Kiowa Jack fixed her sternly with one brow up and the other scowling as he snapped, “That will be enough of that if you don’t want to do time on the county roads serving water and pussy to the chain gang, you mean-mouthing slut!”
The Baroness du Prix rose grandly to point in Kiowa Jack’s general direction and announce, “Look who’s talking, after he begged last night for some French mouthing because he was too drunk to do it right!”
Then she swept out of the taproom before Kiowa Jack could draw on her or send her to jail. The cow-town lawyer stared sheepishly at Longarm and softly told him, “She really knows how to French. But I just hate it when a gal talks dirty, don’t you?”
Longarm said, “That’s likely why they discourage gals and Indians from drinking hard liquor. Was there anything to what she just said about that murdered Sunday school gal?”
Kiowa Jack shook his head and replied, “If only she had been. She was pretty and nicely built, but she wouldn’t go for a buggy ride if a man proposed Marriage ahead of time. Nobody but a jealous old whore or a feeble-minded sex maniac would have taken her friendly nature for flirting. But why are you still droning on about a case we’ve closed the books on, old son?”
Longarm said, “I ain’t closed the books on it yet. Somebody told me earlier I ought to get out of town or consider the effects my staying here might have on a cattle king called Fox Bancroft. Might there be anything you could add to that, Kiowa Jack?”
The older man seemed sincerely puzzled as he replied, “Fox Bancroft is more a cattle queen than a cattle king. I heard she was in town with some Diamond B riders. Never heard she was after anybody. Heard she was playing cards up the street a piece as a matter of fact.”
Longarm blinked and asked, “At the Aces and Eights? A tall redhead, dressed mannish and packing her Schofields side-draw?”
Kiowa Jack nodded to say, “That’s our Fox Bancroft, right as rain. You want an introduction to the pretty little thing, old son?”
Longarm rose grimly to his feet, saying, “I reckon I’ll just mosey up the street a piece and introduce myself.”
Chapter 14
Nobody looked up from the table as Longarm entered the Aces and Eights a few minutes later. He moved over to the bar and ordered a schooner to nurse. As he was served the barkeep murmured, “We don’t want any trouble here, Uncle Sam.”
Longarm didn’t answer as he turned from the change he left on the mock mahogany to study the game with casual interest. If the barkeep knew he was a federal rider, everyone in the place knew he was a federal rider. Moreover, the gal had been sitting near Longarm all through the hearing into his shoot-out with her boss wrangler.
At first you couldn’t tell from where he lounged against the bar with his beer in his left hand and a fistful of derringer down at his side. But on second sight, under crueler coal-oil light, the redheaded owner of the Diamond B seemed closer to thirty than sweet sixteen. But she was still worth looking at, despite some sun and wind she’d been through in her time. They called features like hers “classic” when they were carved in marble instead of tanned flesh. The people at the table were playing a sucker game called slapjack, as if blackjack couldn’t clean you out soon enough. He idly wondered whether she was playing slapjack because she was in a hurry to clean everyone else out or just stupid.
Slapjack was a simple game that relied more on eye and hand coordination than luck, when it was played fair.
Once the regular deck had been shuffled and cut, it was dealt out so all the players, in this case four, had his or her own big pile of cards face down. They’d already played some of this particular hand. So everybody had the same dozen or less left. They were playing with house chips. As the deal rotated around the table, each anted yet another chip before one card was moved out to the center of the table by its holder, face down, and then snapped face up by the one whose turn it was. He or she wasn’t supposed to do anything but get out of the damned way. If the card was anything but a jack or joker, nobody was supposed to do anything and the next player got to deal one card. But if it was a jack or joker, the first player other than the dealer who placed a hand flat on it or “slapped Jack” won the pot.
It was all too easy to slap slow, or to mistake a king or a queen for a jack and slap when you weren’t supposed to. Anyone slapping a wrong card got to ante double as the action continued. Longarm had to join in the gentle laughter when a young and excited-looking cowhand yelled “Slap Jack” and grabbed for the queen of hearts.
Longarm couldn’t tell who was cheating yet. He hadn’t been there when the first cards were dealt with a one-way deck. But from the way they kept winning, Longarm would have been willing to bet on either the redhead wearing the black Spanish hat or the fatherly old cuss in the linen suit. The youngest cowhand lost twice more, looking far from happy about it, before the old cuss in crumpled white linen said there was only the joker to be slapped and suggested they start a new round.
Everyone but the chronic loser agreed. The steamed kid got up from the table with a remark about never betting the money he kept in his sock. Longarm drifted casually over to ask the man in white linen if any number could play.
The obvious professional glanced around at his fellow players. Nobody there seemed to want to bite Longarm on the leg. So the man gathering up the cards said, “Buy some dollar chips at the bar and sit down, Deputy Long. They call me Deacon Knox. I’ll introduce you to these other sports once we see if you’re a serious card-player or not.”
Longarm moved over to where the barkeep was already stacking white chips on the bar for him. Dollar ante seemed serious indeed for such a kid game in such a dinky establishment. Longarm would have been more worried about his own future if it hadn’t been for that one-way deck.
He bought twenty dollars worth of chips and returned to the table without his beer, asking if it was permitted to smoke there. Deacon Knox glanced at Fox Bancroft, who just shrugged. The gambler nodded at Longarm and told him to sit down, asking, “Would you like to shuffle, seeing you just got here and I swear you’re not my long-lost child?”
Longarm smiled thinly and said, “Next time, after I light up and settle down here.”
So Deacon Knox handed the deck to Fox Bancroft, who shuffled them carefully, though with no flash, while Deacon introduced Longarm to her and the surviving cowhand, called Curly for obvious reasons. After she’d shuffled four times she let Longarm cut, making no comment as he did so awkwardly, thanks to the derringer in his other hand and the unlit cheroot gripped in his grin. Deacon Knox suggested Curly deal. The cowhand did so, awkwardly but carefully, counting out the number of face-down cards he tossed in front of everyone at the small table. Longarm saw right off he was holding two good cards. Curly had dealt himself none, Deacon another pair, and the redhead one.
They all anted up and Curly turned over a ten of clubs, to which nobody responded, and then it was Longarm’s turn. He wasn’t ready to deal a good card yet. So he turned over a trey of diamonds and that was that. When the deal went to Fox Bancroft, she turned over the king of clubs and smiled thinly when Curly slapped it and lost.
Longarm wasn’t surprised when it was Deacon’s turn and the card the old pro turned over was neither of the winners he had to know he was holding. Longarm knew Deacon was letting the pot grow before he raked it in. They both knew Curly wasn’t about to turn over a jack or the joker. Then it was Longarm’s turn again, and he wasn’t about to spoil the fun. So he turned over a four of spades and tried not to look pleased when Fox Bancroft dealt a five of hearts.