“But I am as curious as the bartender. Why are you in here? I thought you were going up north.”
“We are leaving tomorrow morning,” Libby said. “But today I’m on my own, so I thought I would come over here and see if I could find a good poker game.”
“There’s always one going,” Hawke said. “And if you can’t find one, I’m sure you can start one.”
“Good idea,” she said. She stepped out onto the floor and held up a deck of cards. “Gentlemen,” she called. “I’m looking for three men who aren’t afraid to play cards with a woman. I’ll be at that table right over there.”
Chapter 12
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
