Read Online Song of Eagles by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone
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town, including the hotel and the livery stable. Ben Johnson and Johnny Albright were both ranchers, as he had figured, and owned two of the largest spreads east of town.
Of the group at the table, Louis and Marcus were better than average players, Ben was average, and Johnny was terrible.
Falcon played conservatively, betting only when he had a good hand, folding with anything less than a sure winner, while he learned the habits of his opponents.
He noticed that Louis picked at the corner of his moustache when he was bluffing or betting on a weak hand, while Marcus licked his lips and leaned slightly forward in his chair when he was on a bluff.
Ben had few tells, but tended not to push his advantage when he had good cards, rarely bluffed with any conviction, and folded several winning hands when pressed. He obviously played for the fun of the game, and not to make or lose any important amounts of money.
Johnny Albright, on the other hand, did everything badly. He sweated and blinked rapidly and nervously when he tried to bluff, and became boisterous and jubilant when he had a good hand, thus letting the others know they should bail out without letting Johnny make anything.
Falcon, for his part, played to stay about even, throwing in some winning hands so as not to make too good an impression on the other men. If he was going to be playing here for any length of time, he didnât want them to think he was a card sharp, or it would be hard to find men to play with him. The hardest thing about making a living at gambling was to let your opponents think you had won by luck, not skill. That way, they would keep coming back for more, hoping your luck would change.
It was a role Falcon had perfected over the years. He would take a little from each player at the table, letting each win a few big pots from him, but staying always a little ahead of the game. At the end of the night, most times, he won more than he lost and would leave the game richer than when he entered it.
It was well after midnight when Falcon stifled a yawn, figuring it was about time to call it a night. He was two hundred and fifty dollars ahead, Ben and Marcus were about even, and Louis had won over six hundred dollars, most of it from Johnny Albright.
Johnny didnât seem to mind overly much, other than cussing his luck and the damned cards that just wouldnât fall his way. Falcon noticed Marcus and Louis glancing at each other with tiny, tight smiles on their faces, and realized this was probably a weekly occurrence, with Johnny losing and the others winning. He hoped the man had a profitable ranch, because his poker playing was costing him plenty.
Falcon came fully awake when a man at an adjacent table shouted and jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over as he clawed for his pistol.
âYou lyinâ son of a bitch,â he screamed drunkenly, his bleary, bloodshot eyes staring across the table.
He was a young soldier in uniform, and swayed unsteadily on his feet as he aimed the Colt army revolver at another player at his table, who sat with large eyes and raised hands.
âYou been cheatinâ me all night, Billy Bob, anâ Iâm gonna drill you fer it!â
âI ainât neither been cheatinâ you, Joey,â the terrified puncher said. âYouâre just a lousy poker player, thatâs all.â
In one fluid motion, Falcon stood up, drawing his Colt and bringing it down on top of the kidâs head so fast no one in the room could follow the movement.
The young man dropped like a stone, unconscious but unhurt, and then everyone was talking and moving at once.
âGoddamn, did you see that feller draw?â one of the players at the next table said to the man next to him.
âDamn, he moved quicker than a rattler,â another said to no one in particular.
Falcon bent over the soldier, checked his head to make sure he was all right, then asked one of his soldier friends to take him out to
Of the group at the table, Louis and Marcus were better than average players, Ben was average, and Johnny was terrible.
Falcon played conservatively, betting only when he had a good hand, folding with anything less than a sure winner, while he learned the habits of his opponents.
He noticed that Louis picked at the corner of his moustache when he was bluffing or betting on a weak hand, while Marcus licked his lips and leaned slightly forward in his chair when he was on a bluff.
Ben had few tells, but tended not to push his advantage when he had good cards, rarely bluffed with any conviction, and folded several winning hands when pressed. He obviously played for the fun of the game, and not to make or lose any important amounts of money.
Johnny Albright, on the other hand, did everything badly. He sweated and blinked rapidly and nervously when he tried to bluff, and became boisterous and jubilant when he had a good hand, thus letting the others know they should bail out without letting Johnny make anything.
Falcon, for his part, played to stay about even, throwing in some winning hands so as not to make too good an impression on the other men. If he was going to be playing here for any length of time, he didnât want them to think he was a card sharp, or it would be hard to find men to play with him. The hardest thing about making a living at gambling was to let your opponents think you had won by luck, not skill. That way, they would keep coming back for more, hoping your luck would change.
It was a role Falcon had perfected over the years. He would take a little from each player at the table, letting each win a few big pots from him, but staying always a little ahead of the game. At the end of the night, most times, he won more than he lost and would leave the game richer than when he entered it.
It was well after midnight when Falcon stifled a yawn, figuring it was about time to call it a night. He was two hundred and fifty dollars ahead, Ben and Marcus were about even, and Louis had won over six hundred dollars, most of it from Johnny Albright.
Johnny didnât seem to mind overly much, other than cussing his luck and the damned cards that just wouldnât fall his way. Falcon noticed Marcus and Louis glancing at each other with tiny, tight smiles on their faces, and realized this was probably a weekly occurrence, with Johnny losing and the others winning. He hoped the man had a profitable ranch, because his poker playing was costing him plenty.
Falcon came fully awake when a man at an adjacent table shouted and jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over as he clawed for his pistol.
âYou lyinâ son of a bitch,â he screamed drunkenly, his bleary, bloodshot eyes staring across the table.
He was a young soldier in uniform, and swayed unsteadily on his feet as he aimed the Colt army revolver at another player at his table, who sat with large eyes and raised hands.
âYou been cheatinâ me all night, Billy Bob, anâ Iâm gonna drill you fer it!â
âI ainât neither been cheatinâ you, Joey,â the terrified puncher said. âYouâre just a lousy poker player, thatâs all.â
In one fluid motion, Falcon stood up, drawing his Colt and bringing it down on top of the kidâs head so fast no one in the room could follow the movement.
The young man dropped like a stone, unconscious but unhurt, and then everyone was talking and moving at once.
âGoddamn, did you see that feller draw?â one of the players at the next table said to the man next to him.
âDamn, he moved quicker than a rattler,â another said to no one in particular.
Falcon bent over the soldier, checked his head to make sure he was all right, then asked one of his soldier friends to take him out to
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