king. He bet the eights like they were aces or as if he had another in the hole. Butler doubted that he had another, and could see that Corbin felt the same way. Every time Lane bet, Corbin raised, which frustrated Lane.
The fifth card came out. Corbin bought a three and Lane a useless four. Butler could see the writing on the wall. He figured Lane for eights, and he thought they’d hold up. As for Corbin, Butler thought he’d been raising to annoy Lane, and also because he had a pair of threes. As far as Butler was concerned, the man now had three threes, and Lane was beat.
But Lane didn’t see it that way.
“Two hundred,” Lane said, making his largest bet of the night.
Without hesitation Corbin said, “Raise two hundred.”
“Goddamnit!” Lane slurred. “Every time I make a fuckin’ bet, you raise the same damn amount.”
Corbin only shrugged.
“The play is to you, sir,” the dealer said.
“I know the fuckin’ play is to me,” Lane shot back. Butler could see it coming. Bad players always ended up this way.
“I got…” Lane stopped to count his chips, had to start again twice—probably because he was seeing double —and then said, “six hundred and forty dollars left. That’s my bet.”
If the man was seeing double Butler wondered if he thought he had four eights.
“Six hundred and forty?” Corbin said. “All right, Lane. I’ll call.”
“You can’t beat my eights,” Lane said, turning over his hole card triumphantly, “and my fours.” His useless four had not been so useless after all.
“Actually,” Corbin said, “I can,” and turned over his third three.
“Three threes,” the dealer said. “The winner.”
“N-no, wa-a-ait,” Lane stammered. “T-that’s all my money.”
“Then you shouldn’t have bet it,” Corbin said, raking the chips in. “Looks like you’re busted. I’m sure there’s someone waitin’ for your chair.”
This was the most Butler had heard Corbin say all night, and now he detected a slight Southern accent.
“No, no,” Lane said, “I c-can’t go home without my m-money. My wife’ll kill me.”
“Here,” Corbin said, tossing a five dollar chip over to the man. “Buy her somethin’ nice.”
The gesture incensed Lane, and Butler could see what was about to happen. He also knew that Bill Harris had some security in the place, though none of them were anywhere near the table. If he didn’t do something, somebody was going to end up dead. It seemed to him that this kind of thing was starting to happen at every game he played in.
He was seated to the left of Lane, who was left-handed, and thus was wearing his gun on his left hip. The man made a clumsy attempt to pull the gun, and Butler knew that Corbin would kill him if he did. Butler quickly leaned over and snatched the gun from Lane’s holster.
“Wha—” Lane blinked, looked at Butler. “Gimme my gun!”
“Lane,” Butler said, “I think your wife would be even madder at you if you got killed tonight.”
Butler grabbed a passing girl by the arm and asked her to get Bill Harris.
“Yes, sir.”
Lane stood up and demanded belligerently, “Gimme my damn gun!”
Butler turned the weapon over in his hand, saw how old and dirty it was.
“Lane, this thing would take off your hand if you tried to fire it.” He quickly emptied it, pocketed the shells and then handed it back to the man. Immediately, Lane began to fumble with the shells on his gun belt, trying to reload the weapon.
“Is there a problem here?” Bill Harris asked, appearing at Butler’s elbow.
“Yes,” Butler said, “if Lane succeeds in reloading his gun he’s going to end up getting killed.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Harris waved and two men appeared on either side of Lane. Each man grabbed an arm and removed him from the table.
“Hey, wai—” Lane shouted. “I gotta get my money.”
“They’ll take him outside and get him some air,” Harris said to the table. “Please, keep playing.”
The dealer looked around and said, “Do we still have a game, gents?”
A man sat down in Lane’s chair, and was just as interested in the answer as the dealer.
“We have a game,” Corbin said. “Deal.”
CHAPTER 45
After two hours the players began to dwindle so, once again as it had happened the night before, they consolidated the tables. Butler ended up sitting with Corbin, Ben Thompson, and two other men.
Corbin was a steady professional, but once he ended up at a table with both Ben Thompson and Butler he started to lose.
“Gents,” he said, eventually, standing up, “I think I better get out while I still have a few dollars. Mr. Butler, I’d be honored to buy you a drink when you’re done here.”
“Be my pleasure, Mr. Corbin.”
“Gentlemen,” Corbin said, touching the brim of his hat.
He passed behind Butler and out of sight.
“I believe that man’s a bigger fool than I thought,” Ben Thompson said.
“Why’s that?” Butler asked.
“He’s takin’ the rest of his money over to Trixie’s faro table.” Thompson laughed.
“He’ll lose the rest of it there,” Butler said.
The other men at the table laughed. Twenty minutes later they were gone and Butler and Ben Thompson were laying head-to-head again. Both were significantly ahead for the night.
“If you don’t mind,” Thompson said diplomatically, “I’m not exactly in a winner-take-all frame of mind tonight.”
“That suits me.”
“Besides, Thompson said, gathering up his chips, “your luck is runnin’ too damn good tonight. I know better than to buck a man’s string of luck.”
Butler actually attributed his winning to skill more than luck, but decided not to argue with Ben Thompson about that.
“Who’s your friend?” Thompson asked.
“Who?”
“That feller’s been watchin’ you all night.” Thompson jerked his chin and Butler looked in that direction. He saw Kevin Ryerson standing where he could easily see the poker table.
“Has he been there all night?” he asked.
“Ever since you sat down,” Thompson said, then, “no, since Lane got carried off. I guess that attracted his attention.”
Butler frowned, annoyed that he had not noticed the man himself.
“He’s not a friend,” he said, “he’s a bounty hunter.”
“Who’s he after?”
“He won’t say if he’s even after somebody,” Butler said.
“Well, can’t be me,” Thompson said. “I’ve got no price on my head, that I know of.”
Butler realized that his silence was saying more than he ever could, but decided to maintain it.
“Drink at the bar?” Butler asked.
“I have a previous appointment with a lady,” Thompson said, as they stood up. “Perhaps next time. Besides, Corbin’s waitin’ at the bar to buy you one.”
