by Sharpe, Jon
“How’s that again?” Fargo said.
Roselyn smiled sweetly. “Miss Mayhare told my parents and me that you were feeling poorly.”
“She did, did she?”
Roselyn nodded. “She said you had too much to drink last night and it made you sick.” Roselyn pointed her left forefinger at him and ran her right forefinger along the top of it. “Shame on you.”
“The bitch,” Fargo said.
“Mr. Fargo!” Roselyn put a hand to her throat and took a step back.
“What else did she say?”
Roselyn looked scared. “Only that we weren’t to disturb you no matter what. My father wanted to go up but Miss Mayhare said you were passed out in a stupor. That was her very word. Stupor.”
“Is the senator here?”
“No, he left for his saloon a while ago. Mother is, though. She’s in the kitchen with Garvin. Want me to take you to her?”
“No, thanks.” Fargo touched his hat brim and hurried outdoors. The bright glare made him squint. He crossed to the stable and went down the aisle to the Ovaro’s stall. Opening it, he slipped on the bridle and brought the stallion out. He threw on the saddle blanket, smoothed it, and grabbed hold of the saddle. As he was about to swing it up and over, the Ovaro nickered and feet slapped the ground behind him. He turned just as the man called Jules sprang at him with a knife raised to stab him in the back.
11
Fargo jerked the saddle up and the blade bit into the cantle. He shoved the saddle at Jules, let it fall, and swooped his hand to his Colt. Before he could draw, arms wrapped around him from behind. Instinctively, he drove his head back and smashed it into the face of his second attacker. The man cursed and the arms slackened. Fargo glanced down, saw a boot, and brought his heel down on it while thrusting his elbow back as hard as he could. The next instant he was free.
The second man was Ranson. Blood smeared his nose. Reaching behind him, he produced a knife.
Jules was in a crouch, poised to pounce.
At the front of the stable someone screamed. Roselyn, with her face twisted in horror.
Ranson and Jules glanced at her and Ranson said a strange thing. “Not now.” With that they bolted for the rear of the stable.
Fargo would be damned if he’d let them get away again, and started after them.
“Skye! Wait!” Roselyn yelled.
Fargo stopped.
Ranson made it through the back door, Jules a step behind him.
Fargo raised the Colt. He could easily put a slug into the man’s back. Instead, he snapped the Colt down and said, “Damn me all to hell.” Wheeling, he shoved the Colt into his holster.
Roselyn was running down the aisle. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“Was that all you wanted?”
His gruff tone stopped her in her tracks. “I was afraid for you. I thought they were going to kill you.”
“They keep trying,” Fargo said. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”
“I came out to tell you that you better hurry into town,” Roselyn said. “I forgot to mention that Miss Mayhare was trying to get Father to start the tournament early today.”
“What?”
“You should have seen her,” Roselyn related. “She was touching him and rubbing against him and Mother didn’t like it one bit.”
Fargo made himself a promise, then and there. “Let’s get you inside.”
Just then a man as tall as a redwood and as wide as a wall entered the stable. He wore a brown hat and a brown vest and work clothes, but no revolver. His square face was framed by spikes of dark hair. “What’s going on in here? What was that scream about?”
“Garvin!” Roselyn exclaimed. “Some men were trying to hurt Skye.”
Garvin Oster lumbered toward them. “Fargo,” he said curtly by way of greeting. “The senator told me what happened out at the corral. He asked me to keep an eye on things.”
“You’re doing a good job,” Fargo said.
“Hey, now.” Garvin balled his huge fists. “I don’t like your tone.”
“Watch her,” Fargo said, with a nod at the girl. He figured it was pointless but he ran to the rear door. Ranson and Jules were nowhere to be seen. Simmering, he returned to the Ovaro and picked up his saddle.
Garvin Oster and Roselyn hadn’t moved.
“What do you reckon it’s all about?” the foreman asked.
“Find those two bastards and I’ll find out.” Fargo swung the saddle on and bent to the cinch.
“You shouldn’t cuss in front of Roselyn,” Garvin told him.
“It’s all right,” Roselyn said.
“No, it’s not.” Garvin gently placed a hand on her arm. “You’re almost a grown lady. Anyone doesn’t treat you right, I’ll break them in half.” He looked meaningfully at Fargo.
“My father swears now and then,” Roselyn said.
“He shouldn’t.”
“Oh hell,” Fargo said. He was finished with the saddle and stepped into the stirrups. “You might want to get her inside and search the plantation for those two sailors.”
“How do you know that’s what they do?”
“Their clothes, their caps,” Fargo said. “They sure as hell aren’t farmers.”
“There you go swearing again.”
“Give my regards to your mother,” Fargo said to Roselyn, and tapped his spurs. He trotted out of the stable and brought the Ovaro to a gallop.
The air helped clear his head. By the time he reached town and drew rein at a hitch rail, he had his temper under control.
Or thought he did until he barreled into the Cosmopolitan, and there was Lacey Mayhare.
12
Senator Deerforth and Lacey were talking and laughing over by the bar. The senator was saying something in her ear when Fargo walked up, unnoticed, and motioned for the bartender to bring him a drink. As soon as he had the glass in his hand, he stepped over to them.
“Remember me?”
Lacey started and turned. “Skye!” she exclaimed, as if she was happy to see him. “This is a delightful surprise.”
“I’ll bet,” Fargo said, and upended the glass over her head.
Shock riveted her and everyone who had seen it.
“What on earth?” Senator Deerforth blurted. “What’s gotten into you?”
Fargo smacked the glass on the bar. “The next time you handcuff a man to a bed, don’t leave this lying around.” He fished the silver hairpin from his pocket and smacked it down next to the glass.
Lacey sputtered and dabbed at the whiskey running down her face and neck. “You—you—you—” She couldn’t seem to find a word fitting enough.
“What was that about handcuffs?” Senator Deerforth asked.
“She tried to make me late so I’d miss the tournament,” Fargo enlightened him.
“Oh, Lacey,” Deerforth said.
“I did no such thing!” she snapped, and spit out whiskey that had trickled into her mouth.
“You claim he’s lying?” the senator said.
“What proof does he have?” Lacey accepted a towel the bartender offered.
“I have to tell you,” Senator Deerforth said, “that I’ve known this man a good number of years now, and I’ve never heard him tell a falsehood. He has his faults but lying isn’t one of them.”
“What faults?” Fargo said.
“It’s his word against mine,” Lacey told Deerforth, “and I say I didn’t do it.”
“Are you behind those two men trying to kill me, too?”
“I don’t know what in God’s name you’re talking about, you big lummox.”
“You want to win more than anything,” Fargo said. “You told me so, yourself.”
“I’d never resort to murder.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past you,” said someone else, and out of the crowd strolled Vin Creed, a deck of cards in his hand. “Fargo’s right, my dear. You’d drown your own mother to win a hundred thousand dollars.”
> “Go to hell,” Lacey rejoined.
The gambler laughed. “I have no doubt I will. And when you show up, I’ll have a table reserved.”
Lacey glared at them and at the senator and marched toward the back, pushing and shoving anyone not quick enough to get out of her way.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Creed said.
“I’ll have to disqualify her,” Senator Deerforth said. “The rules are clear. Participants aren’t permitted to interfere with other players in any way.”
“No,” Fargo said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t kick her out of the tournament.”
“She cheated.”
“There’s a shock,” Vin Creed said.
The senator glanced at him in annoyance and turned back to Fargo. “She cheated yet you want her to stay in? What am I missing?”
“It must be love,” Creed said.
“Don’t you have something to do?” Deerforth asked in exasperation.
“No.”
“Well, go do something anyway.” To Fargo the senator said, “I’m waiting for an explanation.”
“I’d rather beat her fair.”
“It is love,” Creed said.
Deerforth drummed his fingers on the bar. “Are you drunk, Mr. Creed?”
“I wish to hell I was,” Creed said wistfully. “But I never drink on days I play cards.”
“That’s quite commendable.”
“Commendable, hell. I play piss-poor when I drink and I can’t afford to lose.”
Senator Deerforth turned back to Fargo. “Where were we?”
“You were going to ask to be best man at his wedding,” Creed said.
“I give up,” Deerforth declared.
“Lacey stays in?” Fargo wanted to know.
“If that is your wish, yes. However, any more shenanigans on her part and out she goes.” Deerforth stared at Creed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, for some reason I feel like I need a drink.”
“Does Mrs. Deerforth know you’re a lush?” Creed asked.
The senator went, “Harrumph,” or made a sound to that effect, and stalked off muttering.
“Some folks have no sense of humor,” Vin Creed said.
13
Fargo’s day had started lousy and it got worse. An hour into day two of the tournament he was down half his stake. He bet heavy on three kings and lost and bet heavier on a flush and lost again.
Dandy Dan from Saint Louis was across from him. On his right was a timid player who nearly always folded at the first cards dealt and on his left a man who was much too reckless.
Fargo concentrated on Dandy Dan. Dan was a professional, a veteran with thirty years at the tables. His face was a blank slate and he bet with a casual detachment that made him impossible to read.
The reckless player was the first to lose his chips. He went all in on a straight. Unfortunately for him, Dandy Dan had a full house.
The timid player clung on. Now and then he’d open but he always buckled if they raised.
Fargo had an idea but he had to wait almost an hour for the cards to fall his way. He was dealt a pair of aces. The timid player opened and Fargo stayed in but didn’t raise. Fargo asked for three cards and got another ace. The timid player raised.
Fargo pretended to mull it over and after a long interval he announced, “I’m going all in.”
The timid player gulped. He looked at his cards and at the pile and at his cards again and he forced a nonchalant grin and said, “I’ll call.”
It turned out he had two pair, queens and jacks.
“Nicely done,” Dandy Dan said as Fargo raked in his winnings. “Now it’s just the two of us.”
“And in a while it will just be me.”
Dandy Dan smiled. “I admire a man with confidence, even when it’s misplaced.”
For the next three hours the advantage seesawed back and forth. One or the other would get ahead only to lose most of what he had gained.
Dandy Dan mentioned he was thirsty and signaled the bartender, who brought a pitcher of water and a glass. “Care to partake?”
“Why not?” Fargo said.
“Another glass, if you please.” Dan filled the first glass and slid it over. “Be my guest.”
Fargo wet his throat and set the glass back down. “You’re a long way from Saint Louis,” he said by way of small talk.
“For a hundred thousand dollars I’d travel to China and back.” Dandy Dan smoothed his sleeve. “I win this, it’s my last hurrah. I’ll have all I need to spend the rest of my days in comfort.”
“You’re getting out?”
“You see these gray hairs? I’m not the player I used to be.”
“Couldn’t prove that by me.”
Dandy Dan was smoothing his other sleeve, and stopped. “What a damn fine thing to say. I mean that. You’re good, too. Damn good, or I’d have cleaned you out by now.”
The bartender brought the other glass.
“There’s a rumor going around that two men tried to kill you,” Dandy Dan said as he poured. “Is that true?”
Fargo nodded. “Fortunately they are piss-poor at it.”
“Is one of them short and stocky and looks as if he should be mopping the deck on a ship?”
“How in hell would you know that?”
“He walks past the front window once an hour or so and peers in at you,” Dandy Dan said.
Fargo glanced at the glass plate that filled half the front wall.
“How is it you noticed him?”
“I’m a gambler,” Dandy Dan said, as if that explained everything.
“I gamble too.”
“But not for a living, I understand. There’s a difference.”
“Cards are cards,” Fargo said.
The professional from Saint Louis smiled. “That’s where you’re mistaken. I’ve watched you play. You read the other players well. But that’s as far as you take it.”
Fargo was curious. “What more is there?”
“A gambler worthy of the name doesn’t just read the players,” Dandy Dan said. “He reads the table, he reads the room, he reads everything and everyone around him. I can tell you how many people have come and gone since the games started. I can tell you how much our opponents bet on every hand. I can tell you that the man who stares in at you has brown eyes and is bald around the ears and has a knife on his left hip.”
“Damn,” Fargo said.
“I can tell you something else,” Dandy Dan said. “I’ve seen that man before. Several days ago, in fact, when I arrived in town.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” Dandy Dan said. “When I saw him he was talking to an acquaintance of yours.”
Fargo tingled with expectation. “Who?”
“Lacey Mayhare.”
14
It nearly cost Fargo the game. He became so caught up in thinking about Lacey that he didn’t pay as much attention as he should to the cards and bet too high on a possible straight that didn’t pan out. He was lucky in that Dandy Dan was bluffing and didn’t have anything, either. High card won the hand and he had an ace to Dan’s king.
Fargo buckled down. Against a professional like Dan he couldn’t afford another mistake.
He seldom bluffed much, himself. Bluffs worked best against green players. Seasoned players were too skilled at reading tells.
They seesawed back and forth, winning and losing, until the clock above the bar was pushing eight o’clock at night.
Fargo was dealt three queens. Dandy Dan opened. Fargo slid his chips in and asked for two cards; he got two fours. Dandy Dan had asked for two cards, too, and now he raised.
Fargo smiled and said, “If you want this one you have to go all in.” And he did.
Dandy Dan studied him. “I’ve noticed you don’t bluff much but this could be the one time you try.”
“It’ll cost you to find out,” Fargo said. He didn’t really expect Dan to fall for the trap.
“Do
you know what I think? I think you are. I think you save your bluffs for late in the game. By then you’ve set a pattern and it can win you more than you lose.”
“Do you really want to go all in to find out?”
Dandy Dan did.
They compared cards.
“I’ll be damned,” Dandy Dan said. He had a full house, too; eights and twos.
Fargo raked in his winnings.
“I overthought it, didn’t I?” Dan said, apparently to himself. Dan rose and offered his hand. “If you played for a living you’d live like a king.”
“No, thanks,” Fargo said. As much as he liked poker, playing cards day in and day out for the rest of his life would be dull. Poker was like whiskey, and for that matter, women, in that the times he went without made him appreciate the times he drank, played, and made love that much more.
The other tables were winding down. Lacey was still in. So was Vin Creed.
Fargo stretched and rose and walked over to the bar. He was taking his first sip when the senator joined him.
“Well done. I’d have given odds Dan would be in it at the end.”
“It could have gone either way.”
Deerforth glanced at the clock. “It’s late. No need for you to sit in on another table. Call it a day and start fresh in the morning.”
“Fine by me,” Fargo said. He had something to do. He polished off the rest of his drink in two swallows and went out.
He went around to the side of the saloon and stood in the shadows with his hands on his Colt.
After Dan’s revelation, he’d kept an eye out for Jules but hadn’t seen him go by the window. He couldn’t see why Dandy Dan would lie, so either Jules had stopped peeking in at him or had been more careful about it.
The horizon swallowed the sun and the shadows darkened. Jules didn’t appear.
Disappointed, Fargo went back in. The games were done for the day. Lacey and Vin were drinking at the bar. He plastered a smile on his face and went over.
“I don’t want another drink spilled on me,” Lacey said.
“Can’t blame me for being mad after what you pulled,” Fargo said. “But to show you there are no hard feelings, I’ll treat you to a bottle.”
Lacey arched an eyebrow. “What are you up to?”
