Wolf Creek (9 page)

“You speak of him as if he were dead,
Miguel.”

“Yes, it is as you say, he is dead. He was
hombre muy malo.”
Miguel hesitated to correct his speech to
English. “He was a very bad man. Chico robbed and stole from many,
then he shot a man while taking money. Another said he saw when
Chico did this thing. The sheriff took Chico to jail. They give him
a trial and then he was hanged until he died.”

Quint pursed his lips. “Do you suppose that
those boots the young cowboy had on once belonged to your
cousin?”

Miguel raised an eyebrow. “It is possible
that they could be the same. I did not see Chico’s feet in the
coffin, only his chest and face. Someone could have removed them. A
man who works the leather made Chico’s boots in Abilene. Chico
showed the boots to me when I visited him at the jail. He was very
proud of the boots. He said they cost
mucho
. He had his name
stitched inside the right boot. He knew he was to die and offered
the boots to me, but they would not fit. My feet are much
larger.”

Miguel got a strange look on his face, as if
a revelation just struck him, “You do not think that I would do
this thing and take the boots from the young
vaquero
? I have
no use for the boots! Taken from the foot of a dead man, the boots
are now cursed. Last night, I merely made conversation.”

Quint nodded his understanding. Satisfied
that Miguel had nothing to do with stealing PJ Wilkerson’s boots,
he thanked the man then left.

Since there were never any secrets withheld
for long around Wolf Creek, word got around rather quickly as
revelers laughed when told about the boots being bet. Before long,
the story became twisted and retold that someone had bet the boots
off his feet in a game and lost.

By early morning, the boots story was the
favored topic in the restaurants. Later in the morning, at Ma’s
Café, Deputy Quint Croy was still groggy from hassling with a
multitude of drunks the previous night then there was the boot
theft and the theft of a horse that worried him. He overheard the
conversation of two men at a nearby table talking about some fancy
boots. The first thing that came to his mind was the boots taken
from that kid down by Asa’s Place. He walked over to the table and
learned from the men that the game had taken place at the Wolf’s
Den.

Quint waited for the nighttime bartender and
working girls over at the Wolf’s Den to come in before he sought to
question them. He talked with Brad Wilkes, who had dealt the cards
at that table. “Yeah, I seen the whole thing,” Wilkes claimed. “A
big, yellow haired fella by the name of Hardy, drunk off his ass
and losing steadily. He lost all of his money then put a pair of
boots up to cover his last bet. Well, he lost the hand, then left
and wasn’t any too happy about it.”

“What about the man that won the boots, do
you know his name?” Quint asked.

Wilkes eyed Quint questioningly.

Quint understood the man’s reluctance, so he
added, “A pair of fancy boots was stolen off a young cowboy last
night. I’d like to see that he gets them back. The man that won
them is in the clear. I just want to see the boots.”

Wilkes nodded. “He said his name was Luke
Short, said he came to town just for the tournament. Seemed like a
nice enough fella; lucky as heck with the cards, at least he was
the big winner of the table.”

Quint thanked the man and left. He then
walked into the lobby of the Imperial Hotel. Richard Wilhite, the
owner, was tending the counter. Wilhite ran a stubby finger down
the register. “Here it is,” he offered. “Luke Short, room 14. I
remember him, yes sir, indeed I do, came in yesterday about this
time of day.”

Quint knocked on the door to Room 14. “Yes?”
was the reply to the knock.

“Deputy Quint Croy here, I’d like to speak
with you for a moment about a pair of boots that I was told you won
in a card game last night.”

Luke, dressed only in trousers and socks,
opened the door. He had a questioning but not fearful look in his
eye. “Come on in deputy, if you don’t mind me finishing getting
dressed.” Quint went in and took the only chair while Luke finished
dressing.

Luke sat on the bed while putting his boots
on, “Yeah, I won a pair of boots, they are right here, if you want
to see them.” He picked up the nearby gunnysack and took the boots
out then handed them to Quint.

Quint nodded as he peered inside both boots
to see if there was a name stitched there, but found none. “Last
night, a fella was knocked to the ground and had his boots stolen
off his feet.” Quint explained. “I don’t know if these are the same
boots in question but it will be easy enough to find out. I believe
the victim is staying right here at the hotel. Would you mind if I
borrow the boots long enough to check it out?”

“Not at all deputy, they are only worth six
dollars to me, that’s what I allowed for the bet. If that fella
wants them for that amount, it’s okay by me. They are one size too
small for me.”

“I understand that you came to town for the
tournament,” Quint stated.

Luke nodded, “That’s right, and I have to
get over to The Lucky Break and get my tournament fee paid.”

Quint took the boots in hand, then said,
“I’ll see that you either get the boots back or the six
dollars.”

Quint returned to the lobby with the boots
in hand and found out that the trail boss, Nelson Berg, of the
Slash B had rented a bank of rooms for his men, so the only name on
the register belonged to Berg. Quint found the man in the hotel’s
lobby reading a newspaper. The man eyed Quint as he walked toward
his chair. Berg shifting his gaze to look at the boots Quint was
carrying.

After a few minutes of explanation by Quint,
Berg shook his head. “I heard about TJ’s boots being taken. These
boys pay no mind to what can happen in a strange place at night
when booze is involved. TJ is most likely in his room upstairs;
I’ll go with you and see if those are his.”

TJ gleefully identified the boots as his,
then stamped a foot into each one, “Yep, this is them all
right.”

Quint explained that if he wanted the boots
he would have to pay six dollars to the man that had won them.

Afterwards, Quint stepped to Room 14, but
Luke was not there. He would see that Luke got the six dollars
later.

Quint was particularly busy that night
handling drunks—lots of knee crawling drunks who got that way
quickly on cheap whiskey. One even fell off his horse; other drunks
fought with one another or fell to the street to vomit. Those Quint
arrested would sleep it off in jail then pay a fine before
released. He was tired from last night’s activities and did not
look forward to a repeat again tonight, but knew it was coming.

Quint had forgotten about Luke Short’s six
dollars still in his pocket until the following morning when he
changed shirts. He transferred the bills to the clean shirt. Quint
spent more time checking out the horse theft. So far, the missing
horse had not been located and he had learned nothing that would
help solve the mystery. He spent the night holding in check all the
revelry the cowboys in town created so as not to disturb the
tournament crowd.

It was the following morning when Quint
again located the six dollars in his pocket.

He decided to take the time to look up Luke
Short and give him his money. He walked toward the hotel where he
spotted Luke Short just coming out the door.

Quint walked to Luke’s side and held out the
six dollars to him. “Here’s the money for those boots.”

Luke’s eyes widen and he smiled broadly.
“Hey, thanks, I forgot all about that deal. I take it that those
were the boots in question?”

Quint nodded. “Yep, the owner was really
happy to get them back.”

Luke held the six dollars up. “Now I can
afford some breakfast.”

Quint smiled. “I take it that the cards did
not go your way last night?”

Luke shook his head. “I got into the
tournament, even made it through the first round. I beat out the
others at the table and qualified to move on to the next round.
Late last night, after three players lost out, there was a sizeable
pot with just me and a fella named Sam Jones left to finish the
game. I figured that I had the winning cards, so I went for broke
and threw everything I had onto the table. Well, as luck goes, my
hand came in second place. I lost all my chips so I’m out of the
tournament.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Sometimes I win,
sometimes I lose. It would be interesting to see who ends up
winning the tournament. Now, thanks to this boot money, I can stick
around until it’s over. Maybe I’ll get the chance to see if I can
grow these few dollars into something worthwhile.”

Luke stepped toward the restaurant. Quint
stood for a moment in thought. Luke Short was a likeable sort; a
shame it seemed that the man bit by the gambling bug was unable to
call it quits even though he lost it all in the tournament. Despite
all the hardships of being a deputy marshal, Quint was grateful
that at least he had a salary coming in monthly and was not
dependent on the luck of the draw.

End

No Such Thing as Luck, Part 2

By

Chuck Tyrell

The first round of the Great Wolf Creek
Poker Tournament lasted until nearly ten and ended with one winner
at each table—twelve first-round winners in all. One of those
winners was Chuck Waters.

Ira Breedlove raised his voice. “Ladies and
gentlemen. We’ve just witnessed some of the finest card players
west of the Big Muddy. My congratulations to the winners. Now. Each
of you will deposit your chips with Harvey at the bar. We know that
each of you has five hundred dollars in chips. And don’t worry
about your buy-in money. It’s in the bank, safe and sound.”

Samuel Jones and Ben Thompson were at Ma’s
Café when Billy Below walked in. Samuel waved him over. “Full
house, Billy. You’ll want to sit with us if you’re looking for
breakfast.”

“Obliged, Sam. Ben. Do you mind?”

“Help yourself,” Thompson said.

“First round work out all right for you
all?”

Jones chuckled. “Ben and I won our tables,
but it seems Ben’s brother Billy lost over at the Eldorado. At
least no one died during the round.” He glanced at Thompson.
“Begging your pardon, Ben, but that little brother of yours jerks
iron too often for my liking.”

“No offense. No one knows better than me
what a hothead that boy is.”

“What’ll it be, Billy?” Ma Adams stood next
to him with hands on hips and arms akimbo.

“I’ll take whatever you and old Bones in the
kitchen fix,” Billy said.

“I got ham ‘n’ bacon. Taters. Biscuits ‘n’
gravy. How’s that sound?”

“No hen fruit?”

“Not till tomorrow, ‘n’ you’d better be here
early if you want aigs.”

“Just bacon, fried spuds, biscuits and gravy
then. And bring me coffee.”

“How’s it going, lawman?” Thompson said.

“Been pretty quiet,” Billy said. “Up all
night, like you all, so this lawman’s gonna get some shuteye soon
as I plow through that breakfast Ma and Bones’s fixing for me.”

“Coffee,” Ma said. She put a cup down and
poured it full.

“Obliged,” Billy said.

“Sam? Ben?”

Both gamblers held their cups out for
refills, then went back to their breakfasts while Billy Below
savored Ma Adams’s excellent coffee. Minutes later, he too shoveled
crisp bacon, fried potatoes, and biscuits covered with gravy into
his mouth.

“Good grub at Ma’s,” Billy said, wiping his
mouth with the napkin Ma always provided with meals. “Like I said,
I’m gonna catch some shuteye. After noon, I’ll probably be at the
marshal’s office. Not that you’ll need me or anything.”

The second round of the Great Wolf Creek
Poker Tournament took place in the Eldorado, where three tables
were set up for four gamblers each.

Samuel Jones sat at the same table as Chuck
Waters. He said nothing to the diminutive man, but speared him with
a look that said,
don’t try anything funny while I’m at the
table.
Waters looked away.

Nick Brant sat at a table with Ben Thompson
and two other first round winners, including the lady from Wes
Quaid’s table earlier. Brant held a smug little smile on his face
and could not help fingering the five hundred dollars in chips that
sat on the table at his right hand.

Virgil Calhoun placed a deck of cards on
each table. “Gentlemen, cut the deck to determine who deals
first.”

Each gambler cut the deck and showed his
card. High card dealt. The second round began.

When it was over, shortly after midnight,
Samuel Jones, Ben Thompson, Luke Short, and Johnny Deno were the
winners, the ones who’d go on to the final round.

Billy Below watched Chuck Waters play
against the best. He seemed careless and sometimes lost hands he
could have won. Still, he always looked happy and wore a little
smile on his face the whole time. It didn’t sit well with Billy.
After the round, when everyone was congratulating the winners,
Waters quietly left the Eldorado. Billy followed, half a block or
more behind. The throngs of people made it hard to keep the little
man in sight, but he went straight to the Imperial Hotel. He’d
lost. No doubt he’d leave on tomorrow’s train. Billy decided he’d
see Waters off, just in case. In case of what, he didn’t know, but
just in case.

After seeing Waters to the Imperial, Billy
made his way to the marshal’s office. No one was there. He’d not
heard any ruckus, but with so many people in town, Marshal Gardner
and the deputies were probably out showing the badge, as Gardner
said, making sure people knew the law was out and about.

A new pile of flyers sat on the marshal’s
desk so Billy riffled through them. Nothing much. He put the flyers
down and picked up the
Wolf Creek Expositor’s
special
edition, published in commemoration of the Great Wolf Creek Poker
Tournament.