Once the game started they quickly acquired two more players. They played for two hours, and at the end of that time Decker was up about a hundred dollars.
They were starting the third hour of play when the batwing doors opened and Felicia Wheeler walked in.
“Felicia—” the bartender said.
“Relax, Ted,” she said, waving a hand at him. She surveyed the room until she spotted Decker and then hurried over to his table.
He saw her coming, but kept his eyes on his cards.
“Decker,” she said.
He looked at her then.
“Shouldn’t you be home in bed?”
“I went to the livery and saw your horse and gear,” she said accusingly.
“So?”
“You said there had never been any dime novels about you.”
“There haven’t, to my knowledge.”
“But you didn’t tell me who you really were!”
Decker lowered his cards and looked directly into her eyes.
“Go home, Felicia. We can talk tomorrow.”
“That’s a laugh. You’re leaving early in the morning.”
She must have gotten that from the liveryman.
“Felicia—”
“You didn’t tell me you were the Hangman!”
“You’re a hangman?” one of the players asked him curiously.
“No, I ain’t,” he said, annoyed now. “What the hell are you talking about, girl.”
“You ride with a hangman’s noose on your saddle, don’t you?”
He felt all the eyes in the room fall on him, which he didn’t like.
“I’m out of this game, gents,” he said. He collected his money, stood up, and took Felicia by the ear.
“Good night, Decker,” Ted the bartender called out. Decker waved his free hand and was aware of the laughter that filled the room as he led the girl to the door by her ear.
“Jesus, that hurts!” Felicia squawked, but Decker didn’t release her until they were outside.
“Are you trying to get me killed?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, rubbing her ear.
“Any one of those men in there might have taken exception to who I was—and where the hell did you get this crap about me being called the Hangman?” he demanded.
“From this,” she said, producing a curled-up book from her back pocket.
Decker took it, unfolded it, and looked at the cover. It showed a man on a horse with a hangman’s noose hanging from the saddlehorn. At the top, in big letters, it said the legend of the hangman.
“That’s not me,” he said, although he had to admit that looking at it made him uncomfortable.
“Then who is it?”
“This fella ain’t even dressed like me,” he said, indicating the painting on the cover.
“That’s just the cover. You know anybody else who rides with a hangman’s noose?”
“No,” he admitted, “but this ain’t about me. Is my name in there?”
“No. They call you Deacon in there. My grand-father says that’s so you can’t sue them.”
He started to flip the pages, but there wasn’t enough light for him to read by.
“Can I read this tonight?”
“You takin’ it with you tomorrow?”
“No, I’ll give it back—if you’re at the livery at first light.”
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll be there—and if it’s about you, you’ll take me with you.”
“I will not!”
“What kind of deal you making, then?”
“I’m not making any deal with a snotnosed thirteen-year-old—”
“I’m fourteen!”
“All I’m doing is borrowing this book and meeting you at the livery in the morning. That’s it. Take it or leave it.”
She thought a moment, a stubborn look on her face, and then said, “All right, I’ll take it.”
“Then get your butt home and to sleep. You’ve got to get up early.
“You bet I will. I’m not letting you sneak off without seeing me.”
Actually, the thought of sneaking away had occurred to him.
Decker took the book to his room and read it, and he had to admit there were similarities between himself and the Hangman—not the least of which was the hangman’s noose. According to the copyright page, it was published out of New York City. The similarities were such that it might make sense to go to New York and talk to the man who wrote it—this Ned Buntline, whoever he was—even if, as Felicia’s grandfather had said, he couldn’t sue them.
Then again, men like Decker rarely left it to a court of law to solve their problems.
He put the book aside, first making a note of the publisher’s address. One of these days he’d get to New York and check on it.
Actually, the damned story in the book hadn’t been bad at all.