“He’ll be back.”
“You certain about that?”
Caleb nodded. “That fellow didn’t have a liar’s face. Either that, or he’s one of the finest actors in this country. Myself, I’ll put money down on him sitting right here later tonight after he gets that pretty wife of his to a show and settled in.”
Hank let out a tired grunt and worked a kink out of his back. “Well, you can hope all you want, just so long as it doesn’t interfere with me going home right about now.”
“Go on ahead. Give my best to the kids.”
Before heading to the door, Hank examined Caleb’s face and nodded approvingly. “Seems like getting out of that office truly did wonders for you.”
“You’re better than a doctor,” Caleb replied. “I feel almost like the man in that picture hanging up in my office.”
“I don’t know about that,” Hank said as he narrowed his eyes to study Caleb even harder. “You’re not so gloomy anymore, but you’re far from the lad that started up this saloon with me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe it’s just that the fellow in that picture would have been happier to be running a business that’s doing well instead of luring visitors into a card game so someone like Doc could fleece them for all they’re worth.”
“The house take on games like that are what keep the Flush above water. Don’t forget it.”
“I guess. Anyway, have a good night, and try to let that nice fellow keep his wedding ring.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.” Caleb didn’t have to wait long before he got a scolding glare from Hank. When he saw that, Caleb smirked and added, “Just kidding. Get out of here before you worry yourself to death.”
Hank turned his back to Caleb and shuffled toward the door. Although a good portion of the Busted Flush was alive with laughter and boisterous voices, none of that seemed to rub off on the bartender. On the contrary, Hank couldn’t seem to leave the saloon fast enough and showed no signs of looking back.
A few moments after Hank left, another familiar figure rose up over those seated at the various tables scattered throughout the Flush. Doc got up from his faro table and made his way over to the bar where Caleb already had a shot of whiskey waiting for him.
Taking the liquor and tossing it back like a splash of water, Doc set the glass down and lifted a fist to his mouth. His eyes clenched shut, and a series of coughs rattled his shoulders. Although most of the hacking was muffled by his hand and tightly closed lips, Doc wasn’t able to keep all the coughs inside of himself for long.
“I see . . . you’re taking on the role of genial host now?” Doc asked between coughs.
Knowing that Doc didn’t appreciate anyone trying to tend to him when his consumption was acting up, Caleb satisfied himself with the fact that the coughs didn’t seem too serious just yet. “Yeah, well, that nice couple had a look about them.”
Doc chuckled once, which turned into a grating hacking sound that made Caleb’s throat hurt just hearing it. “I take it that means you set him up for a game?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Splendid. By the way, there’s a man over there who wants to have a word with you regarding some accusations of cheating.”
“Anything I should know before I start blindly defending you?” Caleb asked.
Doc merely shrugged. “Tricks of the trade, Caleb. Nothing special.”
“Is that him steaming over by your table?”
Glancing over there, Doc nodded. “That’s the one.”
Caleb sighed and prepared himself to deal with the angry gambler. “How much did he lose?”
“Given enough time, he was set to lose all he had.” Seeing the impatience growing upon Caleb’s face, Doc added, “About four hundred.”
“And you couldn’t handle him yourself?”
“I could handle him just fine. I just came over here for a drink.”
“Then you go there and handle him, and I’ll work my way over in a minute.”
But Doc wasn’t in any hurry to move. In fact, he hardly seemed to be paying attention to a word Caleb was saying.
“Is there something else you wanted to tell me about?” Caleb asked. “Someone who threatened to shoot you if he lost again, perhaps?”
“Have you ever seen that man before?” Doc asked.
Noticing the way Doc was intently staring into the crowd of card tables, Caleb tried to pick out the person that had just been mentioned. Surprisingly enough, there was one man in particular who stood out from all the others. “You mean that one with the blue bandanna?”
“That’s him,” Doc said with a nod. “He’s been giving you the eye for the last hour or so, but hasn’t left that table. Sometimes, he just picks a spot on the wall and stares at it for a few minutes without moving a muscle.”
The man in question sat at one of the small round tables that wasn’t used for cards or dice. He sat there alone, dressed in a dark jacket that looked as if it been dragged through the mud before being slapped over his shoulders. Bristly hair sprouted from his scalp at odd intervals, but not in the way that Caleb’s hair grew. Instead of being the result of a bad haircut, this stranger’s appearance came more from the fact that his face and scalp resembled a half-melted candle.
Now that he’d spotted the man, Caleb couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The figure sat bunched over slightly with his head bowed and eyes glaring up at the rest of the world. Those eyes were so dark and so far back in their sockets that it was difficult to say which direction they were pointed.
“I don’t know the man, myself,” Doc said, “but I thought you might want to know that he’s packing a pistol in his boot as well as the one around his waist.”
“That seems to be the fashion these days.”
“Only around here,” Doc replied. “If you weren’t so good at pulling in unlucky souls from off the street, I might consider moving my game to a more respectable establishment.”
Coming from anyone else, that might have sounded like an insult. But when it was delivered in Doc’s smooth voice and Georgia drawl, it sounded as good-natured as it was intended to be. It was fortunate that Caleb didn’t intend on responding to Doc’s comment, because he would have been speaking to empty air. Doc was already on his way back to his faro table.
“What’s gonna be done about this?” griped a short, olive-skinned man with a full beard and an unruly mustache. “I been cheated, and that’s all there is to it!”
Doc settled into his chair and cleared his throat after a few hacking breaths.
The busty redhead who’d formerly been the main drink server at the Flush took her spot on lookout. Perched upon a stool behind the table and to Doc’s right, she handed a deck of cards to the slender, pale-faced dealer and smiled to the players gathering around the front of the layout.
Slamming his fist down, the olive-skinned man stared straight down into Doc’s eyes. “You hear me, you pasty son of a bitch? You’re either paying my money back, or I’ll have a word with the owner of this place.”
“Don’t bother with that,” said someone behind the complainer. “Doc and the owner of this stink hole are in it together.”
“All right then,” the olive-skinned man grunted. “I’ll just take my money back. Make it quick, Holliday. I hear there’s some honest games over at the St. Charles.”
“Put your money on the table or shut up,” Doc said plainly as he placed the cards into a small, open wooden box.
The olive-skinned man blinked and looked around as if he’d just heard another language. “What was that?”
Looking up, Doc fixed a stare upon the complainer that left no room for debate. “Place a bet or step away. Those are your only two choices, since you won’t be getting a refund. That’s as simple as I can put it. Or would you prefer if Holly here drew you a picture?”