Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) (6 page)

Dandy Dan mentioned he was thirsty and signaled the bartender, who brought a pitcher of water and a glass. “Care to partake?”

“Why not?” Fargo said.

“Another glass, if you please.” Dan filled the first glass and slid it over. “Be my guest.”

Fargo wet his throat and set the glass back down. “You're a long way from Saint Louis,” he said by way of small talk.

“For a hundred thousand dollars I'd travel to China and back.” Dandy Dan smoothed his sleeve. “I win this, it's my last hurrah. I'll have all I need to spend the rest of my days in comfort.”

“You're getting out?”

“You see these gray hairs? I'm not the player I used to be.”

“Couldn't prove that by me.”

Dandy Dan was smoothing his other sleeve, and stopped. “What a damn fine thing to say. I mean that. You're good, too. Damn good, or I'd have cleaned you out by now.”

The bartender brought the other glass.

“There's a rumor going around that two men tried to kill you,” Dandy Dan said as he poured. “Is that true?”

Fargo nodded. “Fortunately they are piss-poor at it.”

“Is one of them short and stocky and looks as if he should be mopping the deck on a ship?”

“How in hell would you know that?”

“He walks past the front window once an hour or so and peers in at you,” Dandy Dan said.

Fargo glanced at the glass plate that filled half the front wall.

“How is it you noticed him?”

“I'm a gambler,” Dandy Dan said, as if that explained everything.

“I gamble too.”

“But not for a living, I understand. There's a difference.”

“Cards are cards,” Fargo said.

The professional from Saint Louis smiled. “That's where you're mistaken. I've watched you play. You read the other players well. But that's as far as you take it.”

Fargo was curious. “What more is there?”

“A gambler worthy of the name doesn't just read the players,” Dandy Dan said. “He reads the table, he reads the room, he reads everything and everyone around him. I can tell you how many people have come and gone since the games started. I can tell you how much our opponents bet on every hand. I can tell you that the man who stares in at you has brown eyes and is bald around the ears and has a knife on his left hip.”

“Damn,” Fargo said.

“I can tell you something else,” Dandy Dan said. “I've seen that man before. Several days ago, in fact, when I arrived in town.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” Dandy Dan said. “When I saw him he was talking to an acquaintance of yours.”

Fargo tingled with expectation. “Who?”

“Lacey Mayhare.”

It nearly cost Fargo the game. He became so caught up in thinking about Lacey that he didn't pay as much attention as he should to the cards and bet too high on a possible straight that didn't pan out. He was lucky in that Dandy Dan was bluffing and didn't have anything, either. High card won the hand and he had an ace to Dan's king.

Fargo buckled down. Against a professional like Dan he couldn't afford another mistake.

He seldom bluffed much, himself. Bluffs worked best against green players. Seasoned players were too skilled at reading tells.

They seesawed back and forth, winning and losing, until the clock above the bar was pushing eight o'clock at night.

Fargo was dealt three queens. Dandy Dan opened. Fargo slid his chips in and asked for two cards; he got two fours. Dandy Dan had asked for two cards, too, and now he raised.

Fargo smiled and said, “If you want this one you have to go all in.” And he did.

Dandy Dan studied him. “I've noticed you don't bluff much but this could be the one time you try.”

“It'll cost you to find out,” Fargo said. He didn't really expect Dan to fall for the trap.

“Do you know what I think? I think you are. I think you save your bluffs for late in the game. By then you've set a pattern and it can win you more than you lose.”

“Do you really want to go all in to find out?”

Dandy Dan did.

They compared cards.

“I'll be damned,” Dandy Dan said. He had a full house, too; eights and twos.

Fargo raked in his winnings.

“I overthought it, didn't I?” Dan said, apparently to himself. Dan rose and offered his hand. “If you played for a living you'd live like a king.”

“No, thanks,” Fargo said. As much as he liked poker, playing cards day in and day out for the rest of his life would be dull. Poker was like whiskey, and for that matter, women, in that the times he went without made him appreciate the times he drank, played, and made love that much more.

The other tables were winding down. Lacey was still in. So was Vin Creed.

Fargo stretched and rose and walked over to the bar. He was taking his first sip when the senator joined him.

“Well done. I'd have given odds Dan would be in it at the end.”

“It could have gone either way.”

Deerforth glanced at the clock. “It's late. No need for you to sit in on another table. Call it a day and start fresh in the morning.”

“Fine by me,” Fargo said. He had something to do. He polished off the rest of his drink in two swallows and went out.

He went around to the side of the saloon and stood in the shadows with his hands on his Colt.

After Dan's revelation, he'd kept an eye out for Jules but hadn't seen him go by the window. He couldn't see why Dandy Dan would lie, so either Jules had stopped peeking in at him or had been more careful about it.

The horizon swallowed the sun and the shadows darkened. Jules didn't appear.

Disappointed, Fargo went back in. The games were done for the day. Lacey and Vin were drinking at the bar. He plastered a smile on his face and went over.

“I don't want another drink spilled on me,” Lacey said.

“Can't blame me for being mad after what you pulled,” Fargo said. “But to show you there are no hard feelings, I'll treat you to a bottle.”

Lacey arched an eyebrow. “What are you up to?”

“Trying to be nice.”

“Now I've heard everything,” Creed said. “Skye Fargo has turned Quaker.”

Fargo could have kicked him.

“Not that I won't accept your generosity,” Lacey said. “It's the least you can do. I wiped off that drink you dumped on me but I've felt sticky all damn day.”

“I like it when a woman is sticky,” Creed said. “It shows she's interested.”

“The things that come out of your mouth,” Lacey said.

“It's the things that go in that I like.” Creed grinned and winked.

“You wouldn't think it was so funny if he'd dumped that drink on you.”

“Poor baby,” Vin Creed said.

“Maybe not so poor by this time tomorrow. That one hundred thousand will do me just fine.”

“You have to beat me to win it and that's not going to happen,” Creed assured her.

“Keep dreaming,” Lacey taunted.

Fargo turned his back to the bar and leaned on his elbows. Most of the spectators had left and the saloon was quiet save for the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation. He looked at Lacey. “I hear you like sailors.”

Her puzzlement seemed genuine. “Care to explain that?”

“Short man, a lot of muscle, you were talking to him a few nights ago.”

“I was?”

“So I heard.” Fargo didn't elaborate.

“I talk to a lot of men.”

“So you don't know him? His name is Jules.”

“Jules?” Lacey said, her forehead puckered. “No, I don't re—” She stopped. “Oh, wait. There was a rude little runt who propositioned me the other night. Came right up and asked me how much it would cost. Can you imagine? The nerve of some people.”

“The way you dress, you can't blame him,” Vin Creed said.

Lacey's cheeks became pink. “What's wrong with how I dress?”

“Nothing at all, my dear,” Creed said. “I love it when a woman's tits try to jump into my mouth.”

“You're despicable.”

Creed laughed. “My dear woman, you have no idea.”

On the way to the mansion Fargo suspected he was being followed. He didn't see anyone behind him. He didn't hear another horse. But he still had a sense that someone was back there. Twice he drew rein at the side of the road and waited but no one appeared.

The mansion was lit up bright. The Deerforths were entertaining and parked carriages lined the gravel loop for a hundred yards.

Fargo stripped the Ovaro and fed it oats. He was heading out of the stable when someone whispered his name above him.

It was Roselyn, on her hands and knees at the edge of the hayloft. “What are you doing up there, girl?”

“Not so loud,” she said, grinning. “I don't want anyone to know I'm out here.” She beckoned. “Come on up.”

Fargo reminded himself she was only fourteen and said, “Another time. I figured I might turn in early.”

“Please. I want to talk to you.”

By the time Fargo reached the top of the ladder she was over by the loft door, peeking out at the mansion. He walked over and hunkered. “What are you up to?”

“I'm spying on the people who are coming and going.”

Fargo would have thought she was a little old for such nonsense. All he said was, “Having fun?”

“Oh, I'm not doing it for that. I want to prove to Garvin that I was right and he's wrong.”

“About what?”

“The man I saw staring in my bedroom window.”

As Fargo recollected, her room was on the second floor. “Did he sprout wings and fly up?”

“Very funny,” Roselyn said, not sounding at all amused. “But I saw him clear as anything. About two hours ago, it was. I was at my desk writing in my diary and I looked over and he was staring in at me. It gave me a frightful start.”

“What did you do?”

“When I collected my wits I went over but he wasn't there. I ran downstairs to tell my mother and saw Garvin so I told him. We went outside and under my window. There wasn't anyone around.”

“Did Garvin have the grounds searched?”

“He didn't think there was any need. He refused to believe me. He said that someone would need a ladder to get to my window and a ladder would leave marks and there weren't any. He said I must have imagined it.”

Fargo was inclined to agree with Garvin. “What did this man look like?”

“All I saw was his face and shoulders. He had dark hair and a funny little cap.”

“Cap?”

“Yes. You know, one of those small round caps like seamen wear. I forget what they call them.”

Fargo was all interest. “What about the man himself?”

Roselyn shrugged. “He had dark hair and dark eyes. Oh, and his teeth stuck out.”

“Buckteeth?”

“I think that's what they call them, yes.”

Fargo sat back and tried to make sense of it. The description fit Ranson. But why would Ranson stare in the girl's window? Was he some sort of Peeping Tom? Some men got excited by that sort of thing.

“Do you believe me or are you like Garvin?”

“I believe you,” Fargo said.

“You do?” Roselyn clasped her hands and squealed in delight. “Thank you. Maybe you can help me convince Garvin.”

“You shouldn't be out here,” Fargo said. “If that man is still around, it's not safe.”

“Do you think he wants to harm me?”

“I have no idea what he's up to,” Fargo admitted. “But it sounds like one of the men who is out to kill me.”

“Oh my,” Roselyn said.

“That's putting it mildly.” Rising, Fargo held out his hand. “Let's go. I'm taking you in. Then I'll have a look around.”

The first floor of the mansion was packed with people.

The Deerforths loved to entertain, and when the legislature wasn't in session, they held several social events each month.

Fargo and Roselyn were starting up the stairs when someone called Roselyn's name, and Ginny swept out of the parlor wearing a dress fit for a queen.

“My dear child, where have you been?” she said, embracing her daughter. “I've had Garvin looking all over for you.”

“I went out for some air, Mother,” Roselyn said.

Ginny held her at arm's length. “You shouldn't go traipsing off without telling me.”

“I'm nearly grown,” Roselyn said. “Surely I can go for a walk whenever I want?”

“Of course, child, of course.” Ginny kissed her on the cheek. “But it's getting late and you should be in bed.”

“That's where I'm heading.”

Ginny straightened and put her hand on Fargo's arm. “And you, my dear friend. You'll join me in the parlor?”

“In a while maybe,” Fargo said.

Ginny motioned at the talking, smiling people. “Marion lives for these affairs. He loves to socialize. Part of the reason he's in politics, I suspect.” She turned. “Well, I suppose I better mingle. See you later.”

Fargo led Roselyn upstairs. At the landing she stopped and frowned.

“Mother and Father might like these affairs but I don't. All the noise and the liquor. I can do without that, thank you very much.”

“I thought girls your age love parties.”

“One or two a year I wouldn't have a problem with,” Roselyn said. “But thirty or more is a little much.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for believing me. Please let me know what you find.”