Wild Boys: Six Shooters and Fangs

by catt dahman

  When they rode through the hills capped with round boulders, they half-heartedly expected a grating, rumbling noise that would signal a landslide and an ambush, but it never happened. It was also a bit of a surprise not to be attacked by the Apaches either.

  Tell constantly combed the open areas and high-above rocks for Apache. Paris didn't look around, but he kept a watch as well; nothing escaped him.

  “Does he ever look up? How does he see anything?” Ford asked about Paris.

  Tell shrugged. "He looks around. He can spy a speck on the desert thirty miles away and tell you who it is and the color of his eyes." Tell glanced at Ford. "He's tough; ain't much that gets to him."

  “Frannie got to him."

  "Paris is smitten with her."

  “And now she's going back to Doc?”

  Tell thought that over. “I think she wants to tell Doc it’s done with him, maybe. I dunno. I don't suppose she knows how Paris feels about her.”

  "It ‘s a mess.”

  “Don't let all this harden you up too much like Paris.”

  Ford exploded. “But we’re tracking my brother.”

  “And when we find him and that gang, you’ll go to your grave, or he will. I ain't gonna sugar coat this, Ford. You keep wantin' to argue it like I can make it different. Your brother made his choice, and you’ll make yours.” He paused. “You let this go deep into your heart, and it’ll harden you bad.”

  “Well….”

  “You're a Masterson; you act it ‘cause that Patrick sure as hell ain’t.”

  Ford blurted out. “He acts like he don’t care we are tracking Patrick.”

  “Don’t think that; he'll kill him. Don’t doubt it, but it bothers him. He and I have both been careless this trip because the fact is that this is bothering us more than you know. He hates we lost them men.”

  “That wasn't his fault.”

  “He sees it different. Those men in his posse got skinned; he takes it personally.”

  “When did it get so screwed up?” asked Ford as he looked at the ground. “Just like him having to go after that other gang of men who killed Pa….”

  “Well, he’s pissed off that they killed Frannie’s baby; she is Paris' wife. She may forget that, you can forget that, but he won't.” Tell put a plug of tobacco into his mouth. He chewed pleasurably. “Don't think Paris ain't a good man. He stands by his friends, even by me, and Doc and Kit when we've done some stupid things. Paris always stands by who and what he believes in.”

  “What if you were the one skinning men? Would he kill you?”

  Tell didn't laugh. “He would stand by me, but he'd whip my ass back onto the straight and narrow.” Tell waited a little while before he spoke, “Paris thinks a lot of family.”

  ”Not of Patrick”.

  “Well, I don't think anything of him, either, and I don't 'spect you do either, but I was thinking of you. You're technically family to him; don't blow it; he'd be a good friend to you, a better brother than Patrick.”

  “I expect his friendship comes with a price.”

  “He'll back you, no matter what, but you ever fail him, he'll drop you where you stand."

  After that, Tell let Ford mull it over.

  Paris won big at cards in Las Cruces. The saloon was loomed over by the rugged Organ Mountains and battered by the winds that swept around the towering rock sentinels. Louder than usual, the winds howled as if in pain, distracted the players, except for Paris who kept his concentration and lined his pockets with money.

  The gang they were tracking had slowed down, and Paris had decided that it would be best to catch them in Arizona Territory. They rode into Deming, a New Mexico town with so bad a reputation that men claimed that outlaws expelled from other places gathered in Deming.

  When they rode in, they looked formidable with Clyde King in the lead, then Nate Newcomb, his faced lined by experience, Ford, Tom, and Jim Ed Franks, then Tell, Kit, Coy, and Paris. Men scattered before them.

  In the saloon, Paris eyed the action with a bottle of whiskey. Then he sauntered over to a table where he could watch a game. The other men joined him; Paris drank the amber liquid like it was water while he sized up the men at the next table who were playing cards.

  Tell nudged Paris and said, “Tell Ford how you're readin' them boys.”

  Paris leaned close to Ford. “That red-bearded man, he raises his eye-brows like he's impressed, holds his cards close together when he's bluffin'. He don't need to look at them. When he has a good hand, he spreads his cards and closes 'em up a lot. That man there in the bowler hat, when he's got a good hand, his mouth twitches; when he’s bluffing, no twitchin'.”

  Ford nodded, fascinated.

  “The thin man drinks more when he's bluffing. Muleskinner's eyes shift around when he’s bluffing, and he leans back in his chair when he thinks he's got it won. That cowboy wiggles around a lot when he’s got something, but he ain't very lucky; he's gettin' pissed-off. The one with black hair takes his cigar outta his mouth when he gets nervous.”

  “That’s all there is to poker?”

  “It’s part; you have to be sure they can't read you. That’s the hard part: you gotta know when to stay in, when to fold, and when to get your ass outta the saloon.”

  “Playing in a game like that with Paris is better than a whore,” Tell said as he laughed.

  “I don’t like a man looking over my shoulder,” Red beard complained.

  "Then I’ll draw up a chair and join your game.”

  Bowler hat frowned. "We don't play penny ante.”

  “Good, I don't want your pennies. I just want an honest table to lose my money at.”

  The men sat down and were quickly appraised; Paris, quiet and slow and low speaking was often mistaken for dumb. Ford looked younger than his twenty-one years, Kit looked young and grinned a lot, Coy was considered just a black man, and Tell came across as a talkative old coot. That was often an edge.

  Bowler hat and Thin man sat out as did Tell, Kit, and Coy, but the others put in their ante; Ford wondered how Paris could read all the men, keep his own face neutral, drink, and play cards at the same time.

  With the first hand, Red beard raised his eyebrows and closed up his cards; Muleskinner, directly across from Ford, showed no expression. Cowboy was neutral, Black hair chewed his cigar, and Paris was expressionless; Ford had a pair of threes, a queen, deuce, and a four. He took three cards; Paris took only one.

  Paris raised the pot by ten dollars, and Ford looked at the best he had, the pair of threes; Ford stayed in.

  Black hair chewed the cigar harder. “See you ten, raise you five.” He was bluffing.

  Cowboy slapped his cards down. "I’m out.”

  Muleskinner nodded. “That fifteen and twenty more.”

  Red beard folded, Paris followed, and then Ford; finally, Black hair folded.

  “Damn,” Muleskinner muttered. “Are you bluffing?” Muleskinner grinned through a mess of black teeth and brown stubs. "Two pair…I’m tellin' you ‘cause I love you.” He roared with laughter.

  The next hand, Ford watched and folded quickly; he had nothing.

  “Twenty,” Black hair said.

  “Out,” called Cowboy and Muleskinner.

  Red beard nodded. “Twenty, and I’ll raise you twenty.” His cards were closed together on the table; he liked his hand.

  Paris watched Black hair put the money in and leaned forwards. “Your forty and I’ll raise you sixty.”

  Ford's eyes went wide.

  “I’m out.” Red beard folded.

  Black hair shook his head. “You’re bluffing…raise you twenty.”

  “Call,” Paris said.

  Black hair looked disgusted. He turned over a pair of kings and a pair of sevens.

  Paris had three tens; he raked in the pot.

  The next pot went five hundred dollars, Paris called, and Cowboy turned over three queens and reached for the money.

  "Just a second," Paris said lowly. He flipped over
three aces. Tell whooped as the other men shook their heads with disbelief. Paris bought himself and Cowboy both fresh bottles. On the fourth hand, Paris folded right off; the fifth had Cowboy folding so that he won nothing back from Paris. He glowered angrily.

  On the next, Paris raised the pot high enough to put everyone out of the game except Cowboy who claimed that no one could be as lucky as Paris.

  What're you saying?" Tension built, and Tell tensed for a killing.

  "Just that your luck has bound to change.” He backed off.

  Ford kept his face completely blank in the next hand, read each man carefully, and didn't think about the cards he was holding; they didn't matter. They were what they were. Ford stayed in to the end with Paris raising the pot to a hundred fifty dollars, and Ford raked in the pot.

  Everyone at the table won a game each, except for Paris and Muleskinner who won two each. Then Ford dealt, and everyone seemed pleased, which was not a good thing. It went for a little while, and when it came to Muleskinner, he grinned and said, "Your sixty and I'll up it two hundred.”

  Every eye locked on the man who leaned back in his seat confidently. Ford knew what that meant. Red beard had a full house, sixes over kings. Two hundred and another hundred.

  Black hair folded.

  Paris looked at the pot. “Looks to be seven hundred dollars there; I'll raise it two hundred.”

  Cowboy put in his money, adding a gold watch that they agreed was worth fifty. “I had better win this.”

  Muleskinner looked at his aces over jacks. “And a hundred.” He put in cash, a watch, and a knife.

  Cowboy got to his feet, cursing, then sat down again; if that cocky Texan beat him out of his watch, he would, friends with him or not, kill him. Red beard kept the pot high; it was at about fifteen hundred dollars. He put his gun belt on the table.

  Paris sighed. “Tell, let me have your solid gold watch.”

  “Hell.” Tell handed it over.

  Paris added his gun belt with the mother-of-pearl handled six-shooters. Eyes caressed the guns greedily. “That’s raising it a hundred-fifty.”

  “Stake me,” Muleskinner demanded of the men around him, but no one could until Bowler Hat came over.

  He said, "Show me your cards.” He looked. “I’ll stake you.”

  They raised Paris four hundred dollars.

  "My, God," someone whispered.

  "Wish Doc was here." Tell searched his pockets for anything of value.

  "Who?" Black Hair asked.

  "Doc Holliday."

  "Why would Doc Holliday the famous gambler stake this East Texas boy?"

  "Because Doc Holliday is Fallon’s best friend." Tell laughed.

  "Fallon?"

  “Yeh." Paris looked up.

  “You’re Paris Fallon? Damned but I knew I recognized you." Red beard sank into his chair.

  Paris counted out the money loaned to him by Tell and Ford. "And my horse, Bic is worth a thousand.”

  "No way."

  "Tell?"

  “My horse, too, and the tack," Tell grumbled.

  '”Mine, too,” Ford said.

  "Fifty on each,” Red beard declared.

  “I need fifty more to call,” Paris said.

  Clyde King was there with Nate Newcomb. “Here it is."

  Bowler Hat was amused. "And they haven't even seen his cards.” He was concerned.

  Confidently, Muleskinner began to turn cards: Ace, Ace, Jack, Jack, pause, Ace.” He grinned as the crowd around them murmured admiration.

  “Well." Paris watched the men greedily devouring the expensive guns with their eyes. He knew he'd die before anyone would ever take Bic. He flipped a queen, a nine, another queen, a third queen

  The Muleskinner began to grin broadly.

  "He’s got queens over nines…you got him." Cowboy laughed.

  Paris flipped over a fourth queen.

  No one breathed or moved; then, someone yelled, cheered, and Tell was slapping Ford on the back, laughing, as Paris put his guns on, and slid the Muleskinner’s knife back to him wordlessly.

  "How did you know he had a winning hand?” Ford asked Tell as he put his money back.

  "He wouldn't have asked me to stake him if he didn't know he had it won.

  "But he could’ve been wrong.”

  “No, he bet Bic, and that clenched it.”

  Paris paid Ford back for the stake with interest.

  "I ain't ever seen that kind of luck,” Cowboy yelled drunkenly and loudly.

  "You tryin'to make a point?" Paris asked as he whirled.

  "It ain't natural to play like that."

  “Say it, or shut the hell up,” Paris snarled. “You’re wasting my time.”

  Cowboy's name was Lightning Hank Henry, and he was the fastest gun in Deming. He felt sure of himself. “I’m saying you cheated, and I'm calling you out in the street.”

  “Let’s go; you’re heeled.” He walked out easily.

  Ford didn't know whether to be concerned or not. Tell didn't seem that worried. In fact, Tell yawned.

  The street was moonlit, with the yellow glowing all over.

  “Be ready to protect his back if anyone tries anything,” Tell ordered.

  Paris and the other man stood twenty-five feet apart and watched the other's shadowed face; Cowboy reached for his guns in lightning movement, but Paris drew both pistols in a cross and fired. Cowboy dropped.

  Tell heard a faint snap, whipped around even as Paris spun deftly. The black-haired poker player fell as both Paris and Tell shot simultaneously; the red-bearded man dropped to the ground, and in some confusion, Paris and Tell looked around to see that none of their friends had drawn.

  The red-bearded man had pulled a gun to kill Paris, but someone had dropped him instead. Then the explanation came as a young man walked from the shadows. He was a blond with the beginnings of a blond beard. Pale ocean-blue eyes met Paris’ eyes. Beside the boy walked a silver wolf, a big lupine with a glossy coat.

  “Lookit that wolf,” Tell said.

  “That red-bearded man was drawing to shoot you in the back, so I killed him,” the blond said cheerfully. I'm Lucky Jordan.'” He pointed to the wolf. “This is Jack.”

  “I appreciate it; I'm Paris Fallon.” He extended his hands.

  “I ain't heard of anyone traveling with a wolf.” Tell looked at the animal warily.

  “Apaches killed my folks, and I found him orphaned, so we’ve hung out together,” Lucky Jordan said.

  Paris narrowed his eyes. “I heard tell of a boy that’s a trick shooter who traveled Mexico with a wolf; I thought it was a fairy tale.”

  "Maybe so, but the fairy tale flat killed that man.” Lucky grinned. “Where are you headed?"

  "To kill some men who’ve been skinning people.”

  “Need help?"

  "We can do it."

  "I could help you, got nothing else to do."

  “Come on then.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Steins,” Tell replied, “Steins, New Mexico.”

  Tell began to tell Lucky about the posse, and Paris could see that those two were a lot alike; Lucky asked a lot of questions, was naturally cheerful and talkative, the opposite of Paris, but like Paris, Lucky was extremely bright. Somehow, without any real discussion, Lucky, on his horse Sissy, fell in with the posse. At dawn, he showed off his trick-shooting ability. He was incredible; Lucky was not childish, but child-like, open, honest, and trusting.

  Paris watched Lucky talk to the wolf, Jack, as if the animal could understand, and Paris thought about Lucky hitting the red-bearded man in the center of his forehead from an impossible distance and angle. It had been a shot that Paris knew that he could not have made.

  What was more interesting was that Lucky might be a terrific trick shot and had killed without a problem, and yet they found Lucky to be a positive young man who was tender-hearted almost to a fault. More than once, Tell would slap his thigh and laugh about something, even Paris c
huckled a few times. When they watered their horses at a stream, Paris started to tell Lucky to beware of Bic’s biting and kicking since the beautiful paint only liked Paris and tolerated Kit, but Paris figured that Lucky would learn the hard way. To his surprise, Bic was allowing Lucky to stroke his sensitive, velvety nose.

  Lucky rubbed his face against Bic’s nose. “I was five, and we were in a four-mile- long gorge called Apache Pass. There were twenty wagons of families, and they came down on us. They scalp, you know take off the entire top of your head when you're still alive and kicking. When they cut my father's throat, the blood splashed all over me; it was like a pig being slaughtered; it went a gusher. My mother had long blonde hair; that was a prize, I guess. She fell over me and kept making these noises. I was crushed against the ground and couldn't move.”

  He bit his lip. “I saw this scorpion crawl up close to me face, its barb stinger all swolled with poison. My folks were dead, but I kept praying that thing wouldn't sting me. Apaches don’t fool easy, but they didn't notice me. I roamed for weeks, half outta my mind with grief and thirst; then, a Chiracahua woman, of all people found me, but then the army rescued me and killed the woman, Grey Dove, who’d found me. I cried harder for her than for my real mama.”

  “I was taken to civilization and adopted out to a nice couple, but I ran off when I was twelve and joined Cavalier's Wild West Show. They taught me everything I know, and I was willing to try anything because I’d been through the worse: what was death? I found Jack all alone, half starved, with his eyes still shut, and Sissy and I found each other, too. Someone had abandoned her when she broke a leg.”

  Paris broke in. “You fixed a broke-legged horse?”

  “I learned it from the Chiracahua.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.” He looked even younger. “My real name is Laurence, but Mama called me Lucky.”

  Steins was a railroad town just three miles this side of the Arizona Territory border. Past that was Tombstone where they had plenty of friends, and it looked like that was where this gang was heading. They took rooms and got cleaned up, some of them deciding to find where a poker game was.