Bullets in the Sun

by Robert J. Horton

  Lawson stared. “I’ll call one bet,” he said.

  “Then I’ll make it easy,” said Farlin, “and call it another thousand.”

  He turned his hole card to display the third king.

  Lawson laughed and looked at his watch. “I’ll play till daylight an’ no longer,” he announced. He took a thick roll of yellow-backed bills from a side pocket of his coat. “I’ll make you work to get it,” he said, looking steadily at Farlin.

  The gambler smiled faintly. “That’s what I’m here for, Ed, to get it.”

  “Are we all in this game or just you two?” Cole demanded.

  “You’ll get service for your money,” said Farlin coldly.

  “I don’t like this game,” Cole snapped out.

  “I guess we can find a customer to take your place if you don’t feel satisfied,” said Farlin, while Lawson looked from one to the other of them in amusement.

  “It ain’t what I feel, it’s what I know!” blurted Cole.

  “Shut up!” Lawson commanded. “Never flirt with a Derringer in an old-time gambler’s cuff.” He laughed in Farlin’s face and struck the table with the palm of his hand.

  Cole kicked back his chair and leaped to his feet. “I’m quittin’!” he cried. “I’m through keepin’ a pussy-foot cardsharp in clean clothes an’ strawberries. If he can deal a Derringer as good as he can deal cards, I’m givin’ him the chance.”

  Lawson’s manner had changed on the instant. His eyes were glittering orbs of ice. “Beat it, Red,” he said sternly. “Outside!”

  Cole wavered in his glances. But his slight form was tense. Then he turned to the door with a nod to the others.

  “And stay there,” Farlin shot after him as he went out.

  Lawson tore up his cards with a harsh laugh. “A new deck,” he ordered. “Let’s play cards!”

  Dawn filtered through the cracks in the green shade on the single window at last. The chair Cole had vacated remained unoccupied. Farlin suspected that Cole had seen to it that no other customer applied. Half of Lawson’s big bank roll was gone. Dan Farlin was the heavy winner. He pocketed his winnings listlessly after Lawson had looked at his watch and called off the game.

  “We’re not stayin’ in town long this trip,” he told the gambler, “an’ I don’t want the men roaming around for Mills to look at.”

  When they left the room, the outlaw turned to Farlin. “Let’s have breakfast together,” he suggested. “I want to talk to you.”

  Farlin hesitated. “I usually go home for breakfast . . . .”

  “I know, I know,” said Lawson impatiently. “That girl of yours will be expectin’ you, maybe. But she knows I’m in town an’ she wouldn’t be surprised if you stayed for a long session. We’ll step up to the Crazy Café an’ take one of them booths.”

  When they were in the booth and the waiter had drawn the curtains after taking their order, Lawson lost no time in getting down to business.

  “Cole was wise,” he said with a significant nod. “I don’t want you an’ Cole to have any trouble. I’ll tell him quick today.”

  “I don’t think either of you are as wise as you think,” was Farlin’s cool comment.

  Lawson’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t a square deal, Dan,” he said slowly. “An’ it was, so far as I know, the first time you pulled a trick on me. You know how I gamble, an’ you know you don’t have to deal queer to take me. I’m tellin’ you straight that I’d rather have you win from me at cards than any man I know. I always expect you to win from me.” He paused to let the words sink in, while Farlin gazed at him out of eyes that were expressionless.

  “You might say I’m one of your charities,” said Farlin.

  “An’ I wouldn’t be far from right.” Lawson nodded. “But I saw more tonight than you thought, Dan. You’re out to make a clean-up this year. You want the money, an’ you intend to get it. I don’t blame you a bit. I can see the handwriting on the wall, old-timer. You intend to shake Sunrise, an’ I don’t blame you for that, either. I wouldn’t hint anything to Big Tom . . . he’s a fool, anyway . . . but watch him. He isn’t ready to quit.”

  “How about yourself?” asked Farlin quietly.

  Lawson compressed his lips. “This territory is gettin’ to be worked out,” he said grimly. “If you was to repeat that, it would mean trouble for me. So I’m trusting you. Dan, why in thunder should you slave all summer an’ fall an’ right up into the blizzards for a stake from the tables when there’s another way . . . a short cut to a bigger stake in less time an’ with less trouble.” He tapped the table with the fingers of his right hand.

  “That’s easy to answer,” replied Farlin with a frown. “I’m not alone in the world. The short cut you talk about might be altogether too short. And besides I’m not experienced in that sort of play.”

  “What sort of play?” asked Lawson. “You don’t know what I’m gettin’ at a-tall. Do you think I want you to get on a horse an’ join us in a raid? You couldn’t do it even if you wanted to. For one thing, you’re too soft. Twenty miles of hard ridin’ would lay you up for a week. You’re well-preserved an’ healthy, an’, if you drift along quiet, you’ll live a long time. It takes money to live, Dan, to live like you want to live. Also, for fast shootin’ an’ a quick getaway, you’d be a total loss. But in another an’ easier way, you’d be the clear, sugar-coated candy with chocolate trimmin’s.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Farlin observed. “Do I understand that you have some kind of a proposition up your sleeve?”

  “I’m comin’ to that,” Lawson answered. “But I’ve got to know that you won’t let our little talk go any farther than this booth.”

  “That’s understood,” said Farlin. “I’ve listened and forgotten before this. I’m not in your game, and you know it, but most naturally I’m a bit curious.”

  “That’s enough. Dan, I’ve worked around this district for a long time, but always away from it. An’ all this time I’ve left a plant, side-stepped as sweet a job as a man followin’ the trail I’m on could want. But it isn’t a ride-in, stick-’em-up, shoot-it-off, an’ ride-out lay. This job has to be pulled with more . . . what is it? . . . more . . ?”

  “Finesse,” Farlin supplied with a thin smile.

  “That’s it,” Lawson agreed. “An’ that’s where you would fit in so sweet. Now, do you begin to get my drift?”

  Farlin was toying with a fork, studying the tablecloth, his brow furrowed. He looked older. Suddenly he glanced up and spoke almost in a whisper. “Rocky Point?” He dropped the fork as Lawson nodded silently.

  “Big game,” said the gambler.

  “An’ big stakes,” said Lawson in a low voice. “Dan, there’s never been a word said, but Mills don’t expect me to go anywhere near that town, an’ he don’t expect any of my men to go anywhere near there. Maybe you’ll think it’s strange . . . which it is . . . but I’ve never been there. Now, you can go there. Mills, or any other sheriff, hasn’t got a thing on you. You’re a gambler, an’ a gambler is still more or less a respectable character in these parts. You come pretty close to bein’ the most respectable citizen in this town. You can walk the streets of Rocky Point as free an’ easy as you can walk from here to your cabin. Nice thing to know that, Dan.”

  “I’ve never had any trouble there,” Farlin confessed.

  “Of course not,” said Lawson, displaying some enthusiasm. “An’ you wouldn’t have any trouble there. You could go over there an’”—he lowered his tone and leaned across the table—“open an account at the Stockmen’s and Miners’ State Bank, just as easy as not.”

  Farlin raised his brows. “I have my own way of taking care of my money,” he said coldly, “and nobody is going to get it unless they’re slick enough to snare it across the tables.”

  “Don’t let on that you don’t know what I mean,” said Lawson with a frown. “You could go over there”—he lowered his voice again—“an’ visit the bank two or three times, an’ keep your eyes open an’ r
eport to me. I would do the rest an’ cut you in for a third. You could find out more about that bank an’ the lay of the land an’ the best way to operate than any man I’ve got or could get. An’ you wouldn’t be handcuffed to a stud table for the next six or eight months. You’d be under cover, too. Now, shake that smart brain of yours an’ figure out if it’s worth it or not.”

  The outlaw leaned back in his chair as the waiter parted the curtains and put their breakfasts on the table.

  There was no further talk until the meal was nearly finished. Lawson’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he noted that Farlin was thinking hard.

  “Have you talked much with Big Tom yet?” asked the gambler.

  “Just said hello at the bar an’ he told me Mills was here,” was the answer.

  “He’ll ask you if you know a go-getter by the name of Bovert who’s headed this way,” said Farlin casually.

  “Yeah?” Lawson scowled. “I’ve heard of him, that’s all. Who is he anyway?”

  “I don’t know, and Tom doesn’t know. Mills brought the word he was making for Sunrise. Funny business. Mills wants him let alone. That’s the word, and all I know.”

  Lawson’s scowl deepened. “Hasn’t got anything to do with me,” he said. “But I don’t want any complications. I’d rather have you keep me posted than have to depend on Tom. What do you . . . think about things?”

  “I don’t know,” said Farlin, finishing his coffee. He rolled and lit a cigarette. “How do I know you’ll play square?” he asked, looking the outlaw straight in the eyes.

  Lawson rose. He took a roll of bills from a pocket and tossed it on the table beside Farlin’s plate. “There’s twenty thousand cold,” he said. “Take it over an’ deposit it, for a starter.”

  He slipped through the curtains, leaving Dan Farlin staring at the money on the table.

  Chapter Four

  Dropping his napkin over the roll of banknotes, Dan Farlin called the waiter and ordered more coffee. As the waiter parted the curtains to leave, after bringing the coffee, the gambler glimpsed a familiar figure at the counter that ran the length of the room opposite the booths. It was Porky, with his spindle legs twined about a stool directly in front of the booth. Farlin’s gaze hardened.

  For some little time he toyed with the spoon in his coffee. He realized now that Lawson’s bluster and his display of money—his disregard for money—had been a taunt. Moreover, his proposition interested Farlin mightily. Easy money and under cover. The outlaw had rung the bell when he had said that Farlin would have to slave at the tables six or eight months for the stake he needed. And Farlin had tricked him. But he, in turn, had been goaded into doing so by the outlaw leader’s taunts and loud talk. The gambler stirred uneasily. It was a feeble excuse. But Lawson had again been right in saying that Farlin had to make his stake one way or the other. So why not . . . ?

  Farlin jerked the napkin off the roll of banknotes, slipped off the rubber band, and counted them. The amount was correct. In the roll was $20,000. He snapped the rubber band back into place and put the roll of money in an inside pocket. He drank his coffee, left a $5 bill for the waiter, and stepped out of the booth.

  “Ah, Porky,” he said smoothly, pausing at the side of the diminutive gunman at the counter, “up all night?”

  “An’ that ain’t unusual for me,” grumbled Porky, failing to look up.

  “Sheriff still in town?” Farlin inquired pleasantly, rolling a cigarette.

  “Gettin’ his breakfast over at the hotel,” was the answer.

  Farlin lit his cigarette and sat down on the stool next to the smaller man with his back to the counter. In this position he could see Porky’s face. The latter was plainly nervous. He never had felt at ease in Farlin’s company, but this morning he appeared less composed than usual.

  “You don’t usually eat in here, do you, Porky?” Farlin asked affably.

  The little man’s swift glance was furtive. “I eat where it’s handiest,” he answered. “There ain’t much difference in the places in this town.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Farlin. “I usually eat at home with Gladys. What became of that fresh ’puncher I hit last night?”

  “Some of the boys put him right, an’ he ended up dead drunk in the hay,” Porky replied readily.

  “Sorry it happened,” said Farlin. “Seen Lawson this morning?”

  “Why, you . . .” Porky looked up startled, and a dull red came into his sallow cheeks.

  “Sure.” Farlin smiled. “I had breakfast with him. I was wondering if you noticed which way he went. He finished before I did.” He did not believe that Porky could have overheard any of the conversation in the booth, and he had learned what he wanted to know. His smile became warm.

  “Say, Porky.” He leaned toward the other and glanced about swiftly. The smaller man’s look of apprehension faded before the gambler’s show of confidence. “Does Big Tom figure that I’m just a plain fool, or does he think I’m too slick?” Farlin put the question in an undertone.

  The little gunman was startled. “What . . . how should I know?” he stammered, caught entirely off his guard.

  “Well, why should he tell you to watch me?” Farlin asked, wrinkling his brow.

  Porky’s jaw fell. He saw the light in Farlin’s eyes change to a cold steel-blue and knew he could not lie to this man. But no words were forthcoming. The expression in his face answered the question in Farlin’s mind.

  “You never have any too much money, Porky,” said Farlin. “Let me pay for your breakfast. I had a good night.” He tucked a bill under the edge of Porky’s plate. It was so folded that the smaller man could see the figures. $100. “You don’t have to say a word, Porky,” said Farlin, “and I’ll tell you straight that I won’t. You know me. I’m not a bad sort to have on the right side, Porky. You didn’t just come into this place this morning by accident, did you?”

  The little gunman’s palm closed over the banknote. “No,” he said. “I came into this place . . . to eat.” His eyes met Farlin’s and the gambler nodded. “Just between you and me,” said the latter. “So long.” He threw away the end of his cigarette.

  “So long,” said Porky, looking after him as he left, with a puzzled expression on his face. This expression changed to a shrewd look when Farlin had gone out. In Sunrise parlance, Porky was a rat.

  * * * * *

  Big Tom Lester was in his office counting the night’s receipts when Dan Farlin tapped on the door and entered unceremoniously.

  “Oh, hello, Dan,” Big Tom greeted with his nearest approach to a smile. He was fingering a thick stack of banknotes. “Do any good last night?”

  Farlin put a roll of bills on the desk. “There’s the rake-off. I changed in the heavy stuff.” He indicated the piles of gold and silver on the desk and sat down in a chair to roll a cigarette.

  Lester frowned. “Just a minute till I finish counting this,” he said, as he resumed his task.

  “No hurry,” drawled Farlin. A wave of disgust had swept over him as he noted the resort proprietor’s grasping fingers and the cold gleam of avarice in his eyes. It was suddenly brought home to him that he had virtually been under this man’s thumb for five straight years. Handcuffed to the tables. Lawson was not a fool. There had been occasions in the distant past when Farlin had staked his all on the turn of a card. Why not a last, swift, sure play?

  “Game broke up early, didn’t it?”

  Big Tom’s rasping voice broke in on the gambler’s thoughts like a thunderclap and brought a flash of resentment into the man’s eyes.

  “Lawson set the time limit for daylight,” he said with a long, simulated yawn.

  “Well, Lawson wasn’t the only player in the game,” said Big Tom sarcastically. “This take ain’t no world-beater, either.”

  “The other players were men from Lawson’s outfit,” Dan Farlin explained easily, “and they obeyed orders. I raked off the usual percentage and drew down on the pots I won myself. I don’t go out and solic
it trade when a game breaks up.”

  “The longer a game lasts, the more you make,” Lester snapped.

  “Games are apt to slow up after six or seven hours,” said Farlin. “I don’t aim to take on any fresh crowds after seven in the morning after this.”

  “No?” Big Tom looked astonished. “Farlin, you’re slowin’ up, maybe. I’ve seen you play forty-eight, yes, I’ve seen you play as long as . . .”

  “Not this spring, you haven’t,” Farlin interrupted. “I’m getting along, Tom. Maybe you’d better look for another mainstay to pep up these big games.” This time his yawn was genuine.

  Lester now was staring at him in real concern. “What’s the matter?” he demanded. “Don’t you feel well?”

  “If you’ve got to know, I’m sleepy,” was the cool retort.

  “Bah!” snorted Big Tom. “How’d you make out last night?”

  “I did well enough,” Farlin answered. “Caught Ed on a few big ones. The others played rather close and Cole quit early.”

  “I see.” Lester nodded. “What do you figure my split?”

  “Your split,” said Farlin slowly, “is in the take. I didn’t even take the trouble to count it.”

  “In the take!” Lester exploded. “Since when?” He glared at Farlin angrily, and the gambler met his look coldly.

  “Since midnight,” he said. “When you cool down a bit, I wish you’d explain to me in a business-like way just why I should split my winnings at your tables with you. You’re running a public place, are you not? I draw a certain amount of profitable trade, do I not? I protect you for your rake-off in the biggest games . . . isn’t that so? Have I ever asked you to make good any of my losses? You better lock the jack up in the safe, go get some sleep, and take a tumble to yourself. And there’s another little matter to take up.”

  Farlin paused, while Lester gripped the arms of his chair and struggled to keep back the hot words that would mean a definite break with the suave gambler.

  “I saw Porky sneaking around this morning in my vicinity,” Farlin continued, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Maybe I’ll stand watching, but I don’t like it, understand? And that isn’t all, Tom.” He lowered his voice impressively. “I won’t stand for it.”