believe that I could keep track of that, and stack the deck for two players at the same time, but I have mentioned, haven’t I, that I am a genius? I’m not bragging. I should apologize rather than boast. To waste my intelligence on cheating at cards is more of a shame than an honor. But it sure was fun. I was about to outcheat a cheat.
