Tex took in the Parson, the fleshy face, the little eyes, the grotesquely bald head, the false appearance of joviality. It didn’t look like Tex was summing him up, his eyes seemed casual, but there wasn’t much eluded his gaze. One thing that he didn’t miss was something that lurked behind the Parson’s little eyes set in the folds of flesh; that something Tex Scarron reckoned spelled danger. Here was a guy who in spite of his appearance was ruthless, probably a killer.
The newcomer to Grant’s River had met killers before. He’d discovered pretty soon in his haphazard career riding around the place looking for trouble that a killer can come out in all shapes and sizes. There wasn’t a killer’s face. That could be anything. In his time Tex had met guys who looked as though they wouldn’t hurt a fly but in fact had been murderers. There wasn’t such a thing as a typical killer’s face, but there were killer’s eyes. This Parson Dean had those eyes.
‘Sure, I guess you must be the Parson,’ repeated Tex. ‘I’m glad to meet you … I’ve heard about you.’
In his turn Dean surveyed Tex Scarron. A hard-bitten hombre this, he reckoned, tough and probably quick with his gun. He’d been around. Like Tex, the Parson had learned to judge men … and he, too, recognized danger when he saw it. This visitor was dangerous.
They summed each other up but neither of them gave anything away. Then the Parson nodded.
‘I’m Parson Dean,’ he grunted. ‘Rocky says you cut in to help my boys with the Kid. That right, stranger?’
‘Better ask them,’ was the reply, Tex jerking his head at Jeb and Snake.
The Parson turned to Jeb. His voice wasn’t pleasant when he spoke.
‘Well, what about it? Rocky says the Kid held you up.’
Jeb shifted his feet uneasily. For all that he was a huge man, who could have broken the Parson in two, he cowered before the expression in the boss’s little eyes. Jeb, like a tiger menaced by the personality of his trainer, was scared of the Parson – which made him a valuable tool.
‘Aw, boss, it wasn’t our fault,’ he muttered. ‘We wasn’t expectin’ anythin’ like that. We was ridin’ back from the Creek with the dough an’ the guy came out at us with an-other hombre. He stuck us up, boss….’
The Parson’s thick lips drew back over his teeth.
‘He stuck you up! What you reckon you are, a couple o’ old women? Or maybe you don’t carry rods around with you any more? Reckon you’ve gone yellow, Jeb.’
Jeb glowered, but before he could answer this charge Snake broke in. He wasn’t scared of the Parson, not the way Jeb was, although he obeyed orders – or had done up to now.
‘It ain’t no good talkin’ like that, boss. The Kid had us all jammed up, got us covered ‘fore we could draw. You ain’t heard the lot yet. We didn’t let him take the dough easy … we made a break for it an’ got our rods out. But I guess the Kid is pretty slick.’
Tex knew what had happened for Jeb and Snake had talked on the way to Grant’s River. They’d made a break for it after the Kid had held them up, had got at their guns and shots had been exchanged. But the Kid had ducked down behind cover and then had pulled a fast one, getting round behind the Double K boys while his companion held their attention from the front. The Kid had got the drop on them properly the second time, which was just before Tex himself had come up.
Now he listened to the tale recounted yet again but only with half an ear. He was watching the Parson – and keeping an eye on the others as well. The Parson was a killer; he reckoned the other three Double K hands in the room weren’t much better. He’d walked into a tough set-up all right.
The other guy had a look of Linda about him. It didn’t take much skill to work out that this was probably Buck Forbes, of the Lazy Y. The girl had said he was down here at the hotel. Tex’s eyes flicked over the table, noted the cards lying there. It seemed like Buck had been playing poker. Tex hoped he knew what he was doing … he was sure the others did.
That the guy was indeed Buck Forbes was proved when he pushed forward, interrupting the tale Jeb and Snake were telling.
‘Where’s my cousin?’ he demanded. ‘Rocky said she was up there on the trail.’
It was Tex who answered.
‘She’s OK mister, met a friend in Main Street and gone with him … a guy called Dwight, seems he owns the newssheet.’
Buck grunted. He knew Pop Dwight, everyone in the district did. He owned the River Gazette, writing it up and printing it every week pretty well single-handed.
‘What was she doin’ up on the trail?’ he demanded.
Tex shrugged his shoulders.
‘It ain’t no good askin’ me. I guess you’re the one who ought to be makin’ sure she don’t ride around the place gettin’ mixed up in trouble.’
Buck’s hand fell to the butt of his gun.
‘You got a nerve, stranger, comin’ here tellin’ me what I ought to do. I reckon I don’t …’
Tex didn’t move, though if he’d had to he could have beaten Buck to the draw even though he had some leeway to make up. But as it was the Parson took over.
His hand closed over Buck’s gun wrist like a vice.
‘Cut it out,’ he snarled. ‘You know Linda does what she likes and I guess you know you ought to stop her ridin’ around alone.’ Then to Tex, ‘Don’t you take no notice of him, he don’t always mean what he says.’
Buck Forbes glowered, but he made no further aggressive move.
By now the Parson knew what had happened up on the trail. He knew that Jeb and Snake had lost five hundred dollars; he was willing to accept that the hoodlum who had held them up, with the help of another masked guy, was the Kid. The description fitted and so did the slickness exhibited. Jeb and Snake weren’t exactly chickens, but they’d been taken for a ride. It was long odds that the bandit had been the Kid.
‘Too bad about the dough, boss,’ muttered Jeb, ‘but we did our best. We got it off Hackamore all right, down at the Creek, he parted OK an’ we was bringin’ it back when …’
The Parson interrupted him swiftly.
‘Sure he parted, those steers were worth five hundred dollars. OK you’d best come to the office.’
Tex saw the expression which crossed Jeb’s broad face and he knew that the Parson was bluffing. Whoever Hackamore was and whatever he’d paid over the money for, it wasn’t in payment for steers purchased. In view of Sam Steel’s letter Tex didn’t have a lot of difficulty in working out why the money had been paid.
The Parson turned back to the newcomer.
‘I guess it was mighty good of you to take a hand, Scarron,’ he said. ‘I’m grateful … but I reckon that skirt wants a belt taken to her like I said,’ with a malicious glance at Buck Forbes. ‘And don’t you start in tellin’ me she ain’t no skirt,’ he added, as Buck opened his mouth. ‘I reckon I say what I want, and any guy who don’t like it knows what to do about it. OK Jeb, and you Snake, get goin’.’
Buck Forbes, who was about twenty-seven, Tex judged, glared at the Parson but he made no sort of move. He was angry all right, but he was something else as well – scared of the Parson. Tex was dead sure of that, he’d seen too many men in too many moods to make a mistake. The Parson had him where he wanted him. Just why Tex didn’t know, but maybe he’d find out.
When the Parson had gone, after telling Tex he’d be back to talk to him again pretty soon and that in the meantime drinks were on the house, Buck perceptibly relaxed. And relaxing got brave, now the Parson was gone.
‘I guess no guy tells me what to do,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll look after Linda, I don’t need nobody to give me orders.’
A bartender brought in liquor. Tex took a glass of beer and drained it down. His throat was dry and the beer was welcome. Having met Linda Forbes and now Buck, he didn’t reckon there was much chance of the young man persuading the girl to do anything she didn’t want to do, or stop doing what she wanted to do. Buck, he estimated, was a guy who was about ten per cent as smart as he thought he was, with about as many guts as would go on a dime piece. He could talk but that was about all.
Tex knew a whole lot more now than he had done when he left Indian Creek. Some of what he knew he had been told – as for instance that Linda was an orphan and that Buck had no father, living at the Lazy Y with his mother who was an invalid; a good bit he’d discovered by using his eyes and his ears. Buck Forbes was mixed up with the Parson set-up, was scared of the Parson. Linda had given Dean a good character, and if she’d pulled a fast one up on the trail, gunning for the Kid, not against him, that also surely meant she wasn’t playing for the Parson. There were cross-currents.
Spike Warren jerked his head at the cards.
‘Ain’t you goin’ to play again, Buck?’ he asked. ‘If your cousin is with Pop, I reckon she’ll be a long time yet.’
Buck hesitated but then went to the table.
‘I’ll play,’ he grunted. ‘I reckon the luck’s got to change some time.’
Tex, watching Spike’s slim fingers busy shuffling the cards, wasn’t so sure about that. He’d seen a good few sharpers at work in his time.
‘How ’bout me cuttin’ in?’ he asked.
‘OK stranger, you can cut in.’
Tex sat down, watching Spike deal. He watched with interest but didn’t seem to. Nothing about him indicated that he’d learned all the tricks at the feet of Jesse Smith, reckoned to be the slickest sharper anywhere east of the Atlantic. Tex wasn’t giving away anything – not yet.
The other Double K boys took up their cards and play started. Tex deliberately played the sort of game he thought was expected of him. Spike wasn’t so hot at first and neither were his buddies … Buck began to win. He didn’t win heavily, but he won, enough to encourage him. Let the sucker win a bit, at first – that was the golden rule employed by sharpers all over the world.
Gradually Tex changed his tactics, began to bet more heavily, after he’d won once. He gave it away when he was holding a good hand, knowing that Spike and the others, with the exception of Buck, who didn’t count, would pick up the signs and read them correctly. Tex was preparing the ground.
He knew by now that without a doubt the deck was stacked when Spike or the other Double K boys dealt. It was stacked very cleverly and Buck hadn’t a suspicion; but Tex had more than a suspicion. Jesse Smith had taught him that trick of stacking the cards, in return for a favour of a different sort. He’d taught him something else, too, a trick worth two of the one these crooks were employing.
By the time Tex was ready to pull his coup Buck had lost all he’d made at the beginning and a whole lot more as well. Tex himself had lost fifty dollars. He’d been framed on the last hand, he knew that, but it suited his purpose. He’d been dealt cards good enough to tempt him to plunge – which obligingly he’d done. He’d lost to Spike as he knew he would. But that was OK. What he did now looked natural enough, he hoped.
He dug into his pocket and brought out a hundred dollars, counting them carefully, watched by Spike and the others.
‘I got a feelin’ the luck’s goin’ to change,’ he said. ‘The cards have been gettin’ better … my deal, ain’t it?’
He took the cards and shuffled them. Spike’s face was a blank, but Tex reckoned he knew what he was thinking. Here was a sucker who thought the luck was building up for him … he’d soon find out his mistake.
Tex shuffled, apparently exactly as he had shuffled in previous rounds. The Double K boys were fly but by this time they reckoned Tex was a mug and about as dangerous as Buck Forbes. But even if they’d thought different they wouldn’t have seen Tex stack the deck. Jesse Smith had taught him well. He didn’t make a false move. By the time he’d dealt he knew what each man was holding; and he knew the order of the cards in the rest of the pack.
It worked out all right. After a couple of rounds the other three Double K boys dropped out. Buck stuck it for a bit but then he packed up. That left Tex and Spike in. Spike was holding four kings, which he must take as a stroke of luck, for when Tex or Buck was dealing the game was on the level. The chances of Tex holding anything better than the four kings was about a million to one against.
Tex played his part pretty well; letting his excitement peep out from his eyes, he indicated by a slight trembling of his hands as the pool mounted. He hoped that Spike would work it out that he was holding maybe four queens.
Spike raised him and the pool stood at three hundred dollars. Tex stared at him, then back at his cards. He seemed to hesitate; then he brought out more dough, raised the pool again.
Spike drew at his cigarette. Tex fumbled, dropped a card face up on the table, grabbed it swiftly, but not too swiftly. Spike saw it all right, a queen. Tex hoped that would persuade him to raise again.
It did. Spike reckoned he was sitting pretty. With four queens this newcomer thought he was set to grab the pool.
Tex raised again, so did Spike. When it was Tex’s turn once more he decided that the time had come to call it off.
‘I’m cleaned out,’ he muttered. ‘OK pal …’
Spike turned up his cards, four kings as Tex had known.
‘I guess that’s good enough,’ drawled Spike, and stretched out his hand for the pool, now worth five hundred dollars. Tex said abruptly.
‘Hold it … what about this?’
He turned up his own cards, a straight flush in spades, ace high.
‘I guess we’re playin’ ace high,’ said Tex.
Spike let fall an oath. Then he came to his feet and at the same time his hand reached for his gun. As he grabbed at the butt Tex’s gun was out, covering him.
‘Not this time, pal,’ drawled Tex. ‘Get your hand away from that rod … I guess I mean it.’
One of the others, a little guy, jerked forward, the table was swept against Tex’s legs. He grabbed at the back of his chair to steady himself but Spike seized his chance. He lurched at Tex, got a grip and the next moment there was uproar, Spike’s buddies piling in.
In the midst of the fight the door was flung open and there was the Parson, a gun in his hand.
‘Break it up,’ he ground, ‘break it up.’
He was obeyed. Tex was now disarmed, his gun fallen to the floor. He stood there looking into the barrel of the Parson’s gun. Behind the Parson was Jeb, another guy Tex hadn’t seen before … and Linda Forbes.
‘What goes on?’ snarled the Parson. ‘I ain’t standin’ for trouble here.’
‘We was playin’ poker, boss … this guy pulled a fast one, reckon he took us for suckers. He stacked the deck.’
Tex said nothing. He didn’t like looking into the wrong end of a gun. Talking could wait for a bit; he was working out how to grab the Parson’s rod.
Then Linda moved, pushed past Jeb and came into the room. The table was on its side now, the cards scattered on the floor. She stooped down swiftly and picked up two.
‘What you know about this?’ she asked, holding up the cards. ‘I guess it’s a queer sort of pack with two aces of spades in it.’
Tex narrowed his eyes. He’d rigged the deck all right, but not by using two aces. In the commotion Spike or one of the other boys must have dropped the second ace. It, and maybe other useful cards, had been parked somewhere handy. Reckoning he had a cast-iron hand on the level, Spike hadn’t troubled to try any palming.
‘I don’t know nothin’ about it,’ said Tex. ‘What do you think, that I came with another pack on me lookin’ the same as the one used here? That don’t work out, I reckon.’
‘I reckon you got two packs lookin’ the same? Sure you have, and this guy grabbed one when you weren’t lookin’, that’s how it was worked. I reckon we can do without a sharper at the River.’
Buck, who had lost a packet on the last hand, before he dropped out, agreed with her.
‘Sure, let’s run him out o’ town, boys.’ Then, as an after-thought, ‘Or maybe the sheriff could lock him up for a bit to cool his heels.’
Sheriff Poston, the guy Tex hadn’t recognized, shuffled his feet, looking at the Parson obviously for instructions. By now Tex knew that he didn’t stand a chance of pulling a fast one. If he’d moved quickly at the beginning he might have managed, but then Linda had found the two aces and that had sidetracked him long enough to let the chance slip. Others had crowded into the room now, including the thickset, stocky Pop Dwight, middle-aged with a mass of grey hair and printer’s ink on his hands. He didn’t have a gun out but others had by now.
They came at him and Tex had more sense than put up a fight against such odds. He let them grab him. He was in for a beating-up, he reckoned, but he had to take it.
As he was hustled out of the room he glimpsed Linda Forbes standing watching. She’d landed him in for this, that was certain, had suggested that they could do without him at the River. But right now there was something in her eyes as she watched him taken out that didn’t link with what she’d done. There was fear, and Tex reckoned it wasn’t fear for herself.
But Tex wasn’t given any chance to think much about it or try to work it out. He was dragged from the room and along the passage to a door which gave on to Main Street. His other gun had been grabbed and he was helpless, disarmed and outnumbered. He’d run into bad trouble all right.