Ace in the Hole (9 page)

Dave Coffin sat at the fire and poured himself another cup of coffee. When he heard the sounds of an approaching rider, he dumped the contents of the coffee cup into the fire and stood up, right hand hovering above his gun. When he saw the rider and recognized him as Tito Calhoun, he relaxed.

“Pour me a cup,” Calhoun said, reining in his horse.

“We got time?”

“We got time,” Calhoun said, tying off his horse, “but not a whole lot.”

“Enough for you to tell me what this is all about?” Coffin asked. “You go away for a few years, then you get out and I hear from you out of the blue. Camp north of Virginia City and wait for you? What kinda telegram was that?”

“The kind that got you here, I guess.”

Calhoun accepted the cup of coffee with one hand and shook his compadre's hand with the other.

“Long time, amigo,” Coffin said.

“Too damn long,” Calhoun said. “Good to see you, Dave. Hunker down here and I'll tell you what we're into.”

“As long as we're into somethin',” Coffin said. “I been laying low way too long.”

“I think you're gonna find it was worth the wait.”

“Are we being followed?” Arliss Morgan asked as Clint turned in his saddle once again.

“Not that I can see,” Clint said, “but I keep checking.”

“Adams, I've got to be honest with you.”

“Never thought I'd hear those words from a banker or a gambler,” Clint said good-naturedly, “let alone from a man who is both.”

“I told my wife where I'm going and what we're doing, and no one else,” Morgan said.

“That wasn't such a good idea, Mr. Morgan.”

“I trust her,” Morgan said. “And you yourself have said there's no one following us.”

“That doesn't mean there's not a plan afoot somewhere.”

“She'd never do that,” Morgan said.

“Excuse me, Arliss,” Clint said, “but I understand your wife is quite a few years younger than you.”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “About thirty.”

“Now, don't take offense, but when I see a situation like that I usually think the woman is after something.”

“Like my money?”

“For one.”

“If she wants my money, she can have it,” Morgan said. “I love her.”

Clint didn't like the look on the man's face.

“How much money are we talking about?”

“What?”

“Your personal worth, Mr. Morgan,” Clint said. “Just how much is it?”

“I don't see how that—”

“You're broke, aren't you?”

“Wha—”

“Don't try to bluff me, Arliss,” Clint said. “I've already proved I can read you.”

Morgan was silent for a few moments, just the sounds of their horses' hooves audible, and then he said, “I have had some financial setbacks.”

“And does your wife know about those?”

“No.”

“And are you broke?”

“I'm…cash poor.”

“So all you've got is your property?”

“That's right.”

“Where'd you get the hundred thousand to put up for this game?”

“I borrowed it.”

“Where'd you get the money you're supposed to pay me?”

“I have enough money to pay you, Clint,” Morgan said, “and if you win, there'll be plenty more. You know that.”

“Oh, I know I'm going to do my part,” Clint said. “It's your part I'm worried about.”

“I'll do my part,” Morgan said. “Believe me, I've been both rich and poor many times before.”

“Well,” Clint said, “to tell you the truth, I've never been either. I've always been somewhere in the middle, and that has suited me just fine. I'm not doing this for the money.”

“Well, I'm not, either,” Arliss Morgan said, then added, “Completely.”

“Trail,” Coffin said, pointing to the ground. “With the buckboard this is too easy.”

They fell in behind the trail Clint Adams and Arliss Morgan were leaving.

“How are we gonna signal the others?” Coffin asked.

“They're only supposed to be going a day's ride,” Calhoun explained. “Once we pinpoint where they're goin', you'll ride back and collect the rest.”

“Where?”

“They'll be in Carson City,” Calhoun said. “You find the nearest town with a telegraph and send one there to Tom Kent. He and the other men will then ride hell-bent for leather to here, and we'll take the game.”

“What if it takes too long?” Coffin asked. “What if the game ends sooner than you think?”

“Believe me,” Calhoun said, “a game like this will go on for days. We'll have plenty of time.”

“I thought we knew where they were going.”

“We know the rancher's name,” Calhoun said. “We don't have the exact location.”

“Well, why don't we just stop in some towns on the way and ask?” Coffin suggested. “A ranch that size, somebody in a nearby town's gonna know how to get there.”

“See?” Calhoun said. “I knew my brain was rusty from bein' inside and you'd come in handy.”

“Then once we find out, we send a telegram and we're ahead of the game.”

“That's fine with me. In fact, let's hit the next town.”

“And what's the split gonna be?” Coffin asked. “You said we'd talk about it on the way.”

“The split is gonna be you and me.”

“You're gonna double-cross your friend Kent?”

“He ain't my friend,” Calhoun said. “He's a lawman gone rogue.”

“You can't trust a man like that.”

“I know it.”

“And what about your partner back in Virginia City?”

“It's a woman,” Calhoun said. “The banker's wife. I'll hang onto her for a while. After all, I was in prison a long time.”

“Can't blame you for that. What about the other men?”

“We'll just pay them off for a day's work. They never have to know how much is on the line.”

“And if they find out and want a full share?”

“Then we'll give them a full share of lead,” Calhoun said. “That sit right with you?”

“Long as I get my share, that's all I care about.”

“You'll get your share. You got my word.”

“Good enough for me.”

They rode in silence for a while, and then Calhoun asked, “But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is my word good enough for you? I mean, if I'm willin' to double-cross everybody else, why wouldn't I double-cross you?”

“Because we're the same, you and me, Tito,” Coffin said. “We got to have somebody we can count on. We kill each other, then what do we got?”

“You had that answer quick enough.”

“Well,” Coffin admitted, “I was considerin' double-crossin' you and takin' all the money for myself, but then I decided against it.”

“When did you get so honest?”

“While you were inside,” Coffin said. “Don't worry, it'll wear off.”

They camped in a clearing with good visibility all around them. Clint quickly realized he'd have to do all the work in camp, but he figured he was getting paid enough for it. Once he had the horses bedded down, he made a fire and cooked their supper. All the while the banker was trying to find a comfortable rock to sit on.

Clint prepared the bacon and beans and handed a plate of them to Morgan, along with a cup of strong trail coffee.

“By God!” Morgan said after his first sip of coffee.

“It takes getting used to,” Clint said. “If you don't like it, just drink water.”

“No, no,” Morgan said, “I just wasn't ready. It's both hot and strong.”

The banker took a forkful of bacon and beans and shoveled it into his mouth.

“How's that?” Clint asked.

“Actually not bad,” the banker said. “Not bad at all. It's not a steak at the Stockman, but…”

Clint thought the man was taking the change in his diet very well.

“And it is only for one night,” Morgan added.

“Yes, it is.”

When it came to sleeping, though, Morgan had more of a hard time.

“My God, how do you sleep on the ground?”

“I usually use my saddle as a pillow,” Clint said. “Would you like to try?”

“No, thank you.”

“It's a mild night,” Clint said. “You could use your blanket as a pillow.”

The banker tried that, but it didn't work either.

“Why don't you try sleeping on the buggy seat?” Clint asked. “At least there are springs there.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Morgan stood up, took his blanket and his gun and headed for the buckboard.

Before he climbed up, he asked. “Aren't you going to sleep?”

“I'm going to stand watch for a while,” Clint said, “just in case.”

“All night?”

“Maybe just till daylight.”

“That's not fair,” the banker said. “If you were traveling with someone else, wouldn't you split it up?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I will do my share, Clint,” Morgan said. “Wake me when you want to go to sleep.”

Clint was going to argue at first, but then he decided to go along with it.

“All right, I will,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

“After all,” Morgan said, “if anyone is after us, you're the one who is going to keep us alive, right? You'll need some rest.”

“You have a point,” Clint said. “Okay, then, get some rest and I'll wake you.”

“Good night, then.”

“'Night.”

Clint hunkered down by the fire and prepared another pot of coffee.

In another camp Dave Coffin accepted a cup of coffee from Tito Calhoun and said, “If we rode at night, we could catch up to them.”

“We don't want to catch up to them,” Calhoun said. “We want them to get where they're goin'.”

They had stopped in one small town where no one had ever heard of a rancher named John Deal. In the morning they'd try the town of Frankford, which was only a few miles ahead.

“You know, there's somethin' about that name,” Coffin said.

“Which one?”

“Deal.”

“What about it?”

“Sounds phony.”

“You mean, like an alias?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you say that?”

“A bunch of bigwigs goin' to play poker at a ranch owned by somebody named Deal. Come on!”

“Coincidence.”

“I just don't like coincidences,” Coffin said. “I never have, and I never will.”

When Clint woke in the morning, he could see Arliss Morgan sitting at the fire, trying to keep his head up and his eyes open. The fire was still going, though, and there was the smell of fresh coffee in the air.

He approached the fire and startled the man.

“Oh, good morning,” Morgan said, rubbing his face. “I made fresh coffee.”

“I can smell it,” Clint said. “Why don't we just have this and then get moving? We should be there by afternoon.”

“Suits me,” the man said. “I'm going to appreciate a bed after only one night on the trail. I don't know how you do it.”

“You get used to it,” Clint said. “Some nights the sky is so beautiful I wouldn't want to sleep anywhere else.”

“Well, I don't think I could do it,” Morgan said. “Do you know that after you told me not to stare into the fire it took all my willpower not to do so?”

“That's human nature,” Clint said. “Somebody tells you not to do something, your first instinct is to do it.”

“You're an intelligent man, Clint,” Morgan said. “That's not something that comes across in your reputation.”

“It wouldn't,” Clint said. “A man with a reputation for being smart isn't very interesting.”

They finished their coffee, broke camp, and then Clint hitched the horse to the buggy and saddled his own.

As they rode along, Clint asked, “This fellow we're going to see. John Deal?”

“Yes?”

“That his real name, or am I in for a surprise?”

“It's his real name, as far as I know,” Morgan said. “As to whether or not you're in for a surprise, I would bet the answer to that would probably be yes.”

“The other players, you mean?”

“I mean who the other players might get to represent them,” Morgan said.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

“Will I be a surprise to anyone?”

“Good Lord,” the banker said, “I hope so.”

“John Deal?” the man said. “Of course I've heard of him. He's a big rancher got a spread over near Sacramento.”

Calhoun and Coffin both looked at the bartender.

“How close to Sacramento?”

“Well, it's actually outside of a town called Gardner,” the barkeep said. “But you can't miss it, it's huge.”

“What's the brand?” Coffin asked.

“Double-D.”

“Why double?” Calhoun asked.

The bartender shrugged. “I guess you gotta ask Mr. Deal.”

“You know what?” Calhoun said. “We will. Much obliged for the information.”

As they stepped outside the saloon, Coffin said to Calhoun, “What's gonna happen when the game gets hit and this fella remembers talkin' to us?”

Calhoun looked behind them at the batwing doors.

“You got a point,” he said. “Maybe we should stick around town just a little longer.”

“And maybe not,” Coffin said. “It's early and there's nobody else in there. You go and send your telegram, I'll go back inside, and then we'll get outta town.”

“Okay,” Calhoun said. “But be quick about it—and quiet.”

“Oh,” Coffin said, “I'll be quiet…”

Calhoun went to the telegraph office and sent off a missive to Tom Kent in Carson City. It was simple: “MEET ME IN GARDNER AS SOON AS YOU CAN.” When he left the telegraph office, he hoped Kent was smart enough to know he meant Gardner, California.

“Here's your telegram, Sheriff,” the telegraph operator said to Kent. “Finally came in.”

This was the fourth time that morning that Kent had stopped in to check.

“Thanks.”

“Must be real important.”

“It is.” Kent started to leave, then turned back. “Did you read it?”

The clerk smiled and said, “You know, I been on this job so long I can take the messages without even reading them.” He pointed with his pencil. “I couldn't even tell you what that said.”

Kent believed him.

Over in the Dry Gulch Saloon—one of the smaller ones in Carson City—Kent found the other four men waiting for him. Somehow Tito Calhoun had managed to hire these jaspers, either from Virginia City or before he even came there.

The spokesman of the four seemed also to be the oldest. His name was Alex Ruger.

“Time to go, finally?” he asked Kent as the man entered.

“Yes, it's time. Let's mount up.”

“Where are we goin', exactly?” Ruger asked.

“I'll tell you along the way.”

Kent started to leave, but the four held back.

“What is it?”

“We was all wonderin' if you was gonna wear that badge the whole time,” Ruger said.

“Why?”

“Kinda makes us nervous.”

Kent looked down at the tin star. He'd kept it on so that the telegraph operator would give him more attention. Now that the telegram had arrived, there really was no reason to wear it. But did he just want to toss it away?

He thought a moment, then unpinned it and dropped it into his vest pocket.

“I won't be wearin' it anymore,” he told them.

“Then why keep it?” Ruger asked.

“I'm not,” Kent said. “I'm gonna drop it somewhere along the trail.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Ruger said.

“You boys ready to ride now?” Kent asked.

“We're ready,” Ruger said.

After the sheriff left the telegraph office, the clerk took out the copy he always made of telegrams, just in case. He read it, didn't understand what it meant beyond what it actually said, and then dropped it into a drawer. He'd hold onto it for a little while, then discard it and a bunch of others.

What he'd told the sheriff was true enough. He didn't remember telegrams after he took them down. He did keep the copies for a while, though.

Just in case.