After shooing away the troublesome JD, Ezra felt lucky as he sat back down and went back to shuffling the deck of playing cards, before he handed them over to Tom Horn, the appointed dealer in the new game of five card draw. The southern gambler glanced around the table at his four intended victims. "Gentlemen, ante-up." Ezra tossed a gold piece in the center of the table. His golden tooth sparkled through his crooked grin. Waiting for old Tom to reshuffle the deck, he delicately brushed off the dust on his favorite red jacket.
The white haired Tom, stared over at the green eyed Standish. He knew the gambler was going to take his money. He reshuffled the deck again, just in case Ezra had stacked the deck. With a deep sigh, Tom dealt out the hand. He threw the first card in front of Ezra off to his left, then one at a time to each of the other three men, then himself. He repeated the motions around the table until each man had received a total of five cards, face down.
Ezra watched the faces of the other four men, waiting for any signs that would give their hand away as each one tilted the corner of their five cards, checking to see what they had been dealt. Satisfied from the expressions that no one had a winning hand, Ezra took a peek at his cards. He had a good hand; two, three, four and five of spades, with a wild card, seven of diamonds. He needed the six of spades to win. Since he was left of the dealer, he was the first to bet. "Gentlemen, I dare say I bet a dollar." Ezra reached across and put another gold piece into the kitty.
The next man, an old drifter said, "Meet ya bet," and he too added a gold piece to the pot.
The third man, a drunk, fancied himself a pretty good card player said, "Meet your dollar and raise ya fifty cents."
The fourth man at the table was a stranger in town. He was well dressed, his clothing spoke of money. He said in a refined eastern voice, "I will meet your dollar and a half," and added his money into the kitty. Ezra immediately picked up the stranger's New York accent and became suspicious.
Being the dealer, old Tom was the last to make a bet. Looking down at his cards he knew he had a good hand, and said, "Meet ya dollar fifty and raise ya two and half." He sat back in his chair, confident that he was going to win.
Ezra looked at his five cards and had to decide to bluff or draw a card. He glanced at the other four men and with a grin, the southern gambler threw in the seven of diamonds. Calmly he looked at the card he was dealt…the seven of hearts. Ezra kept his breathing even as his stomach turned somersaults. A bad omen. He held the same hand that Wild Bill Hickock held before he was gunned down, the dead man's hand. The old drifter threw in three cards and the drunk followed by throwing in two. The Eastern gentlemen along with Tom kept their original cards. It was time to make the bets.
Again Ezra had to make a decision, fold or bluff. If he folded he could say that his fearless leader, Chris Larabee demanded his presence. Studying the faces of the other players, Ezra decided to bluff his way into winning the game and said, "Gentlemen I raise the stakes to five." He reached into his vest packet and pulled out a crisp new five dollar bill and laid it in the kitty. He sat back, to enjoy the moment as shock and anger across the other players' faces.
"I fold," said the drifter as he threw his cards face down on the table. Throwing the chair back, he stood and went over to the bar, slamming his fist down demanding a beer.
The drunk took a snip of whiskey as he looked at the five cards in his hand. He smirked and reached in his dirty trousers, pulling out a wad of wrinkled money and said, "Meet and see' a five. I'll ride it out."
The easterner smiled, and smoothly said, "I will see your ten and raise another ten." His long fingers reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a clip full of twenty-dollar bills. He placed one of the bills in the center of the table. As he did, Ezra got a good look at the platinum clip etched with cross sabers.
Old Tom was mad. The bet was over the amount of money he had to his name and he quietly said, "Darn it, I fold," as he threw his cards face down on the table. That left three players.
Ezra heard the saloon doors slam open against the walls. Suddenly the room chilled ten degrees. He didn't have to look around to know who had just stormed in. Calmly as not to gather attention, Ezra made his bet, "I will see your crisp new twenty, and raise you another ten." He smiled as the drunk choked, spiting out his whiskey all over his shirt.
The drunk wiped at the whiskey with his hand and watched the two men sitting across from him. The gambler in the red jacket was part of the seven men who protected the town. The other one however, he didn't know, but he smelled and looked like a government man. His hand reached into his trousers once again, fumbling with the wrinkled wad of money. He counted the money; he glanced over at the easterner and saw his eyes light up with excitement. The drunk looked down at the money in his hand and quickly shoved the wad back into his pocket. Frantically, he stood and said, "Fold, I fold." He pushed his way to the bar to stand next to a gunslinger dressed in black. The gunslinger smiled at him, a wolfish smile that was not pleasant and the drunk backed away, making his way out the door.
The sparkle died out of the easterner's eyes. Phillip Sheridan had given himself away. He watched the drunk stagger to the bar, turn and almost run out the door. The easterner's dark eyes lingered on the tall gunslinger and he recognized the wolfish smile on the gunslinger's face. The easterner had seen his comrade in arms use that same wolfish grin many times before to intimidate their adversaries. He was surprised when the gunslinger looked up and locked his green eyes with his dark ones. Phillip had to hold himself back from standing and grabbing the boy in his arms, but the torment in those green eyes kept him firmly seated. He became nervous when the gunslinger purposefully walked towards the table, coming to a stop behind his opponent, almost standing at attention, ready to salute.
Ezra watched the emotions play across the easterner's face, excitement then disappointment, then the mixed emotions of recognition, regret, love and fear. He almost jumped out of his chair when he felt a hand grab his right shoulder and heard Chris snarl, "He folds." The added pressure on the gambler's shoulder kept him from turning around.
"Mr. Larabee?" Ezra questioned.
"Sheriff's office, now Standish!" Chris' voice was low and menacing. His eyes were fixed on the easterner. Ezra glanced between the two men and stood, and backed away from the table slowly. Turning, he saw Vin at the bar. Nodding his head, the gambler made his way out the double doors, leaving the tracker to cover Larabee's back.
The two men studied each other until Phillip finally spoke as Chris turned his back, "Christopher." Larabee stood still, then slowly turned back around, Chris' old commander gestured for him to sit. When Chris hesitated, Phillip said, his voice low and pleading, "Please, I have a message."
Chris glazed into the familiar face, squeezing his eyes shut, he whispered. "Go away. Tell him to go away." Turning he made his way to the bar to stand next to Vin. Waiting as the tracker poured him a shot of whiskey. Chris lifted the glass to his lips with a shaky hand and swallowed, letting the whiskey burn his throat. He handed the glass back to Vin for more. With a questioning look, Vin refilled the glass and watched Chris drown it down.
"Chris?" Vin asked, worried about the stranger sitting at the table watching his friend with a sad expression on his face.
"Leave it be." Chris turned to take another look over his shoulders, then turned back around and faced Vin saying, "I'm going back to my place." A mischievous grin appeared on his lips and Chris said, "Don't forget to tell Standish his job while I'm gone." Vin shook his head, trying not to laugh out loud at Chris's wicked sense of humor as Chris shot down another glass full of whiskey, before he headed out the door.
Six pair of eyes followed the gunslinger out the double saloon doors. Vin instinctively reached for his Winchester, he stopped before he had it out of the holster. Glancing around the saloon, something or someone has set off his sense of danger. He stared hard at the easterner still sitting at the poker table. Vin's eyes roamed the tables until they settled on a man, sitting with his back against the far wall. He was a southerner that had been visiting the town for the last couple of weeks looking for land to buy. For the first time, Vin's sixth sense screamed danger as he studied the tall southerner. Again his hand twitched on his mare's leg, resting in its holster.
Charles knew that he was courting disaster by coming back. He couldn't stay away, not after hearing Larabee's name in the bank and learning it was young Christopher. He was trying to be careful, he almost pulled his gun, when that arrogant conceited Sheridan entered the saloon. He almost lost it when one of his men sat down and played poker with the pompous jade. The people in this backwards town didn't even know who was walking in their mist. Charles' excitement almost got the better of him when young Larabee walked into the saloon, and right behind him was the young man the town folks call the tracker, one of the seven peacekeepers. He could tell that he had somehow made the longhaired tracker at the bar suspicious. However Charles had learned how to be patient; he had waited this long, he could wait a couple more hours. Young Larabee was heading out to that shack of his to be alone, not understanding the danger that he was in. Yes, the boy would be his and then once again he would have his old rival by the throat. Pushing away from the wall, Charles Shellburne cautiously made his way across the saloon and out the door, feeling the young tracker's eyes glued to his every moment.
He didn't care….
Soon he would have his son….
The Conclusion of "Rancor of Honor"!
