The Coming of Cassidy by Clarence E. Mulford (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

The gambler’s reply was a snarl. “Play!” he sneered. “I’ll play, all right. It’ll take more ‘n a sassy kid to get that money back, too. I’m goin’ to take yore last red cent. You can’t talk to me like that an’ get it over. An’ don’t let me hear you call her ‘Annie’ no more, neither. Yo’re too cussed familiar!”

Her hand on Sammy’s arm stopped the draw and he let the gun drop back into the holster. “Not” she whispered. “Make a fool of him, Sammy! Beat him at his own game.”

Sammy nodded and scowled blackly. “I call th’ names as suits me,” he retorted. “When I see you on th’ street I’m goin’ to call you some that I’m savin’ up now because a lady’s present. They’re hefty, too.”

At first he won, but always small amounts. Becoming reckless, he plunged heavily on a fair hand and lost. He plunged again on a better hand and lost. Then he steadied as much as his befuddled brain would permit and played a careful game, winning a small pot. Another small winning destroyed his caution and he plunged again, losing heavily. Steadying himself once more he began a new deal with excess caution and was bluffed out of the pot, the gambler sneeringly showing his cards as he threw them down. Sammy glanced around to say something to the woman, but found she had gone. “Aw, never mind her!” growled his opponent. “She’ll be back she can’t stay away from a kid like you.”

The woman was passing through the barroom and, winking at the bartender, opened the door and stepped to the street. She smiled as she caught sight of the limping stranger coming toward her. He might have found money, but she was certain he had found something else and in generous quantities. He removed his sombrero with an exaggerated sweep of his hand and hastened to meet her, walking with the conscious erectness of a man whose feet are the last part of him to succumb. “Hullo, Sugar,” he grinned. “I found some, a’right. Now we’ll have some music. Come long.”

“There ain’t no hurry,” she answered. “We’ll take a little walk first.”

“No, we won’t. We’ll have some music an’ somethin’ to drink. If you won’t make th’ music, I will; or shoot up th’ machine. Come ‘long, Sugar,” he leered, pushing open the door with a resounding slam. He nodded to the bartender and apologized. “No harm meant, Friend. It sorta slipped; jus’ slipped, tha’s all. Th’ young lady an’ me is goin’ to have some music. What? All right for you, Sugar! Then I’ll make it myself,” and he paraded stiffly toward the inner door.

The bartender leaned suddenly forward. “Keep out of there! You’ll bust that pianner!”

The puncher stopped with a jerk, swung ponderously on his heel and leveled a forefinger at the dispenser of drinks. “I won’t,” he said. “An’if I do, I’ll pay for it. Come on, Sugar le’s play th’ old thing, jus’ for spite.” Grasping her arm he gently but firmly escorted her into the dance hall and seated her at the piano. As he straightened up he noticed the card players and, bowing low to her, turned and addressed them.

“Gents,” he announced, bowing again, “we are goin’ to have a li’l music an’ we hopes you won’t objec’. Not that we gives a d n, but we jus’ hopes you won’t.” He laughed loudly at his joke and leaned against the piano. “Let? er go,” he cried, beating time. “Allaman lef an’ ladies change! Swing yore partner’s gal I mean, swing some other gal: but what’s th’ diff’rence? All join ban’s an’ hop to th’ middle nope! It’s all ban’s roun’ an’ swing ‘em again. But it don’t make no diff’ rence, does it, Lulu?” He whooped loudly and marched across the room, executed a few fancy steps and marched back again. As he passed the card table Sammy threw down his hand and arose with a curse. The marcher stopped, fiddled a bit with his feet until obtaining his balance, and then regarded the youth quizzically. “S’matter, Sonny?” he inquired.

Sammy scowled, slowly recognized the owner of the imported cigars and shook his head. “Big han’s, but not big enough; an’ I lost my pile.” Staggering to the piano he plumped down on a chair near it and watched the rippling fingers of the player in drunken interest.

The hilarious cowpuncher, leaning backward perilously, recovered his poise for a moment and then lurched forward into the chair the youth had just left. “Come on, pardner,” he grinned across at the gambler. “Le’s gamble. I been honin’ for a game, an’ here she is.” He picked up the cards, shuffled them clumsily and pushed them out for the cut. The gambler hesitated, considered and then turned over a jack. He lost the deal and shoved out a quarter without interest.

The puncher leaned over, looked at it closely and grinned. “Two bits? That ain’t poker; that’s that’s dominoes!” he blurted, angrily, with the quick change of mood of a man in his cups.

“I ain’t anxious to play,” replied the gambler.

“I’ll kill a li’l time at a two-bit game, though. Otherwise I’ll quit.”

“A’right,” replied the dealer. “I didn’t expec’ nothin’ else from a tin-horn, no-how. I want two cards after you get yourn.” The gambler called on the second raise and smiled to himself when he saw that his opponent had drawn to a pair and an ace. He won on his own deal and on the one following.

The puncher increased the ante on the fourth deal and looked up inquiringly, a grin on his face. “Le’s move out th’ infant class,” he suggested.

The gambler regarded him sharply. “Well, th’ other was sorta tender,” he admitted, nodding.

The puncher pulled out a handful of gold coins and clumsily tried to stalk them, which he succeeded in doing after three attempts. He was so busy that he did not notice the look in the other’s eyes. Picking up his hand he winked at it and discarded one. “Goin’ to raise th’ ante a few,” he chuckled. “I got a feelin’ I’m goin’ t’ be lucky.” When the card was dealt to him he let it lay and bet heavily. The gambler saw it and raised in turn, and the puncher, frowning in indecision, nodded his head wisely and met it, calling as he did so. His four fives were just two spots shy to win and he grumbled loudly at his luck. “Huh,” he finished, “she’s a jack pot, eh?” He slid a double eagle out to the center of the table and laughed recklessly. The deals went around rapidly, each one calling for a tendollar sweetener and when the seventh hand was dealt the puncher picked his cards and lauged. “She’s open,” he cried, “for fifty,” and shoved out the money with one hand while he dug up a reserve pile from his pocket with the other.

The gambler saw the opener and raised it fifty, smiling at his opponent’s expression. The puncher grunted his surprise, studied his hand, glanced at the pot and shrugging his shoulders, saw the raise. He drew two cards and chuckled as he slid them into his hand; but before the dealer could make his own draw the puncher’s chuckle died out and he stared over the gambler’s shoulder. With an oath he jerked out his gun and fired. The gambler leaped to his feet and whirled around to look behind. Then he angrily faced the frowning puncher. “What you think yo’re doin’?” he demanded, his hand resting inside his coat, the thumb hooked over the edge of the vest.

The puncher waved his hand apologetically. “I never have no luck when I sees a cat,” he explained. “A black cat is worse; but a yaller one’s bad enough. I’ll bet that yaller devil won’t come back in a hurry judgin’ by th’ way it started. I won’t miss him, if he does.”

The gambler, still frowning, glanced at the deck suspiciously and saw that it lay as he had dropped it. The bartender, grinning at them from the door, cracked a joke and went back to the bar. Sammy, after a wild look around, settled back in his chair and soothed the pianist a little before going back to sleep.

Drawing two cards the gambler shoved them in his hand without a change in his expression but he was greatly puzzled. It was seldom that he bungled and he was not certain that he had. The discard contained the right number of cards and his opponent’s face gave no hint to the thoughts behind it. He hesitated before he saw the bet ten dollars was not much, for the size of the pot justified more. He slowly saw it, willing to lose the ten in order to see his opponent’s cards. There was something he wished to know, and he wanted to know it as soon as he could. “I call that,” he said. The puncher’s expression of tenseness relaxed into one of great relief and he hurriedly dropped his cards. Three kings, an eight, and a deuce was his offering. The gambler laid down a pair of queens, a ten, an eight and a four, waved his hand and smiled. “It’s just as well I didn’t draw another queen,” he observed, calmly. “I might ‘a’ raised once for luck.”

The puncher raked in the pot and turned around in his chair. “I cleaned up that time,” he exulted to the woman. She had stopped playing and was stroking Sammy’s forehead. Smiling at the exuberant winner she nodded. “You should have let the cat stay I think it really brought you luck.” He shook his head emphatically. “No, ma’am! It was chasin’ it away as did that. That’s what did it, a’right.”

The gambler glanced quickly at the two top cards on the deck and was picking up those scattered on the table when his opponent turned around again. How that queen and ten had got two cards too deep puzzled him greatly he was willing to wager even money that he would not look away again until the game was finished, not if all the cats in the world were being slaughtered. One hundred and ninety dollars was too much money to pay for being caught off his guard, as he was tempted to believe he had been. He did not know how much liquor the other had consumed, but he seemed to be sobering rapidly.

The next few deals did not amount to much. Then a jackpot came around and was pushed hard. The puncher was dealing and as he picked up the deck after the cut he grinned and winked. “Th’ skirmishin’ now bein’ over, th’ battle begins. If that cat stays away long enough mebby I’ll make a killinV

“All right; but don’t make no more gunplays,” warned the gambler, coldly. “I allus get excited when I smells gun-powder an’ I do reckless things sometimes,” he added, significantly.

“Then I shore hopes you keep ca’m,” laughed the puncher, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the piano, which was now going again.

The pot was sweetened three times and then the gambler dealt his opponent openers. The puncher looked anxiously through the door, grinning coltishly. He slowly pushed out twenty dollars. “There’s th’ key,” he grunted. “A’right; see that an’ raise you back. Good for you! I’m stayin’ an’ boostin’ same as ever. Fine! See it again, an’ add this. I’m playin’ with yore money, so I c’n afford to be reckless. All right; I’m satisfied, too. Gimme one li’l card. I shore am glad I don’t need th’ king of hearts that was shore on th’ bottom when th’ deal begun.”

The gambler, having drawn,