A Million Tears (The Tears Series)

by Paul Henke

  I wandered to one side where I could see Thorgood’s hands. It was difficult to watch him without being too obvious but I was lucky. He fumbled his palming act and I saw the two cards up his sleeve not one.

  ‘I vote this the last hand of the game,’ said the man on Evan’s left. He was florid faced, about sixty and from his conversation I gathered he was a rancher. The other man agreed.

  ‘What do you say Griffiths?’ I had to restrain myself from denouncing the bastard there and then. If I had done I knew Thorgood would shoot me. It would be the lesser of two evils for him to pretend not to know I was unarmed rather than to be proven a cheat. I reckoned he was a professional gambler and if he was he would be finished.

  ‘I don’t care,’ Evan shrugged. ‘Just play as long as you like.’

  I wanted to hit him, the stupid sod. My anger flashed between Thorgood and Evan. It was Thorgood’s deal.

  As soon as the first three cards were dealt I could sense it was a special hand. Evan perked up and I thought what a poor fool he was. A man like Thorgood would be able to read Evan like a book.

  Straightaway the betting became heavy and after only three rounds there was only Evan and Thorgood left. There was only one thing that I could do.

  Quickly I refilled my cup with fresh coffee and contrary to my usual practice I did not cool it with milk or cream. I stood by the table between Thorgood and the rancher. I could see that Evan would have to call Thorgood soon or else he would run out of money. Thorgood’s right hand was sliding to his left sleeve and I knew he was about to make the substitution while all eyes were on Evan.

  I stumbled and as I did so I prayed my slightly rheumatic hands would not let me down. The hot coffee fell on Thorgood’s shirt front, staining it brown. He jumped up with a startled oath and yell of pain. As he did so I fell into him pushing him back into his seat, slipping my fingers into his sleeve and coming away with the cards. I landed on the floor and in the confusion pushed the cards down the front of my trousers.

  Thorgood was dabbing at his shirt front and cursing me roundly. Evan knelt by my side to help me. There was concern on his face and when he asked if I was all right it was in his normal voice.

  I whispered, ‘Play Evan before he cancels the game. Go on, call him, you bloody fool.’

  Evan was startled for a second but stepped up to the table. ‘Shut up, Thorgood,’ he said more like his old self. ‘I call.’ He threw his cards on the table.

  The look of pure hatred Thorgood gave me was sufficient to tell me he knew what I had done and why. His face was mottled pink with rage and for a second I thought he was going to go for his gun.

  Instead Evan thundered at him, ‘Thorgood, make up you mind. Show me your cards or throw them in.’

  Thorgood jerked around to face him and with a snarl said, ‘Three aces, Griffiths.’ He threw them on the table.

  Evan had three tens and two twos. He began pulling the stack of chips towards him. ‘Thank you for the game,’ he said to no one in particular.

  I climbed to my feet rather shakily as the fall had rattled me somewhat. With another snarl of rage Thorgood stalked out of the room. The other two men, not understanding what had happened, just shrugged their shoulders and left with unanswered goodnights. Evan sat at the table, his head in his hands.

  ‘God . . . I . . . I where’s Meg?’ Evan asked in a quiet voice.

  ‘Either sleeping or still crying on her bed I suspect. Evan,’ I exploded, ‘what the bloody hell happened? What made you do such a god damned stupid, thing? How could you talk to Meg like that?’ I was so angry I still wanted to hit him.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Uncle James. Once I started playing I just didn’t want to stop. I couldn’t stop. I was determined to beat that bastard Thorgood. I wanted the thrill of raking that money in, of winning. It was unbelievable. I . . . I can’t explain it. I just had to win. That was all there was to it. And I couldn’t leave until I did so. Seeing you collapse like that was such a shock I sort of . . . sort of came round. Hell, I don’t know how to explain it. It was like having a veil lifted from my mind. I thought you’d had a heart attack or something. I thought all sorts of things. But suddenly . . . I just don’t know, look you. It was so strange. It was as if my brain started working again. What happened anyway? Are you all right?’

  I nodded. ‘I am now.’

  ‘And what was all that about? Telling me to bet?’

  ‘Thorgood was cheating you,’ I put my hand down the front of my trousers and felt for the cards. They were caught in a fold of my shirt. I pulled them out. I held two sevens in my hand. I explained it all to Evan.

  ‘The lousy cheating . . .’ Evan began but I interrupted him.

  ‘Never mind Thorgood. You’d better go to Meg and beg her forgiveness or whatever it takes. She’s very upset, Evan.’

  He nodded. ‘You’re right, Uncle James. God what a fool I was! You’d better be careful. Not only did Thorgood give me a lot of my money back but he also knows that you know he was cheating. Come on, if you give me a hand with these chips I’ll cash them later. I’ll walk back with you, just in case.’

  I slept until sunset. When I woke I had an aching head and a mouth like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. I couldn’t understand it, after all, I hadn’t drunk much in the way of alcohol. Remembering the night before, I felt better, trusting that everything was all right with Meg and Evan. I crawled out of bed with a groan and went over to the wash stand. There did not appear to be any more lines on the seamed face that looked back at me I worked up a lather and scratched at my grey stubble with my silver handled cut-throat Meg had given me a couple of Christmas’ earlier. Everything I cherished came from the family, even the penknife the boys had given me. I grinned at my reflection when I remembered Sion pointing to one of the blades and telling me it was to remove stones from horses’ feet. He hoped King or Thunderbolt would oblige by picking one up, but so far they hadn’t.

  My memory often flashed back to that day when the twins and Dai had called. It had been a turning point in my life. No, more than that. An awakening. A return to the joy of living which I had not felt for a long time.

  Even the present threat of Thorgood, if there was one, could not dampen my spirits. I decided to leave Meg and Evan alone and went out for a walk as far as the nearest bar. Standing at the bar I still had my feeling of well being having enjoyed the night sounds and smells. I ordered another beer, this time not minding so much the old man looking back at me between the bottles. I pondered about going home and finally decided to drain my glass and order a third drink. I had the glass to my lips when I was shoved hard in the back. I jerked forward, spilled half my beer which somehow missed my shirt and splashed onto the bar and turned around to protest.

  Before I could say a word though, the angry voice of Thorgood started; ‘You clumsy fool, why don’t you look where you’re going? For two pins I’d give you the hiding of your life. You stupid old goat.’ He showed me his empty whisky glass. ‘Look what you did. You made me spill my drink all over the floor.’

  A few people at the bar turned to look, taking notice, amused. I became angry.

  ‘I did no such thing. You,’ I pointed my finger at him, ‘purposely bumped into me, making me,’ I touched my chest, ‘spill my beer.’

  ‘Why, you stupid old man,’ said Thorgood, through his familiar sneer, ‘I did no such thing. You’re so senile you don’t even know when you do something stupid.’

  Perhaps he was right because my next words showed just how stupid I could be.

  ‘Not so stupid or senile,’ I was nearly shouting now, ‘so I couldn’t catch you cheating last night at poker.’

  I was aware of the gasps of the men nearby but my eyes were on Thorgood. Theatrically he pushed his coat to one side, showing the gun strapped there.

  ‘I don’t care how old you are, no man calls me a cheat and gets away with it. You all heard,’ he said to the saloon in general, stepping back a pace.

  I did not
move. I couldn’t. Christ, I was about to die, stupidly. ‘I’m unarmed,’ I said in a loud and I hoped, steady voice.

  ‘Then go and get a gun. I’ll give you ten minutes. If you don’t come back by then I’ll shoot you down like the cowardly dog you are.’

  It was all so silly, so theatrical and corny I wondered if it was for real. I shook my head, partly to clear it and partly to refuse Thorgood. ‘No, I’m not going for a gun. If I do, you’ll kill me. If I don’t and you kill me it’ll be murder and they hang murderers.’ I turned my back on him, trying to stop my hand from shaking when I picked up my glass again. If I had been ten years younger I would have gone for him. Oh, not with a gun, but with my hands. Win or lose I could have taken the punishment then, but not now.

  The hand that dropped onto my shoulder made me stagger. I was pushed around and Thorgood grabbed my shirt.

  ‘If you won’t go for a gun, you coward, then try this.’ He brought his arm back and as he did two things happened. Firstly, I threw my beer into his face prior to hitting him with the glass and secondly a hand took hold of his and Evan’s voice broke in.

  ‘Okay, Uncle James, leave him to me.’

  Thorgood’s hold on my shirt was broken by Evan. My fear was gone and I felt a surge of joy. Believe me, I’m not cold-blooded or bloodthirsty. I dislike violence but after the situation I had been in a saint would have enjoyed it. Thorgood’s jaw dropped in surprise and the startled ‘What?’ was suddenly a scream of anguish as Evan hit him as hard as he could in the stomach. The blow doubled Thorgood over, gasping, his face a sickly white. Thorgood would have collapsed if Evan hadn’t held him up by his hair. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ Evan said to the people in the saloon, ‘this man did indeed cheat last night when I was playing poker with him. My friend here saw him and foiled his attempt to steal the rest of my money from me.’ Evan saw two of the other players from his game. ‘O’Grady, Samuels, he cheated you, as well. You saw him pick on this old man,’ I wasn’t sure I liked that reference to my age or not, but then like they say, only the truth hurts, ‘for calling him a cheat. Well I call him a lousy, cheating, cowardly dog of the lowest kind. A . . .’ Evan ran out of things to call him. Thorgood was recovering a little from the blow.

  ‘What did you say?’ Evan pretended Thorgood had spoken. ‘He just challenged me. Did you hear that, O’Grady?’ Evan glared at the man.

  ‘Well I . . . I . . . eh . . .’

  ‘Did you, O’Grady?’ There was no mistaking the menace in Evan’s voice.

  O’Grady nodded.

  As he did so Evan lifted Thorgood by the hair, almost raising him off the floor and hit him three times, each blow as hard as the first. Thorgood was hardly conscious by the third blow. The agony ripping through his guts must have been unbearable. Evan kept his grip on Thorgood’s hair and lifted his face back. The blow to Thorgood’s nose spread it across his face, blood gushing down his clothes. Evan let go and he collapsed. Evan took hold of his feet and dragged Thorgood across the saloon.

  ‘Open the door,’ he said to no one in particular and a man jumped to obey. Evan walked out, down the two steps and into the street, Thorgood’s head bumping hard on the steps as he did. Evan took him to the rails and stood him up carefully so as not to get any blood on his coat.

  ‘Get me some water,’ Evan said. Somebody handed him a glass of beer. ‘That’ll do.’ Evan thanked the man and poured the beer over Thorgood’s face, talking to him coaxingly. Slowly Thorgood came round. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a slight commotion and somebody pushed through the crowd. It was the marshal.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing with that man?’

  Evan looked at him with feigned innocence. ‘Me? Why nothing. I was just trying to bring him round. How are you, Thorgood, old chap?’ Thorgood was beginning to groan, slowly recovering.

  ‘What happened to him?’ asked the marshal.

  Evan shrugged. ‘You know how it is marshal. He walked straight into my fist.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Evan asked Thorgood again.

  Thorgood now appeared to be able to stand without help. He could not have realised who he was talking to for he gave a half groan, half nod. Evan grabbed him by his belt and before anybody knew what was happening he had lifted Thorgood over his head, dashed the few paces across the street to the bank of the river, and thrown him in. Evan ignored the gasp from the crowd and watched as Thorgood splashed in the water.

  Evan started to go back into the saloon. I followed, the marshal right behind.

  ‘I demand an explanation,’ the marshal was spluttering.

  ‘You’re entitled to one at that, Marshal. The people here will bear witness that the man is a cowardly cheat and tried to fight Mr Price. I just happened along in time to stop it. He cheated me at cards last night. If you care to join me for a beer I’ll tell you all about it,’ he smiled, at his most affable. ‘Ahh, Uncle James, the marshal is just about to join us for a drink.’

  28

  We were sitting in a restaurant in town having finished dinner when a man I recognised but couldn’t place came over to greet us. ‘Ah, Meg, Evan and . . . Mr Price, isn’t it?’ He held out his hand to me.

  I said: ‘I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. I recognise you but can’t remember your name.’

  ‘Charles DeFort. We met once some time back when I called into the warehouse to see Evan. Oh, it must be a year or so ago.’ He was a pleasant man, about Evan’s age, brown hair and brown eyes with a friendly smile and a firm hand shake. ‘Please call me Charlie, everybody else does.’

  ‘Call me James. Mr Price makes me feel about seventy,’ I replied.

  ‘If you’ve finished your meal perhaps you’ll join me at my hotel for a drink?’ suggested DeFort. ‘We’ve set a bar up in a private room and afterwards we’re going to the theatre to listen to Bryan.’

  The private room was the banqueting suite and held about a hundred or so people but the room was far from full.

  We stood for a while, drinks in hand, greeting people some of whom we knew and many we didn’t. I was beginning to get bored with the conversation, which was mostly about William Jennings Bryan and his proposal that silver should be the basis of our currency. I did not mind politics, far from it – I quite enjoyed a good argument. An hour later we left for the theatre which had only opened the previous month. We were to meet DeFort and his wife Susanne and another couple whose name I had forgotten. That’ll teach me to pay more attention, I thought. I asked Meg their names.

  ‘Red McCauley and Evelyn,’ Meg said.

  ‘He’s got a number of business interests in New York,’ said Evan, ‘and a hefty interest in a silver mine out west.’

  There was a throng of people around the doors pressing to get in. ‘How’re we going to get through that lot?’ I asked, aghast.

  ‘We aren’t,’ replied Meg. ‘Uncle James, you weren’t listening back there, were you?’ Meg nudged me.

  ‘Not really. It’s just that they went on and on about our new Moses, leading the country into world politics and all that. I just stopped listening after a while,’ I confessed.

  ‘Me too,’ said Meg ‘But I did catch the bit about us going around to a side entrance. Evan says he knows the way. Don’t you, darling?’

  ‘Sure. Just down here and along the alleyway.’

  We edged around the crowd who seemed to be in a good mood.

  We showed our cards at the door and went up a few rickety steps and along a badly lit corridor. Through another door and we were in the main theatre. It was an imposing building with three tiers of plush velvet seats and ornate walls decorated with large paintings.

  Some of the private boxes next to the stage were already occupied though the general public had not yet been allowed in. I thought it was an unusual place to hold a political rally, but then American politics were unusual at the best of times, what with their bands and cheer leaders and what I felt amounted to a childishness in the whole business. I n
ever thought they had the same dignity as British politics.

  We had seats near the front. A few minutes later the doors opened and the crowd flooded in. A swarm of humanity, talking, laughing, pushing, waving and finally finding seats and sitting. For the next half an hour or so they thronged in, the noise level gradually increasing.

  The newfangled electric lights went out one by one until the theatre was in gloom and a hush gradually descended.

  There was a movement behind the curtain and a man stepped onto the stage. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen. I won’t bore you with a long introduction. It’s not me you’ve come to listen to, but the man I believe will return the American government to the people, for the people. He is the man to lead us from the depression we find ourselves in. Indeed, he is the next President of these here United States – that is with God’s help and a little encouragement from the voters,’ his voice was building up to the final words. ‘William Jennings Bryan.’

  As Bryan came onto the stage the applause grew and grew until it was thunderous. I had to admit that he had a certain presence as he strode across the stage, head high, hand waving, a smile fixed in place. I swear that for the first time in my life I knew what charisma meant. He held up his hands until the noise died down.

  I don’t remember all he said but two passages from his speech stuck in my mind for a long time.

  He said: ‘We do not come as aggressors. Our war is not a war of conquest; we are fighting in the defence of our homes, our families, our posterity. We have petitioned, and our petitions have been scorned, we have entreated, and our entreaties have been disregarded; we have begged and they have mocked when our calamity came. We beg no longer; we entreat no more;’ his voice rose, rising to the rafters, ‘we petition no more. We defy them.’

  At his words the people broke into a frenzy of clapping and cheering. The theatre shook with the applause and yells and screams and whistles and feet stamping. It was many minutes before it was quiet enough for him to continue with any chance of being heard.