misery?”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” Doc replied in a tone of voice that fell just short of singsong.
“I just can’t figure any other reason why you’d pitch our deal. You’re not the sharpest dealer just yet, but a child could have pulled off picking out that spade and tossing it my way. Now, you don’t have your stake money, and you’re a few minutes away from the most painful death my boys here can come up with.” Leaning in, Weeks added, “To be honest, some of these boys are downright depraved. Whatever pain your coughing fits give you won’t be nothing compared to what they’re thinking about right now.”
Behind Weeks, Caleb tried to walk out of the saloon but was stopped by the gunman standing there. Plenty of other folks were starting to work their way in closer to get a look at what was going on.
“I changed my mind,” Doc said. “That’s all.”
“Stupid move. I’ll still get my hands on that saloon. Either that, or I’ll just make it disappear.”
Doc smirked and stood up straight enough to look down his nose at Weeks. “Since you lost one saloon tonight, I’d suggest you make the best of the ones you’ve got left.”
“That’s right,” Caleb shouted from the doorway. “This here is my place now, and I want you and all of your hired guns to get away from it!”
Whatever calm Weeks had regained went right out the window when he heard that. “You are dead! I still own enough of this town to see to that!”
“I don’t think so, Bret.”
Those last words came from outside of the circle formed by Weeks’s gunmen. When they heard it, those men turned and slapped their hands onto their holsters in preparation for the worst. Sheriff Hopper walked right up to them without the slightest hint of worry on his face. He might have had fewer deputies with him than Weeks had gunmen, but those deputies already had their weapons drawn.
“What’s going on here?” Weeks asked.
“Looks to me like you just confessed to cheating in front of the one lawman who’s not on your side,” Doc said. “Stupid move.”
“You got no cause to harass me or my men, Sheriff,” Weeks said.
Sheriff Hopper planted his feet and allowed a friendly smile to drift onto his face. “Well, now there’s where you’re wrong. I may not approve of the way Dr. Holliday’s been handling himself lately, but he seemed awfully convinced that he could get you to trip up.”
“This was all just talk. It doesn’t mean shit.”
Turning to Doc, Sheriff Hopper asked, “Will you testify to Mr. Weeks here approaching you to help him in a scheme to cheat Mr. Wayfinder out of his saloon?”
“Seeing as how I’ll be visiting the courtbouse anyway, I think that can be arranged. I can even tell all about how Mr. Weeks tried to get every other player at the game in his pocket as well.”
“I’ll need another witness to testify to that,” the sheriff announced “Someone not on the payroll of Mr. Weeks or Mr. Wayfinder.”
“That would be me,” Steve Wright said as he stepped out onto the boardwalk.
Caleb glanced over at Steve and saw that the gambler was holding up even better than he could have hoped.
“But they were all cheating!” Weeks fumed.
“Can you prove it?”
“Sure I can.”
“Then you’ll have your chance,” Sheriff Hopper replied. “You’ll have your day in court. Until then, you’ll have to come along with us.”
With that, the deputies fanned out to hold Weeks’s men at gunpoint. The gunmen parted like the Red Sea, allowing the sheriff a clear view of their boss.
“What?” Weeks grunted.
“Don’t you read the papers, Bret?” Doc asked. “This town doesn’t cater to card cheats anymore. Don’t feel too badly, though. The cot in my cell wasn’t too bad.”
Holding his hands up so a deputy could relieve him of his pistol, Weeks locked his eyes on Doc and snarled, “You just signed your own death warrant, Holliday. I’ll be out of that cell before breakfast, and then you’ll wish you just stuck to the deal.”
“Hold that thought,” Hopper said as he took Weeks by the collar and dragged him away from the gunmen. “I’m sure the judge will want to hear all about that deal of yours.”
“This doesn’t change anything,” Weeks said. “Thompson’s Varieties still belongs to me. It can’t change hands if that game was crooked. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”
“If Dr. Holliday dealt those cards fairly, then those bets stand,” the lawman replied. “Will anyone here testify that they had another deal with Holliday to see that the saloon changed hands?”
Apart from a few nervous coughs or clearing of their throats, nobody standing around made a sound.
“Check the cards!” Weeks suddenly said with a wide grin. “The cards are trimmed so Doc could find the spade I needed! Would that be proof enough to show that Injun don’t have an honest claim to my saloon?”
“Sure it would.” The sheriff nodded to one of his men and said, “Go have a look at them cards. Why don’t you turn out your pockets as well, Holiday?”
Doc emptied his pockets as the deputy disappeared into Thompson’s. By the time Doc was finished, the younger lawman was already stepping back out onto the street.
“I don’t see anything here to be worried about,” Hopper said after patting Doc down. “What about those cards?”
“These were the ones on the table,” the deputy said as he handed over a deck. “I couldn’t find any marks on them.”
The sheriff ran his fingers along all sides of the deck. “Feels nice and even to me,” Hopper said with a grin.
“That’s impossible!” Weeks growled. Obviously not too concerned with paying the minor fine that accompanied playing with a crooked deck, he examined the cards himself. The more he traced along the edges of the deck, the more flustered he became. “These aren’t the cards! These aren’t the ones we played with, goddammit!”
“I trust my deputies just fine,” Sheriff Hopper said. “Looks like you’ll just have to reap what you’ve sown.”
Weeks gritted his teeth and nodded to himself. He made eye contact with each of his gunmen in turn, lingering only on one of them for more than a second. That single gunman nodded and immediately turned to head down the street.
The sheriff hauled Weeks toward the jail. His deputies followed behind him, carrying the pistols and shotguns that had been dropped by Weeks’s men. As soon as the lawmen rounded the first corner, all the owners of those weapons turned and scattered.
In no time at all, folks started walking in and out of the saloon as if it was just another night in Dallas.
“That was beautiful,” Caleb said as he walked out to stand beside Doc. “There were a few moments where I thought it was going to head south, but it turned out just great.”
Stepping up to them with his hat in hand, Steve let out a shaky breath. “Please tell me there’s nothing else you need me to do.”
“Take a drink,” Doc said as he offered his flask. “Looks like you need it.”
Steve did so gladly. As the whiskey burned its way down his throat, he wiped away the sweat that drenched him from the top of his head all the way down the front of his shirt. With a trembling hand, he took a deck of cards out of his jacket’s inner pocket. “I don’t think anyone saw me take these. As far as I could tell, nobody was paying much attention to me at all. Just like you said.”
“Trust me,” Caleb said as he took the cards and tucked them away in his own pocket, “if anyone saw you, we would’ve heard about it. You did a real good job, Steve.”
“You should thank Jen as much as me,” Steve said. “She was the one who got Sheriff Hopper to be here and wait for Weeks to come out.”
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you worked off your debt and then some. You agree, Doc?”
“I was happy when you brought in so many players to my faro table,” Doc replied. “Everything after that was
