All this Rock took in rapidly. He had heard about Clark’s Ford and the Odeon a thousand miles south. He reflected that there were other places of the same stripe, which he had seen here, and they were more impressive, if less widely known. Yet it was a fairly big night at the Odeon. Four herds had made the crossing that day. Three more lay within ten miles. There were riders from all in Clark’s Ford this night, seeking diversion. The gabble of voices and laughter filled the big room. The click of chips greeted Rock’s ears, a faint, penetrating sound. A woman was singing, “Drink to me only with thine eyes.” It sounded at once incongruous and highly appropriate in that atmosphere. She had a fairly good voice, too. He stood within the door until the last note sounded, then walked across the room to a poker game, where he recognized a cattleman he knew from Waco.
“Well, well!” Al Kerr reached up to shake hands. “Seems like everybody’s headed North these days. How’s tricks?”
“So, so,” Rock answered. “Laying up much wealth in this noble pastime?”
“Not so you could notice,” Kerr grinned. “Just amusin’ myself. This here table sort of attracted me. First green thing I’ve seen for six weeks. Here, cash these.”
He shoved half a stack of reds to the dealer, got five silver dollars in exchange, and pushed back his chair.
“Let’s inhale a drink,” he suggested. “Maybe you and me could horn into an easier game later on.”
“I’m due on guard at one thirty, and it’s eleven now,” Rock said, “so I won’t play poker to-night. But I will have a glass of beer.”
“Beer’s no good except off ice in hot weather,” Kerr told him. “And ice is as scarce as square men among the regular population of Clark’s Ford. Better drink rye.”
As the choice lay between lukewarm beer and the stronger drink, Rock chose whisky. It didn’t matter what he drank.
He didn’t intend to tarry long in the Odeon.