Chapter Three

Now Dan Farlin looked down the bar to where a towering figure loomed above the crowd. This was Ed Lawson, jovial but deadly outlaw, leader of a band of desperadoes that ranged far from the Crazy Butte country in carrying out their depredations. Lawson had made it a point not to disturb this district, where he virtually found sanctuary between raids. When he next left with his band, he might be gone for days, weeks, or months; he might not return that season. His men were sure pickings for Dan Farlin. It would be the gambler’s first respectable haul of the season just starting.

“Does Lawson know Mills is in town?” Farlin asked Big Tom.

“Not only knows he’s here, but knows he’s alone,” replied Lester. “One of his men trailed him in. You know, Lawson isn’t afraid of Mills. This is the closest he ever goes to Rocky Point.”

Farlin nodded. Rocky Point was the county seat. It was a sizable town, a shipping point for cattle and banking and supply headquarters for all that section. It was fed, too, by the mines in the Little Rockies. Incidentally Rocky Point supplied Sunrise with considerable business of a doubtful but profitable nature.

Lawson’s heavy voice boomed above the tumult, ordering refreshments for the house. He soon would delegate this phase of his visit to henchmen and take a turn at the cards. At his side was Red Cole, his right bower, and a gunfighter second only to himself. Lawson forbade his men to fight in town, and his order was generally carried out.

“Shows sign of being heavy,” Farlin commented.

“He’s carryin’ plenty,” said Big Tom with an eager note in his voice. “An’ his crowd is heavy, too. I don’t know where they turned the trick, but it was juicy.”

“West,” snorted Farlin. “Sheepshearing money, likely. I always feel like a common thief, playing with that gang.”

Big Tom flashed him a queer look. The incident of the unruly cowpuncher and the girl had disturbed him. But it wasn’t like Farlin to show it when he was disturbed. The resort proprietor laid it to the start of the season.

“You’ve got to get your hand in,” he said in a smooth voice. “You couldn’t ask for better material to practice on.”

Farlin glanced at him coldly. “You know, Lester, I don’t cheat at cards . . . except to stop the other fellow from cheating. But you’ve never believed that.”

“I only know you get the money an’ give me a decent split for workin’ here,” said Lester irritably. “An’ that’s enough for me.”

“Suppose I was to stop giving you a split,” said Farlin softly. “Ever think of that?”

Big Tom stared at him as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

“Think it over and remember to keep in good humor when you’re talking to me,” said Farlin coldly. He walked away in the direction of a roulette wheel to play idly and await the call from Lawson that was sure to come.

For the second time that night, Big Tom Lester found himself somewhat bewildered, thinking deeply and to no purpose, as a result of a remark made by the gambler. What the devil! Here was the sheriff in town, a notorious outlaw present, and Farlin showing a queer streak of rebellion against his lot—and the formidable specter of the unknown Bovert in the background. Sunrise was getting off to a fast start this spring.

* * * * *

There was a full table of seven in the stud poker game in a private room in the rear of the Red Arrow that night. Farlin was in the slot running the game for the house. But his sole duty consisted in seeing that the house received its percentage of the play according to the size of the pots. He played his cards entirely on his own and wagered his own money. But he did not have to deduct a percentage from the stakes he won unless he chose to do so.

Ed Lawson, big, dark-faced, with black eyes and mustache—a powerful man of great physique with hairy hands—dominated the game. There was none of the silent, calculating gambler about him. He played recklessly and shoved large sums into the center of the table in efforts to draw cards to match his hand or beat another’s. He talked incessantly, and Dan Farlin, cool and accomplished, hated him for this trait and despised him generally. Red Cole played a tight game, a perpetual frown wrinkling his brow; he showed his small, white teeth in a mean smile when he lost, to conceal his chagrin. He was a hard loser. The other four were members of Lawson’s outfit, men who cared little for money or the future. Woodenheads, Farlin called them. There were no spectators.

“I’ve a mind to send word to the sheriff an’ ask him to set in,” boomed Lawson. “I guess one of the boys would give him his seat.” He laughed uproariously.

“I wouldn’t do it,” said Farlin quietly.

“I won’t.” Lawson chuckled. “I won’t bother him so long as he don’t bother me. A hundred, Farlin? Another ace in the hole, eh? You may be a smart gambler, Dan, but here’s one hombre that can read you like a book. Raise it two hundred, my seven of diamonds in sight against your king. Let’s play cards.”

Farlin met the raise and bit his lip in vexation. Of all the men he played with, Lawson came nearest to disturbing his outward calm and causing him to overplay his cards. He had to watch himself in this game. It galled him to think that he had to depend on Lawson’s loot for his season’s start. He needed money. He had gone in far deeper there in the south than he had let Gladys or Big Tom suspect. When he had told his daughter it was impossible for him to quit, he had told the truth. He was chained to the tables until Christmas, and it might come to a point where he would have to use more than ordinary skill. He flipped Ed Lawson a second seven in sight, took a jack for himself, and raised the outlaw’s bet $500 without change of expression.

“Just what I told you!” bawled Lawson. “Playin’ a lucky ace! Sevens for luck, an’ what’s five hundred iron men? If I had to work for ’em as hard as you do, Dan, I’d play ’em close to my watch chain. Five hundred more that I’ve got your goat. Let’s play cards.”

Farlin had winced at this speech. Now his face went a shade whiter.

“It’ll take more than one raid to get my goat, Lawson,” he said in a cool, pleasant voice. His smile was genuine. “And if I make my money hard, I don’t take the chances you do.”

“Sometimes I think you ain’t got the nerve,” growled Lawson.

Red Cole laughed and the look he shot Farlin was one of contempt. The others were interested. This was the nearest approach to a tilt they ever had seen between Farlin and the outlaw leader.

Farlin calmly dealt Lawson a third seven and dropped a second king for himself. Lawson flushed and gazed keenly at the gambler for several seconds.

“I pass,” he said.

“A thousand,” said Farlin. “We’re playing cards, Ed.”

Lawson called the bet. On the next deal he drew a nine and Farlin drew the fourth seven. A gasp went up from the others who had dropped out.

Lawson stared. “I’ll call one bet,” he said.

“Then I’ll make it easy,” said Farlin, “and call it another thousand.”

He turned his hole card to display the third king.

Lawson laughed and looked at his watch. “I’ll play till daylight an’ no longer,” he announced. He took a thick roll of yellow-backed bills from a side pocket of his coat. “I’ll make you work to get it,” he said, looking steadily at Farlin.

The gambler smiled faintly. “That’s what I’m here for, Ed, to get it.”

“Are we all in this game or just you two?” Cole demanded.

“You’ll get service for your money,” said Farlin coldly.

“I don’t like this game,” Cole snapped out.

“I guess we can find a customer to take your place if you don’t feel satisfied,” said Farlin, while Lawson looked from one to the other of them in amusement.

“It ain’t what I feel, it’s what I know!” blurted Cole.

“Shut up!” Lawson commanded. “Never flirt with a Derringer in an old-time gambler’s cuff.” He laughed in Farlin’s face and struck the table with the palm of his hand.

Cole kicked back his chair and leaped to his feet. “I’m quittin’!” he cried. “I’m through keepin’ a pussy-foot cardsharp in clean clothes an’ strawberries. If he can deal a Derringer as good as he can deal cards, I’m givin’ him the chance.”

Lawson’s manner had changed on the instant. His eyes were glittering orbs of ice. “Beat it, Red,” he said sternly. “Outside!”

Cole wavered in his glances. But his slight form was tense. Then he turned to the door with a nod to the others.

“And stay there,” Farlin shot after him as he went out.

Lawson tore up his cards with a harsh laugh. “A new deck,” he ordered. “Let’s play cards!”

Dawn filtered through the cracks in the green shade on the single window at last. The chair Cole had vacated remained unoccupied. Farlin suspected that Cole had seen to it that no other customer applied. Half of Lawson’s big bank roll was gone. Dan Farlin was the heavy winner. He pocketed his winnings listlessly after Lawson had looked at his watch and called off the game.

“We’re not stayin’ in town long this trip,” he told the gambler, “an’ I don’t want the men roaming around for Mills to look at.”

When they left the room, the outlaw turned to Farlin. “Let’s have breakfast together,” he suggested. “I want to talk to you.”

Farlin hesitated. “I usually go home for breakfast . . . .”

“I know, I know,” said Lawson impatiently. “That girl of yours will be expectin’ you, maybe. But she knows I’m in town an’ she wouldn’t be surprised if you stayed for a long session. We’ll step up to the Crazy Café an’ take one of them booths.”

When they were in the booth and the waiter had drawn the curtains after taking their order, Lawson lost no time in getting down to business.

“Cole was wise,” he said with a significant nod. “I don’t want you an’ Cole to have any trouble. I’ll tell him quick today.”

“I don’t think either of you are as wise as you think,” was Farlin’s cool comment.

Lawson’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t a square deal, Dan,” he said slowly. “An’ it was, so far as I know, the first time you pulled a trick on me. You know how I gamble, an’ you know you don’t have to deal queer to take me. I’m tellin’ you straight that I’d rather have you win from me at cards than any man I know. I always expect you to win from me.” He paused to let the words sink in, while Farlin gazed at him out of eyes that were expressionless.

“You might say I’m one of your charities,” said Farlin.

“An’ I wouldn’t be far from right.” Lawson nodded. “But I saw more tonight than you thought, Dan. You’re out to make a clean-up this year. You want the money, an’ you intend to get it. I don’t blame you a bit. I can see the handwriting on the wall, old-timer. You intend to shake Sunrise, an’ I don’t blame you for that, either. I wouldn’t hint anything to Big Tom . . . he’s a fool, anyway . . . but watch him. He isn’t ready to quit.”

“How about yourself?” asked Farlin quietly.

Lawson compressed his lips. “This territory is gettin’ to be worked out,” he said grimly. “If you was to repeat that, it would mean trouble for me. So I’m trusting you. Dan, why in thunder should you slave all summer an’ fall an’ right up into the blizzards for a stake from the tables when there’s another way . . . a short cut to a bigger stake in less time an’ with less trouble.” He tapped the table with the fingers of his right hand.

“That’s easy to answer,” replied Farlin with a frown. “I’m not alone in the world. The short cut you talk about might be altogether too short. And besides I’m not experienced in that sort of play.”

“What sort of play?” asked Lawson. “You don’t know what I’m gettin’ at a-tall. Do you think I want you to get on a horse an’ join us in a raid? You couldn’t do it even if you wanted to. For one thing, you’re too soft. Twenty miles of hard ridin’ would lay you up for a week. You’re well-preserved an’ healthy, an’, if you drift along quiet, you’ll live a long time. It takes money to live, Dan, to live like you want to live. Also, for fast shootin’ an’ a quick getaway, you’d be a total loss. But in another an’ easier way, you’d be the clear, sugar-coated candy with chocolate trimmin’s.”

“Sounds interesting,” Farlin observed. “Do I understand that you have some kind of a proposition up your sleeve?”

“I’m comin’ to that,” Lawson answered. “But I’ve got to know that you won’t let our little talk go any farther than this booth.”

“That’s understood,” said Farlin. “I’ve listened and forgotten before this. I’m not in your game, and you know it, but most naturally I’m a bit curious.”

“That’s enough. Dan, I’ve worked around this district for a long time, but always away from it. An’ all this time I’ve left a plant, side-stepped as sweet a job as a man followin’ the trail I’m on could want. But it isn’t a ride-in, stick-’em-up, shoot-it-off, an’ ride-out lay. This job has to be pulled with more . . . what is it? . . . more . . ?”

“Finesse,” Farlin supplied with a thin smile.

“That’s it,” Lawson agreed. “An’ that’s where you would fit in so sweet. Now, do you begin to get my drift?”

Farlin was toying with a fork, studying the tablecloth, his brow furrowed. He looked older. Suddenly he glanced up and spoke almost in a whisper. “Rocky Point?” He dropped the fork as Lawson nodded silently.

“Big game,” said the gambler.

“An’ big stakes,” said Lawson in a low voice. “Dan, there’s never been a word said, but Mills don’t expect me to go anywhere near that town, an’ he don’t expect any of my men to go anywhere near there. Maybe you’ll think it’s strange . . . which it is . . . but I’ve never been there. Now, you can go there. Mills, or any other sheriff, hasn’t got a thing on you. You’re a gambler, an’ a gambler is still more or less a respectable character in these parts. You come pretty close to bein’ the most respectable citizen in this town. You can walk the streets of Rocky Point as free an’ easy as you can walk from here to your cabin. Nice thing to know that, Dan.”

“I’ve never had any trouble there,” Farlin confessed.

“Of course not,” said Lawson, displaying some enthusiasm. “An’ you wouldn’t have any trouble there. You could go over there an’”—he lowered his tone and leaned across the table—“open an account at the Stockmen’s and Miners’ State Bank, just as easy as not.”

Farlin raised his brows. “I have my own way of taking care of my money,” he said coldly, “and nobody is going to get it unless they’re slick enough to snare it across the tables.”

“Don’t let on that you don’t know what I mean,” said Lawson with a frown. “You could go over there”—he lowered his voice again—“an’ visit the bank two or three times, an’ keep your eyes open an’ report to me. I would do the rest an’ cut you in for a third. You could find out more about that bank an’ the lay of the land an’ the best way to operate than any man I’ve got or could get. An’ you wouldn’t be handcuffed to a stud table for the next six or eight months. You’d be under cover, too. Now, shake that smart brain of yours an’ figure out if it’s worth it or not.”

The outlaw leaned back in his chair as the waiter parted the curtains and put their breakfasts on the table.

There was no further talk until the meal was nearly finished. Lawson’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he noted that Farlin was thinking hard.

“Have you talked much with Big Tom yet?” asked the gambler.

“Just said hello at the bar an’ he told me Mills was here,” was the answer.

“He’ll ask you if you know a go-getter by the name of Bovert who’s headed this way,” said Farlin casually.

“Yeah?” Lawson scowled. “I’ve heard of him, that’s all. Who is he anyway?”

“I don’t know, and Tom doesn’t know. Mills brought the word he was making for Sunrise. Funny business. Mills wants him let alone. That’s the word, and all I know.”

Lawson’s scowl deepened. “Hasn’t got anything to do with me,” he said. “But I don’t want any complications. I’d rather have you keep me posted than have to depend on Tom. What do you . . . think about things?”

“I don’t know,” said Farlin, finishing his coffee. He rolled and lit a cigarette. “How do I know you’ll play square?” he asked, looking the outlaw straight in the eyes.

Lawson rose. He took a roll of bills from a pocket and tossed it on the table beside Farlin’s plate. “There’s twenty thousand cold,” he said. “Take it over an’ deposit it, for a starter.”

He slipped through the curtains, leaving Dan Farlin staring at the money on the table.