Henceforth, Sam would make his own way and pay for the consequences of his actions.
* * *
Sam left town the next morning with Jenny in tow. On a tip from a speculator, he decided to head north and put the mare to the test in Denison. He spent a week there before losing a race to a black stallion named Night. He’d bet heavily on Jenny. After the loss, Sam headed south to work the Dallas and Fort Worth area. He studied the horses presented for races and used restraint in the bets he placed on Jenny, he didn't have much money to wager anyway. Jenny won a couple of races that gave him a little cash, enough to merely cover expenses.
One day, while he was in the stable caring for Jenny, a man in a suit came up to stand nearby as Sam was currying the mare.
"You’ve got a right nice little runner there," the man said, "though I don’t see her winning all the races."
Sam wondered at the man’s remarks. Was he a bettor or just a wise guy?
Sam finished with the brushing, took up a cloth to wipe the horse down. "I never expected that she would win them all, just enough to keep some money coming in."
"Sometimes the fastest horse isn’t necessarily the winner," the man said.
Sam caught on right away, this man was testing to see if he would throw a race. Someone could get good odds if he bet big on a less than favored horse, and if the lesser horse should happen to win there could be a handsome payoff.
Sam's immediate instinct was anger rather than caution. He thought of yelling at the stranger for the suggestion but then after a moment he digested what the man had said.
Hell, money was money and right now the money in his pockets had rapidly dwindled.
"What have you got in mind?" Sam asked.
The stranger took a moment to look around to see if others were listening, then he stepped closer to Sam. "Saturday’s race, you’ll be going up against Slim Jim, a fair horse but your horse is better. Make it look good, keep her close until the very end then fade back a little. There’s two hundred in it for you, if Slim Jim wins. You’re staying at the Columbia Hotel?"
Sam nodded. The man leaned in again. "There will an envelope delivered to your room after the race, later on after dark."
Sam nodded again.
The man made one final comment. "You don’t know me," he said, then turned on his heel and hurried away.
Sam watched as the man went out of sight around a corner. How odd, he mused, no handshake, no names. He wasn’t completely sure what the man even looked like, medium height, slim build, light colored suit, small brimmed fedora hat. The face, he couldn’t say if there were any distinguishing features. He really had not looked at the man’s face. The entire time the stranger was standing there talking Sam had kept his eyes on Jenny’s coat as he worked on her.
Sam knew that Jenny could beat Slim Jim, he knew it as soon as the starting gun went off on Saturday. Slim Jim was slow to get going. Sam never encouraged the mare to run full out and from an observer’s point of view, it was a lackluster performance. Slim Jim won by a half-length. Sam heard the catcalls from onlookers when he rode past them on his way to the stable. "Damned poor showing," one voice said, and a different voice accused, "You held that horse back!"
Sam waited in his hotel room all night, but no one came to the door and no envelope was slid under the door. At dawn, he was madder than hell but who could he chase down to demand payment? Who could he complain to? He scoured the streets for a glimpse of the well-dressed stranger to no avail. He’d been had for a chump and he felt like one, too. When he went to the stable to check on Jenny he was stopped from entering by a deputy marshal.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the man asked.
"My name is Sam Bass and I came to check on my horse that’s boarded here. Is there a problem?"
The deputy pointed inside the stable. "A man was killed here last night, maybe you can identify him."
Sam followed the deputy inside. Near a stall lay a body. The shirt and front of the light-colored coat the man wore were covered in dried blood. He had been stabbed to death.
Sam stepped forward to view the body and did his best to conceal any recognition. "I don’t know him," Sam said. "I never met him."
Afterwards, Sam figured that maybe it was time to leave this town before any association to the dead man came to light.
Chapter 4
It was a warm early May afternoon in 1875 when Sam Bass walked his roan down the dusty street of San Antonio, Texas. A lead rope through a D ring on the back of his saddle snugged Jenny along. He still had a little money even though he had spent more than he had planned for trail grub and camp goods and grain for the horses.
He booked a room at a hotel then took the horses to Sid’s livery. Sid was a brawny man who smiled a lot. "Four bits a night each and I’ll rub them down, too," he said, then added, "Ten cents more and I’ll give each a scoop of grain."
"That would be fine," Sam said then fished in his pocket and handed the man a dollar and a quarter. "The grain, too. I’m apt to stay a day or two but I’ll be in to pay you each day if I stay longer."
Sid smiled, handed Sam a nickel change, then led the animals away.
Sam was hot, sweaty, dusty, and tired of riding so he walked into the first saloon that he came to, The Calico Calf. There most likely wasn’t five degrees difference inside the saloon than out in the sunshine, but at least the darkened interior gave one the sense of being cooler. Sam headed to the end of the room-length bar where offerings of a free lunch sat, which consisted of thin ham slices, beginning to curl on the edges and crumbly rat cheese covered by a white cloth to keep the flies off. The bartender walked right over to Sam.
"What will it be, stranger?" He nodded toward the food. "Lunch is free with the purchase of a beer."
Sam held up two fingers. "I’ll take two beers for starters."
The bartender bobbed his head and walked away. He was back in no time with two mugs foamed at the top. "Ten cents," he proclaimed. Sam slid a dollar across the bar then picked up one beer and tasted it. It was semi-cool. He swigged the beer in great gulps and had drained the first mug by the time the bartender had brought his change.
Having not eaten since last night’s camp Sam turned his attention to the ham and cheese. The bartender reached under the bar and brought up a bowl of boiled eggs, "Have yourself a couple," he said. "I keep ‘em down here otherwise they disappear too fast."
Sam nodded and reached for the bowl. After Sam had taken two eggs the bartender placed the bowl back under the bar and walked to the other end to wait on a newly arrived customer.
After he had his fill of the free lunch, Sam took his remaining beer and walked over to sit at an empty table. Sam was sipping on his fourth beer when a man seated with two others at a table next to his table leaned over toward him.
"We’re getting ready for a game of poker. Want to sit in?"
Sam glanced at the man for a moment then nodded. "Yeah, that would be fine as long as the stakes aren’t too high."
"Just penny-ante stuff, nickel to open," the man said.
Sam joined them. The man had a few years on Sam but not many. He guessed him at no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight. The other two looked about the same age. They all had the look of cattle drovers and were dressed alike in dusty and somewhat rumpled trail garb.
"Joel Collins," the man said while extending his hand. Sam repeated his own name and shook hands with Joel and the other two men, Willie Jacobs and John (Skeeter) Wilcox.
"Are you with one of the outfits around here?" Joel asked then started to deal the cards. "Five card stud," he said as Sam and the others clunked nickels for the ante onto the center of the table.
Sam took a sip of his beer. "Nah, I just got into town from up north. I came down here in hopes of finding some new opportunities."
"What kind of opportunities do you hope to uncover?" Joel asked.
"I own a pretty fast mare that I keep just for racing. I was hoping to see if there was anyon
e with a horse that they think could beat her," Sam said.
"Uh hah," Joel said, "a sporting man. I’d like to see that horse."
Sam nodded. "She’s at Sid’s Livery, a chestnut sorrel."
"Tomorrow, after breakfast," Joel said.
"That would be fine," Sam said, "I’m a little trail worn right now."
"Let me guess," Joel said, "You came down here looking for a new start because there’s nothing left or waiting for you back where you come from."
Sam was a little taken back by his own transparency. Here was someone who was very perceptive and it seemed the man could look right into his head and read his thoughts.
"I reckon there’s some truth to that," Sam answered.
Joel grinned. "I ain’t in the business of worrying about a man’s past. No offense intended. No more will be mentioned of it."
Sam nodded. "None taken." Sam didn’t know what to think of Joel but he took a liking to the man.
After two hours of play everyone seemed to be holding their own, each having taken a pot from time to time while making small talk about horses and the going price of cattle in Kansas from Texas herds.
"They say that up in Ellsworth, Kansas you can get as much as eighteen dollars for a four dollar Texas steer," Joel said.
Sam could cipher as well as anyone else. "That sounds like a pretty good mark up, if you got some to sell."
"Skeeter, Willie, and I are working on that right now," Joel said," we were out looking at some stock and talking to some ranchers today. The deal will come about and it will take a little time yet, but things are coming along pretty good."
Skeeter bet ten cents when he paired fours. Sam raised ten cents when he got a second ten to go with the one he had in the hole.
"Right after breakfast then," Joel said then began to deal again.
Sam looked up wondering what he meant. Joel could see the questioning in Sam’s eyes. "We’ll take a look at your horse right after breakfast."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sure thing."
The hand was over when Sam drew another ten giving him two of that kind showing and one in the hole. No one could best it so Sam drew in his winnings that totaled out to two dollars even in the pot. Sam felt good when he went to bed and somewhat satisfied with meeting his new friends.
Early the next morning Sam got up, put on his shirt and pants, and had just finished pulling on his boots, he stamped to seat each foot in the boots. He’d been awake for some time. A habitual early riser, he had gotten up, washed his face, and shaved. He’d taken plenty of time to put on clean clothes, folded the dirty ones into a pile to get laundered, and was ready to go downstairs to the hotel restaurant for breakfast when a knock sounded on his door.
Sam stepped to the door and opened it. Joel Collins stood in the hallway, he was cleaned up as well. From the top down Joel wore a flat brimmed, low crowned hat, a black broadcloth suit jacket over a white shirt and string tie. No vest but freshly pressed pin striped grey pants and shiny black boots. He looked like a gambler and Sam said so. "Hell, Joel, you look like a well to do gambling man."
Joel grinned broadly. "I dress this way when I work the streets, and range garb when I work horses and cattle. You ready for breakfast, Sam? Afterwards I’d like to see that fast horse you have."
Sam and Joel sipped coffee then ordered eggs, potatoes, ham slices and biscuits. "How’d you get into horse racing?" Joel asked between bites.
Sam swallowed a slurp of coffee. "I’ve always liked horses and gambling too. When I found out that horse was for sale, I bought it. It seemed like the natural thing to do." Sam told of the races Jenny had won in Denton.
"That sounds pretty good, Sam, how come you left there?" Joel asked.
By the time breakfast was over, Sam had told Joel all about W.F. Egan ordering him to get rid of the horse or leave town. He told about the loss in Denison. He didn’t say anything about being suckered into making his horse lose a race in Fort Worth, only that he figured to leave the entire area and hopefully turn his luck in a new location. Joel had a way of allowing him to disclose things about the horse and himself that he normally wouldn’t tell to others.
Afterwards, Joel paid the bill. "My treat," he said and left a generous tip for the waitress also.
They walked the short distance to Sid’s Livery. Joel walked around the horse, rubbing his hands over the mare’s legs. "Can we take her out? I’d like to see her run," he said.
Later, just on the edge of town after Jenny had given a good demonstration of her speed, Joel and Sam walked the mare back to the livery. "I like what I saw, Sam, you’ve got a good horse there. I think she could make us both some money if you’d like me to set up a race."
Sam was silent for a moment, remembering the bad experience in Fort Worth. "I’ll only let her race if there is some sort of money put up as a prize for the winner. For lack of money, I can’t bet enough to do me much good, even with odds."
"No problem, Sam, I’ll see what I can do. I know it costs to keep that animal," Joel said. "Do you have a minimum you’d be willing to race for?"
"A hundred dollars," Sam was quick to say. "More is always better but a hundred would be a good starting figure in a new place.
It was five days later that the half mile race was set to be held with a purse of $150.00 for the winner. Joel had worked hard at convincing various merchants to contribute to the prize money. Five dollars here, ten dollars there, he’d even put twenty dollars of his own money in the pot. The owners of the other two horses slated for the race each put up twenty dollars and the saloons made up the balance. Joel figured that the real money was to be made in the betting if he could get some odds, however even money was the best he could muster. The wagering was heavy on the two local horses, particularly Joe Craig’s ‘Lightning,’ a blazed faced roan. The other horse, a young gelded bay, appeared heavy but word on the street said the horse often finished well.
When the gun sounded to start the race, Lightning jumped ahead immediately and stayed there for half the race. Jenny was a half-length behind and the bay brought up the rear.
Sam urged Jenny on as the roan cow pony just ahead of her wasn’t able to sustain the lead. The bay was not a problem until near the end, coming on strong to finish second just behind Jenny and Sam at the finish line.
Joel and Sam were jubilant with the win. Sam was just happy to have money in his jeans and Joel never said how much he had collected from his bets.
Sam had celebrated his previous victories lavishly enough, he figured, and had treated himself to a thick steak, some cigars, expensive whiskey and time with the ladies of the night. Joel Collins demonstrated his celebrations seeming without worry about tomorrow. He threw money away as if feeding scratch to the chickens. At first Sam perceived his friend’s actions as foolhardy but soon allowed himself to throw rational thinking to the wind and joined in with reckless abandon. He’d watched as Joel freely bought drinks for strangers and any of the ladies in the saloons that came near. He would laughingly light up a big cigar, order a round of drinks for the table and foolishly call a poker bet without even looking at his hole card. "It’ll all come out in the end. Cain’t win if you ain’t in the game!" Joel quipped while tossing money into the middle of the table, calling the bet instead of scrapping the hand.
Sam basked in the foolishness. When he trailed downstairs behind a smiling blonde of questionable age, she ran over to two other scantily clad girls near the bar. "He gave me five dollars!" she giggled. The other two women’s mouths dropped open, the standard rate was two dollars.
Finally after the third night of debauchery the celebrant’s body couldn’t take any more. The sunlight blaring through the open window of Sam’s room crossed his face and woke him to nausea. He bolted upright then reached down to the edge of the bed and took hold of a chipped chamber pot, lifting the receptacle into his lap. The smell that wafted from it to his nostrils reminded that he’d used it earlier, and that was all it took for him to puke out the acid remnants of l
ast night’s binge. He felt immediate relief, despite a throbbing headache. Sam put the pot down then flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling through bleary eyes. After he had finished morning ablutions and gotten dressed, he went downstairs to the hotel restaurant to find Joel sitting at a table, idly stirring a cup of coffee.
Joel smiled on Sam’s approach. "Morning, Sam. You look a little green around the gills."
Sam remained silent as he took a chair across from Joel.
"A little hair of the dog might fix you right up," Joel snickered.
Sam gratefully took an offered cup of coffee and began slurping the hot liquid.
It was a light meal of a biscuit, marmalade and coffee for Sam, while Joel proceeded to have a full breakfast of meat, potatoes and eggs. Sam marveled at how Joel was reacting as if it was just another day with no apparent adverse effects from the past few days of carousing.
After the meal was finished, Joel sat back in his chair with his index finger hooked into a cup handle. "We need to think about the next race," he said nonchalantly. "Need to think about what would bring us the most money."
Sam brought his head up to look across the table. "What do you mean, Joel? The winning horse always pays the best."
Joel answered right back, "Not necessarily."
Sam felt a twinge of alarm. "What do you have in mind?" he asked, vaguely remembering he had asked that very thing once before.
Joel took a sip of coffee then sat the cup down. "It would be easy enough to get a rematch race. The betting would change, of course, all the betting would be on Jenny, the favorite now. No chance to make decent money unless . . ." Joel hesitated for a moment then leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Unless Jenny was to happen to lose a close race."
West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels Page 58