by J. T. Edson
‘Do you have something else in mind?’ Madam hinted.
Nodding in eager confirmation, Curly dipped his right hand into the side pocket of the loose fitting jacket he was wearing. He brought out a wooden laundry clothespin and five playing cards, spreading out the latter so they were overlapping in a straight line. Turning them face upwards, he showed there were two low spades on either side of the queen of diamonds.
‘Now this here’s the idea for the game, ma’am,’ the cowhand explained. ‘I turn these five cards face downwards without changing how they lay and all you have to do is grab hold of the lil ole red gal in the middle here with the clothespin.’
‘Sounds like we’re back to the Indians again,’ Madam claimed. ‘Is that all there is to it, then?’
‘That’s every last thing you have to do, ma’am,’ Curly confirmed, trading a knowing grin with his companions. ‘Just reach out and snap that ole clothespin on the lil red lady. Which hand you do it with don’t make no never-mind at all to me.’
‘What’s the name of this game?’ the blonde inquired, shaking her head in a manner suggesting puzzlement.
‘It’s called, “Pick With A Clothespin” back where I come from, ma’am,’ the cowhand asserted. ‘Do you fancy chancing your hand at doing it?’
‘By cracky, yes!’ Madam agreed enthusiastically. ‘If that’s all there is to it, damned if I don’t up and give it a whirl!’
‘You wouldn’t be wanting to put up a dollar’s says you can clothespin that ole queen, now would you, ma’am?’
‘Just a dollar?’
‘We could make it for more, was you so minded, ma’am,’ Curly offered, but without undue enthusiasm, as he was uncertain of how the new owner would react on taking the loss which had never failed to occur when he played the game with others. ‘I’ll just leave it up to you.’
‘That being, I reckon one simoleon will suit me just fine,’ Madam claimed and, having borrowed a silver dollar from Turner, laid it on the table. ‘I’m only a poor saloonkeeper who can’t even afford to carry that much about with her, not one of your rich cattle kings.’
‘Well, I can’t say’s how I’ve made the vast fortune which I so richly deserves just yet, ma’am,’ Curly countered, rotating his right hand until the cards were facing downwards and offering the clothespin with the left. ‘But this might just be the start of it.’
‘I’m all for helping out a right deserving young feller to start making his vast fortune,’ the blonde declared, accepting the pin. ‘But not with my money. So here goes a try for the queen!’
Having made the declaration, Madam extended her right hand. However, instead of allowing the open jaws of the clothespin to close upon the card which now appeared to be in the center, she gripped the one on the right with them. Extracting all five without difficulty from the suddenly unresisting fingers of the young cowhand, whose jaw had dropped until his mouth hung open, she raised them so their faces could be seen.
Due to the discrepancy in the way the cards were positioned, whether face uppermost or downwards, the blonde proved to be holding the queen and not, as would have happened if she had selected the one apparently in the center, the low spade at the end.
‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Curly ejaculated, after staring for a moment and the onlookers, many of whom had fallen for the trick in the past, began to laugh at his dumbfounded confusion. ‘You—You—!’
‘By golly, ma’am!’ whooped the former porter. ‘You nailed him on that one as well!’
‘I was just lucky, I guess,’ Madam replied, returning the cards, still held by the clothespin, to their discomforted and yet not annoyed owner. Then, picking up the dollar and holding it between her right thumb and forefinger, she showed each of its sides to him and continued, ‘Tell you what, though, Curly.’
‘Yes’m?’
‘Seeing as how I wouldn’t want to go down in history as the one who slowed you from making your vast fortune, I’ll give you a chance to get this and your own simoleon back. You put up another dollar against them, I’ll flip it—and give you two guesses.’
‘Two guesses?’
‘Surely you don’t expect me to give you more than the two?’
‘Well, no, ma’am. But—!’
‘Are you on?’ Madam demanded, with an air of issuing a challenge.
‘Happen you’re happy with it that way, ma’am,’ Curly assented, sounding less than excited, despite having been offered such favorable terms for guessing the result of the spinning of a coin. Considering luck, rather than intelligence or skill, had caused him to lose the hitherto always successful trick, he found this disappointing because he had formed a respect as well as a liking for the new owner. Nevertheless, he went on, ‘It’s a bet!’
‘Up she goes then!’ the blonde announced, flipping the coin with her thumb so it rose spinning into the air. Catching it as it started to fall and slapping it on to the table concealed by her hand, she asked, ‘What year is it?’
‘Hea…!’ Curly began instinctively, before the realization of how the question had been worded struck him.
‘I’ve never heard of a year called, “heads”,’ Madam stated. ‘So that’s your first guess gone wrong.’
‘Well, by cracky, ma’am!’ whooped one of the Leaning J cowhands, while the others and rest of the onlookers were showing an equal amusement. ‘You’ve done roped and throwed ole Curly again!’
‘That’s for sure and I’m yelling calf-rope!’ the victim conceded, his tone rueful without showing the slightest trace of anger. ‘But I sure wish you’d’ve pulled that one on me when there wasn’t so many of these jaspers watching. That way, I could’ve used it against them.’
‘You should’ve told me that before I did it,’ Madam pointed out, employing a kind of illogical logic which she felt sure would appeal to the sense of humor of the listening cowhands. ‘Anyways, leave it not be said in history books that I stopped a promising young man starting to make the vast fortune he deserves on my first night in the Hide and Horn Saloon. Let me set up drinks with the winnings for you boys. Only don’t go getting Bottles there liquored. I’ve heard she can get real mean on occasion.’
‘Only when I reckon I can lick the other gal with Vi and Sally backing me, boss,’ the artificial blonde declared, deciding her new employer was a good sport and bore no malice over her earlier behavior.
‘ “Pick With A Clothespin” indeed,’ Madam said to Turner, as they moved away from the table. However, he noticed there was none of the derision or rancor which his former employer had frequently used when referring to this most numerous group of customers. ‘Cowhands’, she went on, ‘It’s been a coon’s age since I last saw anybody try to pull the old monte-plus game. Lordy lord, it makes me feel old. I was about Curly’s age back when Joe Brambile took me with it and showed me how it worked.’ [12]
‘I hope you’ll show me how it works,’ the floor manager confessed, having been one of the young cowhand’s victims and knowing the man named by his employer to have been a successful and respected professional gambler for a great many years. [13] He considered she had made a very good impression upon all who had witnessed the incident and felt sure they would spread her praises when leaving. ‘Because I still haven’t figured out how the sucker works, even after seeing it licked.’
‘I’ll show you some time,’ Madam promised. ‘But right now, we’d best get on over to the village blacksmith and his bunch, so’s I can go and meet Counsel—!’
‘Boss!’ Turner breathed urgently, having glanced at the main entrance. ‘Leo Wallace’s just come in!’
Seven – I’ve Never Heard of You
Hearing the announcement delivered sotto voce by her newly appointed floor manager, Madam Bulldog turned her attention from an examination of Joshua Gilmore and his cronies so she could look in the direction indicated. The group of townsmen were still by the vingt-un table, but no longer playing. They had been watching what had taken place between her and Curly of the Leaning J ranch.
Now, unless she was mistaken, she was the subject of a conversation which she felt certain she would not have found complimentary if overheard.
‘I’m real pleased that he’s come,’ the buxom blonde declared, putting the activities of the group from her mind for the moment. The sooner we get things settled between us about how the gambling’s going to be run in here from now on, the better I’ll be satisfied.’
‘Shall I fetch Lawyer Scrope?’ Joseph Turner suggested, knowing that the verification of proof of ownership might be called for.
‘Not just yet,’ Madam decided, subjecting the person under discussion to a careful scrutiny which, nevertheless, was far from obvious. Being wise in such matters, she considered that the other members of the local community present would be more adequately impressed if she did not call upon the services of a member of the legal profession; even one so well liked as Aloysius P. Scrope. ‘Let’s see happen we can settle this ourselves, without needing to cut in the Counselor and his important friends.’
‘What do you reckon to Wallace, boss?’ the floor manager inquired.
‘I suppose his mother might have loved him, happen he was all she had to choose from,’ the blonde replied, noticing that the man who was the subject of their conversation was sauntering towards them in a leisurely fashion as if wishing to emphasize his independence and importance. ‘Come on, Joe. Let’s go and meet him half way, seeing that’s what he has in mind.’
Taken all in all, especially in view of the influence he had been allowed to exercise over the gambling side of the business at the Hide and Horn Saloon in the absence of its previous owner, Madam did not consider Leo Wallace to be a very impressive or imposing figure. About five foot six inches in height, with pallid and rat-like features, he had reddish hair which straggled untidily from beneath a wide brimmed and low crowned black hat. Skinny and narrow shouldered, dressed in what were obviously expensive clothes, he affected the style of a successful professional gambler. He was armed with a short barreled, nickel plated Colt Navy Model of 1851 revolver, which had a mother of pearl handle, in a cross draw holster on the left side of a well-polished black gunbelt.
‘He’s got some working for him who’re plenty tougher than the Fletcher boys,’ Turner warned, nodding rearwards towards the faro table and contriving to be audible while barely moving his lips. ‘Which’s who-all he’s wig-wagging to right now.’
‘I figured that was what he’s up to,’ the blonde admitted, having noticed the gestures to left and right made by the man with whom she was expecting a confrontation. Avoiding the slightest indication of having seen anything of the possible danger, despite having located to whom the signals were made, she went on, ‘Remind me to thank Vi and Sam for keeping those two hard-cases out of my hair while I was ‘tending to the Fletcher boys.’
‘You saw them, huh?’ the floor manager queried, having intended to bring the assistance given by the boss girl and waiter to the attention of his employer at a more convenient moment.
‘It sort of took my eye,’ Madam confirmed, directing another seemingly cursory look around and keeping the ruined second dealer box behind her back. Taking a few more steps, she came to a halt before the newcomer and greeted, ‘Howdy there. Are you looking for me?’
‘I reckon I could be,’ Wallace admitted, as if conferring a favor.
‘I’m not hiring, should you be looking for work,’ the blonde declared amiably. ‘But, should you be down on your luck, I reckon I can stake you to a meal and broke money.’ [14]
‘Broke money?’ Wallace almost yelped, throwing a puzzled look at Turner and, despite the amusement caused by the suggestion, receiving only a blank stare. Wondering if his arrival in the barroom had been overlooked, he returned his gaze to the speaker and went on with all the self-importance he could muster. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
‘I can’t say’s I’ve had the pleasure,’ Madam replied—truthfully, as far as it went—her manner suggesting she considered she was not speaking to anybody of consequence.
‘The name’s Leo Wallace!’ the skinny gambler proclaimed, [15] rather than merely introduced, his manner implying he had covered everything with the four words.
‘Is that so?’ the blonde queried, sounding far from impressed. ‘Well, like I told you, Mr. Wallace, I still don’t recollect having had the pleasure. Anyways, happen you aren’t looking for work, what can I do for you?’
‘Didn’t Maxie tell you about me?’ the gambler demanded.
‘Is there any reason why he should have?’ Madam inquired, exuding an innocence which appeared genuine.
‘Ain’t you her’s reckons to have won the Hide and Horn offen him?’
‘No!’
‘No?’
Having concluded the business which had taken them to the county seat more quickly than was expected, Mrs. Wanda Higgins had ordered her half- brother to return to Tennyson and ensure the staff of the saloon were not interfering with the gambling side of the business. On hearing of the change in ownership on his arrival in town, he had come to investigate. However, despite the blonde fitting the description given by Moses Stern—who had refused to accompany him—the answer he had just received caused him to wonder if he had made an error when selecting her as the person he was seeking.
‘No!’ Madam reaffirmed, just as vehemently as the question had been posed. ‘But I’m her who won the Hide and Horn from him, if that’s what you mean!’
‘You won it?’ Wallace asked, as if unable to believe his ears.
‘I won it,’ the blonde stated.
‘Does Wan—my sis—his missus—know about it?’ Wallace challenged, despite having sent a telegraph message to the woman in question telling her the news.
‘I didn’t even know Maxie had a wife,’ Madam claimed and, having only learned of the former owner’s marital status since her arrival in Tennyson, she was speaking something close to the truth. ‘It never came up while we were playing poker, nor when he was signing over the deeds of the place to me after he’d lost it.’
‘How come Maxie lost out to you?’ the gambler growled, glancing to where his two toughest men were approaching from opposite sides of the room. He was confident the woman was unaware of their presence. ‘He’s a helluva good poker player!’
‘So am I,’ the blonde replied, without offering to dispute the statement regarding the ability of Maxwell Higgins. ‘Else we wouldn’t neither of us have been sat in on the Big One in the Silver Bell Saloon in Cowtown, which’s were he lost it to me.’
‘The Big One?’ Wallace repeated, wondering why the blonde was keeping her right hand concealed behind her back and taking comfort from the thought that his two converging men would prevent her from using any weapon she might be holding.
‘The Big One,’ Madam reiterated, with a similar emphasis and continued, as if explaining to a far from bright child. ‘That’s a poker game played in the Silver Bell Saloon over to Fort Worth. They call it the “Big One” because the stakes get high and—!’
‘I know what the son-of-a-bitching Big One is!’ the gambler protested indignantly. Conscious of the silence which had descended upon the barroom and aware that everybody was paying full attention to what was being said, he tried to dispel the suggestion that he could be so lacking in knowledge. ‘But I’ve never heard tell of no woman being let sit in on the Big One!’
‘Then you can’t have heard so all-fired much about it as you’re trying to make out,’ Madam declared, knowing the trend in the conversation taken by Wallace was intended to discredit her. ‘There hasn’t been too many of us, I’ll have to admit. But Poker Alice was sitting in along with me that night and, at least so I was told, Madame Mustache had been one of the big winners the time before. Happen you might have heard of them, seeing’s how you reckon to know so much about gambling.’
‘Everybody’s heard of them two!’ Wallace claimed, the women in question having acquired reputations by virtue of their respective abilities as professional gamblers. They were well
known to be welcome as participants wherever games for high stakes were played. [16] ‘But I ain’t never heard nothing about no “Madam Bulldog”!’
‘And I’ve never heard of you, which makes us sort of even,’ the blonde countered. Then her manner implied she was growing tired of the discussion and she went on, ‘Anyways, Mr. Wallace, is it?—It’s real pleasurable talking to you, but I’m more than a mite busy what with just having taken over from Maxie and all. So, while I’m sorry happen he offered you a job here. Right n—!’
‘I’m not looking for any “mother-something” job!’ the gambler corrected angrily. ‘Wan—Maxie turned over the running of all the gambling to me!’
‘To you?’ Madam queried, sounding as if she could not credit the former owner with having done anything so obviously stupid.
‘Yeah, to me!’ Wallace insisted, although he knew he would have been more correct if he had completed his original sentence about who had granted him the permission.
‘When did this happen?’
‘Weeks back!’
‘Weeks back?’
‘Well, I only got here last week,’ Wallace revised, realizing the length of the period he had quoted could be questioned. ‘But it was all set for me to take over afore he lit out and I got here’s fast’s I could. Didn’t he say nothing to you about it?’
‘It must have slipped his mind, him having a heap more important things to be thinking about,’ Madam asserted, seemingly devoting all her attention to the man with whom she was conversing. ‘Now let me get the straights of this, Mr. Wallace. Your sist—Maxie—hired you to help out by looking after the gambling while he was away, huh?’
‘Looking after?’ the gambler almost squeaked, quivering with rage and wondering whether the blonde really was unaware of the arrangement, or was merely baiting him. Deciding it did not greatly matter which, although there would be an added pleasure from seeing her made to suffer if the latter should prove the case, he went on belligerently, ‘Wand—Maxie said I was to run all the gambling and give him a cut of my take.’
