Were I free to share with you
The words that I hold so dear,
There is nothing I would rather do
Than to whisper them in your ear.
But a Clinton am I, and Garrison you are,
Enemies, or so it seems.
I can but love you from afar
And hold you only in my dreams.
“Oh, Billy, it’s beautiful,” Kathleen said. “Nobody has ever written a poem for me before.”
“Please don’t tell anyone I wrote it for you.”
“Why not? It is beautiful, you should be very proud of it. I know that I am.”
“You don’t understand,” Billy said. “If my brothers found out that I wrote poetry, I would never hear the end of it.”
“Oh, pooh on your brothers,” Kathleen said. She sighed. “But under the circumstances, I will keep it quiet.”
“Thanks,” Billy said.
“Billy, I will keep it always,” Kathleen promised.
“Here comes your father,” Billy said. “It might be better if I leave now.”
“I will see you Saturday?”
“Yes,” Billy said.
“Mr. Clinton, are you not going to order dinner?” the waiter asked as he saw Billy leaving.
“Later perhaps,” Billy said. “I just realized there was something I needed to do.”
Billy passed Wade Garrison just as he was coming into the restaurant.
“Good evening, General,” he said.
Garrison nodded, but said nothing in reply. Walking to the rear of the restaurant, he pulled a chair out from his daughter’s table.
“I see young Billy Clinton was in here,” he said as he sat down.
“Yes, he was.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Briefly.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t want you to have anything to do with him,” Garrison said.
“Papa, he is not like the others,” Kathleen insisted.
“He is a Clinton and you are a Garrison. That should say it all,” Wade said, ending the conversation.
Kathleen did not respond. She was glad the conversation had ended.
Chapter Eleven
When Cletus and two of his cowboys came into the saloon, Cletus gave a loud whoop.
“Yippee, boys, Cletus Clinton is here, hang on to your beer!”
One of the cowboys laughed. “That rhymes,” he said. “Here and beer.”
At their table at the back of the room, Prentiss looked up when the three men came into the saloon. “Well, well,” he said quietly. “It looks like we are going to have the pleasure of Cletus Clinton’s company tonight.”
“Yeah, some pleasure,” Corey replied. He looked over at Falcon. “I believe you said you met him on the train?”
“Yes, I met him,” Falcon said. “But he was so drunk you could hardly call it a meeting. Who are the two with him?”
“Those two boys with him ride for his pa,” Prentiss said. “The ugly one, with the mustache, is Deke Mathers. The even uglier one, without the mustache, is Lou Reeder.”
Falcon watched Cletus as he went from table to table, greeting everyone.
“Hey, missy, a round of drinks for this table!” he called to one of the bar girls.
“Thank you, Cletus, that’s real nice of you,” one of the men at the table said.
“Well, sir, don’t let it ever be said that I ain’t generous to my friends,” Cletus replied. “What about you boys?” he asked the next table. “Would you like another round of drinks on me?”
“Why, yes, sir, that would be great!”
“Honey, when you finish with that table, take care of this one, too.”
“What about us, Cletus?” someone at one of the other tables called out.
“You, too. Drinks for everyone,” he said.
The saloon patrons let out a cheer.
“He certainly seems to be popular,” Falcon said.
“Yeah,” Prentiss replied. “Cletus’s funny that way. One minute he is everyone’s friend, the next he’s ready to fight.”
“I know what you are talking about,” Falcon said. “In the short time I’ve seen him, I’ve seen him both ways. Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I’ll find a friendly card game.”
Taking his beer with him, Falcon saw an open chair at one of the tables where cards were being played, and walking over, asked permission to join.
“Yes, sir, Mr. MacCallister, we’d be honored to have you play with us,” one of the men said. He stuck his hand across the table. “The name is Denham, Harold Denham. I’m publisher of the Higbee Journal.”
Falcon met the other players, then began playing cards. When the game finally broke up about an hour later, he was neither the biggest winner nor the biggest loser. The other players left, and Falcon, who remained at the table, had started to deal himself a hand of solitaire when Cletus came over.
“Do you want to play by yourself? Or would you like someone to play against?”
From the expression on Cletus’s face, and the tone of his voice, Falcon realized that Cletus didn’t even remember him from the train. Billy had told him that Cletus wouldn’t remember, and he was right.
“Sure, have a seat,” Falcon offered. “We’ll play. What will it be?”
“I don’t particularly like two-handed poker. You choose the game,” Cletus suggested.
“All right,” Falcon replied. “How about this one?”
Falcon took three cards from the deck, a jack, a king, and an ace. He put the three cards facedown. “Find the ace,” he said.
“What do you mean, find the ace?”
“It’s a simple game, like finding a pea under the shell,” Falcon explained. “Only in this case, you’ll have to find the ace.”
Falcon moved the three cards around for a few seconds, then took his hand away. “See if you can find it.”
Cletus turned up the ace.
“Ha, that’s not very hard.”
“I let you win that one,” Falcon said. “But if we do it for real, I don’t intend to let you win.”
“All I have to do is find the ace?”
“Yes.”
“Ha! You can’t stop me from winning. This is going to be the easiest dollar I ever made!” Cletus said. He put a dollar on the table; Falcon matched it, then moved the cards around, doing it much more quickly than he had the time previous.
“It’s right there,” Cletus said, reaching for a card. The card he turned over was a king.
“Damn.”
“Again?” Falcon asked.
“Yeah.”
Cletus lost another dollar, then another one.
“Wait, I’m going to get another beer,” Cletus said.
Falcon watched Cletus walk over to the bar and order a beer. While Cletus was at the bar, he spoke to one of the men who had come into the saloon with him. Then, carrying the beer, he returned to the table.
“I hear tell you are Falcon MacCallister,” Cletus said.
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“Have you?”
“My name is Cletus Clinton. I reckon you’ve heard of me as well.”
“I have,” Falcon said.
“Damn!” Cletus replied with a broad grin. “I figured you’d heard of me. I reckon all us famous people have heard of each other.”
Falcon suppressed a smile. At that moment, the man Prentiss had identified as Deke Mathers came over to the table. This was the same man Cletus had spoken to when he went to the bar to buy his beer.
“Mr. MacCallister, is it true they’s a whole town named just after you?” Deke asked.
“It’s not named after me,” Falcon replied. “It was named after my father.”
Cletus watched Deke engage Falcon in conversation. This was by design, for Cletus wanted Falcon’s attention diverted away from the three cards just for a moment.
With Falcon’s head turned, Cletus reached across the table and put a small, bare
ly noticeable crease on one corner of the ace. Let Falcon switch the cards around all he wanted, Cletus would make no attempt whatever to follow them. He would simply select the card with the creased corner.
“You going to play cards, or are you going to talk all day?” Cletus asked.
Falcon turned back to the table. “Why, I’m going to play cards, Mr. Clinton,” Falcon said, smiling easily.
“Good,” Cletus said. “Only, this time, let’s bet enough for me to get even.” He put a ten dollar bill on the table.
“That’s a pretty steep bet for a little friendly game like this, isn’t it?” Falcon asked.
“If it’s too rich for you, just say so,” Cletus said.
Falcon drummed his fingers on the card table for a moment. By now, several other patrons of the saloon had wandered over to the table, and what had started out as a quiet, two-man game was quickly turning into a spectator sport.
“So, what are you going to do, Mr. MacCallister?” Cletus asked. “Are you going to play or not?”
“I’ll play,” Falcon said, reaching into his own pocket to bring out a ten dollar bill to match the bet.
Cletus took one last look at the creased card. So far, Falcon hadn’t noticed it.
“Hey, I’m bettin’ Cletus gets it this time,” Deke said, putting a dollar down on the table.
“You’re on,” someone said.
“I’ll bet on Cletus.”
“I’m bettin’ on MacCallister.”
Within a few moments, there were several dollars in side bets on the table, and by now, nearly everyone in the house was aware of the game.
Falcon picked up the three cards, shuffled them around a few times, then put the cards down on the table. He started moving them around, in and out, over and under with such lightning speed that the cards were nearly a blur. Then he stopped and the three cards lay in front of him, waiting for Cletus to pick the ace.
With a smug smile, Cletus reached across the table to make his selection. Then suddenly, he froze in mid-motion and the smile left his face. He hand hung suspended over the table.
“Go on, Cletus, pick out the ace. You can do it,” Deke said.
Cletus stared at the three cards with a sickly expression on his face. All three cards now bore that same creased corner. Falcon had not only seen it, he had, somehow, managed to duplicate it on the other cards with such exactness that Cletus had no idea which card he had marked.
Falcon reached across the table and put his hand on Cletus’s shoulder, using his thumb to lift the vest away, ever so slightly.
“Is there something wrong?” Falcon asked. “You look a little piquèd.”
Cletus glared at Falcon. Irritated, he pushed Falcon’s hand away from his shoulder, then reached down to turn up one of the cards.
The card he turned up was a jack.
“Damn!” he said.
There was a collection of cheers and groans from the others around the table, many of whom had their own bets riding on the outcome.
“I guess I’m just lucky,” Falcon said as he reached for the money.
“No, wait a minute!” Cletus said. “I don’t believe the ace is even on the table.”
“Sure it is, I’ll show you,” Falcon offered. He started to reach for one of the cards.
“Wait a minute, I’ll turn it over,” Cletus said. “For all I know you have an ace palmed. You can make it appear anywhere you want.”
“All right, you turn it over.” Cletus reached for the card Falcon had started for and flipped it over. It was the ace.
“He got you there, Cletus,” one of the men in the crowd said.
“Oh, and Mr. Clanton, as far as my being able to make an ace appear anywhere, why don’t you check your shirt pocket?” Falcon said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Check your shirt pocket,” Falcon repeated. “Under your vest.”
Cletus opened his vest and stuck his hand down into his shirt pocket.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, coming out with a card. There, in his hand, was the ace of hearts. “How did that get there?”
The others in the saloon laughed uproariously as Falcon picked up the money.
It was a sullen and subdued Cletus who returned to the table where Deke and Lou were sitting.
“How’d he do that, Boss?” Lou asked.
“How’d he do what?”
“Get that ace in your pocket like that?”
“How the hell do I know?” Cletus replied angrily. “He’s a card cheat, that’s how. That’s how he got that card in my pocket, and that’s how he won.”
“I’ll say this for him. He sure is good at it,” Deke said.
“He’s a cheat,” Cletus insisted. “There ain’t nothin’ good about bein’ a cheat.”
“No, sir, you’re right about that,” Lou said. “There ain’t nothin’ good about bein’ a cheat.”
“Drink up, boys. Like I told you, tonight it’s all on me,” Cletus said.
“Damn, that’s real good of you, Boss,” Deke said.
“Yeah, I’ve worked for other men who’ve bought me a drink,” Lou said. “But I ain’t never worked for no one who was willin’ to buy drinks all night long.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” Corey Hampton shouted. He held up his hands in a call for quiet. “May I have your attention, please?”
There were dozens of conversations ongoing at that moment, most of them dealing with the mystery as to how Falcon MacCallister was able to get the ace into Cletus’s shirt pocket. Those conversations fell quiet at Corey’s call for attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Corey repeated.
“What ladies?” Cletus called out. “They ain’t nothin’ but whores in here. There ain’t no ladies.”
There were a few nervous chuckles at Cletus’s comment, but no general laughter.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Corey said again, this time putting a lot of emphasis on the word “ladies.”
“The Golden Nugget is pleased to present for your listening pleasure this evening, Miss Rachael Kirby!”
There was a round of applause as Rachael took her place at the piano, then began playing Chopin’s Sonata Opus 58.
Cletus pointed to the piano player. “You know what I think? I think that girl would make a good whore. Fact is, she’d make a better whore than she would a piano player. What kind of music do you call that shit she’s playin’ right now? Hell, you can’t even sing along with it.”
“Some folks like that kind of music,” Deke said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t.”
“Shhh!” someone at the adjacent table said. “Why don’t you folks be quiet so the rest of us can hear?”
Cletus glared at the man who had shushed him, but he said nothing. Instead, he just took a drink of his whiskey.
As Rachael played, she was aware that Falcon MacCallister was in the saloon as well, and she was unable to shake his presence. She had heard about him from Rosanna and Andrew, but they had left out how handsome he was. Maybe because he was their brother, they had lost all perspective. She knew that he had been married, and she knew also that his wife was dead. What she didn’t know was whether or not he would be interested in ever being married again.
Rachael, stop thinking such nonsense, she told herself. You just met him.
Rachael forced thoughts of Falcon out of her mind by concentrating more intently on her playing. Then, with a grand crescendo, she finished her piece. Standing up, she turned and curtsied graciously to accept the applause.
“Thank you very much for your applause,” she said. “And now, the rest of the evening belongs to you. What would you like me to play?”
“Hey, piano player!” Cletus shouted in a loud voice. “I’m tired of listening to all this shit you call music. Play ‘Tying a Knot in the Devil’s Tail’!”
“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know that one,” Rachael said, smiling politely despite the rude customer’s outbreak. “Per
haps you could suggest another one.”
“I want to hear ‘Tying a Knot in the Devil’s Tail’,” Cletus said again.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” Rachael replied without losing her composure. “But I really don’t know that one and I don’t have the music for it. I would be glad to play something else for you.”
“I don’t want anything else,” Cletus said.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Rachael said again. “Does anyone else have a request?”
“How about ‘Streets of Laredo’?” another customer suggested.
Rachael smiled. “That one I can do,” she said, turning back to the piano.
The customer who had requested “Streets of Laredo” sat back down, but Cletus Clinton did not. Instead, he stood there, glaring angrily at the pianist’s back as she sat at the piano.
Rachael began to play the requested song, but was interrupted by a loud crash when Cletus suddenly picked up his chair and brought it crashing down on the table beside him.
Rachael let out a little cry of fear and shock, and there were several shouts of anger and surprise from the others in the saloon.
Cletus stood in the middle of the saloon floor holding the remnants of the chair in his hand.
“Don’t you turn away from me, you bitch!” Cletus said, pointing at Rachael. “Nobody turns away from Cletus Clinton!”
Rachael turned to face him. Falcon was surprised to see that though she was facing a very angry man, the expression on her face wasn’t one of fear, but rather one of resolute anger.
“Mr.—Clinton is it? You are rude and distruptive. I told you that I don’t know that song and even if I did know it, I would not play it for you. Now please sit down.”
Several in the saloon laughed and cheered.
“That little lady sure put you in your place, Cletus,” someone called from across the room.
Cletus raised one leg of the chair over his head and took a step toward her. “Oh, you’ll play it all right or I’ll smash up the piano so that you never play anything else on it.”
The deadly sound of a pistol being cocked stopped Cletus in his tracks.
“Clinton, if you don’t drop that club now, I’m going to put a ball between your eyes.”
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