Dead Man's Poker

by Giles Tippette

  He got down, and we closed and latched the sliding door. The horses whinnied at us like they were being forgotten. I reckoned they were getting damn tired of standing around in a barn that sometimes banged and rattled and then other times didn’t do nothing at all. Horses are sensitive about such matters.

  Town was jammed right up next to the depot, but we walked toward the main plaza, where we both knew a good café was located, a place called La Cocina, the kitchen. I reckoned I’d been eating and drinking there for better than fifteen years. It wasn’t nothing fancy; they just gave you your money’s worth without trouble or fanfare. It was half saloon and half café. It was the first place open in the morning and the last to close at night. I’d never tried to figure it out exactly, but as best I could tell they were open about twenty-two hours a day. I think they only closed to sweep the floor and lay in supplies. La Cocina was where you could get your first drink of the morning or your last of the night, whatever time your night ended. The clientele was as mixed as the menu. You were likely to see elegantly dressed Mexican dons eating next to down-at-the-heels cowboys, or gamblers who’d just finished a night of fleecing the suckers, or a scattering of gunmen who were either drinking to get up for a fight or drinking to get down from one.

  We went in and got a table, and a pretty little Mexican girl came over with a slate and a piece of chalk. We both ordered beer and eggs with chili and flour tortillas with plenty of butter. We were ordering Mexican, but we could just as easily have ordered steak and potatoes, and they’d have had that just as quick.

  I looked around. The place was already about half-full. There were about twenty tables in what they called the eating area, not that you couldn’t drink there, but it was kind of separated from the bar and the few tables around it by a little aisle that led to the door. Most people who came in just to do some drinking stayed up at the bar end and left the other end for them as wanted to eat. But it wasn’t no hard-and-fast rule, not unless the place got packed.

  There was the usual amount of noise you’d find in such a place, the low rumble of talk, the ching-ching of spurs, the sound of crockery being rattled around, waitresses calling out orders. But over that I heard a voice say, “Melvin, you know what’re the two low-downest words they is? It ain’t cow shit an’ it ain’t pig sucker. It’s Wilson Young.”

  It was said just loud enough that those around us must have heard, the tables being packed in as tight as they were. I heard the level of the conversations drop down a notch, and I could feel men turning to look at the man who’d made the remark. Maybe some of them were looking at me. I was well enough known along the border that there would be plenty in the place who recognized the name if not the face.

  I glanced at Chulo. The words had come from directly behind me, and Chulo was facing that way. He said, lowly, “El Caballo.”

  The horse. It was the name given by the Mexicans to a man who made his living stealing good, blooded stock on the American side and then smuggling them into Mexico to sell inland, to the rich dons who owned big rancheros. His last name was Thorton. I never had known his first name. Everybody just called him Hoss. I hadn’t seen him in two or three years, but that occasion had been just like this one looked like it was going to be. He’d tried to pick a fight with me in a cantina in Villa Acuna, and I’d walked away from him. He’d been so drunk he could barely stand up. And now, listening to him, I could tell he was in just about the same shape. He’d probably been drinking all night. I’d seen him a few times when he was sober, and he’d taken extra care not to cross my path. But when he got liquored up enough, he figured he could fight anyone.

  I said, raising my voice a little so those around me could hear I wasn’t the one causing the trouble, “Thorton, I ain’t looking for any trouble and you don’t sound like you could handle any. I’m here for some breakfast and then I’m leaving.”

  He came back at me, in a louder voice. “Big man Wilson Young talkin’. Ever’body s’pose to be ’fraid of him. Well, I ain’t, by gawd. This here is one hoss ain’t scairt of no high and mighty Mister Wilson Young.”

  I said, “Take it easy, Thorton. They don’t want no trouble in this place.”

  Voices around me said, “Yeah, take it out in the street. Folks is trying to eat in here.”

  I didn’t want to take it out in the street. We had horses on a train to catch in less than two hours, and no matter how fast and fairly I killed Thorton, there would have to be an inquiry, and by the time that was over the train would have gone.

  Thorton said, still in a loud voice, “Well, I run you oncet, Mister Wilson Young an’ I reckon I kin do it agin. Turn ’round here when I’m talkin’ to you, boy!”

  I saw Chulo inch his chair back just enough to clear his draw. At that instant the little girl brought our food, all oblivious to the fact that a fight was about to break out. She set the warm plates in front of us and I picked up my fork.

  Behind me Thorton said, “By gawd, Young, what does it take, you son of a bitch? I’m callin’ you out. You deaf?”

  I looked up at Chulo again. He said, softly, “Only the two. The other one is talking to hem quiet. He doan leesen.”

  I could hear Melvin, or whatever his name was, saying, “Let it go, Hoss. You scairt him. They’ll chuck us out of here you don’t take it easy.”

  Thorton’s voice was still as loud. “Don’t give a by gawd! Look at that son of a bitch! An’ him eatin’ with a nigger Meskin, too.”

  Those were nearly his last words. Chulo’s head came up and I saw him start to rise. I shook my head. He sank back down. I said, “Thorton, I come in here to eat breakfast and I’m going to do it. When I’m finished, I’ll take you out in the street and give you all you want. In the meantime keep your mouth shut or wait out in the street.”

  Thorton said, “Not damn likely. Wait in the street so’s you can slip out the back. I’ll be on yore tail when you go through that thar door.”

  I looked at Chulo. I said, “Man is insisting on getting himself killed.” I shook my head. “And he ain’t leaving me no way out. And us with that damn train to catch. What about the other one?”

  Chulo leaned forward. He said, “He es not en et. He es tryin’ to talk to hes freen.”

  And, listening close, I could hear this Melvin saying, “Hoss, it ain’t worth it. That thar is Wilson Young, an’ them ain’t jest stories you hear ’bout him. I’ve seen him with a gun.”

  Thorton said, “Don’t give a shit. Kill his ass.”

  He was starting to slur his words pretty badly. There was the hope that he might pass out. I just kept on eating.

  Melvin said, “Hoss, you’ve had a pretty good many dranks. Don’t you reckon you ought to git him some other time? You been drankin’ all night.”

  “Don’ give no shit,” Thorton said.

  I wasn’t all that surprised about what was happening. If his name hadn’t been Thorton, it would have been something else. It was just another of the reasons I was glad to be out of the outlaw trail. Now, at least, the only saloon I generally went into was my own. And nobody started any trouble in there.

  We were getting damn close to the end of our meal. I called the little girl over and asked her for another round of beer for me and Chulo.

  Behind me, Thorton said, “Dawdlin’ ain’t gonna save yore worthless hide, Young. By gawd, you’ll lick dirt ’er I’ll kill ya. Goddam smart aleck!”

  We took our time. After we’d finished our food but before we’d finished our beer, I leaned forward to Chulo. I said, “I’m going to arrange it so I go out first. Thorton will sure as hell come out right behind me. You be right behind him. Once we’re outside the café, I’m going to turn and put a gun on him and his friend. As I do, you draw that big pistol of yours and hit Thorton over the head. Hit him hard. This Melvin won’t do nothing because I’m going to have a gun on him. Maybe by the time Thorton wakes up he’ll be sober enough to realize he’s been a damn fool.”

  Chulo looked troubled. He said, “Et don’
t look right, you don’t keel thees man.”

  I frowned at him. I said, “Chulo, a killing means the sheriff. Right or wrong it will cause us to miss our train. Can you understand that?”

  “Chess,” he said slowly.

  I said, “And do I really need to kill some damn drunk?”

  “I doan theenk so.”

  “All right,” I said.

  He said, “Hokay. But et steel doan look so good.”

  I give him a glare. I said, “You just hit the son of a bitch. Hokay?”

  “Hokay,” he said.

  I called the waitress for our score, paid her, and then stood up. I looked around at Thorton. I said, “I’m going out now, Thorton. You can stay in that chair and save yourself a lot of trouble.”

  The whole dining room had got quiet, watching and listening to us.

  Thorton stood up, a little unsteadily. He was a squat, ugly man with a broken nose and about a week’s growth of beard on his face. I’d heard he was bad in a brawl, but I didn’t know of any reputation he had for being good with a gun. Maybe he figured that a good horse thief was just naturally a deadeye. His friend stood up. He didn’t look anywhere near the kind of a hard case Thorton was, though he wasn’t much prettier. He said, “Hoss, let it go. Hell with it. Let’s get another drink.”

  Thorton shook him off. He said, stumbling over the words a little, “Goan kilt tha bastard. Think he kin get the best of me. Shi-i-it!”

  I turned and walked to the door and pushed it open. I walked through, crossed the wooden boardwalk, and then stepped out into the street. I took three paces and then turned. I could see the people inside the café lined up at the windows, waiting to see what happened.

  I said, “Thorton ...”

  He made a motion, and I had my revolver in my hand while he was still struggling to find the butt of his. I could have shot him a half a dozen times. But as he finally got hold of his pistol and made as if to draw, I nodded at Chulo, who was standing just behind and to the left of him. Chulo drew his big revolver and slammed Thorton over the head. He dropped like he’d been clubbed with a sledgehammer. I returned my gun to its holster and walked over to Melvin. I said, “You seen I could have killed him and I didn’t. When he comes to, remind him of that. I’ve got a train to catch and no time to be talking to the sheriff. Tell him to stay away from me in future.”

  Melvin was staring at me with round eyes. He kind of stuttered out, “Th-Thanks. He was dr-drunk an’ din’t know what he was a-doing.”

  Chulo and I turned and walked toward the depot. Chulo glanced back and said that Melvin was dragging Thorton off the street. I said, “That’s good. Laying there he might scare the horses.”

  We got back to the stock car and found everything in order. The train crew had been by and given the horses fresh water and hay. But they were still restless. If there’d been a ramp handy, I’d have unloaded them and then ridden them around for a little exercise. As it was they just had to be content to stamp their feet and shift around and eat hay. We had an hour to go if the train did leave on time. Of course I doubted that it would.

  Chulo had a deck of cards, and we killed a little time by playing some two-handed Acey-Deucey, but it wasn’t a hell of a lot of diversion. Chulo was such a bad player that it didn’t take me long to win all his money, and then I’d have to give it back to him so we could keep on playing.

  Finally we got out of the car and went wandering up and down the train. While we’d been gone, the whole thing had been made up, including the engine. All they had to do now was crank up, pull into the depot to collect the passengers, and then be off for Brownsville. If they ever got around to it.

  Most of the freight was stock cars filled with young steers. I figured they were headed to somebody’s range for restocking, since they were too young for slaughter. They were bawling and slipping around and just generally acting like they didn’t care for the accomodations. I looked at my watch. It was eight-thirty, time for us to be starting. We started walking back toward our car. About that time Chulo said, “I doan theenk thees es so good.” He pointed.

  I looked. Coming toward us from town were two horsemen. One was kind of lagging back. They were still a good three or four hundred yards away, but as they neared, I could see that the rider in front was Thorton. “Goddammit!” I swore. “Won’t that bastard ever learn?”

  I started walking toward him, moving away from the cars. Chulo was right behind me. Thorton was yelling something, but I couldn’t quite make it out. Then he got close enough, and I heard him say, “Wilson Young, you pig-suckin’ shit eater, I’m gonna kill yore ass!”

  It was clear the blow to the head hadn’t knocked any sense in him.

  Chulo said, “Thees time he ain’t goan geeve you no selecion.”

  He meant “selection,” which he’d heard me say, but he could never get it right. I sighed. I said, “If this damn train would just start up, we could be out of here.”

  Thorton had ridden his horse to within thirty yards of where we stood. Melvin was back about another ten. Thorton dismounted and started walking toward us. His gait was none too steady. The man had got the idea fixed in his mind that he was going to have a fight with me and nothing else would do. If I drew and shot him, I would kill him. I’d heard of people shooting to wound, but I wasn’t one of those people. As far as I was concerned it was a bad habit to get into, plus it was a risky shot. A man’s chest was the biggest target, and that was what you aimed at.

  Thorton kept coming, cussing me with every breath. “You’ll lick dirt, by gawd, Young. Or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  At twenty yards, which was far too great a distance, even for a shot such as myself, he jerked out his revolver and let fly a wild shot. My only thought was that he was liable to hit one of Justa’s horses. I saw him cock his revolver again and, waveringly, try to aim at me.

  There was a sudden explosion by my left ear, and Thorton went over backwards like he’d been roped out of the saddle. I looked around. Chulo was standing there with that cannon of his with the nine-inch barrel. I said, “What the hell did you do that for?”

  He shrugged. He said, “Chou let thees hombre del mar choot chou. I theenk chou es going to let thees loco hombre choot chou tambien.”

  “Damn!” I said. “Now we got trouble. Sheriff trouble.”

  We walked over to where Thorton was laying on his back. Melvin had dismounted and was standing over his friend. Thorton was laying there with his eyes wide open, his mouth sucking for air. The wound was bad, but it didn’t look like it was going to kill him. Chulo’s shot had taken him under the right collarbone. There was a lot of blood, and I reckoned the collarbone was broken and probably his shoulder blade, but if he didn’t bleed to death, he ought to be all right.

  Melvin said, “I tried to stop him. Folks in town will witness I tried to talk him outta comin’ out here. But nuthin’ would do him but that he done it.”

  I said, “You seen him shoot first.”

  “Oh, hell yes,” Melvin said. “Ain’t no question about that. He’s jest crazy drunk.”

  I said, “You better get him in to a doctor as fast as you can.”

  Me and Chulo got Thorton to his feet while Melvin led his horse up. It took all three of us to get him in the saddle, and then Chulo and I held him there while Melvin mounted. Thorton was white-faced and sweating. Getting hit by a heavy-caliber slug ain’t near as much fun as it’s made out to be.

  Melvin rode up alongside of Thorton and got an arm around his shoulders to support him. Thorton was still groggy, but he was coming around enough to help himself a little. Melvin said, hesitantly, “Say, I know I ain’t got no right to ast somethin’ like this, but me and Hoss is plumb out of money. That was one thang he was so het up about. I wonder if you could let me take ten dollars for the doctor. I’ll get it back to you when I can.”

  “Sure,” I said. I got out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to him. I said, “You might need a little more.”

  “
I’m much obliged.”

  I said, “Just don’t be in no big hurry to visit with the sheriff.”

  Melvin said, “He’ll have to find us.”

  We watched them ride slowly off. After a moment we walked back to our car. Up at the front I heard the engine give a little toot like the engineer was testing his whistle. That at least meant they were getting steam up in their boiler. It shouldn’t be long before we left. At least we’d had a good breakfast.

  We climbed in and sat down in the chairs Chulo had stolen. I said, “That was some stunt you just pulled.”

  He said, “I din theenk chou was going to keel the man.”

  I said, “Of course I wasn’t going to kill him. He was falling down drunk. He couldn’t have hit this train with a rifle. Now you’ll have the sheriff on us.”

  He said, “I choust choot to wound hem.”

  I mocked him. I said, “I choust choot to wound hem. My foot! At twenty paces? Hell, you damn near missed him. You got mighty lucky is what you got.”

  He said, “Ef the cheeref come, he come for Chulo. Chou don’t got to worry.”

  “Oh, shut up, you dumb Meskin. He comes for you, he comes for me, and I’m chasing a man owes me twenty thousand dollars and a bullet hole. I ought to cut your ears off.”

  Chulo said, “Leesen, chou heer what thees man calls me in La Cocina?”

  I said, “Of course I heard him. So did everybody else. You are a nigger Meskin. So what?”

  He kind of reared back. He said, “Et’s hokay you call me such a theng. Et es no bueno por nada for that gringo sumbeetch call me that.”

  All of a sudden the train began to move, with a great jolting and yanking that got the horses all nervous again. We’d been watching Melvin taking Thorton back to town, half-expecting to see lawmen come riding out to meet them. But they’d disappeared into town without incident. There were several doctors in Laredo, most of them plenty experienced in gunshot wounds, and they’d done a bunch of business in that trade. I figured Melvin would take Thorton to a doctor first, but I was just holding my breath he didn’t run right on over to the sheriff’s office.