Showdown at Dead End Canyon (12 page)

BY THE TIME LIBBY REACHED THE TABLE, THERE WERE
three men sitting there, waiting patiently.

Chuckling, Hawke turned back to the bar and ordered another drink. He had just finished it when one of the players got up.

“I’ve got to make my rounds,” he said. He chuckled. “And it’s a good thing too. If I stayed here any longer, I’d lose a month’s pay.”

“Why, Deputy Hagen, if you had paid more attention to your cards and less attention to my, uh…breasts, perhaps you would have done better,” Libby teased, and the others laughed.

“You fellas better watch her,” the deputy called back good-naturedly as he left.

“Well now, Deputy, that’s the problem. We all have been watchin’ her, and not the cards,” one of the other players said, and again everyone laughed.

“Mr. Hawke,” Libby called. “There is a seat open at the table, if you would care to join us.”

“Thanks,” Hawke said. “Maybe I will.”

Hawke joined the game.

“Gentlemen, new player, new deck,” Libby said. She picked up a box, broke the seal, then dumped the cards onto the table. They were clean, stiff, and shining. She pulled out the joker, then began shuffling the deck. The stiff new pasteboards clicked sharply. Her hands moved swiftly, folding the cards in and out until the law of random numbers became king. She shoved the deck across the table.

“Cut?” she invited Hawke. Leaning over the table, she showed a generous amount of cleavage.

Hawke cut the deck, then pushed them back. He tried to focus on her hands, though it was difficult because she kept finding ways to position herself to draw his eyes toward her more interesting parts. When he looked around the table, he saw that the other players were having the same problem.

“You aren’t having trouble concentrating, are you, Mr. Hawke?” Libby teased.

“Not at all,” Hawke replied with a laugh. “Not at all.”

After a few more hands one of the other players left and a new player joined. He was a big man with red hair and a bushy beard. Hawke recognized him at once as the man he had encountered several weeks ago at the saloon in Sage Creek.

“Hello, Metzger,” he said.

Metzger squinted his eyes at Hawke. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

Hawke studied Metzger for a moment, wondering if Metzger really didn’t know who he was or if he was just pretending not to know. Whichever it was, he decided not to pursue it.

“I must’ve heard someone say it,” Hawke said.

“Yeah, that must be it, ’cause me ’n’ you have never met before,” Metzger said.

Hawke knew then, by the way Metzger was so specific
about their never having met, that he was lying. He could also tell by the little twitch in Metzger’s left eye and the sound of his voice. He just didn’t know why.

“The game is five card,” Libby said, then paused and looked directly at Hawke before saying the next word. “Stud,” she added pointedly.

“Fine,” Hawke answered.

Hawke won fifteen dollars on the first hand, and a couple of hands later was ahead by a little over thirty dollars. The other players were taking Hawke’s good luck in stride, but Metzger began complaining.

“Somethin kinda fishy is goin’ on here,” he said.

“Fishy, Mr. Metzger?” Libby replied sweetly.

Metzger looked at Libby, then nodded toward Hawke. “You’re dealin’ him winnin’ hands,” he said.

“How can you say that?” Libby asked. “The deal has passed around the table, and Mr. Hawke has been winning no matter who is dealing.”

“Are you trying to tell me his winnin’ is just dumb luck?”

“No, it’s not just luck, and there’s nothing dumb about it,” Hawke said. “There’s a degree of skill involved in knowing when to hold and when to fold. You obviously haven’t learned that.”

“Is that a fact?” Metzger asked. He stared across the table through narrowed eyes. “Suppose you and I have a go by ourselves? Showdown for twenty-five dollars.”

“Showdown?” Hawke chuckled. “All right, I see you’re trying to even up the odds a bit by taking the skill out. But I’ll go with you.”

Metzger reached for the cards, but Hawke stuck his hand out to stop him. “You don’t think I’m going to let you deal, do you? We’ll let the lady deal.”

“Uh-uh,” Metzger said, shaking his head. He nodded toward one of the other players. “We’ll let him deal.”

“All right,” Hawke agreed.

The man Metzger selected dealt five cards to each of them. Hawke took the pot with a pair of twos.

Metzger laughed. “Not exactly a big hand, was it? How about another?”

Hawke won that hand with a jack high.

“Want another one?” Hawke asked.

“Yes,” Metzger replied. “You can’t possibly win three in a row.”

Hawke did win the third, with a pair of tens, and Metzger threw his cards on the table in disgust. He slid the rest of his money to the center of the table. “I’ve thirty-six dollars here,” he said. “High card.”

Hawke covered his bet, then the dealer fanned the cards out.

“You draw first,” Metzger said.

Hawke started to reach for a card, but just as he touched it, Metzger stopped him. “No, I changed my mind,” he said. “I’ll draw first.” Metzger smiled triumphantly, then flipped over the card Hawke was about to draw. It was a three of hearts.

“What the—” Metzger shouted in anger. “You cheated me, you son of a bitch! You knew I was going to do that so you reached for the low card!”

“How was I supposed to know that was a low card?” Hawke asked. “The cards are facedown on the table.” Hawke turned over a seven of diamonds, then reached for the money.

Metzger stuck his hand down into his pocket and pulled out a “pepperbox”—a small, palm-sized pistol.

“Mister, I ain’t givin’ up my money to a cheater,” Metzger said. “I’ll thank you to slide that money back across the table.”

“How the hell was he cheating, mister?” the dealer said. “I’m the one who was dealing the cards.”

“I ain’t figured that out yet.” Metzger smiled. “But it don’t
make no difference now, ’cause I’m about to put things right.” He motioned with his other hand. “Push the money over here to me.”

“I don’t think so,” Hawke replied.

“What do you mean, you don’t think so? I’m holdin’ a gun on you, or ain’t you noticed?”

“So you are,” Hawke said. “And I’m holding one on you,” he added. “It’s pointed at your belly right now.”

Metzger started to sweat and his hand began to shake. Glancing down, he saw Hawke’s pistol in his holster.

“No you ain’t,” he said. “Your gun is right there in your holster. I can see it.”

“You think you’re the only one with a holdout gun?” Hawke asked. “The difference is…” From under the table came a distinct sound, like the sound of a gun being cocked. “…mine is already cocked, and yours isn’t.”

Glancing down toward his pepperbox, Metzger saw that he had not yet pulled the hammer back. He moved his thumb toward the hammer.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Hawke cautioned, smiling and shaking his head slowly. “You start to come back on that hammer and I’ll blow a hole in your chest big enough to stick my fist into.”

Slowly, and with a trembling hand, Metzger put the pistol down on the table. Hawke reached over to pick it up, then handed it to Libby.

“Break it open and empty the charges,” he said.

Libby pushed the hinged barrel down and shook out all the cartridges.

“Now, perhaps we can get on with our game,” Hawke suggested, and he brought his other hand up to the top of the table. He was holding a pocketknife. With his thumb, he flipped the blade open and closed, making a sound exactly like that of a gun being cocked.

“You…you didn’t even have a gun in your hand!” Metzger sputtered angrily.

“No, I didn’t,” Hawke replied easily.

Everyone laughed.

Metzger stood up and pointed at Hawke. “One of these days, mister, you’re going to try something like that, and it’s going to blow up right in your face.”

“I suppose there is always that chance,” Hawke agreed. “But then, that’s what makes life worth livin’.”

Metzger stormed out of the saloon, chased out by the laughter of everyone present.

Hawke played a few more hands before he excused himself and stepped over to the bar. After a couple of drinks and a few flirtatious exchanges with one of the bar girls, he took a walk around town, then returned to his hotel.

One of the things he liked most about this hotel was that it had a bathing room, complete with a large bathtub, as well as a water-holding tank and a small wood-burning stove to heat the water. Hawke started the fire, then went back to his room to wait for the water to heat. Standing at the window, he looked out over the town, watching the commerce for a few minutes. He saw Libby coming into the hotel downstairs and chuckled over the way she used her obvious charms to distract the men who played cards with her. He wondered how much money she’d won.

He didn’t begrudge her her winnings, because, thanks to Metzger, he had done pretty well himself.

Leaving the window, Hawke lay down on his bed for about fifteen minutes, until he was sure the water would be warm enough for a bath. Then, taking a change of clothes, a bar of soap, and a towel, he walked down the hall to the bathing room.

A woman was just getting into the tub when he opened the door. She stood there a moment, so surprised by his unex
pected appearance that she made no effort to cover herself. She was totally nude, and Hawke breathed in a quick gasp of appreciation for her beauty.

“Mr. Hawke, as you can readily see, this room is occupied,” Libby said calmly.

Hawke smiled. “So I see,” he replied. He pointed to the little stove. “I’m sorry, I had built the fire for my own bath, but I see you beat me to it.”

“Oh, then I have you to thank?” she said. “I thought that was a service of the hotel.”

“No, lighting the fire is the responsibility of the guest.”

“I see,” Libby said. “You are staring, Mr. Hawke.”

“I suppose I am. On the other hand, you have made no effort to deny me the view.”

Libby laughed, then sat down in the water, restoring a bit of modesty, if not dignity, to the situation.

“You really should have knocked, you know,” she said.

“You should have locked,” Hawke replied.

“But I did lock the door,” Libby said, pointing to a door at the rear of the room. “I came through that door. I didn’t realize this door had been unlocked.”

“No harm done,” Hawke said. “I’ll wait until you are finished.”

“That’s very…decent…of you,” Libby said.

Hawke opened his eyes. Something had awakened him, and he lay very still. The doorknob turned and he was up, reaching for the gun that lay on a table by his bed. He moved as quietly as a cat, stepping to the side of the door and cocking his Colt .44. Nearly naked, he felt the night air on his skin. His senses were alert, and his body was alive with readiness.

He could hear someone breathing on the other side of the door. A thin shaft of hall light shone underneath. He took a
deep breath, smelled lilacs, then smiled. He had smelled this same perfume earlier.

“Libby?” he called.

“Are you awake?” the visitor replied.

Like the scent, the voice belonged to Libby. It was low and husky, with just a hint of rawness to it.

Hawke eased the hammer down on the pistol, then opened the door to let a wide bar of light spill into the room. Libby was standing in the doorway, the hall lantern backlighting the thin cotton robe she wore. He could see her body in shadow behind the cloth.

“Come on in,” Hawke invited, moving back to let her step inside. He closed the door and crossed over to light the lantern on his table. A bubble of light illuminated the room.

“Oh, my. You aren’t wearing much, are you?” Libby said.

“Would you prefer that I get dressed?”

“Why bother?” Libby asked. “You’ll just have to get undressed again.” Crossing over to him, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. When she pulled her lips away from his, the very action of pulling her head back pressed her pelvis more tightly against his groin. His reaction was instantaneous.

“I just came to tell you good-bye,” she said. “Jay has gotten everything together for our trip up to the Sweetwater Mountains, so we are leaving tomorrow.”

She stepped back from him, then opened her robe and let it fall from her shoulders. As he had already surmised, she was nude underneath, and her body shined golden in the soft light from the table lantern. “I thought I would give you another look, just in case you forgot everything you saw this afternoon.”

“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” Hawke said. “But I would enjoy another look.”

They moved over to the iron-stead bed. The covers were already turned back, and the springs squealed in protest as Libby lay down.

“As you can see, the bed squeaks,” Hawke said.

“Good,” Libby said. She moved up and down, making the springs squeak more loudly. “You played the piano for me on the train. Now I’ll play a concert for you.”

METZGER WAS BROKE, HAVING LOST ALL HIS
money in the card game the other night. He told himself that if he could just raise a stake—not a large stake, just enough to get the bare necessities—he would go up to the Sweetwater Mountains and look for gold like everyone else was doing.

But he couldn’t do that without a stake.

He stole four dollars from the poor box at the church, figuring that since he was poor, it was rightly his anyway.

Four dollars got him some bacon and beans, and a couple of drinks, but it wasn’t enough to outfit him for gold hunting.

He was in the Royal Flush saloon having his supper when Luke Rawlings came in. Luke was wearing a new suit and hat, and everyone rushed over to talk to him about his gold find.

“How much have you pulled out, Luke?” someone asked.

“I don’t rightly know how much,” Luke said, hooking his thumbs under his armpits. “But as you can see, I’m all decked out in new duds. If I was you boys, I’d be up there lookin’ for gold right now.”

“I’m goin’ up there first thing tomorrow,” one cowboy said.

“What about your job out at Lazy Q?” someone asked the cowboy.

“Ah, to hell with that job,” the cowboy said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Most of the hands has done quit anyway.”

“From what I hear, there ain’t a ranch anywhere in the valley but what half or more of the cowboys is quit,” another said.

“Well hell, who wants to work for wages when you can go up to Sweetwater and just pick gold up, right off the ground?” Luke asked.

“That settles it. I’m goin’ up first thing tomorrow,” another cowboy said.

“Me too.”

“You boys can all wait till tomorrow if you want to, but I’m goin’ up right now,” someone else said, and when he left the saloon, he was followed by at least half a dozen others. The rush left the saloon half empty.

“I tell you what, Luke,” Jake said. “I wish to hell you had stayed up there.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well look around the place. You sure ain’t doin’ much good for the saloon business.”

Luke chuckled. “Well, what the hell do you care? It ain’t your saloon anyway.”

“I know it ain’t. It belongs to Mr. Peabody, but I work for him, and my wages is based on the business we do.”

Luke bought a beer, then turned around and leaned back against the bar, looking out over the rest of the saloon as he lifted his beer to his mouth. That was when he saw Metzger raking his biscuit through what was left of a plate of bacon and beans.

“Metzger?” he called. “Leon Metzger?”

Metzger looked up. At first he didn’t recognize Luke, because he had never seen him so finely dressed.

“Luke?” he said in surprise when he figured out who it was.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Luke said. He held out his arms. “What do you think of the duds?”

“You look like a whorehouse dandy,” Metzger said.

Luke laughed. “Yeah, I do, don’t I? I seen me a whorehouse dandy oncet, and I said right then that if I ever got enough money, I was goin’ to buy me some duds just like the ones he was a’wearin’.” Luke turned back toward the bartender. “Draw me another beer for my friend, there.”

Luke carried the beer over to the table, then put the mug in front of Metzger.

“Here, have a beer on me. You look like you could use a drink,” he said.

“Yeah, well, what I could use is some money.”

“Want a job?” Luke asked.

Metzger picked up the mug and took a long drink, then sat it back down. Beer foam hung in his moustache and beard, and he wiped it away before he answered.

“Who would I be workin’ for? You?”

“No, not me. You’d be workin’ for a woman that I know.”

“Workin’ for a woman?” Metzger shook his head. “No, I’m not sure I could do that. Work for a woman, I mean.”

“Why not? I work for her.”

“You do? I thought you was rich because of findin’ gold.”

“Yeah, well, things ain’t always what they look like,” Luke said. “Me ’n’ Percy both work for her.”

“Percy Sheridan?”

“Yep. And Poke and Gilley…they worked for her too.”

“What kind of a job?”

“The kind where you make a lot of money without doin’ too much work.”

“And you say you are workin’ for her?”

“Yes. Been workin’ for her ’bout a month now, ever since I quit the Lazy Q.”

“I don’t know. Don’t seem to me like no real man would want to work for a woman, no matter how much he’s gettin’ paid.”

“You want to tell Ethan Dancer that? He’s working for her.”

“Ethan Dancer? You mean the gunman, Ethan Dancer?”

“Yeah, the gunman Ethan Dancer,” Luke said. “You want to tell him that no real man would work for a woman?”

“No, I don’t reckon I’d care to do that.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Metzger stroked his beard for a moment, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “All right, I’ll work for this woman.”

“You mean you’ll see if she’ll hire you,” Luke said.

“Well, maybe if you’ll put in a good word for me,” Metzger suggested.

Luke shook his head. “No, I ain’t goin’ to stick my neck out for you. If you don’t work out, and I’m the one recommended you, why, she’s likely to come down on me. And I got myself too good a thing goin’ here to take a chance on you gettin’ her pissed at me. So, if you want to work for her, you gotta do it yourself.”

“All right,” Metzger said. “Where do I find her?”

“More’n likely she’ll be in her office now.”

“Where’s her office at?”

“Can you read?”

“Yeah, I can read.”

“Well, her office is right next door. The sign out front says McPherson Enterprises. Her name is Bailey McPherson.”

“Bailey? She’s a woman and her name is Bailey?”

“Yeah.”

“What does she look like?”

Luke laughed. “You mean you’ve never even heard of her?”

“No. Should I have?”

“I guess not.”

“So, what does she look like?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

A little bell was attached to the front door of the office of McPherson Enterprises, and it rang when Metzger pushed it open. At first he didn’t see anyone, so he stood there for a moment, just inside the door.

“You here to see Miss McPherson?”

Metzger looked toward the sound of the voice and saw a man sitting in a chair. He hadn’t noticed him when he came in.

The chair was tipped back against the wall, and the man was peeling an apple.

“Uh, yes,” Metzger said. “Is she here?”

The man looked up then, and Metzger saw his face, which had been somewhat shielded by his wide-brimmed hat.

The face was badly scarred; one eye and his mouth were disfigured. Metzger knew immediately that this was Ethan Dancer. He had never seen the gunfighter before, but had heard him described.

“She’ll be right out,” Dancer said, returning to the task of peeling the apple.

“Yes, can I help you?” a woman’s voice asked.

Metzger looked toward the sound of the voice, but saw nothing but the counter that separated the front of the building from the rear.

“Hello?” he called tentatively.

“May I help you?” Bailey asked again, coming around the corner of the counter so she could be seen. Metzger stared at her in complete shock. She wasn’t even tall enough to come up to the top of the counter. He had never seen an adult this small, male or female.

“Uh, yes,” Metzger said, finding his voice. “A pard of mine, Luke Rawlings, said you might be lookin’ to hirin’ me,” he said.

“Oh?” the woman replied, arching her eyebrow. “And why would I be looking to hiring you?”

“Well, uh…” Metzger cleared his throat. “I don’t mean just me, I mean, not like it sounded. What I meant was, he said that maybe you was interested in doin’ some hirin’. And if that’s so, why, I reckon I’d like to work for you.”

“You would like to work for me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bailey said.

“What?” Metzger asked.

“When you speak to me, you will say ma’am,” Bailey said pointedly.

Metzger cleared his throat again. He could crush this little woman with one hand, yet here she was, telling him that he had to hem and haw in front of her, and say yes ma’am to her.

He glanced over at Dancer. Dancer had quit peeling his apple and was now looking at him.

Well, how hard would it be to say ma’am? Metzger wondered. On the one hand, he did not need to make Dancer mad, while on the other hand, he did need the job.

“Yes ma’am, I meant to say yes ma’am,” he said. “I just forgot.”

“Don’t forget again.”

“No ma’am, I won’t forget again. Uh, so, would you be interested in hirin’ me?”

“I might be,” Bailey replied. “What can you do?”

“What kind of work you got in mind?”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked, what can you do?”

“Uh, look here, Luke told me that you once hired an
other couple of my pards, Poke Wheeler and Gilley Morris, to do some work for you. Do them two names come to mind?”

“Yes, I recognize the names.”

“The kind of things you hired them to do for you? That’s more like the kind of things I can do too. Me ’n’ Poke ’n’ Gilley used to run together.”

“I hope you are more efficient than they were,” Bailey said. “They were unable to do the simplest job, and they got themselves killed while doing it.”

“Kilt?” Metzger replied in surprise. “Wait a minute. Are you tellin’ me that Poke and Gilley is dead?”

“Yes.”

Metzger shook his head. “I’ll be damn. I don’t know. Luke didn’t tell me that. How did they get theirselves kilt?”

“By being totally incompetent.”

“In comp what?”

“It means they had shit for brains,” Bailey said caustically. “I hope you don’t suffer from the same malady.”

“I used to run with ’em, but I’m better’n they was.”

“All right, you’re hired,” Bailey said. “You’ll be working for Mr. Dancer.”

Again Metzger glanced toward Dancer. All during the conversation, except when Dancer had paused to stare at him, he had continued peeling the apple. Now, a long unbroken peel hung from the apple to the floor, and again Dancer looked up at him.

“I’m goin’ to be workin’ with Dancer?” Metzger asked.

“Yes,” Bailey said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Metzger replied, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “I mean, no ma’am, I ain’t got no problem with that.”

“All right, you’re hired.”

“You got a horse?” Dancer asked. “Yeah, I got a horse.” “Be ready in half an hour. We got a long ride ahead of us.” “All right,” Metzger said. “I’ll be ready.”