Tyra's Gambler

by Velda Brotherton

  How exciting that was going to be! She had so looked forward to the ride down, rather than taking the train, but now to find they were actually going to push a cattle herd… Despite the lingering doubts about her relationship with James Lee, she set out to enjoy herself. It promised to be a grand new adventure.

  Chapter Two

  A jag of pain dragged Zach out of the dream. What the hell? Did he know any women who would ride naked on a white horse? Wasn’t too surprising that she was unclothed, but it’d be nice if he could recognize her. And why was he running from her? Not like him at all. What was up with his leg? Felt like it was on fire. Time to open his eyes and see where he was. He never knew, and he wasn’t sure but what this was still part of the dream. Looked like he was in a jail cell.

  What the hell? What did he remember last? A poker game, fisticuffs with a big son of a bitch who messed up his winning hand. He was whipping the guy, too, till… That was it, all he could remember. Unless the naked woman…? Nah.

  Since he was in jail, he must’ve been shot by the sheriff or marshal or whatever kind of law this town had. Couldn’t rightly remember where he was. Dodge? Deadwood? Nope. Hays City. That was it. Kansas. He’d come in on the train the day before. On his way to Cuero. He had to get the hell out of here. Josh was in jail down there and due to be hung in exactly…when? What day was it?

  Last week—or had it been the week before?—he’d been in Dodge City. Taking money away from suckers at a poker table was way easier than his former job. Most of last winter he’d driven a freight wagon on the Wichita to Denver run. A job that meant eating dust, running from Injuns, and putting up with ornery mules and a yakking guard. Poor fellow took an arrow in his chest right in the middle of telling a long tale filled with untruths. So Zach drove the wagon and the body on to Denver and quit on the spot. Wandered back to Kansas riding shotgun on stage coaches and helping out pilgrims going back home after giving up on going out west. Didn’t own a horse; didn’t get along with them too good. Most of the time he made his way financially at poker tables.

  He tried to sit up but was struck by lightning, or something as bad. Right leg hurt like a son of a bitch. The cell stunk, and so did he. The place was silent and empty. Enough of this. He hollered his blamed fool head off, trying to get someone to show up and tell him what was going on. No one came. One deep breath, then another, and he was ready to crawl to his feet. First order of business was to get them both on the floor. The left one swung off the cot pretty easy, but the movement stuck a branding iron to the other leg. Gritting his teeth, he clasped his fingers together under the thigh of the unmoving one and lifted. Shit fire!

  Okay. That didn’t work. He slumped back down, sweat drenching his body, his eyesight under attack by flaming stars.

  Shouting proved the only course of action. “Hey, hey. Someone. Anyone. I need water, I need to piss. And I need out of here. Got someplace to be. Better get on in here. Right now.” His voice broke before he could demand anymore, and he lay panting, one foot still on the floor.

  “Mister, you can quit yelling now.” A quavering voice.

  He rolled his head to see a kid, maybe fifteen or so, standing in the open cell door.

  “About time. What in thunder am I doing here? And who shot me? I need some water, and I need…”

  “I heard you. You need to piss. Bucket’s in the corner. I’ll fetch you a dipper of water if you’ll shut up the caterwaulin’.”

  “Son, does it look like I can hit that blamed bucket from here? If you’d bring it closer, I’d have a better chance.”

  The kid eyed him for a minute, then worked his way into the cell. Never taking his gaze off Zach, he reached for the bail. “Stay put, mister. Don’t you make a move.”

  Bucket held in front of him, he inched forward, dropped it next to the cot, and leapt out of reach.

  All the struggling in the world and Zach couldn’t sit up, nor could he manage to hit the damned thing if and when he did. And it better be soon. “Give me a hand here, boy. Who are you, anyway? Cain’t be a lawman. You ain’t hardly old enough to be off your mama’s tit.”

  “Name’s Lucas. I clean the place up. That’s all. I’m sixteen next week, and don’t talk about Mama like that. I’m liable to come over there and sock you right in the mouth.”

  A semblance of laughter nearly choked Zach. “Yeah, sure. You do that. I won’t hurt you, kid. Just come over here and give me a hand. Or sock me right in the mouth. Whichever is your pleasure. I’m past doing much about it. You have any idea what happened to me?”

  The kid snickered. “Sure do. Tyra Duncan shot you ’cause you was a-beatin’ on Barney. Best you steer clear of her, too, case you haven’t figured it out already.”

  “When was this?”

  “Couple days ago.”

  “What? I been here that long? I need you to fetch the sheriff.”

  “Ain’t no sheriff. And yep, you been here that long. Doc Winters been caring for you some.”

  “Get me that bucket before I piss all over the floor.”

  Keeping an eagle eye on Zach, the kid sidled over, picked up the bucket, and handed it to him.

  “Give me a hand sitting up. I ain’t going to do anything to you. I’m a gambler, not a gunfighter.”

  “Ain’t exactly what I heard. You whupped poor ol’ Barney. I’ll help you, long as I don’t have to do nothing else.” His wide-eyed gaze locked on the fly of Zach’s britches. “Uh, what’s your name, mister?”

  “Zachariah Benson.”

  “Well, Zachariah Benson, Miss Tyra said you woulda killed Barney if she hadn’t shot you in the leg. She don’t cotton to killin’ or you’d be dead. You’re lucky, though. She musta felt some sorrow about it. She come in and helped Doc get the lead outta your leg.” The kid inched forward and helped him sit up.

  Zach’s head throbbed in rhythm with the gunshot wound, but the two of them got his other leg off the cot so he could use the bucket.

  “Well, good for her. Just likes to wing her target. Where is this lady? I’d like to ask her if she’s gonna pay for my keep till I get back on my feet and can earn some money again.”

  “Oh, she went back to Victoria. I hear she’s leaving with her fee-an-say tomorrow. They’re going to Texas. You’d have to hurry if you’re gonna ask her for money.”

  Zach’s chuckle sounded more like a groan. “Ain’t going to ask her for money. Listen here, boy. I got to get to Cuero, and fast.”

  “Don’t appear you’re going anywhere for a spell. You ought to ask Miss Tyra for money. She’s got plenty, or can get it. Her cousin is married to Lord Blair Prescott, and they’ve got this big old castle over there. Bet you could get some if you was to ask real nice.”

  “You’re kidding, of course. A castle in Kansas?” Zach tucked himself inside his britches, struggled with the buttons on his fly, finally got them fastened, and slumped back on both elbows. “This Tyra person. She carries a gun all the time?”

  “Sure does. And she can shoot, too. She got you in the leg, that’s precisely where she meant to hit you. You can bet on that for sure. From what I hear, you pretty much deserved it. Poor old Barney was covered in blood, and no one puttin’ a stop to you whalin’ away at him.”

  Zach stared at the floor for a long while. “Anyone say what set me off?”

  “You don’t know?” The kid’s eyes popped wide.

  “Must’ve been something. I’m not a fighter by nature, but my temper sometimes gets the better of me. I see red and don’t come up for air till I drop. I’ve seen some pretty awful things, stirs up my dark side, but I usually only do harm to myself. He surely did something to make me mad, this Barney fellow. I mean, besides losing me that big poker hand.”

  “Like I said, you lit into him and beat the ever-lovin’ crap out of him. All’s I know.”

  “How come I’m not locked up?”

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, according to Doc Winters, and he got tireda unlockin’ the door ever time he come to see to
you.”

  “Where’s the sheriff? Get me outta here.” Zach raised up to sit on the edge of the cot. Pain stopped him. “Dammit, I been shot before, but it never hurt like this.”

  “Ain’t got no sheriff. Marshal comes by once in a while to take locked-up folks away. Doc says the bullet splintered the bone seven ways from Sunday, so it’ll hurt for a good long spell. Says Miss Tyra was sorry for that, but you shouldn’t ought to’ve been beating poor old Barney like you was.”

  “Oh, is that right? Why would she care?”

  Lucas shrugged. “You got me. Why would she care she hurt you more’n she meant? Just the way she is, I reckon.”

  That truly was strange. True, he understood little about the ways of women. Mostly, all he knew for sure was to stay all the hell away from them. But one who shoots a fella, then doctors him and feels plumb sorry? Must be different, for sure.

  “Doc say when I can get up and out of here? Or am I gonna be hung for slugging that poor big slob of a bartender?”

  “Hung? Don’t be stupid. He ain’t said when you can go, but he’ll be here later today to change your bandage. You can ask him yourself. I better get busy.”

  Zach’s stomach growled. “Wait a minute. Can you get me something to eat? I’m half starved.”

  Lucas grinned. “Got any money?”

  “Hell, no. It was all in that pot your precious Miss Tyra and her boyfriend made me lose.”

  Shrugging, the kid stepped outside the bars and peered through them, a goofy grin on his face. “Well, then, I reckon you’ll just go hungry. I will bring you some water, though. Oh, and by the way, don’t you let Miss Tyra hear you call Barney or any man her boyfriend. She shuns most men, don’t like ’em much.”

  “Thanks for the warning, and I’ll take the water.”

  Zach was asleep when Doc showed up to shake him by the shoulder. “How you feeling today? Lucas tells me you’ve been quite chatty.”

  Peering from half-closed lids, Zach sniffed. “Something smells good. You bring me something to eat?”

  “Yep. Beans and cornbread and a glass of buttermilk. Good for the soul.”

  The struggle to sit up roused a pain that near blinded Zach, but he made it. The aroma of cooked food all but set him to drooling.

  “Let me take a look at that wound. Then you can chow down.” Doc lifted the leg, propped it on a stool nearby, and removed the bandage. His tending hurt like hell, and Zach ground his teeth to keep from hollering.

  “Looks a lot better than yesterday, but it’s going to pain you for a while yet. You got someplace to stay for a few more days?”

  Zach shook his head. “I can’t stay. Got to get to Cuero by April 25th. What day is it?”

  “I believe it’s April 15th, if memory serves me.”

  Zach’s stomach rumbled. “Doc, you mind if I have me those beans now?”

  Doc stared at him for a minute, then picked up the covered tray and set it on the cot next to him. “I’ll get you a pair of crutches, make it easier for you to get around. You got a horse?”

  Mouth filled with beans, Zach shook his head, washed them down with the buttermilk, and picked up a slab of cornbread. “Come in on the train from Dodge City.”

  “Why you in such an all-fired hurry to get down to Cuero?”

  Swallowing the beans, Zach scooped up another spoonful but replied before stuffing them in his mouth. “Business. A matter of life or death.”

  “Ain’t they all?” Doc shook his head. “What do you do for a living, son?” The kindly old man seemed concerned.

  “Thought you knew. I play poker, and I’m pretty good at it.”

  “Hear you’re pretty good at knocking folks around, too. That won’t get you too many friends.”

  Another spoonful of beans had made their way into his mouth, so he didn’t bother to tell Doc friends was one thing he sure as hell didn’t need. Too much to worry about when people knew enough about a fellow to call him friend. And folks talked way too much for his liking.

  When he didn’t reply, Doc rose from re-wrapping the leg. “’Spect you can still ply your trade, then. This blamed town is filled with saloons and poker tables and damned fools who’ll be glad to take your money. Just watch how you treat folks, or you’ll be back here if you ain’t in the ground. Just ’cause we don’t have us a sheriff don’t mean we got no law.”

  “Well, at least one thing’s for sure,” Zach said around a bite of cornbread.

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Miss Tyra won’t shoot me again. Hear she left out for Texas with her fiancé.”

  “Yep, so they say. We’ll all miss her antics, too. She’s mighty entertaining. Well, I’ll be getting along. I’ll drop them crutches off, and you might pay your tab with me soon as you skin some poor fool.”

  Zach couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll do that. Thanks for the doctoring. I do appreciate it. You sure I’m free to leave this jail house?”

  “Yep. You might consider apologizing to Barney, if you’re going to stick around.”

  “I’ll do that, Doc. I’ll surely do that.”

  After the meal, he lay down for one more nap. Soon as Doc brought the crutches, he’d make his way around town and find some poker games. There’d surely be one or more going on in this town that was said to have more than two dozen saloons. Soon as he had some money in his pocket, he’d be on his way. Git Josh out of this latest jam. He closed his eyes. Anything Josh got mixed up in came back on Zach, for it was surely his fault the boy had strayed from the straight and narrow. All his fault.

  The cot where he slept jerked and swayed and squealed. Startled, he sat straight up, grabbed at invisible hand holds, opened his eyes, and cringed. He was inside a box car. Wheels rattled and clacked, and up ahead a train whistle blew forlornly.

  “What in thunder…?” This hopping around when he wasn’t looking was getting old. He scooted back and leaned against the side of the empty car. Hay and manure covered most of the floor and his britches, and it smelled pretty bad, to boot. With probing fingers he felt around on his aching head till he found a knot and blood caked in his hair.

  Some kind of a bad dream. Had to be. But it felt damned real. Did one smell stuff in dreams? He couldn’t remember. He waited a while, not sure what to believe. Finally he faced the truth. He was either on board a train headed away from Hays City, or this was one heck of a realistic dream. How he got there he had no idea. Looked like someone had wanted him out of town and took care of it. Probably that Barney guy and some of his friends. Why didn’t folks ask him where he wanted to be instead of just tossing him around from one place to another?

  After a while, he crawled to the open door and took a quick peek outside. The sun was setting off to his right in a blaze of glory. He was going south. At least they had the decency to send him off in the right direction. Might as well lay back and enjoy the ride, ’cause he sure as hell wasn’t going to jump off with his bum leg and a knot on his head. One thing about what he did for a living. He could play poker in almost every town in the west. For now, he had to head to Cuero, where Josh was in jail and set to be hung, according to the wire he got in Dodge City. First time he’d heard from his brother’s mama in more years than he cared to count. Hadn’t seen Josh since right after the war, when they rode together for a while. Wild times, those.

  The brilliant sunset faded to slashes of pink and gold. A purple sky turned black; stars came out like thousands of glittering chips of light, the only light anywhere. Rocked by the constant swing of the railroad car, he fell asleep. He’d probably wake up in yet another strange place.

  The screech and loud whistle-blowing jerked him awake. Must be coming into a town. He sat up, threaded his fingers through his hair. At least he could leave the infernal swaying belly of this beast. Damn, he hoped it was Cuero. He wanted out. His rear end ached from the constant bumpy ride. One slight problem. He’d been tossed in here without the crutches Doc had promised. As soon as the train came to a complete halt, he struggl
ed to his feet with the help of the wooden boards along the side of the car. But there was no putting his weight on the injured leg. The pain was too much. Even if he could stand it, the blamed thing wouldn’t hold him up.

  In that moment, while he stared with longing at the buildings alongside the track, he saw the sign. Gonzales. Hell’s bells. A sound of something being dragged along the outside of the car reminded him of a kid raking a stick over a picket fence. He leaned out far enough to see in both directions. Someone was walking beside the cars with a club of some sort, rousting anyone who might have caught a ride. And he was getting closer and closer. He had to leave the car. Now. He hopped to the opposite side, lowered himself to his butt, gritted his teeth and jumped from the car.

  The ground came up to meet him with a punishing jolt. He rolled to one side away from the aching leg. Nothing helped. There was a long moment of intense agony, then nothing but a swirl of black. He came to, staring into a clump of bushes. The leg hurt so bad he had no name for it. Breathing into the pain, he scrambled deeper into the brush, where he could lie and suffer without being seen.

  God, how he needed a drink. He’d give almost anything for a drink. The way he felt, someone could have his left leg if they’d only give him a dipper of cool well water.

  He must have passed out again, ’cause next thing he knew someone shook his shoulder. A small hand, a smaller voice.

  “You okay, mister? You fall off the train?”

  He gazed into the freckled face of a boy, probably nine or ten years old. He wore overalls and a ragged shirt. His brown hair hung below the collar, and his hand on Zach’s shoulder was black with grime. No worse though, than his bare feet.

  “I need some water,” Zach croaked.

  The boy pointed. “I live over yonder. You could have some water from our well. You hurt?”