Essential Western Novels - Volume 6. Zane GreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
cure that one of yourn?"
"Dollar's purty steep," objected Tex. "Make it a half." He leaned back and laughed reminiscently. "I worked a system on her. Lemme deal first?"
"Suit yourself. Turn 'em face up—it'll save time. What did you do?"
"Made her think I didn't care a snap about her. Want to cut? Well, I didn't know—some don't want to," he explained. "Saves time, that's all. Reckon it's yore pot on that queen. Deal 'em up."
"How'd you do it? snub her?"
"Gosh, no! Don't you ever do that: it makes 'em mad. Just let 'em alone—sort of look at 'em without seein' 'em real well. You dassn't make 'em mad! You win ag'in. Yo're lucky at this game: want to quit?"
"Give you a chance to get it back," sneered the nephew. "Think it would work with her?"
"Don't know: she got any other beaux?"
"I've seen to that. She ain't. Take th' money an' push over yore cards. Do you think it will work with her?" Henry persisted.
"Gosh, sonny: don't you ask me that! No man knows very much about wimmin', an' me less than most men. It's a gamble. She's got to jump one way or th' other, ain't she? How was you figgerin' to win?"
"Just go get her, that's all. She'll tame down after awhile."
"But you allus can do that, can't you? Now, if it was me I'd try to get her to come of her own accord, for things would be sweeter right at th' very start. But, then, I'm a gambler, allus willin' to run a risk. A man's got to foller his own nature. I got you beat ag'in: this shore is a nice game."
"Too weak," objected the nephew. "Dollar a hand would suit me better. My eights win this. Want to boost her?"
Tex reflected covetously. "Well, I might go high as a dollar, but not no more."
"Dollar it is, then. What's yore opinion of that gal?"
"Shucks," laughed Tex. "She's nice enough, I reckon; but she ain't my style. Yore uncle's game is bustin' up an' he's lookin' at me. See you later. You win ag'in, but I allus have bad luck doublin' th' stakes, 'though I ain't what you might call superstitious. See you later."
Tex arose and went over to the other table, raked in the cards, squared them to feel if they had been trimmed, thought they had been, and pushed them out for the cut, watching closely to see how the face cards had been shaved. Williams turned the pack, announced that high dealt, grasped the sides of the pack and turned a queen. Tex also grasped the sides of the pack remaining and also turned a queen. He clumsily dropped the deck, growled something and bunched it again, shoving it toward his companion in such a way that Williams would have to show a deliberate preference for the side grip. This he did and Tex followed his lead. The ends of the face cards and aces had been trimmed and the sides of the rest of the deck had been treated the same way. Because of this the sides of the face cards stuck out from the deck and the ends of the spot cards projected. Yet so carefully had it been done that it was not noticeable. Williams cut again, turning another queen. Tex cut a king and picked up the pack. As he shuffled he was careful not to show any of his characteristic motions, for although his opponent had forgotten his face in the score of years behind their former meeting, it might take but very little to start his memory backtracking.
"My money ag'in' th' roan," said the dealer, pushing out the cards for the cut. "Hundred an' fifty," he explained.
Williams cut deep and nodded. "This one game decides it: a discard, a draw, an' a show-down. Right?"
"Right," grunted Tex, swiftly dropping the cards before them. Williams picked up his hand, but gave no sign of his disappointment. There was not a face card in it. He made his selection, discarded, and called for three cards. Tex had discarded two. Williams wanted no face cards on the draw, since he held a pair of nines. One more nine would give him a fair hand, and another would just about win for him. He drew a black queen and a pair of red jacks.
"Well," he said, "ready to show?"
Tex grunted again, glanced at Bud Haines, and lay down three queens, a nine, and a jack. "What you got?" he anxiously asked.
"An empty box stall, I reckon," growled his adversary, spreading his hand. He pushed back without another word to Tex, looked at his stableman and spoke gruffly. "John, give that roan to Mr. Jones when he calls for it. He's to keep it somewhere else. I'm turnin' in. Good night, all."
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VI
FRIENDLY INTEREST
Freshly shaven, his boots well rubbed, and his clothes as free from dust as possible, Tex sauntered down the street after breakfast the next morning and stepped into the stable. John Graves met him, nodded, and led the way to the roan's stall.
"You got a fine hoss, Mr. Jones," he said, opening the gate.
"Yes, I have; an' you've taken good care of him. His coat couldn't be better. I like a man that looks after a hoss."
"I ain't sayin' nothin' about nobody, but I'm glad to see him change owners," said Graves, glancing around. "Rub yore hand on his flank. I got th' coat so it hides 'em real well."
Tex stroked the white nose, rubbed the neck and shoulders, and slowly passed his hand over the flank. The scars were easily found. He wheeled and looked at the stableman. "Who in h—l did that, an' why?" he demanded.
"That ain't for me to say, an' sayin' wouldn't do no good; but I'm plumb glad he's in other hands. Just because a hoss fights back when he's bein' abused ain't no reason to cut him to pieces. An' a big man can kick hard when he's mad."
Tex held a lump of sugar to the sensitive, velvety lips before replying. "Yes, he can," he admitted. "Anybody in town that'll treat this hoss right, an' give him a stall?"
"Better see Jim Carney in his saloon. He's a good, reliable man an' likes hosses. He'll take good care of Oh My."
Tex stared at him. "Of what?"
"Oh My," replied the stableman. "Th' rest of th' name is Cayenne."
"'Suffer little children!'" exclaimed Tex. "Who named him that, an why?"
"I reckon Williams did, because he's peppery an' red."
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Tex. He thought a moment. "Huh! Prophet! Mecca! Mohammed!" he muttered. Suddenly seeing a great light, he flipped his sombrero into the air, caught and balanced it on his nose when it came down, sidestepped, and as it fell, punched it across the stable. Turning gravely he shook hands with the surprised stableman, slapped him on the shoulder and burst out laughing. "Where'n blazes did he dig 'em up? He don't know what one of them names means; There was the Veil through which I might not see. Come, John: Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine must drown the memory of that insolence! Wait till I get my hat: Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit."
Carney gave them a nonchalant welcome and displayed little interest in them until Graves told him about the horse.
"Th' roan, eh?" exclaimed the saloonkeeper. "I'll shore find a place for it, but I'm afraid it'll miss th' beatin's. There's a closet built across one corner of th' stable: I'll give you a key to it, Mr. Jones. It'll be handy for yore trappin's."
After a few rounds Tex went out, mounted bareback and, leaving Graves in front of the stable, rode to the hotel to get his saddle. Soon thereafter he dismounted at the station and smiled at the agent.
"'Richard is himself again,'" he chuckled, affectionately patting Omar. "An' I still have my kingdom."
"He looks fit for a king to ride," replied Jerry.
"He'd honor a king. How's th' hen ranch comin' along? Got th' fence up yet?"
"Yes; Murphy just finished it. That looks like Williams' roan."
"It