by Doug Bowman
Post said nothing, just made a sizable bet, which Rollins called.
When Rollins dealt the final round, he dealt Post the ace of hearts and himself a third six. He now had a full house. He set the deck down very slowly, his eyes on his opponent. Post leaned back in his chair, showing no signs of weakness. Even though he was looking at Rollins’ three sixes, the old man was still very much in the pot.
Rollins decided quickly that he had a lock. The only card the old man could have in the hole that would win the pot was the jack of hearts. The jack of hearts was already among the discards, for Wooten had turned it when he folded his hand. Any old heart in the hole would give Post a flush, however, and Rollins was hoping the old man had it. Knowing that his own full house would beat the flush, Rollins slid fifteen thousand dollars into the pot.
The old man matched the bet, almost beating Rollins into the pot. “You didn’t bet near enough!” he said loudly. “I intend to raise that bet considerably.”
Rollins smiled. “How much?”
Post chuckled. “Everything you own. We can do it this way: you put up County Line Ranch and everything on it, along with whatever amount of money you’ve got in the bank. Put it all in the pot. If you win, we’ll get an unbiased appraisal of everything you’ve got. Whatever value the appraiser puts on it, I’ll pay you that amount in cash.”
Rollins spoke quickly: “You’ll put that in writing? Get some of these witnesses to sign it?”
Post spoke to Peters: “See if the bartender has a pencil and something to write on, Pascal.”
When the old man had written and signed the agreement, he passed it across the table for Rollins’ approval. Then, when Peters and Wooten had each signed as witnesses, Post dropped the paper in the center of the table. Rollins’ bet was already in the pot. It was showdown time.
“All right, Mister Post,” Rollins said, “I’ve called your bet. Let’s see that hole card.”
Rollins’ smile faded, then disappeared, as the old man turned over the jack of hearts. A royal flush!
Rollins read the cards instantly, then reached across the table for the hand Wooten had discarded, still lying facedown. He turned the cards faceup: a ten, a five, a four, and the jack of diamonds. The jack of diamonds! Rollins stared at the card for a long time, wondering how he could have mistaken it for the jack of hearts. He had long prided himself on his ability to read and remember cards at a glance, and though the cards in question were very similar in appearance, that was no excuse for a man with his experience.
Finally, Rollins dropped his cards on the table and pushed back his chair. “Guess today was just your day, Mister Post. If you’ll meet me at the bank tomorrow at nine, I’ll give you the money. I guess you can take charge of the ranch about the middle of the week.” He started to leave, then stopped and turned to face the old man again. “I know you’ll do whatever you want to, but I’d sure like to ask a favor.”
“Ask away,” Post said.
“Well, we’ve got some mighty good people on the payroll, and I was hoping you might keep them on.”
“Everybody working there’s got a job,” the old man said, nodding several times. “Same job they’ve got right now.”
Rollins bought a quart of whiskey on credit and headed home. He was very soon drunk and slept till Monday morning.
Now he got up from the doorstep and walked around behind the house to relieve himself, then returned to the yard. “Nothing left for us around here, Zack. I think we should go out to El Paso for the winter, then make it up to one of the gold camps next spring. I hear that the miners throw money around like there’s no tomorrow.”
Hearing Rollins talk about somebody else throwing money around was humorous to Zack, but he did not laugh. Instead, he walked back and forth and began to speak softly: “I’m not going to El Paso, Bret, or anywhere else you might be going. You and me are as different as daylight and dark, and it’s time we went our separate ways. We’ve had some good times and a few things we’ve done have turned out pretty nice, but I just can’t live my life worrying about what the next turn of a card will do to me.”
Rollins shifted his weight from one foot to another nervously, a look of dejection on his face. “I guess you’ve made your decision, Zack, but it sure is a hard one. I’ve never had another friend like you.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small roll of bills. “Yesterday I sold those two lots I owned in town, got seven hundred dollars for ’em. I want to give you half of it so you’ll have some money to get started somewhere else.”
“No, no, Bret. I’ve still got that seven-fifty Peabody gave me for the young bulls, so we’re in about the same shape.”
Rollins motioned down the hill to the road. “El Paso’s a long ride,” he said, “and I can’t get there till after I start.”
When Zack pushed his right hand forward for a parting handshake, Rollins ignored the hand and grabbed him in a bear hug. Moments later, when Rollins had mounted, Zack spoke again: “No matter where you end up going, Bret, I’d change my name if I were you.” He pointed to the Peacemaker on Bret’s hip. “Word of that thing has already spread far and wide.”
“I know, and I’ll change my name when I leave this yard. From now on, my name is Bill Brown. If you ever decide you want to see me again, start asking after me by that name: Bill Brown.” Then he turned his horse toward the road.
“I’ll be thinking about you!” Zack called after him. “You take care of yourself!” Then he took a seat on the porch and with a lump in his throat, watched his friend ford the river and disappear toward the western horizon.
Zack spent the remainder of the day going over some of the things he had accumulated over the past three years, sorting out the smaller stuff that he would carry on his own journey. He had no idea where he would be going yet, but just as Rollins had said, there was nothing left for him here.
He dug out the packsaddle and the tent, then laid aside cooking utensils and heavy blankets, determined that when he left this place tomorrow, everything he needed to spend the winter outdoors would be riding on the packhorse. Finally, he took a seat on the doorstep and studied his Texas map for a long time.
Zack had asked Jolly Ross to assemble the crew in the cook-shack after supper, saying that he wanted to personally thank the men for their outstanding service and loyalty and to bid each man good-bye. Shortly after dark, he could see that more than one lamp was burning in the cookshack, and he was down the slope quickly.
As he entered the building, every man got to his feet and began to applaud. Zack shook his head and waved his arm to discourage the adulation. He walked to the stove and filled a cup from the coffeepot, then turned to face the crew. “I suppose you all know by now that the H and R Cattle Company is no more!” he began. There was a nodding of heads and some soft mumbling.
“The new owner’s name is Clyde Post, and he’ll be taking charge of the ranch any day now. Mister Post has assured us that he will keep every man who wants to continue working here. Every man on the same job at the same pay. When the first of the month comes, he’ll pick up the payroll right where I left off.” He caught Wilf Berryhill’s eye. “I also believe he will continue to employ your sister Esther, Mister Berryhill.”
Zack set his cup on the table, then continued: “I never made a speech in my life, men, and I don’t intend to start now. I just came down here to say good-bye to everybody and to thank you for … for just being who you are.”
“Where you gonna go, Zack?” one of the hands shouted.
“I haven’t decided for sure yet,” Zack answered. “I’ll probably head east, maybe go down around Houston or Beaumont.” He shook hands with every member of the crew, then took a seat at the table and ate his supper. An hour later, he was in bed, where he tossed and turned for the entire night.
He ate breakfast in the cookshack the following morning, long after the hands had eaten and gone to their jobs. Dixie Dalton had prepared enough trail food to last Zack several days, and had also
raided the storeroom. The supplies now lay in a neat pile at the end of the table. “You take care of yourself, Zack,” the cook was saying, “and you oughtta do right well in Houston. Lots of money around that town, and it’s growing fast.”
An hour later, Zack mounted the sorrel, then led his loaded packhorse to the cookshack. When he had added his provisions to the bay’s pack, he remounted and spoke to the cook, who was standing in the doorway. “So long, Dixie. It’s been a pleasure knowing you.” The cook nodded and waved goodbye.
Hunter rode down the hill. When he reached the road, he stopped and sat his saddle for a long time, looking first in one direction, then in the other. “Aw, hell!” he said finally, almost shouting. He turned the sorrel west and kicked the animal to a fast trot. If he traveled steadily and did a little night riding, he could easily overtake Bill Brown before he reached El Paso.
Other Books by Doug Bowman from Tom Doherty Associates
Gannon
Sam Curtain
The Three Lives of Littleton Blue
The H&R Cattle Company
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE H & R CATTLE COMPANY
Copyright© 1997 by Doug Bowman
All rights reserved.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
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New York, NY 10010
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ISBN: 0-812-56757-9
First edition: September 1997
eISBN 9781466881396
First eBook edition: August 2014