Shootout of the Mountain Man (17 page)

Paul, the bartender, was as awed by what he had seen as any of the others. He nodded, but said nothing.

“Yeah, well, it better be,” Dawes said. “'Cause if it ain’t…” He paused, then, with an angry glare, Dawes left the saloon with his gun still lying on the floor behind him.

With the departure of Dawes, the excitement was over, and everyone in the saloon started talking at the same time, trying to fix in their minds the memory of what they had just seen. The result was a cacophony of excited shouts and conversation.

Smoke walked over to Dawes’s pistol, which still lay where it had wound up after being pushed across the floor by Smoke’s second shot. Picking it up, he saw that, because of the strike of his bullet, it would need a new handle grip. He gave it to the barkeep. After that, he returned to the table, which had already been righted again, thanks to the efforts of Doc Baker and Nate Nabors.

“Looks like we are going to need new drinks,” Doc Baker said.

“Yeah, it looks like it,” Nabors said. “Get us another round, would you, Minnie?” Nabors asked. “And tell Paul they are on me.”

Minnie nodded, then started toward the bar to carry out the order.

For the moment, Smoke said nothing. He continued to look toward the batwing doors, just to make certain that Dawes didn’t suddenly burst back in with a second gun.

“Don’t worry about Dawes comin’ back,” Nabors said, noticing the attention Smoke was giving the door. “I’ve known him a long time and, believe me, he’s too much of a coward to ever try anything against you again.”

Minnie returned with new beers for Smoke, Doc Baker, and Nabors. “Now, where were we before all the excitement began?” she asked.

“Mr. West had just told us that he was Bobby Lee’s brother-in-law,” Nabors said.

“And you said she died?” Minnie asked.

“Yes,” Smoke replied. “Actually, she was killed, along with my son.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” Minnie said, reaching out to put her hand on his.

“Did the law ever catch the person who did it?” Doc Baker asked.

“It wasn’t a person, it was three persons. And the law didn’t catch them. I did.”

“You caught them? You mean, by yourself?” Minnie asked.

“Yes.”

“With the shooting exhibition you put on here today, I would almost imagine that the odds were on your side, despite the fact that were three of them. I have never seen shooting like that,” Doc Baker said. “How come I’ve never heard of you, Mr. West?”

Smoke took a swallow of his beer, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before he spoke again.

“Well, maybe it’s because my name isn’t Buck West.”

“What? I don’t understand, if you aren’t Buck West, how did you get the telegram?” Minnie asked.

“It is a name that I used once in my past. I believe Bobby Lee used it as sort of a code when he sent the telegram. He knew that I would respond to that name and I suppose he also knew that if he used it, I would realize that the telegram was authentic.”

“What is your real name?” Doc Baker asked.

“Jensen. Kirby Jensen, but most folks call me Smoke.”

Nate Nabors had just started to take a drink when he heard Smoke give his real name, and he jerked the mug back down so quickly that he spilled some of his beer.

“You are Smoke Jensen?”

“Yes.”

Smiling broadly, Nabors extended his hand across the table. “Well, Mr. Jensen, let me tell you it is an honor to meet you. And knowing that you are here, I feel better about this situation already.”

“Thank you and it is Smoke, not Mr. Jensen,” Smoke replied, taking Nabors’s hand.

“Excuse my ignorance here, but is Smoke Jensen a name I should know?” Doc Baker asked.

“You would know it if you ever read anything but those damn medical journals,” Nabors replied. “Smoke Jensen is just about the most famous gunman—uh, make that, best-known gunfighter—I mean, well, I don’t know what I mean. I know that he isn’t a gunfighter who goes around looking for trouble, but he is the kind of man folks turn to when they are in trouble.”

Doc Baker nodded. “Mr. Jensen, I’m not one who appreciates guns. I’ve had to pull out too many bullets from people who were too dumb to reason anything out and wound up letting their guns talk for them. But if you are here to help Bobby Lee, then I say, welcome to Cloverdale.”

“How?” Minnie asked.

“How what?” Smoke asked, confused by Minnie’s truncated question.

“How are you going to help him?”

Smoke drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before he answered.

“Well, now, to tell you the truth, Minnie, I haven’t quite got that figured out yet.”

“When you figure it out, if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

“I will. And thanks.”

“No. Thank you for responding to the telegram.”

There is no way I wasn’t going to respond,” Smoke said. “Like I told you, Bobby Lee is family. ”

Approximately sixty miles north of Cloverdale, in the small town of Desolation, Emmett Clark was sitting in on a poker game at the New Promise Saloon.

“Deal them,” Clark said.

One of the other players was Jules Stillwater, and at this precise moment, he was extremely agitated. The cause of Stillwater’s agitation was the attention Cindy was paying to Emmett Clark. She was watching the game from her position behind Clark, and her hand was resting lightly on Clark’s shoulder.

“Cindy,” Stillwater said. “My neck is stiff. Why don’t you come over here in rub it?”

“You willing to pay for it?” Cindy asked.

“Why should I pay for it? Is Clark paying you to put your hand on his shoulder?”

“No.”

“Then come over here and rub my neck like I asked. That’s what you are supposed to do in here, ain’t it? Keep the customers happy?”

“You aren’t a customer unless you pay for it,” Cindy said. “If I’m not getting paid, then I’ll be with who I want to be.”

“Ha, Stillwater, I reckon she told you all right,” McWorthy said. McWorthy had served ten years in prison for shooting a man back in Wichita. Nobody knew if he was actually wanted now or not, but he had arrived in Desolation a few months earlier, purposely choosing the town because of its reputation as being friendly to outlaws. McWorthy supported himself by petty larceny, which he carried on in surrounding towns, always retreating back to Desolation.

It was McWorthy’s deal and his hands moved swiftly as he folded the cards in and out until he was satisfied with the shuffle. He pushed the cards toward Stillwater, who cut them, then pushed them back.

“Is five-card draw all right with everyone?” McWorthy asked.

“Yeah, five-card draw is fine,” Stillwater said. “Cindy, let me tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to win Clark’s poke. Then after I take all of his money, I’m going to spend every cent of it on you. What do you think about that?”

“If you’ve got the money, I’ll be your honey,” Cindy replied, and the others around the table, including Clark, laughed.

Clark lost fifteen dollars on the first hand after having folded cautiously with a hand that would have been good enough to win, had he stayed in the game.

Stillwater won the hand, and he cackled as he dragged in the pot.

“If you ain’t got the guts to play the game, you might want to sit out the next hand,” he said to Clark. “You should’ve bet them cards.”

Clark gave up the next hand as well, even though it was strong enough to have at least bet the first round.

“Damn,” Stillwater said as he raked in his winnings. “Dodd don’t need to come up with no more jobs. Not as long as I can win money from you.”

This time, Stillwater got a laugh.

Clark was down thirty dollars by the third hand, but there was over sixty dollars in the pot, and he had drawn two cards to complete a full house. When the bet came to him, he put his hand on the money, pushed it out, then drew it back, thought about it for a moment, then pushed it back out.

“What? You mean you are going to bet this time?” Stillwater teased. “Better be careful now, you might want to think about that. You don’t want to get too brave. I’ll see your five, and raise you five.”

Clark studied his hand for a long moment before, and with some hesitation, he called.

“All right, Clark, let’s see your cards,” Stillwater said. Stillwater was holding three jacks, and he laughed when he saw Clark’s hand.

“You were holding a full house and you didn’t raise?”

“You might’ve had a stronger hand. I like to be certain about things. And as you can see, prudence was a good choice,” Clark said as he raked in the pot. “I am now forty dollars ahead.”

“You don’t know much about cards, do you?” Stillwater said. “Hell, iffen I’d had that hand, I would’a won eighty, maybe a hunnert dollars with it.”

“But, you didn’t have that hand, did you?” Clark asked.

“Tell you what, kid. Why don’t I just show you what this game is all about. I’ve been layin’ off you a bit because I can see that you don’t have no idea at all about playin’ cards. Well, I’m about to teach you how to play, and it’s goin’ to cost you some money.”

“You mean you want me to pay you for lessons?” Clark asked.

“You don’t have to pay me. I’ll just take the money from you, and that’ll be lesson enough for you,” Stillwater said. “All you got to do is pay attention while you’re losin'. I’m going to take every dollar you have, and spend it all on Cindy.”

“Oh, well, then Cindy can’t lose, can she?” Clark said.

“What are you? Some kind of a wise guy?” Stillwater asked.

Though Clark gave no outward sign, inwardly he smiled. Stillwater was extremely agitated now, and the more agitated he became, the more injudicious would be his decisions. This was going to be an interesting game.

“I’m going to ante the limit this time,” Clark said hesitantly. He put his hand on the money and held it for a moment, as if thinking about it, then, with a sigh, pushed the money forward. “Ten dollars.”

“Oh, ten dollars?” Stillwater said. “That’s a little steep for you, ain’t it?”

“Not too bad. I’m forty dollars ahead, so I’m not actually betting with my own money,” Clark replied.

“Ahh, not betting with your own money. That’s just real smart now. I tell you what. How about we up the ante a little?”

“Up the ante?”

“Sure, why not? Like you say, you aren’t playing with your own money. What will it hurt if you lose a little?”

“I don’t know. If we raise the ante, it wouldn’t take too long before I would be playing with my own money again.”

“So what you are saying is, you are afraid to raise the ante.”

“I wouldn’t say I am afraid.”

“You wouldn’t, eh? What would you say?” Stillwater teased.

“I think I would rather say that I am cautious,” Clark replied.

Stillwater laughed. “Did you hear that, boys? I say he’s afraid, but he says he’s cautious.”

The others around the table laughed.

“What do you say, Cindy? Is he cautious? Or is he afraid?”

“Jules, why don’t you quit picking on him?” Cindy asked.

“No, I ain’t goin’ to quit pickin’ on him,” Stillwater said. “He sat down to play a man’s game with men, so let him be a man. Now what do you say, boy? Are you going raise the ante? Or are you too scared?”

“I suppose I’ll go along with raising the ante,” Clark said, continuing the illusion that he was not real comfortable with the situation.

“Ha!” Stillwater said. He shoved the cards across the table to Clark. “It’s your deal. You do know how to deal, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know how to deal. Everyone knows how to deal,” Clark replied, as if he had been offended by Stillwater’s comment.

Clark picked up the cards, then skillfully, and without being detected, felt them as he began shuffling, checking for pinpricks and uneven corners. He was satisfied that they were playing with an honest deck.

In truth, Clark was exceptionally skilled at cards, but had purposely passed himself off as a novice. Evidently, his ruse had worked, because Stillwater was sure of himself to the point of overconfidence. And that, Stillwater’s overconfidence, was the only edge Clark needed in the game.

Clark dealt the cards. The other players, perhaps motivated by the supposed recklessness of Clark and Stillwater, bet briskly so that, within a few moments, the pot was over two hundred dollars.

“Wait a minute,” Conklin said. “What am I doing here? I’m forty dollars into this pot. How did it get so big? I can’t afford to stay in this game.”

Well, you have this fella to thank for that,” Stillwater said. “He’s all full of himself because he won the last hand.”

“I haven’t been raising the bets, I have just been matching them,” Clark said. “And I think Conklin is right, it has gotten too high, but I am almost too afraid to drop out now. I wish I had been more prudent. I fear that I have too much invested.”

“Hah! Now, sonny, you are in a man’s game,” Stillwater said. “Let’s just see how much of a man you are. It’s going to cost you one hundred dollars to stay in.”

“That’s it, I’m out also,” McWorthy said. “Stillwater, you ain’t got no right to just up and buy a pot like that.”

“Same rules goes for you as goes for the kid here,” Stillwater said. “If you ain’t man enough to stay in the game, you shouldn’t of got into it in the first place. I guess that means I won.” Stillwater chuckled, then reached for the pot and started to pull it toward him. “And now, kid, this is what I mean about teaching you a lesson.”

“Wait a minute,” Clark said. “Don’t I get a chance to bet?”

“You want to bet? Sure, go ahead. Me an’ Cindy can have us a fine old time on your money. The bet to you is one hundred dollars.”

The hesitancy and confusion left Clark’s face, and he stared across the table at Stillwater and smiled. Then the smile turned to a quiet, confident chuckle.

“I’ll see your one hundred, and two hundred more to you,” he said.

“What?” Stillwater gasped.

Clark laid his hand down, putting four cards to one side, and one card separated from the others.

“If you want to see my hand, it’s going to cost you two hundred dollars.”

“I ain’t got that much money. Conklin, lend me two hunnert dollars.”