Waco 3

by J. T. Edson

  Wallapai raised no objections and Honest John took a new deck from the bardog, handing it to Ogden with a request that he break the seal and riffle the cards. With hands that trembled, Ogden took out the new cards and started to shuffle them. Each of his friends gave the cards a thorough shuffle and then the deck was set on the bar top.

  ‘Set your money down to cover mine, gents,’ Wallapai announced, ‘then we’ll let her rip.’

  The three men took out their wallets and counted down a thousand dollars each, leaving them only a few small denomination bills each. They put the money alongside the pile of gold and with the air of a professional gambler Ogden waved a hand to the cards, saying: ‘Cut!’

  ‘Hold it,’ Honest John put in as the old-timer reached for the cards. ‘I want all this straightened out right off, now. You gents are betting ole Wallapai that he can’t cut the ace of hearts with one cut. If he cuts it you lose, if he doesn’t you win. That fair enough?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course it is,’ Ogden replied impatiently, hands just itching to grab up the gold dust and get back on to the stage again. ‘Carry on.’

  Wallapai picked up the cards, holding them firmly in his left hand. He turned them edge up. Round came the bowie knife, ripping into the deck of cards and slicing half-way through them.

  ‘Done it!’ the old-timer whooped, tossing the cards on to the bartop and grabbing up the money.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Ogden screeched back. ‘It’s a trick.’

  ‘And ye fell for it,’ Wallapai answered. ‘I said I’d cut the ace of hearts and cut her I did.’

  “But … but … you … you said you’d … This is a swindle,’ Ogden was all but incoherent with rage.

  ‘Now hold hard a minute, mister.’ There was a subtle Change in Honest John’s manner now. It was suddenly menacing, and the two quiet men moved forward. ‘You made a bet with ole Wallapai here. You said that if he cut the ace of hearts he’d won the bet. Here,’ sorting through the cards, he tossed the severed ace of hearts in front of them, ‘that’s the ace. Now pay up and shut up.’

  The three dudes, red-faced and spluttering, stared at the cards, then at the men. Slowly it dawned on them that they were being threatened, for all the easy benevolence had drained from Honest John now, leaving a hard-faced man. Somehow Wallapai looked years younger too, his face mocking and a sneer on his lips. The two silent, hard-faced men lounged near at hand: they watched everything with solid, dispassionate eyes, hands on the butts of their guns.

  It was at this moment that the guard looked inside and told Ogden’s party the coach was ready to move. He could guess what had happened here, but was powerless to make any objection. The bar was not Wells Fargo property and the company had no control over it. The dudes would complain to the company but would receive no comfort there; Mullen’s Way Station was the only place a relay point could be placed in that area and under the lease, Mullen could run his bar any way he wanted. Wells Fargo might not approve of having their customers robbed but there was nothing they could do about it officially.

  Muttering threats of revenge the three dudes walked from the bar and out in the sun once more. They climbed into the coach, bitterness etched on their faces and a desire for revenge in their hearts.

  Mullen watched the coach moving out from his side window, and he grinned at the other men. Wallapai was washing his face in the corner. He turned round, rubbing it with a towel; no longer did he look old, he was a middle-aged man with a thin, intelligent face.

  ‘Damned suckers,’ he said. ‘You certainly know how to pick them, John.’

  ‘Sure, with their sort you have to make them feel they’re real bloods before they’ll bite. There won’t be another stage for three days so we can take it easy.’

  ~*~

  ‘I hold here four aces.’ Doc Leroy held the four cards so Captain Mosehan could see them. ‘Now I place them on top of the deck. Like so. Take the top ace off and put it on the bottom of the deck, the second ace and put it quarter way down and the third three-quarters of the way down. Leaving one ace on top,’ Doc showed the ace on top of the deck and the one at the bottom. ‘All four now being separated, I place the deck on the desk and strike it once, so!’ Doc struck the deck hard with the flat of his hand. ‘Then cut the deck like this,’ he made a fast cut, then fanned the deck out. To find in the middle one, two, three, four little aces all together.’

  Mosehan laughed, holding out his hand for the deck and checking through it but finding only the four aces. ‘All right, I give it up. How do you do it? I thought you’d palmed the middle two aces somehow and held them out, then put them on top when you slapped the deck.’

  Doc took the four aces up and two other cards, then placing the two cards behind the second ace so that they did not show, he folded the cards and laid them on top of the deck.

  ‘One ace on the bottom,’ he slid the top card off, showing the ace and put it on the bottom. ‘One ace in the middle,’ this time it was not an ace which went from the top of the deck into the middle. ‘One lower down,’ again it was not an ace. ‘One ace left on top. Only there are three aces on top, not one. Cut the cards and in the middle of the deck you have four aces.’

  Mosehan laughed, watching Doc riffle the cards with tapering, almost boneless-looking hands. Doc was a tall, slim young man with a studious, pallid face but it was a tan-resisting pallor, not weakness. He was slender in build but there was a whipcord strength in his wiry frame. Doc was a cowhand, a good one; any man who trailed cattle for the edge trail crews was a top hand. Doc not only trailed for them but also handled the tough doctoring chores, for he’d started at medical school although he gave it up before he qualified. His reputation as a setter of bones and remover of bullets was known throughout the West. At least three babies were in this world due to his efforts and one man owed his life to Doc’s removal of his appendix with the highly technical, surgical instrument, a bowie knife.

  With the end of the trail drives, the great, interstate journeys from Texas to Kansas, Doc joined Ole Devil Hardin, riding as Waco’s pard in the floating outfit of the OD Connected. Then when Waco was wounded he stayed with him until he recovered; it was Doc’s medical skill which saved Waco’s life. They’d been taken on at the Hashknife where Mosehan had been manager, to make enough money to head back to Texas. When Mosehan formed the Rangers he brought them with him: he did not regret the decision, for they were amongst his best men.

  Watching the slim young man in the range coat and the jacket with its right side stitched back to leave clear the ivory butt of his Colt Civilian Peacemaker, Mosehan was pleased. Doc was waiting to be sent out on a local chore, having just watched his pard, Waco, ride out for Allenvale.

  The long, fast-moving fingers split the cards in the middle and married them together with a fast riffle stack; then he cut the cards twice or appeared to be cutting them, but the same cards remained on the bottom all the time.

  ‘You’re wasting your time in the Rangers,’ Mosehan remarked dryly as Doc went on to deal four hands of cards out. Fetching from the bottom a full house for himself and doing it without Mosehan, no mean gambler himself, catching him at it. ‘You ought to be on a sternwheeler going up and down the Big Muddy.’

  ‘Couldn’t stand all that water,’ Doc replied.

  There was a knock at the door and the young man who handled the Rangers’ paper and office work looked in.

  ‘Mr. Hume, from Wells Fargo, and three gents to see you, Cap’n Mosehan.’

  ‘Show ’em in, Jeb. Show ’em in,’ Mosehan replied, signing Doc to stay.

  A tail, good-looking, wide shouldered man wearing range clothes came into the office, followed by Ogden and his party. Jim Hume was one of Wells Fargo’s top men, a special investigator with a reputation for bringing in his man. He was an old friend of Mosehan and co-operated with the Rangers on the occasions when their line of duty came together.

  ‘I brought these three gentlemen to see you, Bert,’ he said.

  ‘It’s an
outrage, sir. A deliberate outrage,’ Ogden stepped by Hume, his face working angrily. ‘I demand action. I demand that our money is recovered. We’ve been robbed and swindled.’

  ‘How?’ Mosehan glanced at Jim Hume but could read nothing on his face.

  ‘How?’ It was Bender now giving vent to his outraged feelings. ‘How! By a dirty trick. That old prospector said he would cut the ace of hearts—’

  ‘Didn’t he do it?’ Mosehan heard Doc’s choked down gurgle of amusement and saw the ghost of a smile on Hume’s face.

  ‘He cut it all right,’ Ogden answered. ‘Or he didn’t cut it, he used a knife—’

  ‘Which cut the ace,’ Mosehan finished. ‘You mean that you let someone talk you into making a bet that he couldn’t cut an ace in one cut.’

  ‘But we thought he meant to cut the cards, not use a knife.’ Ogden was beginning to see his position and was wondering how he could explain his own actions in anything like a creditable light. He couldn’t come right out and say he’d planned to make the bet against a foolish old man who should not have had a chance. He could also see that the three men in the room were not exactly unaware of the trick.

  ‘What do you want me to do, gents?’ Mosehan asked.

  ‘Unless you can prove a definite swindle I can’t move. You made a legal bet; in Arizona gambling is legal and I can’t arrest him just for cutting cards with you.’

  ‘Bah!’ Ogden’s angry snort sounded more like the bleating of a sheep stuck with a pitchfork. ‘Wells Fargo can’t help us, the county sheriff says the way station is over the county line and he can’t do a thing. Now you say you can’t help.’

  ‘What did you expect me to be able to do?’ Mosehan growled. ‘You name it and we’ll try and do it.’

  There the three dudes had it; they could tell Mosehan what they wanted doing and he would get it done. All they had to do was put some light on their own motives for making the bet and they might be able to make a complaint. They turned and headed for the door muttering threats about seeing the governor.

  Mosehan watched them go, his face thoughtful: he knew their type all too well. Fresh out from the East, they thought every man they met in the West was an illiterate, slow-witted yokel ripe for plucking. When they learned, too late, that the stupid yokel was the one who’d done the plucking they screamed to high heaven. Worse, they reported the incident, highly colored on their side, to the Eastern Press and stories of Western lawlessness ranged, high amongst the stories the Eastern papers printed.

  ‘There’s not much I can do about it, gents, but I’ll try and get your money back for you.’

  With that the three dudes had to be satisfied. They left the office and were spared the humiliation of seeing Doc Leroy howling in laughter at the thought of anyone falling for the old ace cutting game in this day and age.

  ‘Lordy, Lord,’ he said, ‘I surely thought the old ace cutting game went out with the cap and ball guns.’

  ‘Looks like it came back again,’ Mosehan answered. ‘Why’d you come across with them, Jim. You know we can’t do anything about it.’

  ‘Unless you can prove definite fraud.’ Hume replied. ‘Then both you and, Wells Fargo can make a move. We’ve been getting complaints from the Mullen’s Way Station for a spell now but we can’t tie them down with anything. A man won’t go into court and admit he made a fool of himself. Anyways, you can’t arrest a man for making a bet.’

  ‘We might be able to get evidence,’ Mosehan said thoughtfully. ‘Then we can move in. We need a plant, a man who can be took.’

  Doc smiled; he knew this boss of his very well. ‘When do I start?’ he asked.

  ~*~

  Mullen got a shock when a stagecoach came rumbling into the way station on the afternoon two days after the successful rooking of the three dudes. He strolled down to the corral where the teams were being changed, noting that a tall stranger was riding shotgun. A man who looked vaguely familiar and also looked handy with the staghorn butted gun tied low at his left side.

  “What’s all this?” he asked the driver.

  ‘Howdy John,’ the driver replied, jerking his thumb to a slim young man who was climbing down from the coach. ‘Rich young dude in a hurry to get East again. He hired this coach special to run him to Lordsbury.’

  Mullen studied the young man, noting the pallid face but paying more attention to the high hat. It was very costly beaver from the look of it and the travelling cloak the young man wore was black, lined with red silk. It covered most of his clothes but Honest John could see a white silk shirt, a costly cravat and a diamond stick pin which made his eyes gleam avariciously.

  ‘Howdy sir, allow me to introduce myself.’ Mullen advanced, hand held out. ‘I’m Honest John Mullen, owner of the way station here. If you’d care to step into my place for a meal while the teams are being changed.’

  ‘Why most certainly, sir, I could eat something,’ the voice was a cultured deep south drawl.

  Doc followed Honest John into the bar, glanced at the two hard-faced men who sat watching him, then went to the bar and accepted a glass of whiskey on the house. He took his place at the table, throwing the cloak back slightly but making sure the right side of his suit could not be seen. Outside, he knew Mosehan would be watching from the window of the coach, where he’d been hidden, and Jim Hume also was getting ready to move in.

  Honest John gave the order for the food and his bardog left, hurrying to one of the small side buildings to tell Wallapai he would be needed. The thin man gave an angry curse, he’d shaved this morning, not expecting another stage. That gave him only one alternative. He rummaged through the box he pulled from under the bed and brought out a well-made straggly false beard.

  Doc enjoyed the meal and was rather pleased when the door opened to admit the ‘old sourdough prospector’. A keen student of the art of taking suckers, Doc had to admit it was all well done. In fact, if he did not know about this set-up he might even have been fooled by Wallapai himself.

  Rising, he sauntered to the bar and was treated to the same sort of build-up the other victims were given. He glanced at the ‘gold’, seeing it was only fools’ gold, worthless quartz, but gave the impression he was taken in.

  When the prospector failed to get his bet with Honest John’s two men and came back to the bar, Doc gave a creditable performance as the sucker who wanted to make some extra money fast.

  ‘How about you, stranger. You wanting to take a chance?’ Wallapai asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Doc replied. ‘Is that real gold, I’ve never seen any like this before, in its raw state.’

  ‘Real gold?’ Wallapai’s face showed anger. ‘Of course it’s real gold. I just come in from my gold claim with it.’ Mullen gave his agreement that it was real gold and that Wallapai went into the hills to prospect for it. He acted grudgingly, giving the impression that he did not want any betting in his place. The more determined he was to stop it, the more insistent Doc became.

  ‘All right,’ Mullen placed two decks of cards on the table. ‘If you’re all set to make the best use one of those two decks, then you’ll know you’ve had a square deal.’

  ‘It’s a pity you’ve only got two thousand in gold there,’ Doc remarked, taking a bulging notecase from his inside pocket. ‘I’d go up to five thousand that he can’t cut the ace.’ There was an awkward silence for a time; Mullen and Wallapai always tried to guess how much the sucker would go for and put that much gold out. Now they could see they’d gone under. However, they had a plan arranged for such an emergency.

  ‘Honest John, I’ve got me three thousand dollars in your safe there,’ the ‘prospector’ said. ‘Git her out, this is my lucky day.’

  The money was counted out and matched Doc’s own pile on the counter. Doc took up the cards, extracted them from the box and gave them a casual, awkward overhand stack. The others looked at each other; from the way he handled cards this dude was the veriest beginner.

  Laying the cards on the bar top Doc ste
pped back, his left hand going to the fastening of the cloak as he said, ‘Cut!’

  With a grin Wallapai took up the cards, holding them edge up and brought out his bowie knife, slashing down deep into the deck. He dropped the cards on the bar and reached for the money.

  ‘Hold hard, friend. You didn’t cut the ace of hearts.’

  There was a different note in the drawl now; Mullen did not turn to look at the young man, but took up the cards and thumbed through them, looking for the ace of hearts. He went through the deck without finding the card and his face deepened into a scowl as he started through again.

  ‘It’s here.’

  Mullen turned. The slim young man’s cloak had slid from his shoulders and lay on the floor. He wore a brown suit under it, the right side of the jacket pinned back. Around his waist was a hand carved buscadero gunbelt and in the low-tied, gunfighter’s holster a white handled gun. But it was at his right hand that Mullen stared; one moment the hand was empty, then with a snap of his fingers the young man produced and tossed the ace of hearts down.

  ‘Get him, boys!’ Mullen roared, hand dropping down towards his waistband.

  Doc’s hand made a fast flicker, the gun appearing with the sight defying speed of a master. He threw one shot into the gunman who was first to make his move, staggering him backwards across the room.

  At the same moment the door was kicked open, and Mosehan and Hume came in fast, their guns out. Wallapai was throwing down on Doc when Hume fired once, the bullet smashing into his leg and dropping Wallapai to the floor. The other men threw up their hands.

  ‘That’ll finish you, John,’ Hume warned. ‘We have proof of fraud now. We saw your “prospector” coming out of the hills, only it was the hut back there. I reckon we’ll find his make-up bit hidden in there.’

  Doc looked thoughtful; a good lawyer might get Mullen out of it even now: he could play on the pro vocational way in which Mullen was trapped and might get the man free. But good lawyers were hard to come by and their services very expensive. Doc knew there was more money in the safe, money they could not touch: legally.