The piano was out of tune, though it didn’t prevent Old Mac from hammering the keys with calloused hands, beating out a good approximation of The Arkansas Traveller. Toothless Meg was shouting out bawdy lyrics to go with the tune and they were funny enough to have laughs rippling around the saloon.
Achim Witt was working hard to block the sound out. The king of diamonds which came up as the turn card helped. It gave him three kings. There was an ace and jack of spades in the flop so there was the chance someone could be on three aces or hoping for a flush - five cards all the same suit.
He looked round the table and figured he weren’t playing against any of the smart types who could calculate odds in their head as the game went on. He’d played against a few of those and never done well. But here there was a middle aged rancher enjoying his game and happy to win a hand-or-two in ten; and a young buck who was trying to make a name for himself – and probably would in a few years, if he got on top of flicking a look to his girl anytime he was about to raise big. The last player was like Achim himself, a drifter. Not from the town and here by chance, looking to score some easy bucks.
Achim raised a dollar.
The Rancher matched the bet, the wannabee gambler folded. Achim’s mirror drummed his fingers on the table, waved towards the bar, and shouted for a shot. Until it arrived he looked at the table cards, then lifted his hole cards to look at them, put them down and looked back at the table cards.
Achim closed his eyes. Toothless Meg had stopped her attempts at singing and he wondered if that meant she’d been called to perform her other duty in the small room which had been created beneath the stairs. He tried not to imagine the feel of toothless gums.
The sound of a glass being smacked on the table was followed by the rattle of coins joining the pot.
So there were still three of them in. Should he re-raise? Achim opened his eyes and looked at the trainee gambler. He was staring at his abandoned cards as if trying to discern what was going to happen by remembering what he’d decided wasn’t worth the risk. His pale blue eyes flicked to the left, seeking his sweetheart, a look of relief in his eyes.
Achim figured there was another ace in the cards the young man had discarded. This meant that even if another ace came out, there were only two threatening him. The bigger risk was a flush, which could only happen with the turn. He raised another dollar.
The Rancher matched, but without enthusiasm and Achim figured he’d bow out after the next hand, unless he had cards which stamped the brand. The other drifter matched after a few moments thinking, but Achim already figured it was a decision was based on hope.
He considered re-raising but tapped his middle finger, and the other two players nodded assent. The saloon’s dealer flipped the next card over. It was the same suit as the ace and jack in the flop. The king of spades.
Achim’s heart rate spiked.
There was the possibility of a flush, a royal flush depending on what was in hand. He looked at the other drifter. A bead of sweat sat on his brow, but a smile on his lips.
Achim tapped the table.
The Rancher tapped.
‘Raise ten dollars,’ said the other drifter.
‘Well, damn,’ the Rancher murmured, and flicked his cards onto the table.
Achim sucked the tooth which had started hurting the last few weeks. Ten dollars was most of what he had left. Ten dollars was enough to see him though the next couple of months if he was canny.
‘Call, and raise five.’ He took the coins from his waistcoat pocket and placed them on the table just ahead of his cards, not wanting to sully them by association with the pot, hoping to keep them safe by retaining their distance.
‘That’s all you have? Five lousy dollars?’
The saloon fell silent. Old Mac had finished one tune and, in the gap of starting another, picked up there was drama over at the cards. The murmur of voices in the saloon also died down. All eyes were on the table in the corner beyond the end of the bar and next to a window.
‘If I’d know you were such a light-purse,’ the second drifter said, ‘I’d have pushed you sooner.’
‘Well,’ Achim said, ‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’ His pulse thrummed in his ears but with certainty, not panic or worry.
The first card Dogger turned over was the queen of clubs and now the possibility of a straight was there, which would wipe out Achim’s savings and earnings for the last few months. Might mean he’d have to sell his horse to survive the next few. There was a lupine grin on his opponents face as he flicked over an eight. Not royal, not straight, just a flush. Five cards of the same suit, all clubs.
Achim dipped his head, closed his eyes, and turned over his first card. The king of diamonds. He looked up as he held his second card and saw the fear in his opponents eyes, the realisation that his flush might not have been enough after all. Achim laid the king of hearts down. ‘Four of a kind,’ he said.
A moment of silence erupted into whispers and applause around the saloon.
‘You goddam cheating son of a whore!’
There was the click of a gun cocking and suddenly the dealer had a shooter in his hand, pointed at the losing player. The shuck of a rifle from the bar area told of reinforcements. The dealer said, ‘There’s been no cheating on my table. And I suggest you apologise for your intemperance. Feel free to blame it on the liquor you’ve been imbibing Mr Dogger.’
Dogger. The name stirred a memory for Witt. He’d known a Texas Ranger called Dogger and, now he looked closer, he reckoned this man was his kin. He said, ‘Dogger’s a name of honor if it’s the same one I know from San Antonio.’
The man looked at him. ‘Got a brother in the Texas Rangers based there.’
‘Must be the one I know. A good man. Let me buy you a drink or two, and we’ll ignore your upset.’ Achim turned and waved at the bar, ‘Bring a bottle and glasses for the table so we can talk the game through.’
Dogger shared a shot but then stood, tipped his hat, and left the saloon.
‘A man shouldn’t play if he can’t stand to lose,’ said the Rancher. He turned to the younger man who had been joined by his lady friend. ‘A lesson you already seem to know young sir though, if you’ll take advice from a casual player like myself, maybe have your fine young lady sit out of view so you don’t look at her anytime you’ve got good cards.’
‘I only noticed it when he was going for a big raise,’ Achim said.
‘Could have been that. But it was a definite tell, right?’
Achim nodded in agreement. The young man thanked them for their advice, and politely took his leave, the woman linking her arm through his as the exited into the evening air.
‘He finished about five dollars up by my reckoning,’ Achim said. I’ll need to watch out the next time I see him. He’ll be good to watch, but not sure I’d risk playing him again.’
The Rancher said, ‘He get’s a little better every time he plays. I figure it won’t be long before him and his girl will be on the train to a city with richer pickings than our little town. Well, partner, I’d better head back to the ranch and let the good lady know how much I lost.’
Achim sat and enjoyed another couple of whiskeys, settle his tab, and headed to his lodgings.
Achim heard a gun cocking and spun to face it, his own gun drawn and ready in the moment it happened. Dogger stood in a side street. ‘I let it slide when you impugned me and my mother,’ Achim said. ‘Walk away now and I won’t have to tell your brother-’ He fired.
Dogger convulsed, his gun fell to the ground as he clutched his stomach. He looked up at Achim. ‘You shot me, you bastard.’
‘Like you intended to do to me.’
The downed man stiffened, and slumped in the finality of death. Achim holstered his gun and headed to his room. He’d intended to stay a few more days but now, it felt like tomorrow would be a good day to move on.
text by stuartcturnbull, Image by Salah Ait Mokhtar from Pixabay
Although very late, this was inspired by the S&S Invitational call for Western stories.
And for any interested, there's a little more info about the tune I reference, The Arkansas Traveler.