THE THIRD WEEK IN May brought crisp sunshine to the mountains. Aspens budded emerald leaves and brilliant patches of wildflowers dotted the slopes. Above the timberline snowcapped spires still towered against the sky.
The mines were once more operating at full capacity. After the winter slowdown, fair weather brought increased activity throughout the mountains. The quartz mines went back on double shifts, and the camps were again jammed with thousands of workers. Placer miners also began working their claims with renewed vigor. While the yield from streams was lower than last year, there was still gold to be found. Springtime was a season of optimism for men determined to strike it rich.
Earl returned to Central City on a sun-drenched Monday. As he stepped off the stage, he was greeted by still another aspect of springtime. Sanitation in the mining camps was of a rudimentary nature. Outhouses were crude affairs and never constructed in adequate numbers to accommodate thousands of men. Drainage ditches were frequently clogged, and sewage inevitably spilled over into the streams. Winter stifled the odor, but warm weather brought on the breathtaking stench of human waste. Old-timers in the mining camps learned to breathe through their mouths.
The week began on an auspicious note. With optimism running high in the camps, Earl had brought his entire bankroll. He had five thousand in greenbacks and coin, which he deposited with the Metropole cashier. Then, biding his time, he waited until a modest table-stakes game developed. The limit was twenty-five dollars, and luck was with him throughout that first night. He won slightly more than a thousand dollars.
The following night he put together an even larger game. With a limit of fifty dollars and a continued run of good cards, he cleared almost three thousand dollars. Fortune smiled on him Wednesday night and Thursday night as well. The faces of the players changed, but there seemed no scarcity of men willing to risk high stakes. Friday night was no exception, and the game lasted until daylight. When he deposited the night’s take with the cashier, he was somewhat taken aback by the total count. He’d won eighteen thousand dollars for the week.
Monte was no less stunned by his good fortune. For years she had watched him work the camps, winning consistently, but never pulling down the big strike. Now, all in the space of five nights, he’d more than tripled his bankroll. Yet she was perhaps more cautious than Earl. She had seen big winners, professionals as well as amateurs, push their luck one step too far. A man on a streak too often developed a sense of invincibility, believed himself unbeatable. Then, suddenly, the caprice of fate dealt him a lesson in reality. The cards turned sour and luck went by the boards. The victor became the vanquished, and lost it all.
Upstairs, following the Friday-night game, Monte urged him to take a breather. She feared his run would end as abruptly as it had begun. Moreover, she was concerned that five grueling nights at the tables had worn him down, both physically and mentally. A player’s stamina and the mental agility essential to high-stakes poker were an exhaustible resource. Even the most vigorous of men needed a break, time to relax and revitalize themselves. She pleaded with him not to press his luck further. Not until he’d taken a few days off.
Earl blithely ignored the warning. His nerves were strung tight and he seemed galvanized by nervous energy. He paced their room like a caged panther, replaying hands he’d drawn and reveling again in the size of the pots he’d won. He agreed that it was unwise to discount the odds, press luck beyond certain limits. But some visceral instinct told him that he’d not yet reached the end of his string. Whether gambler’s intuition or ordinary gut hunch, he believed it was no time to quit. When she persisted, he finally promised that he would stop after one more night. A final grab at the brass ring.
Word of Earl’s remarkable run had quickly spread through the camp. As so often happens, men who considered themselves gamblers began lining up to take a crack at the big winner. Some perversity of the mind, long recognized by professionals, goads certain men to test their luck against another man’s hot streak. On Saturday night, four such men appeared at the Metropole. Three were owners of large quartz mines, and the fourth was Tom Spainyard, a gambling man of some repute. All of them were high rollers of considerable note, addicted to table-stakes poker. They each thought themselves the one to put the quietus on Earl Brannock.
The game was five-card draw, Western rules prevailing. In some Eastern casinos, the traditional rules of poker had been revised to create even more enticing odds for inveterate gamblers and wealthy high rollers. Introduced into the game were straights, flushes, and the most elusive of all combinations, the straight flush. The highest hand back East was now a royal flush, ten through ace in the same suit. By all reports, the revised rules had infused the game with an almost mystical element.
Poker in the West, however, was still played by the original rules. There were no straights, no flushes, and no straight flushes, royal or otherwise. The game was governed by tenets faithfully observed in earlier times on riverboats and the Creole gaming salons of New Orleans. Whether draw poker or stud poker, there were two unbeatable hands west of the Mississippi. The first was four aces, drawn by most players only once or twice in a lifetime. The other cinch hand was four kings with an ace, which precluded anyone holding four aces. Seasoned players looked upon it as a minor miracle or the work of a skilled cardsharp. Four kings, in combination with one of the aces, surmounted almost incalculable odds.
Shortly before five in the morning, Earl drew an unbeatable hand. The all-night game had weeded out two of the mine owners, both departing ten thousand dollars poorer. The third mining man was dealing, and down to his last thousand dollars. By mutual agreement, the game was table stakes with no limit, check and raise. Earl and the other gambling man, Tom Spainyard, were each roughly fifteen thousand dollars ahead. Until now, they had butted heads infrequently during the course of the night.
On the first go-round, Earl was dealt three kings. He was under the gun, seated next to the dealer, and he opened the betting for a thousand dollars. Spainyard studied his cards a moment, then called and raised two thousand. The mine owner, unable to match the three thousand, dropped out. Earl called the raise and, with only a slight hesitation, bumped it another two thousand. Spainyard gave him a peculiar look and just called.
When the dealer announced “cards to the payers,” Earl drew two cards. He collected them as they were dealt and slipped them beneath the three kings. Without looking at them, he began riffling the cards one over the other, awaiting Spainyard’s call. Spainyard tossed two cards into the dead-wood, silently extending two fingers. The mine owner slid two cards across the table, and Spainyard folded them into his hand. He also began riffling his cards, staring now at Earl.
There was something impenetrable about Earl in a poker game. His composure was monumental and his expression betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. He held his cards slightly above table level and slowly spread the three kings. Then he inched the fourth card into view, saw the ace of diamonds. Finally, with a flick of his thumb, he spread the fifth card. He sat there a moment, his face unreadable, staring at the case king. He’d drawn an unbeatable hand.
Folding his cards, Earl pushed three stacks of chips into the pot, “Opener bets three thousand.”
Spainyard squeezed his fifth card into view. He grunted and looked up with a wide peg-toothed grin. “See your three and raise . . . five thousand!”
“Your five,” Earl said impassively, “and another five.”
A muscle twitched in Spainyard’s cheek. He scrutinized Earl a moment, then shook his head. “I think you’re bluffing, Brannock. How much you got in front of you?”
Earl carefully counted his chips. He glanced up, his features wooden. “Six thousand and change.”
“Close enough,” Spainyard said with a terse nod. “I tap you out.”
Spainyard shoved all his remaining chips into the pot. By now, a crowd had gathered in the gaming room. They watched intently as Earl moved stacks of chips to the center of the table.
“You’re called,” he said in a neutral voice.
Spainyard laughed, fanning his cards faceup. “Read ’em and weep, sport. Four jacks!”
“Other way ’round,” Earl said, spreading his hand on the table. “I caught the fourth king.”
A hush settled over the room. Spainyard stared down at the cards with shocked disbelief. His face was white and pinched around the mouth.
“Some people—” Spainyard faltered, slowly sank back in his chair. “Pure shithouse luck, that’s all it was!”
“I couldn’t agree more, Tom. Tonight was my night.”
“Goddamn if it wasn’t.”
Spainyard rose and pushed through the crowd. As Earl sat staring at the mound of chips, a buzz of excitement swept through the onlookers. He wagged his head, finally allowed himself a smile.
Some while later Monte joined him in the room upstairs. He was seated on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall with a slightly dazed expression. She closed the door, leaned back against it.
“How much did you win?”
“Including tonight,” he said in a low voice, “it tallies out to sixty-seven thousand.”
“Will you stop now?”
“You’ll never guess what I plan to do.”
“Oh?” she said softly. “What’s that?”
Earl looked at her. “Altogether I’ve got seventy-two thousand dollars. I’m going to open the damnedest gaming parlor anybody ever saw. I want you along as my partner.”
Her eyes danced merrily. “Are you talking about a business arrangement?”
“Nobody draws a crowd like you do. Together, we’ll make a couple of fortunes and more. Hell, we can’t miss!”
“When you say partners”—her chin tilted—“does that mean personal ties . . . or just business?”
“You tell me,” Earl said. “How do you want it?”
“No strings,” she replied. “And no promises. Why spoil what we’ve got?”
“Fair enough,” Earl agreed. “Anytime you get tired of my company, you’re free to walk. And vice versa.”
“Where do you plan to open this gaming emporium?”
“Where all the high rollers are—Denver.”
“And how do we split the ill-gotten gains?”
“Well, of course, I’m putting up the money. So I figure we’ll divvy it seventy-thirty, my favor. Sound fair to you?”
Monte’s eyes suddenly shone, and she laughed. “Hello, partner.”
She crossed the room and halted in front of him. The light scent of her perfume and the warmth of her body seemed to envelop him. She cupped his face in her hands and leaned forward with a minxish smile. Her lips were moist and inviting.
He pulled her down on the bed.