Big Win

by Tony Masero

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  ‘Well, sir, that, I believe, concludes our business,’ said Maclean, pushing papers into his folder and then into his bag. ‘I shall leave you and your friends to enjoy your good fortune and expect to see you in four weeks time. Is there anything else you need to know before I take my leave?’

  ‘I…. I don’t know.’

  Maclean smiled good-naturedly and got to his feet, ‘I’ll bid you good night then.’

  They shook hands and Maclean swirled out from the saloon in a flurry of kilt.

  Two

  The dance, as expected, was a hot little affair.

  Most of the locals had turned up and the small church hall was packed with dour-faced farming families, cowboys out for a good time and a flutter of female company eager to catch the eye.

  A band composed of a fiddler, guitarist, squeezebox and piano player thumped out rousing tunes and combined with the clumping dancer’s feet on the wood board floor it was a pretty noisy scene. A lot of jollity went on and it should be said that most folks were having a good time and as the beer, punch and apple brandy flowed even those of a sterner disposition loosened up.

  Now it is in the nature of some men that when they are embarrassed in front of others they take out their shame, not on the shamer but on those who bystand, usually those whom they consider of a weaker frame of mind. And so it was with the irate cowboy from the Jayrain spread.

  On that next evening at the Episcopalian dance, Joe, still in a stunned state of shock at his sudden promise of wealth stood with his two friends near the punchbowl and dinner table when the fellow came up.

  ‘Look out,’ warned Brad. ‘It’s that knucklehead from the Jayrain.’

  ‘Hey, Joe!’ Lowenthrop called out loudly as he approached. ‘Heard that asshole in the skirt made you a bequest last night. That right?’

  ‘Might be,’ agreed Joe vaguely, staring over the man’s shoulder at the swirling dancers behind him.

  ‘Well, don’t be so tart. What’d he give you?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ frowned Joe.

  ‘Damn it! Just asking, is all. Why all the secrecy?’

  ‘It’s none of your business, is why,’ said Joe, his attention reverting to finally stare at the bullish fellow.

  ‘Yeah, hey! I am talking to you,’ pressed Lowenthrop, jabbing a finger.

  ‘Why don’t you just back off?’ asked Brad. ‘T’ain’t nothing to do with you.’

  Lowenthrop pulled a face, ‘What’s this, all you girls sticking together?’

  ‘Get lost,’ advised Lemon coldly, who, although thin as a rake was known for his slick draw and dead aim.

  ‘Oh, you will make me, will you?’ snarled the cowboy turning on the tall Lemon.

  ‘Let it lie,’ said Joe, not wanting trouble. ‘My brother died and left me a little, that’s all.’

  Lowenthrop sniffed, ‘Brother, huh? You close?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Then how come you get his cash?’

  ‘What’s with all the questions?’ asked Joe, finally getting irritated.

  ‘Hey! You know why. We all ride the range together. All of the same brotherhood, its family, ain’t it?’

  Joe shook his head in exasperation, ‘I think I’ll go get me a dance.’

  So saying he brushed past the cowboy and made to make a beeline for the bunch of wallflowers sitting along the hall wall and waiting for a dance invitation. They were a pretty ugly bunch but Joe just wanted an excuse to avoid the nosy questioning of the busybody.

  ‘Hold on there!’ cried Lowenthrop, grasping his sleeve and jerking Joe around. ‘I ain’t finished talking to you.’

  Joe looked down at the hand on his arm. ‘You want to take that away?’ he asked.

  A slow grin came over Lowenthrop’s face and a certain glint entered his eye and without much forethought Joe knew what was coming.

  He saw Lowenthrop’s shoulder drop and reckoned he would swing up with a punch aimed at Joe’s jaw. So it was with a smart, short jab that Joe put a fist into the cowboy’s ribs. Lowenthrop winced in surprise and half doubled over, ‘Why you….’

  His left hand was circling and Joe missed it coming, he was too late to avoid the blow and felt bone hard knuckle connect solidly with his head and a rash of stars flashed before his eyes. Joe tumbled back into the spread table behind, the punchbowl swayed and overflowed, spilling drink all over the pastries and pies and nice gingham checkered tablecloth.

  By the time Joe had recovered, Lowenthrop was already on him and delivering a rapid tattoo of blows. They were wild and imprecise and not doing a great deal of damage but the flurry was blinding Joe to an opening.

  Shrieks and cries came from the dancers and the band diddled into silence. The wafer-thin minister, Reverend Jonas P. Roland, called out for order. He was not quite dumb enough to come between the two fighters but he stood close enough at the fringes shouting, ‘Stop! Please, stop, for the love of God, I beg of you.’

  There was no loving of any kind going on as Joe spotted his opening, in between Lowenthrop’s circling arms he came in low and with a bitter twist of the lip aimed a looping punch at the cowboy’s throat. Lowenthrop gagged at the blow, he opened his mouth wide and his eyes popped open as he choked. Without hesitation Joe used his advantage and put one straight on the cowboy’s nose, squishing it and sending a gush of blood down the chin.

  Lowenthrop’s arm swung back wildly and he snarled angrily, unfortunately his backward swing connected with the Reverend and sent the minister reeling away. Which caused another round of squeals and shrieks as loyal and religiously minded ladies rushed to the churchman’s aid.

  ‘To me, Jayrain!’ cried Lowenthrop, hoping to bring his fellow ranch hands into the tumble.

  Joe socked him in the eye, sending Lowenthrop back wheeling into the arms of his advancing crew. They were not interested though, knowing full well Lowenthrop’s predilection for causing trouble. And whilst Brad and Lemon held onto Joe, they in their turn attempted to pacify the battered Lowenthrop.

  ‘That’s enough now, Joe. Poor Reverend Roland’s out on his back, let’s stop it before there’s more damage done.’

  Panting and fuming with anger, Joe was hard to restrain, as he was intent on finishing the matter.

  ‘No,’ said Lemon, holding onto his other arm. ‘The dummy’s done for anyway.’

  Lowenthrop sagged in the grip of his companion’s and glared at Joe out of his one good eye, the other one popping into a right good bruiser.

  ‘Bastard needs a good lesson,’ said Joe, spitting out a mouthful of blood from where he’d bitten the inside of his mouth.

  ‘He’s already had one, partner,’ Lemon affirmed. ‘Look at that eye of his, it’ll be shut tight before morning.’

  ‘Should be his mouth,’ growled Joe. ’I’d like to rip his damned tongue out.’

  ‘Jesus, Joe! Calm down,’ said Brad. ‘What’s the matter with you, he’s just a foolish no-account with attitude.’

  Joe shrugged them off and breathing heavily made for the door and the cool air outside. The chill breeze hit his sweating body and brought him up sharply. Heavens! He thought, Brad’s right, what the devil has gotten into me? I could have killed that idiot.

  But he knew the answer.

  As he looked off at the distant outline of mountains, the disturbing problem that had beset him ever since the Scotchman had left came back to haunt him again.

  What on earth would he do with all that money?

  It had been that which had antagonized him really, not the pestering small-minded comments of Lowenthrop. The onset of untold wealth scratched at his brain. He was, after all, just a regular cowhand. Not particularly clever or ready for such a responsibility. A million bucks! It was curdling his brain. He had always wanted no more than the life he had. He was happy at the Double-Ought, it was a thing he understood and could handle. Now, he would never have to work again. But somehow, he didn’t want that, he preferred this lif
e he knew and he almost cursed his brother for dropping the problem in his lap.

  Ungrateful it surely was, to think like that, and what right did he have to complain? The situation was crazy that was all, just plain crazy and it was driving him nuts as well.

  ‘You alright?’ he heard Brad say at his shoulder.

  ‘Yeah,’ sighed Joe, rubbing the side of his head where Lowenthrop had slugged him. ‘It all okay in there?’ he asked with a nod to the church hall.

  ‘They’ll be alright,’ said Brad. ‘Lemon’s getting the horses, best we make tracks for the bunkhouse I reckon.’

  ‘Sure,’ nodded Joe. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Now there was a funny concept, he thought, as they waited for Lemon to bring up the ponies. A bunkhouse as home! A lousy row of unmade bunk beds; smelly socks and farting cowhands and he called that ‘home’.

  ‘What’s riling you?’ asked Brad as they mounted up. ‘I ain’t never seen you so all fired antsy before.’

  ‘I ain’t told you the whole story yet,’ Joe admitted. ‘That fellow last night had more for me than I let on….’

  ‘The one come to tell you about your brother?’

  ‘Yeah, him. He came to unload a sight more than news of a family demise.’

  ‘What? You got to go for the funeral or something.’

  The three of them were riding out of town side by side and Joe took his time answering.

  ‘No, he’s already in the ground, it ain’t that. He left me something.’

  ‘Left you something. His old trail gear? A gold watch and chain?’

  ‘Not that, something a whole heap more and it’s busting my brain trying to make sense of it.’

  ‘Well, what then? Spit it out.’

  ‘He left me a million bucks.’

  ‘A million!’ gasped Brad.

  Lemon started to chuckle, ‘You’re conning us, right? Nobody gets left that much, its some old family heirloom, ain’t it? Some god-awful statue you couldn’t stand since you was a kid. That’s it, ain’t it?’

  ‘No, fellas, I ain’t fooling with you, he’s left me one million greenbacks to do with as I wish.’

  ‘Shit!’ breathed Brad. ‘Don’t that beat all.’

  They rode the rest of the way to the Double-Ought in stunned silence.

  Joe tried to get back into the life of the ranch but it didn’t work. He was restless and troubled the whole time and his mind kept ranging off into supposition and imagined problems.

  It was no use talking to the others, Joe felt that they could not understand his problems and why he should make so much of the predicament and he gradually receded away from them as the weeks passed.

  Joe begged the foreman for the tasks that took him out on his own. He ended up riding solo, mending fence, hunting down wolves or trailing for lost cows. As the end of the month approached and the expected call from Mister Calhoun came nearer, Joe retreated even deeper and was short and grumpy with everybody.

  Brad ambushed him one day as he was saddling up in the corral. ‘Come on, buddy. Shake out of it,’ said Brad. ‘It’s payday and we’re heading into town. Come along of us, it’ll take your mind off your problems.’

  Joe smiled to himself. They just didn’t get it. He could buy the whole No. 3 Saloon, if he had so a mind. In fact, he could buy a whole set of them. A whole city of No. 3 saloons. How could he go drinking with men that couldn’t even afford a new shirt, it just wouldn’t feel right.

  ‘Listen, I ain’t taking no for an answer,’ Brad insisted. ‘You’re coming, even if Lemon and me has to hogtie you and throw you across the saddle.’

  Joe chuckled, ‘Persistent little bugger, ain’t you?’

  ‘We’re partners, ain’t we? Even if you is as rich as Croesus.’

  ‘It don’t feel right, Brad. I just feel so damned awkward.’

  Brad grinned, ‘You’ll get over it. Say, you got any plans yet? You could start up your own place you know, how about that? I might even come and work for you…. if the pay check is right, that is.’

  ‘It’s a thought,’ Joe said smiling and then adding doubtfully. ‘Although I reckon I’m better at doing stuff than running things.’

  ‘You’ll work it out,’ said Brad, cheerfully slapping him on the back. ‘Now, we’re set for tonight, ain’t we? I need some happy time and so do you, you’ve been humping around these past few weeks like a grizzly with toothache.’

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ sighed Joe. ‘Maybe you’re right, a change might do me some good.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. We’re on then.’

  As such things will generally happen, word was beginning to leak out about Joe’s windfall.

  Subtle questions came his way from different directions. The preacher mentioned need of a bell tower for the chapel. Able Bains at the general store allowed that a storage extension would permit more trade and was prepared to go into partnership. Even the ranch owners were not above mentioning that an investment in breeding stock was a viable proposition. Joe fielded all these hints and requests as best he could but it all only added to his general air of distress and he prayed that Mister Calhoun would arrive soon and he could get it all over and done with.

  Also, suddenly the female population began to take an interest in the young cowboy. Mothers with marriageable daughters, widows and spinsters of all ages would pass the time of day with him when he entered town. Invites to supper came thick and fast and where his life had been a calm and simple affair now it was becoming a social whirl far outside anything he had experienced before.

  Joe felt as if he were about to burst.

  In was in such a state that Joe entered the Wexford No. 3 and found it packed to the hilt. Every cowboy had a month’s money in his pocket and most of them were intent on spending it as fast as the alcohol or the cards allowed.

  Cole Wexford with some wily foresight, had hired a whore brought in from Cheyenne and the robust woman had a horny queue waiting right along the corridor outside the back room set up as a temporary crib. The townspeople naturally frowned on this activity but with some fifty or so young and randy cowboys in the vicinity it was an opportunity too good for the astute saloonkeeper to miss out on.

  Joe tried to find himself a space in the jostling crowd. The place was full of laughing, smoking, drinking and rowdy young men all fired up and ready to let loose. It was in effect the last place to find any solitude and Joe did his best to join in but his heart was really not in it. Whilst Brad went off to take a turn with the crib girl, Lemon plied Joe with liquor in an attempt to break him out of his shell.

  As the evening wore on, the drink finally began to work its way into Joe’s head and slowly the pressure eased. For the first time in weeks he felt a course of hazy indifference wash over him and was beginning to feel more like his old self.

  That was when Lowenthrop turned up.

  As loud and bragging as ever, he was recounting his exploits with the soiled dove and the magnificent efforts he had made to pleasure the woman.

  Their eyes met through the throng and Lowenthrop’s features hardened.

  Joe felt the effects of the liquor slipping from him and a chill run up his spine. He was glad he had strapped on his Colt. Out of sight, Joe eased the revolver in the holster. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in a gunfight but he wasn’t about to come up short if the cards fell that way.

  ‘So how’s it going with the arrangements?’ Lemon bellowed into his ear.

  Joe crinkled his lip, ‘I ain’t heard nothing. Tell you the truth I’m getting a little concerned, its been the four weeks promised and no word from this representative fellow.’

  ‘Probably all the legal hocus-pocus taking time,’ said Lemon.

  ‘I guess,’ Joe answered doubtfully.

  ‘What? You think something’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. But when you think about it, that guy had all my personal information to hand.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lemon shrugged. ‘But he’s a lawyer, right?’


  Joe nodded.

  ‘Then you’re protected under the law, it’s their duty to see its done right.’

  Joe looked at his friend sharply, ‘Supposing he ain’t a lawyer at all?’

  Lemon started back, ‘Sure he is, he had his proper business card and all. Right? You showed it me, that big company in Denver.’

  ‘Anybody can get a card printed, Lemon.’

  Lemon paused and color drained from his face, ‘You don’t think….’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Joe answered. ‘I just don’t know but if I don’t hear pretty soon I’m going down to that place in Denver and see for myself.’

  ‘Hellfire, Joe! Don’t say things like this. You’ve got me darned worried now.’

  Joe chewed on his lip a moment, ‘I think maybe I’m going to take some time off and head down to Denver.’

  Lemon nodded, ‘I think maybe you’re right. Hell! I never even considered such a thing.’

  ‘I know, beats all don’t it? I was so all-fired with surprise at the time I never considered any other angle than the Scotchman as being bona fide.’

  ‘That’s too bad, I sure hope you’re wrong on that score.’

  ‘I guess it’ll be okay, just me worrying overlong.’

  ‘You’re probably right. Still, it won’t hurt to find out for sure. You want some company down there?’

  Joe shook his head, ‘No, I reckon I can handle it.’

  ‘Well, good luck with it, partner.’

  Brad barged his way through the crowd, a soft smile of release on his face.

  ‘Feel better?’ asked Lemon.

  ‘You betcha,’ grinned Brad. ‘Lord, ain’t had my pipes cleaned in a six-month.’

  ‘Long as these other fellows ain’t scratching with a dose you should be okay then,’ smiled Joe.

  Brad frowned, ‘Don’t you go raining on my parade, you Jonah. Best you get in line and ease off some of that misery you been feeling lately yourself.’

  ‘Joe’s got another problem,’ Lemon confided.