West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels

by James Reasoner

  "Hell, dead is dead," he mused. After months of living on the lam and doing the worst menial jobs offered just to get a meal, he now had a horse and guns and money.

  He felt like a rich man.

  Chapter 2

  Sam had come into Texas by way of Rosedale, Mississippi where the young man had spent six months working as a laborer in a sawmill to grub out a living. He wasn’t looking to return to that part of the country. Those folks over there were still reeling from the war effort that had taken what wealth they had. Most were as poor as he was and just trying to get by.

  He had saved a little of his earnings from the mill, despite his newfound fondness for gambling, and was able to buy a horse, a saddle, and an old, well-used, two dollar army Colt .44 cap-and-ball six-gun. His thirst for adventure found him searching for a way to live a life other than the mundane, daylight to dark toil on his uncle’s Indiana homestead farm. He had run away from the farm and wandered aimlessly from farms to towns doing odds job for food and shelter.

  Weeks and months slipped by as he traveled down the Mississippi River until one day he landed the job in the Mississippi sawmill. He spent six months putting in long hours shoveling sawdust and stacking boards. It afforded him money to live on but didn’t satisfy the itch for excitement.

  Sam hoped to fulfill his long-held dream of living a life on the range and becoming a cowboy. Each payday he bought at least one item of the gear he figured was needed. After six months Sam’s outfit was complete and he was as ready as he was going to get, so he quit the sawmill job and headed west into Texas cattle country.

  He drifted along and eventually found work on The Double D ranch near Denton, Texas. Since Sam was a greenhorn to cattle ranching, he was assigned the work of all young newcomers: cook’s helper at meal times. Otherwise he spent his days mucking out stalls, slopping hogs, mending fences, and general maintenance. Sam didn’t back up from any job he was assigned to and worked hard at whatever he did.

  When he was finally allowed to get into the saddle for cattle duties it was in the cold of winter when others whiled away their days sitting by the fire. He rode fence lines and property lines searching for distressed or wandering cattle and shooed them back to their expected range. The long hours of riding and dismal work was just as monotonous and isolated as it was back on his uncle’s farm.

  By the time winter was about done, Sam was growing disillusioned. His dreamed up ideas of being a cowboy and the actuality of this job did not match up. He hung on there for the spring and summer, gaining firsthand knowledge of the roundup, the branding and castrating of the yearlings, and the ever needful fence repairs. He spent his off time enticing other ranch hands into nightly card games.

  His quest for a different kind of gambling was leading him on a perilous path.

  Sam had conjured up a horse race using ranch stock, much to the disdain of Jack Hinds, the foreman. Afterwards, Hinds called a halt to any future races using Double D horses.

  "Either one of the riders or one of the horses might get hurt," he said sourly. No more was said about the matter, although thereafter the surly foreman kept an extra watchful eye of Sam’s daily activities. Sam contented himself with the nighttime card games. Sam was always lucky with cards and soon other players were getting harder to convince to sit in on a game even if the stakes were minimal.

  When fall was in the air, Sam figured to move on, he’d been on the ranch a full four seasons and wasn’t longing to repeat any one of them. He was eating three times a day but he wasn’t particularly happy, so he drew his pay and left without complaint from the foreman.

  Sam rode into Denton, checked his horse into Work’s Livery, and lodged himself in Martin’s Hotel. Sam figured that since he had been so lucky at cards back at the ranch, he would give the cards a try as a source of income. The Red Horse Saloon was a popular spot for drinkers and gamblers. Within a week, Sam had become a regular. He favored a nice cigar and branded whiskey, he was confident and was able to win a few hands but not getting much ahead. After a few days he wasn’t able to hold his own at the tables against the professional dealers. His luck had turned for the worse, it seemed.

  He awoke one morning with a pounding headache. He got out of bed and stooped over a wash basin sitting atop a bureau to splash some water on his face. Thoughts of last night flooded his memory, one thing he knew was that he had drunk too much whiskey and then had been foolish enough to stay in that game.

  The game had seemed friendly enough. Seven card stud, jacks or better to open. He believed he was doing okay for a while, he’d won or been allowed to win a few smaller pots, enough to keep him in the game and hopeful. He played for hours until he was dealt a hand that really got his attention. It was late at night, he remembered that.

  On the opening deal, Sam had received two queens as hole cards and a jack face up. A man across from him opened with an ace showing. The man to his left was showing a seven and the dealer had a king facing up. Sam was glad that he didn’t have to open, that would have telegraphed his hand.

  Ace bet a dollar, everyone stayed. By the time six cards had been dealt Ace bet five dollars with a pair of tens, a three and the ace showing. Dealer raised five dollars with two kings and two eights showing, Sam called but fretted. He had the two queens in the hole and a third one showing along with a five, a seven, and a nine. Ace’s two pair wouldn’t even beat his three of a kind but what was the dealer going on? The idea that he had a third king or third eight in the hole was worrisome to Sam. The man on the left dropped out.

  Sam was holding his breath when the last card came out. His heart thudded when he peeked at his third card in the hole. It was another queen! With the one queen showing, he now had four queens. This hand would be hard to beat.

  Ace checked. Sam almost smiled, the man hadn’t got his full house so he was afraid to bet. The dealer, however, quickly made a bet of ten dollars.

  The bet didn’t surprise Sam. He looked at his hole cards again for assurance. Yep, he had four queens, and four queens would beat the full house that he suspected the dealer had. He called the ten dollar bet and raised another ten. Ace dropped out. The dealer pushed out ten dollars then said, "And I’ll raise you fifty dollars!"

  Sam was suddenly bewildered. He already had thirty-four dollars, more than a month’s pay, lying in the middle of the table but he was certain that he had the winning hand. He sat for a moment then began counting the money he had on the edge of the table before him. Six dollars was all he came up with. He searched his pockets and found twenty-two dollars.

  He said, "I’ve got twenty-eight dollars left."

  The dealer glared at him. "If you can’t call the bet, then you have to forfeit the game," he said matter-of-factly. When Sam didn’t reply, the man shrugged his shoulders, then asked, "You got any goods, things like a watch or a six-gun that you might want to throw into the pot? Something that has a worth of twenty-two dollars to cover the bet, I’m willing to listen."

  Sam swallowed hard as a bead of moisture began to trickle down the side of his face. "I have a horse and saddle over at January’s livery. The horse is worth all of that."

  The dealer looked down at the table and smiled. "So you say." He hesitated, then said, "All right, I’m willing to take on the horse, though a horse costs money to keep."

  "The bill is caught up," Sam assured him.

  The dealer sat back and let his eyes gaze around the room. "Very well then, this man is betting his money and his horse on this hand," he announced, then turned back to face Sam. "Go ahead and show us what you got."

  Sam’s heart was racing. He felt a throbbing at his temples. He concentrated to keep his hand from shaking when he laid his cards down, face up, showing the four queens.

  The small audience that had gathered around the table murmured. "I figured he had something good," one man said.

  "It was well hidden," said another.

  The dealer sat, seemingly unmoved, then reached out nonchalantly and turned his hole cards
over.

  Sam’s heart thudded harder. He couldn’t believe it, the man had four kings! He had two kings hidden in the hole just like Sam’s three queens were. Sam was stunned and speechless. He had lost. He stood to leave when the dealer pushed a coin across the table. "Have a drink on me," he said, then turned and busied himself scooping up the money from the middle of the table.

  Sam had stumbled back to his room and collapsed on the bed to sleep fitfully. Then it was morning and reality began to set in. Sam sat back down on the bed so he could put his boots on. He had no idea what the day would bring. Thankfully he had paid for his room a week in advance and it wouldn’t be due again for one more day. He could spend one more night, then he would have to leave. The only things he owned were his clothes and his old six-gun. Hell, he didn’t even own a horse any longer, so he couldn’t even leave town unless he wanted to walk.

  He thought about getting out to the ranch to see if he could get his old job back but discounted that idea. Sure, he would eat, but it wouldn’t be long before he would be scheming a way to leave again. He didn’t feel like groveling and besides Jack Hinds most likely wouldn’t take him back anyway. No, he’d been busted before, he’d just tough it out, he figured.

  It was that afternoon that the pickle incident came about. Sheriff W.F. Egan was fifty-two years old, a heavy-bodied man but not overweight. He had just a little paunch in his belly and a little gray in his light brown hair, to go along with a happy face with a walrus mustache. From a distance he gave the appearance of the perfect grandfather, his mild manner attracted the ladies, and kids loved him and affectionately dubbed him "Dad Egan." Up close, his coolness in handling the duties of the sheriff’s office made him popular with the merchants around town and those on the sly knew to be wary. One look into the man’s eyes disclosed the sincerity registered there. When he spoke, he meant what he said. W.F. Egan liked being sheriff and he took the job seriously.

  Sam had watched as the sheriff handed a coin to the woman in the store. "That should cover it," he said, then took Sam by the elbow and steered him out the door before Virgie Olsen could object. Sheriff Egan marched Sam to the middle of the street then stopped abruptly, standing to face Sam.

  "I didn’t take that pickle, Sheriff," Sam claimed. "I was just standing there thinking on buying one. I’ve got a few coins in my pocket."

  "I didn’t say you did," Egan said, "but it’s ended now, so let’s put it behind us. I knew when you came into town and I know you’ve been lounging over at The Red Horse Saloon. I also heard that you lost everything you own in a game last night, there are no secrets in this town."

  The dark-haired, dark-eyed young man stood five foot eight and weighed a hundred forty pounds. He was full grown at twenty-two years but had a much younger appearance. Sam stood silently with eyes cast down as he absorbed the truth of what the lawman had said.

  Egan paused for a moment, then said, "Now here’s the deal. I need someone to do some odd jobs for me, maybe do a little freight loading and hauling. The pay is as good as army pay, fifty cents a day and two meals a day over at Marcie’s restaurant, I have a tab there. You can bunk in the tack room behind the freight office. You won’t be working directly for the sheriff’s office, unless I need you for messages and such, you’ll be working for me and get paid by the E&H Freight Company. I’m the E, and Dag Homer is the H."

  Sam had figured he was on the way to jail but instead the lawman was offering him a job instead. "I don’t know what to say, Sheriff."

  "You don’t need to say anything. I just don’t aim to stand by and allow a man to do petty crimes to get by." Sam started to object, to say he wouldn’t, but Egan cut in, "I want you to go over to the freight office and see Dag and tell him I hired you. He’ll give you a chore to finish up the day. Afterwards, you can move your stuff to the tack room and get a meal, then see me first thing tomorrow. I might have you run a message or two, depends on what comes in by morning."

  Sam settled into his new duties without question. Right after breakfast he’d check in with Sheriff Egan to see if he had need of a messenger. At times he would swamp out the Sheriff’s office and occasionally the jail cells if they had been used the night before. Afterwards he would go over to the freight office to see Dag Homer and get his assignments for the day. He spent most of his time seeing to the care of the company’s horses and mules, feeding, inspecting hooves and shoes, then oiling lines and traces and loading, securing the freight to be hauled or unloaded as directed.

  After a time, Dag began calling on Sam to do deliveries. Sam became acquainted with the trails to most of the outlying, thicket-surrounded farms and back roads to ranches during his deliveries. Before long Sam’s diligent hard work was recognized and he seemed to be accepted by town folks.

  Everyone, it seemed, with the exception of Jean Olsen, the pretty teenage daughter of Milt and Virgie Olsen, the owners of Olsen’s Mercantile. Sam had approached Jean on the street in an attempt to strike up a conversation. When he’d walked over to face Jean, she stood back with a blank look on her face, unsmiling as she warily eyed Sam then said "Good day," and stepped away.

  Sam didn’t know what to think. Maybe he looked too rough, he mused. What with dark sweat circles under his arms and his clothes having a rumpled look, he didn’t blame the young woman for her reaction. Or maybe it was that her mother Virgie had poisoned the waterhole over the pickle incident. Then too, it was possible that she was troubled by her monthly miseries, Sam thought.

  After that, whenever Jean spotted him on the street, she would turn on her heel and go in the other direction or cross the street abruptly to avoid any chance of the two coming face to face. Sam kept his distance and did not attempt another encounter.

  His association with females was limited to the affections he received from plump Mary Beth, in an upstairs room over the Red Horse Saloon. That didn’t happen often, usually after payday when he had the dollar or two that she would ask for. The amount seemed to depend on Mary Beth’s mood at the time.

  Chapter 3

  With his unexpected inheritance, Sam didn’t bother to reflect on his arrival in Denton some time back and his employment by the kindly Sheriff Dad Egan. What was important to him was what was at hand right now and it did not take long for Sam to restore things to the way he wanted with the new wealth that Claude Radkin had bequeathed to him. He claimed the roan horse that had belonged to Claude and treated himself to a new set of clothes, including a Stetson hat and some sorely needed new boots.

  That evening he walked back into the Red Horse Saloon, bought a cigar, a glass of fine whiskey, and played cards until late but was watchful of his money other than giving Mary Beth an extra dollar tip. He met others who shared his table and conversations in the nightly card games that followed, he befriended Frank Jackson, Hardenson Murphy, and Henry Underwood.

  Frank Jackson was the youngest of the group at twenty. Henry Underwood was near to Sam’s age, while Hardenson Murphy was considerably older. The camaraderie of these men who shared his own interest was more important to Sam than what little money moved around the table. All three men were good company to drink with and play low stakes poker games.

  W.F. Egan was aware of Sam’s nighttime revelry but wouldn’t say anything so long as it didn’t interfere with Sam’s work routines.

  Meanwhile Sam was growing more adventuresome in his quest for gaming opportunities and bought a chestnut-sorrel mare named Jenny that was reputed to be fast. Sam matched the horse against the best contenders the locals came up with. The result was that Jenny won the race and some quick money for Sam. Enthralled by the sudden smile of lady luck, Sam began entering Jenny in numerous races and making larger bets. The consequence was that some men with tainted reputations began showing up in town.

  Sheriff Egan did not like the questioning looks he was getting from some leading citizens or the buzz on the streets about Sam’s new activities and association with shady characters. He decided to have a meeting with Sam and put an en
d to any future gossip about Sam’s relationship with the sheriff’s office. After calling Sam into his office, he pointed a meaty finger for Sam to take a chair then seated himself behind his desk.

  "Folks are talking," he began. "I’m the elected Sheriff of Denton County and as such, it is my job to know whatever goes on around town. There are some men with questionable motives that have come to town, drawn here because of that race horse you've have acquired and the money being bet on the horses." Egan held up a hand. "I know you didn’t invite them here but they’re here. Denton doesn’t want or need to associate with that kind of undesirables. I don’t want anyone to think that I personally condone your activities or that this office has any part in the outcome of those horse races or the betting that’s going on. So it comes down to this, Sam, it’s either you or the horse. One of you has to go!"

  The sheriff sat back and waited for a reply from Sam.

  Sam was as flabbergasted as he had been when Egan first ushered him out of that mercantile to stand in the middle of the street and give him a new start. His mind was in a whirl. He liked Dad Egan and the town of Denton. Jenny had won four of the last five races and he was making good money.

  Now Egan was telling him that he had to choose between selling the horse and keeping the low-paying job or quitting the job and keeping the horse. He didn’t falter when he came to a quick decision but didn’t look Egan in the eye as he said, "I reckon I’ll keep the horse, Dad. I, uh, I’ll move on out of the shanty, most likely leave town in the morning."

  When Sam had left the office, Egan sat behind his desk still looking at the empty chair where Sam had sat. Sam was young and impressionable, and Egan hoped that whatever guidance he had given Sam in the past was correct. As Sam’s mentor, Egan did not want to experience any feelings of guilt or responsibility later on if wrongness were to cross Sam’s heart. He’d given Sam a choice and Sam had chosen to take what he perceived to be the higher, easier, more exciting side of things. There was nothing more to say about it.