“Ain’t inferrin’ nothin’, Mister Twiggs. Simon says yer honest, and that’s good enough for me. But we got cheated last night, and I’d like to know how he did it. I’ve watched doubledealin’, palmin’, corner nickin’, you name it, and I didn’t see that happenin’ last night . . . none of it. I’m thinkin’ he switched decks on ya.”
Twiggs sat silent for a few seconds, his lips pursed, apparently thinking. “That deck was fresh two nights ago. I took it out of the pack myself.”
“Have ya seen that Quinn feller before?”
“Yeah. He’s been here four or five times. Stays about a week.”
“Does he win?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe he does.”
“And usually one big hand toward the end of the game, right?”
“Right again.” Twiggs frowned. “But he’s not always dealing when he wins.”
“Ya might want to take a good look at the cards tonight when they’re done. He’s got somethin’ goin’.”
“I’ll do that. And I’ll tell Amos as well.”
“I ’preciate ya lettin’ me be nosy. Now, where kin I get a cup of that coffee and somethin’ to eat. Simon says the vittles here are first-class.”
Lacey, Simon and Buell spent most of the day lounging around the little house, talking and smoking. About three, Simon went to the saloon to do some paperwork, and Buell and Lacey found themselves alone on the porch watching the road in front of the saloon. Three soldiers rode up and went inside, and a few minutes later a drummer—pots, pans and pails hanging from every available spot outside the wagon—clattered to a halt and went in.
“Reminds me of that wagon yer pa built fer us when we was herding them cows in Nebraska.”
“Kinda does, don’t it?” Buell said.
“J’know there’s an outfit makin’ one jist like that fer sale. Company called Studebaker. Yer pa shoulda got a patent on it.” Lacey pulled his tobacco out and started building another cigarette. Buell watched silently while Lacey finished and lit it up.
“What went on in that card game last night?” Buell asked.
“Cheatin’.”
“That Quinn feller?”
“Yep. I knew someone was, and finally figgered it was him. Sussed him jist in time ta save myself a pile of money. Sumbitch fed me three aces and then grinned at me.”
“Why didn’t ya bust ’im? By damn, I woulda.”
“Same old Buell, I see.” Lacey chuckled. “Ya gotta be sure ’fore ya jump a feller.”
“But ya said it was him.” Buell frowned. “I suspected Bob once. Checked the deck and everything. Couldn’t see a thing. What did you find?”
“That deck is gone, burned, so I can’t prove a thing.”
“Ya gonna play again tonight?”
Lacey grimaced. “Hate to play with a cheat.”
“Well, I’m gonna, then.”
“Kin ya play and keep an eye on things? Especially Friday.”
“Yeah, maybe not Saturday, but Fridays usually ain’t so bad.”
“Look, Buell, I know ya. And I know if ya git yer teeth set in somethin’, ya have a hard time lettin’ go. This guy is slick, and I’d bet he has a hideout in his vest or coat pocket. Ya start somethin’, he ain’t gonna jist sit there.”
“I’m just gonna watch close.”
“Okay, and I’m gonna watch ya watch. I’ll play.”
Buell was right—the crowd was noisy and large, but not overly boisterous. Buell had stood up once to give a drunken freighter the evil eye, and the table in question had quieted down immediately. After the beating Bob had taken the night before, he was absent, but the rest were there. Lacey noted that Buell had made it a point to sit opposite Quinn. Lacey chose the seat immediately to Quinn’s left.
“I feel like a Yankee in Charleston,” Quinn said as he looked at the five serious faces. “My name’s Quinn,” he said to Buell.
“Call me Buell.” He ignored the hand offered across the table.
“I got lucky last night. No hard feelings, huh?” Quinn gave them all a smile.
“Deal me a couple hands like my last one yesterday and I’ll forgive anything,” Rosie said, finally cracking a smile.
Amos broke the blue-and-yellow seal on the package and shook the fresh deck out on the table. Expertly he flipped them faceup and extracted the two jokers. Then, he shuffled the deck several times. “You can start, Rosie.” He put the deck in front of him.
Rosie gave the deck another shuffle and let Quinn cut the cards. “Five stud,” Rosie said, and dealt the hole cards, followed by the face-up mates.
Quinn showed the high card, a queen, and bet a dollar.
As the night wore into early morning, Lacey found himself the winner by some forty dollars, followed by Rosie with about twenty-five. Buell, Amos and Simon were all down, and Quinn was about even. Quinn took the cards.
“Five stud.” He dealt the cards, himself a four.
Lacey got a ten and a peek at his hole card showed a pair.
Simon had a jack showing. Amos, a king. Amos bet two dollars. Rosie, showing a two, folded, as did Buell, with an eight. Lacey and the others called, then Lacey watched Buell watch Quinn deal the third card. Lacey drew a six, Simon a seven, Amos a five and Quinn drew an ace.
“Ace bets five,” Quinn said.
Lacey felt a chill as Buell’s eyes narrowed.
“Call,” Lacey said.
Simon turned his cards facedown and shook his head in disgust. “Not my night.”
“Call.” Amos had not raised his head since the first card.
Quinn dealt the fourth card. He paired his fours, gave Lacey another ten and Amos a queen. “Tens bet.”
“Five,” Lacey said as he dropped the gold piece in the pot.
Amos looked up and studied the two faces across from him. Both looked back impassively. He glanced again at his cards and pushed out his bet. “Call.”
“Call,” Quinn said immediately, and dropped his five in the middle.
The fifth card floated into Lacey’s hand and Amos’s skimmed across the table to stop against his coin stack. Quinn snapped his last card off the deck and put the remainder between himself and Rosie. “Tens bet.”
Lacey tipped the corner of his last card up and saw a two. “Five.” He dropped the coin in the pot.
Amos pushed two small gold pieces forward. “And five.”
“Fold.” Quinn turned his cards facedown and leaned back. He smiled at Lacey.
“Gotta beat three kings, do I?” Lacey watched Amos’s face closely. “Or two pair?” Amos showed him nothing. “Call.” Lacey pushed his money into the pot.
Amos turned over his down cards—a pair of kings to match the one showing.
Lacey snorted. “That pulled me off the pile. Trip tens.” He turned his cards over. “What was keepin’ you, Quinn?”
“Sucker aces.” He flipped his cards over. “And a pair of fours. Ace in the hole will be my downfall one day.”
“That’s it for me,” Amos said. “That about puts me even.”
“I’m done too,” Simon said. “But you guys played on my money tonight.”
“Been good,” Quinn said as he got up. “I’m off tomorrow, so I won’t see you again till next time through. Mister Lacey, a pleasure to meet you.” He put out his hand.
“Likewise,” Lacey said, a little surprised. “Where ya headed?” He shook hands.
“Back to Omaha, and then Kansas City.”
“I’m goin’ to Cheyenne tomorrow. Want ta ride together?”
“Like to have the company, but I’m going straight east. Got business along the way.” He pushed his chair back against the table. “Early up, gentlemen. Been a pleasure.” He left up the stairs.
“Let me buy ya a drink, Rosie,” Amos said, and they went to the bar. He handed Twiggs the deck of cards.
“Well, that proved nothin’,” Buell said.
“You’re right,” Lacey agreed. “He knew we was watchin’. Crazy part is, he
’s good enough he don’t have to cheat.”
“Were you serious about leavin’ tomorrow?” Simon asked.
“Yep, better git back and make sure the waddies ain’t let ever’thing wander off.”
“Shit,” Buell said.
“Now that I run into you boys agin, we ought to try to keep in touch. You kin always reach me in Uvalde, Texas. Got a few acres there, and if ya send a telegram, I’ll get it eventually.”
“Good to know. It’s been a lot of fun seeing you,” Simon said.
“Yep, has been. I’m gonna have coffee and a biscuit at about seven or so. See ya then?”
“Not me, I hate good-byes.” Buell stuck his hand out. “Real good to see ya Lacey. I count ya as one of my two friends.”
Lacey took his hand. “I take thet as a compliment. Take care of yerself.” He turned to Simon. “How ’bout you?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Good. See ya then.” With a wave to Twiggs, Lacey headed for his room upstairs.
It had been broad daylight for over an hour when Simon and Spud walked across the dusty road to the saloon. Lacey’s mount stood tied to the rail in front, and the dog sniffed the horse’s leg as they walked by.
“Mornin’,” Lacey said as Simon pulled the screen door open and walked in.
“Good morning yourself. I see Lori’s taking good care of you.”
“Coffee? As if I need to ask.” Lori spoke from the kitchen door.
“Yes, please, and good morning.” Simon pulled out a chair and sat.
“Looks like I got a fine day to ride.” Lacey picked up a biscuit and halved it.
“One of the things I like about this place, the spring,” Simon said.
“So, ya think this is what you’re gonna do with your life?”
“Wasn’t when I got here, but it’s turning out quite good. Amos has let me put some money into the business, and that’s paying off. Nice folks here. So, yeah, probably so.”
“Here ya go,” Lori said. She put the steaming cup of coffee down, and looked at Simon expectantly.
He looked at Lacey’s plate and nodded toward it. “I think I’ll have biscuits and honey.”
“Okay. Be right back.”
“Are ya keepin’ in touch with yer folks?” Lacey asked.
“Yeah, they’re doing real well. I write two or three times a year.”
“That’s important, Simon. Real important. Lost both my folks and I didn’t know they was gone fer over three years. It’s like m’ roots was tore up.”
“I can see that. No, I’ll stay in touch. Matter of fact, I was thinking of going back next year or the year after.”
“That’d be a good thing. Buell said he went back last year, and had a good visit. He also told me about the family troubles. Sorry.” Lacey paused. “But ever’body else is doin’ fine, and that’s what’s important.” Lacey paused again, his eyes fixed on Simon.
Simon’s jaw took on a hard set. “Only because you’re a good friend.”
“What?”
“I know what you’re asking, Lacey. I don’t know what happened to Sarah.” Simon let out a long sigh and looked into his coffee cup. “She suddenly turned away from me.” His throat convulsed and started to ache.
“Pains me ta see ya fret, Simon, truly does. I watched you two and I kin tell ya somethin’ for true. Her reason was good enough to take a lot of pain on her ownself. Think on that, and try not to be bitter, it’ll sour yer soul.”
“I try. But mostly, I try not to think about her at all.”
“Tain’t possible. Like I said, I watched her and you. I ain’t smart ’nuff to tell ya what to do, but I will tell ya, she’s hurtin’ too.”
Simon could not trust himself to speak, and continued to look at his cup. They sat quiet for several minutes. Lori came to the kitchen door, looked for a moment, and went back in.
“Well then, I reckon I’ll be ridin’,” Lacey finally said. He pushed back his chair and got up.
Simon did the same. “Sure was good to see ya, Lacey.”
“Yeah, it was.” Simon followed Lacey outside where the Texan mounted up.
“Take good care of yourself, compadre.” Lacey leaned down and extended his hand. “And tell Buell adios fer me.”
Simon squeezed hard on Lacey’s hand. “I will, and if you see Nathan, tell him we think of him often.”
“Oh, I’ll see ’im, and I’ll tell ’im.” Lacey turned his horse and headed east, the animal high stepping with eagerness to get going. With one final wave over his shoulder, he let the horse have its head, and they soon disappeared at an easy run.
Simon felt the same emptiness he had experienced sitting on the ridge overlooking Carlisle. That seemed like such a long time ago.
CHAPTER 15
Simon sat with his elbows resting on his desk, his head cradled in both hands, lost in thought.
“Could I talk to ya a minute, Simon?”
Plato Daggett stood in the doorway, his hand on Spud’s head.
“Of course, come on in and sit down.”
Plato made no move to sit. “Got somethin’ to tell ya.”
“Something wrong?” Simon got up from his chair and walked around the desk.
“No. I’m leaving. Gonna go with the supply wagons next week, and take a job in Omaha.”
“I don’t know what to say, Plato. Is there a reason? I mean, is there something I’ve done to make you want to leave?”
“That’s what I wanted talk to you about. I never thought a young whippersnapper could ever teach me a thing, but you have. I—”
“You don’t—”
“Let me finish.” Daggett crushed the crown of his felt hat in his calloused hands. “I’ll never forget the first day I saw ya. Ya looked me in the eye like I was a man. Nobody’d done that in a long time. Folks mostly avoided me. And damned if ya didn’t set me down ta breakfast with yer friends an—”
“I don’t remember that, but—”
“Course ya don’t. T’wern’t unusual for you. That’s the way you are. And then ya trusted me to go do a job that had to get done, knowin’ I had a bad problem with the whiskey. I couldn’t let ya down, and stickin’ to that job got me ta see I could make it, without bein’ fallin’ down drunk most of the time. So I wanted ta thank ya. I owe ya a lot.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and he smiled at Simon, his lips trembling.
“Damn, Plato. I don’t know what to say. You’re sure welcome to stay.”
“I heard from an old pardner. He needs some help with his freightin’ business, and somehow got word I’d dried up. He and I always got on real good. ’Sides that, I got some nephews and nieces there I ain’t never seen.”
“Sounds like you’re going home.”
“Reckon I am.” Daggett clapped the floppy hat on his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his left hand. “I appreciate your friendship, youngster.” He extended his right toward Simon. “I’ll be seein’ ya some ’fore I leave.”
Slightly numb, Simon watched Daggett and Spud walk across the saloon, the dog’s tail wagging slowly. Daggett pushed through the door, and the dog sat down to watch him go.
“Feels good, huh?”
Simon started, then turned to see Lori just inside the kitchen.
“Couldn’t help but overhear, both doors were open,” she said.
“I didn’t think I did anything unusual. Obviously he does.” Simon walked over to her.
“What you did for him was special, Simon. And the beautiful part is, you don’t see it. I’d sure like to meet your folks.”
“My folks?”
“Yeah. Now get out of here, I’ve got a batch of bread to take care of.” She turned around and took the towel off the bulging dough.
The quarter moon cast scant light over the quiet stable yard. Simon sat on the porch in the cool of the night, Spud beside him. The last of the rowdy soldiers had either gone back to the fort or bedded down in one of the little houses across the road. And now Simon waited for the supply wag
ons to arrive. A half dozen coyotes keened to each other across the still air, and Spud grumbled his annoyance. Perched in the top of an old cottonwood snag by the river, a screech owl did his best to unnerve some rodent below. The unearthly sound caused gooseflesh to ripple across Simon’s arms.
Then the tenor of Spud’s semi-indifferent protest changed to a low, warning growl. Simon laid his hand on the dog’s head. A couple of minutes later he heard the sound of hooves. He got up from the chair and headed for the barn to open the back doors. He was halfway there when the unmistakable sight of Buell’s spotted horse ghosted out of the dim light and stopped in front of the building.
He swung his leg over the saddle and got down. “Don’t bother with the doors, they ain’t comin’.”
A chill charged his body. “Indians?”
“Worse. Lieutenant Maupin. He rode out this afternoon to where they was camped, waitin’ for dark. Barrschott told him the horses needed restin’, and that seemed to satisfy him. But when we set out a couple hours ago, there was the lieutenant, waitin’ by the river. Escorted Barrschott to the guardhouse.”
“The guardhouse? They put him in jail?”
“Near as I could tell. The wagons went to the warehouse and three riders went to the guardhouse by the river. I expect that was Barrschott.”
“Damn. What got him to poking around?”
“Rankin. I’d bet on it. Barrschott sent him packin’ a couple weeks ago. Seems he was makin’ side deals and talking outta turn.”
Simon glanced at the barn, his lips pursed. “Do you think he’ll tell about us?”
Buell snorted. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“Well, this causes some problems, even if we stay clear. Shit!”
“Let me put Shadow up. I’ll be right in.” Buell led his horse into the stable and Simon walked back to the house.
Quiet reigned over breakfast the next morning. Simon, Amos and Buell were the only people in the saloon other than Twiggs. The bartender stood at a table absently polishing lamp mirrors, another reminder of how much Daggett had done around the place. Simon fiddled nervously with his coffee cup, unsure about how much to tell Amos. Buell sat quietly demolishing three oversized, gravy-smothered biscuits. Simon felt certain Amos knew about the supplies, but they’d never discussed it openly. “Sergeant Barrschott was put in the guardhouse last night.” Simon broke the silence.
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