The Savagers of Cutthroat Canyon (Silver Vein Chronicles Book 2) - Clay Houston Shivers

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The Savagers of Cutthroat Canyon

Black Ben sat at the poker table of the Oriental Saloon in Amarillo with his back to the wall. There were three other guys at the table. Some guy named Jake sat to his right. On his left was a drunk rancher named Clem who seemed to leave the table to get a drink more often than he played a hand. Directly across from Ben, with his back to the room, was Abe. He was a cautious player, but shrewd, and he slowly but steadily won. He was Ben’s main competition.

The saloon was lively even for a Thursday afternoon in winter. Maybe the saloon’s warmth had something to do with that, Ben thought. It was warm enough in the saloon, what with the fire going and the bodies giving off heat, that Ben didn’t even need a coat. He was wearing all black, as was his custom. It was how he distinguished himself.

He was mostly toying with the men at the table, waiting for his chance to score big. He’d been waiting for a certain hand, the odds of which were not good. Specifically, he needed three club cards. Once he had them, he could use the two clubs he had up his left sleeve. He’d read about the move in a book, which, Ben thought now, didn’t make much sense in real life. As a gambling strategy, it was simply too time-consuming.

There was a commotion at the long wooden bar. Men were smoking pipes and cigars, and sat or stood at the bar three deep. Whores and bar girls worked the room, sitting on laps, giving the grubby ranchers and starved-for-attention cow-boys a cheap thrill. Every once in a while, a cow-boy followed one of the women up the stairs, where rooms were available by the hour. The bar was loud, but Ben could sometimes feel the ceiling above him shake briefly, and he could hear the theatrical moans of the whores. There was no way, Ben knew, that the noises could be anything other than acting. The men in the saloon, with perhaps the obvious exception of himself, hadn’t bathed or given much thought to cleanliness in general.

“I was standing there!” one of the cow-boys at the bar pro-claimed, cutting through the saloon’s noise. He said this while shoving the man next to him, who was obviously very drunk, and so fell into the man on the other side of him. That man then took exception, and pushed him back into the man who had pushed him in the first place.

Abe dealt a new hand of cards, ignoring the hubbub behind him.

Ben took the first card he was dealt and lifted up the corner to take a look: eight of clubs. The next card he got was a three of diamonds, followed by the two of clubs, queen of hearts, and sev-en of spades. He handed back the three of diamonds and seven of spades for two new cards, and he got back the six of clubs and two of spades. He finally had the three club cards he was looking for. His plan, Ben realized, might actually work!

“Get out of my space or I’ll geld you!” the cow-boy yelled, pushing the drunk man harder this time. The man tottered from the bar and lost his balance, bonking into the back of Abe’s chair.

“Calm down!” Abe shouted, turning his head.

Ben looked at Jake and Clem and saw they were also dis-tracted by the drunk cow-boy. So Ben made his move, a flawless switch, meaning he now had a two of spades and queen of hearts up his sleeve and a handful of clubs in his hand. A flush. Nobody could beat that, Ben figured. He was proud of himself, and had to keep that pride off his face.

He looked across the table and saw Abe was no longer dis-tracted by the drunken cow-boy. Instead, he was staring right at Ben.

“What’s that you just did?” Abe asked.

Ben didn’t know what to say, so he just acted as though Abe hadn’t asked him a question. But that didn’t work because Abe said, “Lift up those black sleeves of yours.”

Jake and Clem were now giving him hard looks as well. Ben had read enough about the frontier to know he was very close to being in bad trouble. He also knew he couldn’t show the men at the table what was up his sleeves. Next to stealing a man’s horse or his wife, cheating at cards was about the worst thing one could do to another fella. But it was only a problem when that fella got caught.

Abe put his Colt Navy on the table and said, “Boy, you best hurry up and show me what you’re up to. I’m losing my patience.”

“I got a flush is all,” Ben said, laying his cards on the table. The three men at the table looked at the cards. “I reckon you’re just sore about it.”

“Dang,” Clem said. “Today’s definitely not my day.” He threw his cards down in disgust.

“You didn’t come by them cards the right way,” Abe said menacingly. He picked up his gun.

Ben didn’t even think. He put his right hand under the table and flicked his wrist, and the tiny derringer sprang into his hand and he pulled the trigger in Abe’s direction. The gun made a high-pitched popping noise, but it was lost in the general noise of the saloon.

“Dang,” Abe said, looking at Ben questioningly. Ben had the weird thought that he looked like a confused dog. Abe put his head on the table as if he was taking a nap.

While Jake and Clem looked confused, Ben stood up and grabbed up the money in the middle of the table and stuffed it into his hat.

“You’ve made a bad mistake,” Jake said. “That’s Abe Kil-hoe you just shot. His brother is Frank Kilhoe, the Texas Ranger.”

“Don’t a one of you make a move,” Ben said, trying not to air out his insides and hoping they didn’t see his shaking hands. He quickly walked out of the saloon before they could raise an alarm. Once he got outside, he started running.