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Authors: Louis L'amour
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game , raised five dollars. I saw him and raised again. Wood s raised and I went along, and at the showdown my thre e aces took the pot.
Woods didn't say anything, but he looked angry, an d one of the others, a fat, dirty man, growled something under his breath. It was a good pot, more than seventy dollars, as I recall.
We played for two hours, and I was careful. When a hand looked too good to be true, I wouldn't go along o r played it so badly that I lost little, and when I dealt o r could hold out a card or two, I won. At the end of tha t time I was four hundred dollars ahead, and Woods wa s getting mighty ugly.
Right about that time I decided enough was enough.
There had to be a break, and I wanted to make it whe n I was ready, not have Woods or one of the others mak e it and catch me off balance. Pushing back my chair, I s aid, "Got to get some sleep. I'm quitting."
"You can't quit now!" Woods protested. "You've go t our money."
My smile didn't make him any happier. Nor did what I s aid. "And that wasn't the way you planned it, was it?"
Woods's face went red and the fat man's hand droppe d to his lap. Only I'd seen the gun under the napkin almos t an hour before. My old Shawk & McLanahan was out an d covering them and I sort of stepped back a little.
"You," I said to Ogg. "You've been taken. So's he."
I indicated the stage driver. "You two pick up the pot."
"Like hell!" Woods started to get up.
My gun muzzle swung to him. "I'd as soon kill you," I s aid pleasantly. "Don't make it necessary."
Ogg and the stage driver scooped up the money. Bot h of them had been in twice as deep as I could have gone , and most of the money was theirs. They gathered it u p and went to the door, but at the door Billy Ogg shucke d his own gun. "Come on, Tyler. I'd as soon kill one of the m my own self."
The three of us walked out together. The stage drive r was Johnny Keeler, and they split a thousand betwee n them and insisted I take the two hundred that remained.
I refused.
Ogg glanced skeptically at the old Shawk & McLanahan. "Does that thing shoot? I didn't think they mad e them any more."
"It shoots."
"I'm beginning to get this now," Keeler said suddenly.
"You're Rye Tyler, the Colorado gun fighter."
"I'm from Colorado," I mid.
"You killed Rice Wheeler?"
"He stole horses from my boss."
Billy Ogg looked me over thoughtfully. "Now, that' s mighty interestin'. T'other day down to Tom Speers' p lace, Hickok said you were a gun fighter. Said he coul d read it in you."
"You'll have to come around and meet the boys," Keeler said. "Wyatt Earp's in town, too."
"I'm going to New Orleans," I mid.
Next morning early I woke up, bathed, shaved, an d got slicked up. Just as I was starting to pack there was a knock on the door. When I opened it there was a ma n standing there with a box in his hands, and a rifle.
The rifle was a new .44 Henry repeater, the finest made.
And in the box were two of the hard-to-get Smith & Wesson Russians, the pistol that was breaking all the targe t records.
Behind the man came Billy Ogg and Johnny Keeler. "A p resent from us," Ogg said, grinning at my surprise. "Yo u saved our money. This is a present."
Long after I was on the river boat, headed downrive r for New Orleans, I handled those guns. Yet it was wit h something like regret that I packed away the old Shaw k & McLanahan. It had been with me a long time.
For two weeks I loafed in New Orleans, seeing th e sights, eating the best meals, sometimes playing cards a little. But this was honest playing, for I played with honest men, and I lost a little, won a little, and at the en d of two weeks had won back half what I'd spent aroun d town.
New Orleans was a lively place, and I liked it, but I w as getting restless to leave. The West was my country , and I had to be doing something. Nowhere in the worl d was there anything that belonged to me, nor did I hav e any place to call home. Also, I kept thinking about Liza.
She would be sixteen now,
Woods didn't say anything, but he looked angry, an d one of the others, a fat, dirty man, growled something under his breath. It was a good pot, more than seventy dollars, as I recall.
We played for two hours, and I was careful. When a hand looked too good to be true, I wouldn't go along o r played it so badly that I lost little, and when I dealt o r could hold out a card or two, I won. At the end of tha t time I was four hundred dollars ahead, and Woods wa s getting mighty ugly.
Right about that time I decided enough was enough.
There had to be a break, and I wanted to make it whe n I was ready, not have Woods or one of the others mak e it and catch me off balance. Pushing back my chair, I s aid, "Got to get some sleep. I'm quitting."
"You can't quit now!" Woods protested. "You've go t our money."
My smile didn't make him any happier. Nor did what I s aid. "And that wasn't the way you planned it, was it?"
Woods's face went red and the fat man's hand droppe d to his lap. Only I'd seen the gun under the napkin almos t an hour before. My old Shawk & McLanahan was out an d covering them and I sort of stepped back a little.
"You," I said to Ogg. "You've been taken. So's he."
I indicated the stage driver. "You two pick up the pot."
"Like hell!" Woods started to get up.
My gun muzzle swung to him. "I'd as soon kill you," I s aid pleasantly. "Don't make it necessary."
Ogg and the stage driver scooped up the money. Bot h of them had been in twice as deep as I could have gone , and most of the money was theirs. They gathered it u p and went to the door, but at the door Billy Ogg shucke d his own gun. "Come on, Tyler. I'd as soon kill one of the m my own self."
The three of us walked out together. The stage drive r was Johnny Keeler, and they split a thousand betwee n them and insisted I take the two hundred that remained.
I refused.
Ogg glanced skeptically at the old Shawk & McLanahan. "Does that thing shoot? I didn't think they mad e them any more."
"It shoots."
"I'm beginning to get this now," Keeler said suddenly.
"You're Rye Tyler, the Colorado gun fighter."
"I'm from Colorado," I mid.
"You killed Rice Wheeler?"
"He stole horses from my boss."
Billy Ogg looked me over thoughtfully. "Now, that' s mighty interestin'. T'other day down to Tom Speers' p lace, Hickok said you were a gun fighter. Said he coul d read it in you."
"You'll have to come around and meet the boys," Keeler said. "Wyatt Earp's in town, too."
"I'm going to New Orleans," I mid.
Next morning early I woke up, bathed, shaved, an d got slicked up. Just as I was starting to pack there was a knock on the door. When I opened it there was a ma n standing there with a box in his hands, and a rifle.
The rifle was a new .44 Henry repeater, the finest made.
And in the box were two of the hard-to-get Smith & Wesson Russians, the pistol that was breaking all the targe t records.
Behind the man came Billy Ogg and Johnny Keeler. "A p resent from us," Ogg said, grinning at my surprise. "Yo u saved our money. This is a present."
Long after I was on the river boat, headed downrive r for New Orleans, I handled those guns. Yet it was wit h something like regret that I packed away the old Shaw k & McLanahan. It had been with me a long time.
For two weeks I loafed in New Orleans, seeing th e sights, eating the best meals, sometimes playing cards a little. But this was honest playing, for I played with honest men, and I lost a little, won a little, and at the en d of two weeks had won back half what I'd spent aroun d town.
New Orleans was a lively place, and I liked it, but I w as getting restless to leave. The West was my country , and I had to be doing something. Nowhere in the worl d was there anything that belonged to me, nor did I hav e any place to call home. Also, I kept thinking about Liza.
She would be sixteen now,
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