Copper Streak Trail

by Eugene Manlove Rhodes

CHAPTER XVI

Before the two adventurers left Vesper, Johnson wired to José Benavides the date of his arrival at Tucson; and from El Paso he wired Jackson Carr to leave Mohawk the next day but one, with the last load of water. Johnson and Boland arrived in Tucson at seven-twenty-six in the morning. Benavides met them at the station—a slender, wiry, hawk-faced man, with a grizzled beard.

"So this is Francis Charles?" said Stanley.

"Frank by brevet, now. Pete has promoted me. He says that Francis Charles is too heavy for the mild climate, and unwieldy in emergencies."

"You ought to see Frankie in his new khaki suit! He's just too sweet for anything," said Pete. "You know Benavides, Stan?"

"Joe and I are lifelong friends of a week's standing. Compadres—eh, Joe? He came to console my captivity on your account, at first, and found me so charming that he came back on his own."

"Ah, que hombre! Do not beliefing heem, Don Hooaleece. He ees begging me efery day to come again back—that leetle one," cried Joe indignantly. "I come here not wis plessir—not so. He is ver' triste, thees boy—ver' dull. I am to take sorry for heem—sin vergüenza! Also, perhaps a leetle I am coming for that he ordaire always from the Posada the bes' dinners, lak now."

"Such a care-free life!" sighed Francis-Frank. "Decidedly I must reform my ways. One finds so much gayety and happiness among the criminal classes, as I observed when I first met Mr. Johnson—in Vesper Jail."

"Oh, has Pete been in jail? That's good. Tell us about it, Pete."

That was a morning which flashed by quickly. The gleeful history of events in Vesper was told once and again, with Pete's estimate and critical analysis of the Vesperian world. Stanley's new fortunes were announced, and Pete spoke privately with him concerning McClintock. The coming campaign was planned in detail, over another imported meal. Stanley was to be released that afternoon, Benavides becoming security for him; but, through the courtesy of the sheriff, he was to keep his cell until late bedtime. It was wished to make the start without courting observation. For the same reason, when the sheriff escorted Stanley and Benavides to the courthouse for the formalities attendant to the bail-giving, Pete did not go along. Instead, he took Frank-Francis for a sight-seeing stroll about the town.

It was past two when, in an unquiet street, Boland's eye fell upon a signboard which drew his eye:

THE PALMILLA

THE ONLY SECOND-CLASS SALOON IN THE CITY

Boland called attention to this surprising proclamation.

"Yes," said Pete; "that's Rhiny Archer's place. Little old
Irishman—sharp as a steel trap. You'll like him. Let's go in."

They marched in. The barroom was deserted; Tucson was hardly awakened from siesta as yet. From the open door of a side room came a murmur of voices.

"Where's Rhiny?" demanded Pete of the bartender.

"Rhiny don't own the place now. Sold out and gone."

"Shucks!" said Pete. "That's too bad. Where'd he go?"

"Don't know. You might ask the boss." He raised his voice: "Hey, Dewing!
Gentleman here to speak to you."

At the summons, Something Dewing appeared at the side door; he gave a little start when he saw Pete at the bar.

"Why, hello, Johnson! Well met! This is a surprise."

"Same here," said Pete. "Didn't know you were in town."

"Yes; I bought Rhiny out. Tired of Cobre. Want to take a hand at poker,
Pete? Here's two lumberjacks down from up-country, and honing to play.
Their money's burning holes in their pockets. I was just telling them
that it's too early to start a game yet."

He indicated the other two men, who were indeed disguised as lumberjacks, even to their hands; but their faces were not the faces of workingmen.

"Cappers," thought Pete. Aloud he said: "Not to-day, I guess. Where's
Rhiny? In town yet?"

"No; he left. Don't know where he went exactly—somewhere up Flagstaff-way, I think. But I can find out for you if you want to write to him."

"Oh, no—nothing particular. Just wanted a chin with him."

"Better try the cards a whirl, Pete," urged the gambler. "I don't want to start up for a three-handed game."

Pete considered. It was not good taste to give a second invitation; evidently Dewing had strong reasons for desiring his company.

"If this tinhorn thinks he can pump me, I'll let him try it a while," he reflected. He glanced at his watch.

"Three o'clock. I'll tell you what I'll do with you, Dewing," he said:
"I'll disport round till supper-time, if I last that long. But I can't go
very strong. Quit you at supper-time, win or lose. Say six o'clock, sharp.
The table will be filled up long before that."

"Come into the anteroom. We'll start in with ten-cent chips," said
Dewing. "Maybe your friend would like to join us?"

"Not at first. Later, maybe. Come on, Frankie!"

Boland followed into the side room. He was a little disappointed in Pete.

"You see, it's like this," said Pete, sinking into a chair after the door was closed: "Back where Boland lives the rules are different. They play a game something like Old Maid, and call it poker. He can sit behind me a spell and I'll explain how we play it. Then, if he wants to, he can sit in with us. Deal 'em up."

"Cut for deal—high deals," said Dewing.

After the first hand was played, Pete began his explanations:

"We play all jack pots here, Frankie; and we use five aces. That is in the Constitution of the State of Texas, and the Texas influence reaches clear to the Colorado River. The joker goes for aces, flushes, and straights. It always counts as an ace, except to fill a straight; but if you've got a four-card straight and the joker, then the joker fills your hand. Here; I'll show you." Between deals he sorted out a ten, nine, eight, and seven, and the joker with them.

"There," he said; "with a hand like this you can call the joker either a jack or a six, just as you please. It is usual to call it a jack. But in anything except straights and straight flushes—if there is any such thing as a straight flush—the cuter card counts as an ace. Got that?"

"Yes; I think I can remember that."

"All right! You watch us play a while, then, till you get on to our methods of betting—they're different from yours too. When you think you're wise, you can take a hand if you want to."

Boland watched for a few hands and then bought in. The game ran on for an hour, with the usual vicissitudes. Nothing very startling happened. The "lumbermen" bucked each other furiously, bluffing in a scandalous manner when they fought for a pot between themselves. Each was cleaned out several times and bought more chips. Pete won; lost; bought chips; won, lost, and won again; and repeated the process. Red and blue chips began to appear: the table took on a distinctly patriotic appearance. The lumbermen clamored to raise the ante; Johnson steadfastly declined. Boland, playing cautiously, neither won nor lost. Dewing won quietly, mostly from the alleged lumbermen.

The statement that nothing particular had occurred is hardly accurate. There had been one little circumstance of a rather peculiar nature. Once or twice, when it came Pete's turn to deal, he had fancied that he felt a stir of cold air at the back of his neck; cooler, at least, than the smoke-laden atmosphere of the card room.

On the third recurrence of this phenomenon Pete glanced carelessly at his watch before picking up his hand, and saw in the polished back a tiny reflection from the wall behind him—a small horizontal panel, tilted transomwise, and a peering face. Pete scanned his hand; when he picked up his watch to restore it to his pocket, the peering face was gone and the panel had closed again.

Boland, sitting beside Johnson, saw nothing of this. Neither did the lumbermen, though they were advantageously situated on the opposite side of the table. Pete played on, with every sense on the alert. He knocked over a pile of chips, spilling some on the floor; when he stooped over to get them, he slipped his gun from his waistband and laid it in his lap. His curiosity was aroused.

At length, on Dewing's deal, Johnson picked up three kings before the draw. He sat at Dewing's left; it was his first chance to open the pot; he passed. Dewing coughed; Johnson felt again that current of cold air on his neck. "This must be the big mitt," thought Pete. "In a square game there'd be nothing unusual in passing up three kings for a raise—that is good poker. But Dewing wants to be sure I've got 'em. Are they going to slide me four kings? I reckon not. It isn't considered good form to hold four aces against four kings. They'll slip me a king-full, likely, and some one will hold an ace-full."

Obligingly Pete spread his three kings fanwise, for the convenience of the onlooker behind the panel. So doing, he noted that he held the kings of hearts, spades, and diamonds, with the queen and jack of diamonds. He slid queen and jack together. "Two aces to go with this hand would give me a heap of confidence," he thought. "I'm going to take a long chance."

Boland passed; the first lumberman opened the pot; the second stayed; Dewing stayed; Pete stayed, and raised. Boland passed out; the first lumberman saw the raise.

"I ought to lift this again; but I won't," announced the lumberman. "I want to get Scotty's money in this pot, and I might scare him out."

Scotty, the second lumberman, hesitated for a moment, and then laid down his hand, using language. Dewing saw the raise.

"Here's where I get a cheap draw for the Dead Man's Hand—aces and eights." He discarded two and laid before him, face up on the table, a pair of eights and an ace of hearts. "I'm going to trim you fellows this time. Aces and eights have never been beaten yet."

"Damn you! Here's one eight you won't get," said Scotty; he turned over his hand, exposing the eight of clubs.

"Mustn't expose your cards unnecessarily," said Dewing reprovingly. "It spoils the game." He picked up the deck. "Cards?"

Pete pinched his cards to the smallest compass and cautiously discarded two of them, holding their faces close to the table.

"Give me two right off the top."

Dewing complied.

"Cards to you?" he said. "Next gentleman?"

The next gentleman scowled. "I orter have raised," he said. "Only I wanted Scotty's money. Now, like as not, somebody'll draw out on me. I'll play these."

Dewing dealt himself two. Reversing his exposed cards, he shoved between them the two cards he had drawn and laid these five before him, backs up, without looking at them.

"It's your stab, Mr. Johnson," said Dewing sweetly.

Johnson skinned his hand slowly and cautiously, covering his cards with his hands, clipping one edge lightly so that the opposite edges were slightly separated, and peering between them. He had drawn the joker and the ace of diamonds. He closed the hand tightly and shoved in a stack.

"Here's where you see aces and eights beaten," he said, addressing
Dewing. "You can't have four eights, 'cause Mr. Scotty done showed one."

The lumberman raised.

"What are you horning in for?" demanded Pete. "I've got you beat. It's
Dewing's hide I'm after."

Dewing looked at his cards and stayed. Pete saw the raise and re-raised.

The lumberman sized up to Pete's raise tentatively, but kept his hand on his stack of chips; he questioned Pete with his eyes, muttered, hesitated, and finally withdrew the stack of chips in his hands and threw up his cards with a curse, exposing a jack-high spade flush.

Dewing's eyes were cold and hard. He saw Pete's raise and raised again, pushing in two stacks of reds.

"That's more than I've got, but I'll see you as far as my chips hold out. Wish to Heaven I had a bushel!" Pete sized up his few chips beside Dewing's tall red stacks. "It's a shame to show this hand for such a pitiful little bit of money," he said in an aggrieved voice. "What you got?"

Dewing made no move to turn over his cards.

"If you feel that way about it, old-timer," he said as he raked back his remainder of unimperiled chips, "you can go down in your pocket."

"Table stakes!" objected Scotty.

"That's all right," said Dewing. "We'll suspend the rules, seeing there's no one in the pot but Johnson and me. This game, I take it, is going to break up right now and leave somebody feeling mighty sore. If you're so sure you've got me beat—dig up!"

"Cash my chips," said Scotty. "I sat down here to play table stakes, and
I didn't come to hear you fellows jaw, either."

"You shut up!" said Dewing. "I'll cash your chips when I play out this hand—not before. You're not in this."

"Hell; you're both of you scared stiff!" scoffed Scotty. "Neither of you dast put up a cent."

"Well, Johnson, how about it?" jeered Dewing. "What are you going to do or take water?"

"Won't there ever be any more hands of poker dealt?" asked Pete. "If I thought this was to be the last hand ever played, I'd sure plunge right smart on this bunch of mine."

"Weakening, eh?" sneered Dewing.

"That's enough, Pete," said Boland, very much vexed. "We're playing table stakes. This is no way to do. Show what you've got and let's get out of this."

"You let me be!" snapped Pete. "No, Dewing; I'm not weakening. About how much cash have you got in your roll?"

"About fourteen hundred in the house. More in the bank if you're really on the peck. And I paid three thousand cash for this place."

"And I've got maybe fifty or sixty dollars with me. You see how it is," said Pete. "But I've got a good ranch and a bunch of cattle, if you happen to know anything about them."

"Pete! Pete! That's enough," urged Boland.

Pete shook him off.

"Mind your own business, will you?" he snapped. "I'm going to show Mr.
Something Dewing how it feels."

The gambler smiled coldly. "Johnson, you're an old blowhard! If you really want to make a man-size bet on that hand of yours, I'll make you a proposition."

"Bet on it? Bet on this hand?" snarled Pete, clutching his cards tightly.
"I'd bet everything I've got on this hand."

"We'll see about that. I may be wrong, but I seem to have heard that you and young Mitchell have found a copper claim that's pretty fair, and a little over. I believe it, anyhow. And I'm willing to take the risk that you'll keep your word. I'll shoot the works on this hand—cash, bank roll, and the joint, against a quarter interest in your mine."

"Son," said Johnson, "I wouldn't sell you one per cent of my share of that mine for all you've got. Come again!"

The gambler laughed contemptuously. "That's easy enough said," he taunted. "If you want to wiggle out of it that way, all right!"

Pete raised a finger.

"Not so fast. I don't remember that I've wiggled any yet. I don't want your money or your saloon. In mentioning my mine you have set an example of plain speaking which I intend to follow. I do hereby believe that you can clear Stanley Mitchell of the charge hanging over him. If you can, I'll bet you a one-quarter interest in our mine against that evidence. I'll take your word if you'll take mine, and I'll give you twelve hours' start before I make your confession public.—Boland, you mind your own business. I'm doing this.—Well, Dewing, how about it?"

"If you think I've got evidence to clear Stanley—"

"I do. I think you did the trick yourself, likely."

"You might as well get one thing in your head, first as last: if I had any such evidence and made any such a bet—I'd win it! You may be sure of that. So you'd be no better off so far as getting your pardner out of trouble is concerned—and you lose a slice of mining property. If you really think I can give you any such evidence, why not trade me an interest in the mine for it?"

"I'm not buying, I'm betting! Who's wiggling now?"

"You headstrong, stiff-necked old fool, you've made a bet! I've got the evidence. Your word against mine?"

"Your word against mine. The bet is made," said Pete. "What have you got?
I called you."

"I've got the Dead Man's Hand—that's all!" Dewing spread out three aces and a pair of eights, and smiled exasperatingly. "You've got what you were looking for! I hope you're satisfied now!"

"Yes," said Pete; "I'm satisfied. Let's see you beat this!" He tossed his cards on the table. "Look at 'em! A royal straight flush in diamonds, and a gun to back it!" The gun leaped up with a click. "Come through, Dewing! Your spy may shoot me through that panel behind me; but if he does I'll bore you through the heart. Boland, you've got a gun. Watch the wall at my back. If you see a panel open, shoot! Hands on the table, lumbermen!"

"Don't shoot! I'll come through," said Dewing, coolly enough, but earnestly. "I think you are the devil! Where did you get those cards?"

"Call your man in from that panel. My back itches and so does my trigger finger."

"What do you think I am—a fool? Nobody's going to shoot you." Dewing raised his voice: "Come on in, Warren, hands up, before this old idiot drills me."

"Evidence," remarked Johnson softly, "is what I am after. Evidence! I have no need of any corpses. Boland, you might go through Mr. Warren and those other gentlemen for guns. Never mind Dewing; I'll get his gun, myself, after the testimony. Dewing might play a trick on you if you get too close. That's right. Pile 'em in the chair. Now, Mr. Dewing—you were to give some testimony, I believe."

"You'll get it. I robbed Wiley myself. But I'm damned if I tell you any more till you tell me where you got that hand. I'll swear those are the cards I dealt you. I never took my eyes off of you."

"Your eyes are all right, son," said Johnson indulgently, "but you made your play too strong. You showed an ace and two eights. Then, when Mr. Scotty obliged by flashing another eight, I knowed you was to deal me two aces for confidence cards and two more to yourself, to make out a full hand to beat my king-full. So I discarded two kings. Turn 'em over, Boland. I took a long chance. Drew to the king, queen, and jack of diamonds. If one of the aces I got in the draw had been either hearts or black, I'd have lost a little money; and there's an end. As it happened, I drew the diamond ace and the joker, making ace, king, queen, jack, and ten—and this poker game is hereby done broke up. I'm ready for the evidence now."

"You've earned it fair, and you'll get it. I told you I'd not implicate any one but myself, and I won't. I robbed Wiley so I could saw it off on Stan. You know why, I guess," said Dewing. "If you'll ask that little Bobby kid of Jackson Carr's, he'll tell you that Stan lost his spur beyond Hospital Springs about sunset on the night of the robbery, and didn't find it again. The three of us rode in together, and the boy can swear that Stan had only one spur.

"I saw the spur when we were hunting for it; I saw how it would help me get Stan out of the way; so I said nothing, and I went back that night and got it. I dropped it near where I held Wiley up, and found it again, very opportunely, when I came back to Cobre with the posse. Every one knew that spur; that was how the posse came to search Stan's place. The rest is easy: I hid the money where it was sure to be found. That's all I am going to tell you, and that's enough. If it will make you feel any better about it, though, you may be pleased to know that Bat Wiley and most of them were acting in good faith."

"That is quite satisfactory. The witness is excused," said Pete. "And
I'll give you twelve hours to leave Tucson before I give out the news."

"Twelve minutes is quite enough, thank you. My address will be Old Mexico hereafter, and I'll close out the shop by mail. Anything else?"

"Why, yes; you might let me have that gun of yours as a keepsake. No; I'll get it," said Pete kindly. "You just hold up your hands. Well, we gotta be going. We've had a pleasant afternoon, haven't we? Good-bye, gentlemen! Come on, Boland!"

They backed out of the room.