Raining Trouble

by Randall Sawka

  A bit over-protective thought Ward.

  The man with the weak eyebrow raised twenty dollars. The next two players folded and Ward picked up his cards. He saw a king, ten, eight, and a pair of threes. He tossed his cards in the muck and turned his attention to the cowboy to his left.

  The bearded man tapped a finger on his cards and reached for chips. “I reraise to eighty.” He flung the chips onto the green felt and they spread out halfway across the table.

  Barry Scrum sat next to the bearded man. The fat rancher inspected his cards and tossed them in the muck, mumbling.

  The two cowhands ended up with five hundred dollars each in the pot. They discarded one card each. Scrum and the pro gamblers watched them closely.

  The man to Ward’s right looked at the card dealt to him leaned back in his chair stretching. “Mighty early to send you home, mister,” he said to the bearded man.

  “Big talk.” The bearded man wasn't one for chitchat and hadn’t looked at his new card.

  “Fine.” The man to Ward's right slid the remainder of his two dollars into the middle of the table.

  A roar filled the room and the crowd pushed closer to the table.

  The bearded man stared at the card dealt to him. “Let's have a look.”

  He pulled the card closer. The slow movement of his hand seemed to draw the eyes of everyone in the crowd even closer. He didn't bother hiding the card from the people behind him. Several even shouted, “it's the eight of spades.”

  A yellow smile emerged from the thick beard. “So it is. I'll call.” His chips joined the large pile in the middle of the table.

  The man across from him flipped over his cards in a flash. “Full house, queens over fours.” His right hand reached for the pile of chips.

  The bearded man looked at the dealer. “Mind if I show my hand?”

  “Steady, mister,” the dealer told the man holding the full house. “There's one more hand to see.”

  The man to Ward's right pulled his hand back. “Sure. Let's see if he can top my hand.” Wariness replaced his glee. He looked hard at the bearded man and saw more confidence than concern.

  Ward heard laughter from a group of men near the door. One man in that group lifted a glass of beer. “Come on Jarred, you bearded fool, show everyone what you got.”

  The tone in the man's voice annoyed Ward. Why would a man call someone a fool so easily?

  Jarred dropped the eight of spades on the table in front of him. Slowly he dropped three more spades, the nine, ten and jack.

  A possible straight flush caught the attention of those around the table and the cowboy to Ward's right stared with his mouth dropped open.

  Jarred's head rocked back and forth as he flipped over his final card, a five of hearts.

  Relief filled the other cowboy and laughter echoed throughout the smoke-filled bar.

  Jarred jumped out of his seat and with a hoot of glee ran out of the bar.

  “He did it again,” said the man who called him a fool.

  Ward shook his head and thought, “So that's crazy Jarred Young. Heard of him but thought it was just a wild story.”

  The saloon filled with laughter and talk about the man named Jarred who works like a devil in the mines until he has a stake for a poker game. The poor fellow has no idea how to play a proper game and lost the money each time in a blink of an eye.

  The game settled down and the remaining seven played sound poker. An hour into the game three players, including Barry Scrum, built a healthy pot. Scrum kept raising five hundred dollars until all three had most of their chips in the pot.

  The final draw saw one of the others and Scrum decline new cards while the other player took two. That player slid the remainder of this chips into the pot. “Here's my chance,” he said with a good deal of confidence.

  The other two also slid in the same amount of chips.

  “Show your cards, gentlemen,” said the dealer.

  The first player showed a straight to a ten.

  “Not bad.” The second player flipped over his cards. “Flush to the ace.”

  Barry Scrum threw his cards onto the stack of chips. The other players looked in disbelief at four threes.

  One of the players swore and stormed away from the table. The other downed his whiskey and also walked away, but in resigned silence.

  Scrum stacked his chips. “Some people shouldn't play poker.”

  Five hands later Ron Ward played against one man. His opponent drew one card. Ron Ward also took one card that gave him a straight to a seven. Ward had his head turned slightly away but kept looking at the other man. The man nodded at the card and turned his attention to his chips. The man swallowed hard several time. Ward had seen the same thing from the man in earlier hands when the man was bluffing.

  “Reckon I'll raise to seven hundred,” the man announced.

  “Why don't I bump that to one thousand.” Ward kept his head down, feigning weakness.

  The other man looked at his chip stack and pushed in his remaining three thousand.

  Ward took some time to count his chips. He had built a stack of twenty thousand and knew he could continue if he lost. He picked up six five hundred dollar chips and set them in the middle of the table. “It's yours if you can beat a small straight.”

  The other man mucked his cards and smiled. “You read me well, mister.” He tried to shake the hands of Ward and the remaining three players. Everyone accepted the handshake except Barry Scrum who simply shook his head no and sipped his whiskey.

  The four remaining players continued for two more hours. Ward played cautiously against Scrum who seemed on a lucky streak. He won several healthy pots from the other two, as did Ward.

  The second draw of the first hand after a meal break saw Ward watching the other three playing form a healthy pot. Scrum faced two professional gamblers and they all seemed to hold quality hands.

  The first pro raised two thousand dollars. The second pro didn't hesitate as he bumped the pot to four thousand.

  Scrum adjusted his position in the chair, the wood squeaking under the pressure. “Generally I'd fold and let you two battle it out.” Scrum faked tossing his cards to the dealer. “Heck, why don't we make things interesting.” He slid three large stacks of chips into the pot. “That's an additional six grand.”

  Both pros locked their eyes on Scrum, trying to read his body language.

  With only five thousand dollars left the first pro promptly called.

  The second pro had nearly eight thousand dollars remaining and a good hand, two pair, kings and queens. “I'll call.” His chips helped build the biggest pot of the day.

  The dealer gathered the chips into a pile in front of him. “Gentlemen, let's see your hands.”

  The two pros lifted their cards off the felt and flipped them over. The first pro had a flush that topped the other's two pair.

  All eyes in the room were on the cards except Ward's. He subtly watched Scrum again shuffle slightly in his chair and rub his hands on his lap. He then dropped his large hands onto his cards. The portly rancher wore nice clothes and Ward wondered why he didn't use the hankie he had pulled out of his vest pocket earlier to wipe his hands.

  “Not your day, boys. Full house.” Scrum gripped the cards with his left hand and showed three sevens and two tens.

  The pros stood up and shook hands with the two gamblers still in the game, Scrum and Ward.

  “We'll break for thirty minutes,” announced the dealer.

  Ward stood up and stretched. The crowd had gathered in groups and discussed the game. The prevailing theme was that Ward was over his head against Scrum.

  Once Dunn remained at his table and had a drink waiting for his friend. “How's it looking?”

  “We have about the same amount of chips but there's something up. Scrum has had more than his share of strong hands. I'm going to keep an extra close watch on him.” Ron downed the drink. “You keep a close eye on those four men he has surrounding him, especially
Cook.”

  “Will do. You be careful.”

  Ward smiled broadly. “I'll be that. But, the fun’s about to begin.”

  At seven sharp the two players moved toward the table. Ward sat down first.

  Barry Scrum went out of his way to pass behind Ward. The rancher's heavy hand landed on Ward's shoulder and squeezed hard. “Don't you get any ideas. You've caused me enough trouble. Just make it look good and get out of my way when the pots are big.”

  Ward looked up and laughed. “Don't think for one second that I'll do you any favours. Well maybe one. I'll let you keep that hand if you take it off my shoulder right now.”

  Scrum's men moved their hands towards their weapons. Once Dunn did the same. Scrum slowly pulled his hand away. He circled the table and dropped into his chair.

  Eight hands passed before a serious bet hit the table.

  The dealer shuffled the cards. He dealt out five cards to each player. Scrum acted first. He glanced at his cards and tossed in a pile of chips. “Two grand.”

  Ward studied Scrum for thirty seconds and lifted his cards. He found three kings and two fives. “Re-raise.” He pushed three stacks of chips into the center of the table. “Let's make it eight.”

  Scrum didn't flinch at the large bet. He didn't even look up. He kept one hand on top of his cards and focused on his chip stack. He slowly selected six piles and added them to the pot. “That's twelve more to you.”

  “Sure.” Ward calmly slid twelve chips in two neat piles of six toward the middle of the table. His hand stopped. He looked at Scrum for several seconds and pulls the chips back.

  Scrum sneers. “Folks, it looks like the man's yellow.”

  Ron looked at Dunn and adjusted his hat back a bit. Dunn delayed, looked towards the swinging doors. He drained his whiskey and slid the glass to the far end of the table signaling to Ward that the precautions were in place. There were no guarantees that they would work but Ward and Dunn were comfortable with a risk when their's and the small ranchers honours were at stake.

  “Yellow. Words like that from a cattle rustling coyote kind of make me laugh,” said Ward in a calm voice but loud enough for all to hear.

  “Talk like that can get you a gut-full of lead.”

  Two Scrum gunmen moved closer to the table.

  “Not a good idea,” Ward concentrated on his cards.

  “Your big friend over there can't outshoot four men.”

  “I reckon you're as stupid as they say if you think I'm not prepared.”

  “That's your last word, mister.” One of Scrum's men reached for a gun.

  Before the gun cleared leather a rifle shot echoed through the street and the saloon. A bullet passed through the man's chest and embedded in the wooden edge of the table.

  Across the street Jed Cochran sat back on his perch on the balcony of the rooming house. Smoke floated from the barrel of his Winchester.

  Scrum slammed his fist on the table. Chip stacks collapsed onto the green felt.

  Ward chuckled. “Shall we continue?”

  Scrum locked eyes with his opponent. A man of great pride, he lit an expensive cigar and sat silently for a moment. He turned to one of his men. “Vern, you get Pike's body out of here. You other two keep your eyes open.” The big rancher leaned forward on the table, ash from his drooping cigar sprinkled on his chips. “Ward, you've caused me nothing but misery since you arrived in the territory. Why don't we see how big a man you really are?”

  “I'm listening.”

  Scrum tapped the table with his index finger. “Let’s make this hand interesting. I know you have a big spread down south, about the same size as mine. I'm raising to one hundred thousand dollars.”

  The roar built in the saloon as Ward studied his cards. He cocked his head to one side and stared at Scrum. “You’re saying that in front of a room full of witnesses.”

  “I’m doing just that.”

  “Then I’m calling.”

  Scrum frowned and his cigar fell on the floor. He stomped out the cigar as he locked eyes with his opponent. As quickly as he had been surprised by the quick call he gathered himself. “Well, let’s see your hand.”

  Ward dropped his cards face up on the table.

  “Kings over fives,” said the dealer.

  A mixture of cheers and boos filled the saloon.

  Scrum maintained his poker face as he flipped over the cards, one at a time.

  The dealer leaned forward and said, “nine, queen, queen, queen, queen. Mr. Scrum has four queens. He’s the winner.”

  The friends of the surly rancher shouted approval.

  Scrum raised his ham-like hands in the air in a show of victory. “You best find another game, Ward. You don’t know a thing about poker.”

  Scrum lowered his hands towards the pile of chips. In a blur Ward pulled his knife out of his belt and drove it through the sleeve of Scrum’s right hand and into the wood beneath the felt.

  Once Dunn pulled out both of his six-shooters and covered Scrum’s men. “You boys just behave yourself and you’ll live to see these two sort things out.”

  “What’s the meaning of this? I won fair and square,” blurted Scrum.

  “Then you don’t mind us having a look around your seat.”

  “I do mind. My reputation in this town is one of respect. No stranger’s going to tell me what to do. Now get that blade out of there so I can collect my winnings.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. Fact is, I know a little more about this game than you think.” Ward stood up but leaned on the knife holding Scrum to the table. “What I have to say might be of interest to anyone here who has lost money to you at a poker table.”

  Ten or twelve voices acknowledged loosing large amounts of money to Scrum. One tall man at the bar filled the quiet air. “I lost plenty to Scrum. What are you suggesting, mister?”

  The room fell dead silent.

  “I’ll do better than suggest. Maybe the great poker player Barry Scrum would like to tell you about a thing called a ‘bug.’”

  “You keep your mouth shut, Ward, I’m warning you,” said a seething Scrum.

  “You’re in no position to make threats. Your men are covered and my friend will put a bullet in you if you make the slightest move for your gun.”

  Scrum glared at Once Dunn who pointed to the shadowed corner next to the bar. Tom Sheridan stood there with a rifle pointed right at him.

  “Everyone have a look at the edges of this side of the table.” Ward ran his hand along the bottom edge of the table where he and the men on each side of him had sat. “The edge is smooth and clean. Now have a look at this side.” Ward waved over the tall man who had lost money to Scrum in the past. “Sir, move in closer. I want someone else to describe this edge of the table.”

  The tall man slipped through the increasingly curious crowd. He had to bend low to get a good view. “Looks the same as the rest of the table.”

  “Look a little further under.”

  The tall man leaned on the table and pushed his head under. “Well, I’ll be. There’s a small hole in the wood.” His voice was muffled under the table but those close enough to hear passed the word around.

  “It’s nothing, Craig. It's just a hole,” Scrum shouted. “I don’t need to cheat to beat you at poker.”

  Once Dunn broke his silence. “Ron, why don’t you tell these good people what this skunk Scrum has been up to for all these years?”

  “Yea. Let’s hear it,” asked Craig. “How does a little hole prove that he was cheating?”

  “Good question. A bug is a clip that holds cards under the table. It’s thin and hard to see.” Ward pulled the knife out of the table and put it in its scabbard.

  “Scrum must have taken it off after the last hand,” said Dunn.

  Scrum jumped to his feet. “I told you already, I don’t need to cheat at poker.” Scrum raised his arms. “Check my pockets. Go on, check.”

  Ward stepped towards Scrum then stopped suddenly. He turned to face
Once Dunn and smiled. “Mr. Dunn, do you recall that game last year where they discovered that rattlesnake Stomper Jennings with a bug?”

  Dunn nodded. “Seems to me Jennings had it under his boot.”

  “You recall what happened to him?”

  “They dragged that cheating dog outside and hung him from a tree.”

  All eyes fell to Scrum’s polished leather boots. The fat rancher waved at a man quietly nursing a drink at a nearby table.

  The man sprang to his feet and reached for his gun. Ward grabbed his gun at the same time, drew and fired a touch faster than the other man. Ward’s bullet hit the man in the chest. The other man’s bullet shattered a lampshade on the wall. His gun fell on the table and he crashed to the floor.

  Ward and Dunn scanned the room. Ward faced Scrum. “You have any more cowards hidden in the crowd?”

  “You watch your mouth.”

  “I’m not about to take orders from a no-good thief like you. Let’s finish our talk about today’s poker game?”

  “Nothing more to say.”

  Ward kept his gun trained on Scrum. He looked the man up and down. Ward’s gaze fell to Scrum’s boots.

  The eyes of the closing crowd followed Ward’s eyes.

  “What’s that sticking out from the side of the bottom of his boot?” asked a man cradling a beer as he moved closer.

  A well-dressed man in a suit and tie blared, “it’s the corner of a card. Scrum, you took me for three thousand last month, you cheating…”

  “Mind yourself, Bellows,” Scrum snarled.

  Several men held the man in the suit back. Shouts of cheat and thief rang out.

  Ward walked up to Scrum. With his actions blocked by Scrum’s large body Ward pulled his knife out of its scabbard. He held it against Scrum’s side. “Now why don’t you lift your foot so your friend Bellows and everyone else here can have a look.”

  Scrum grudgingly lifted his foot.

  Bellows looked down and saw a thin wire held to the bottom of Scrum’s boot by small barbs. He reached out and plucked it and looked at the wire that held two aces.

  “I’ll be,” shouted Bellows. “It is a bug.”

  A loud roar went up from the crowd. Several men pulled out guns and shot at the ceiling. Angry slurs directed at Scrum flew from every direction.