Read Online Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) by Jon Sharpe - Free Book Online Page B

of poker to play before I can go after Ranson and whoever is behind this.”
    â€œHow very fortunate for them,” Ginny said.

19
    Only six of the original twenty players were left. Fargo, Vin Creed, Lacey Mayhare, Sly Jackson, the Mississippi Riverboat gambler, a man named Clark who had come all the way from San Francisco, and Billy Banks, an older man who had been most everywhere and done most everything and was a wizard with cards.
    Instead of all of them sitting down at one table and going at it, the senator paired them off by drawing lots.
    Fargo found himself pitted against Sly Jackson, a tall, slim, quiet gent who took his cards seriously and seldom spoke while he was playing. For over three hours they waged war. Then, on Fargo’s deal, Jackson wagered half his chips. Fargo figured it wasn’t a bluff. But Jackson didn’t know that he had an ace-high straight. It might not be enough but Fargo called and won. On the very next hand Jackson went all in. Fargo had two pair, kings and tens. He was suspicious of the raise. Some players, after a big loss, resorted to a bluff to try and recoup their losses. Supposedly, Jackson was professional enough not to give in to the temptation. Then again, even a professional made mistakes. Fargo took a deep mental breath, and called.
    Jackson had two pair, as well: queens and threes.
    Fargo smiled as he added the chips to his growing mountain.
    At the table across from him, Creed had cleaned out Clark. Lacey was still battling Banks.
    Fargo raised his empty glass so the bartender could see it and the man brought a refill. As he was sipping and relaxing, a chair scraped and Vin Creed sank down.
    â€œCould end up being you and me.”
    â€œIt could,” Fargo said.
    â€œWhat will you do with all that money?”
    â€œHaven’t thought that far ahead.”
    â€œI have,” Creed said dreamily. “I’m not touching it. I’m socking it away and saving it until I’m too old to shuffle cards.”
    â€œYou can do that?” Fargo said. For most gamblers, it was easy come, easy go. Money slipped through their fingers like water.
    Creed grinned. “I can try.”
    There was a loud squeal of pure joy and Lacey Mayhare stood up and whooped.
    â€œI was hoping Banks would beat her,” Creed said.
    It was down to the three of them. Senator Deerforth put slips of paper with their names into a hat and drew two of the slips out. They would duel, and whoever won would face the last contender.
    Fargo would rather have all three of them sit down and slug it out but it was the senator’s tournament and Deerforth liked to draw the play out as long as he could, as much for the entertainment as for the money the saloon took in.
    Now the senator read the slips. “Vin Creed and Lacey Mayhare,” he announced.
    Vin and Lacey chose a table and Lacey dealt.
    Fargo reckoned he had a few hours to kill. Neither would go down easy. He went outside and leaned against a post and gazed up and down the street and spotted Ranson two blocks down on a bench by the butcher’s. Ranson must have been watching the Cosmopolitan but at the moment he was distracted by a pair of lovely ladies sashaying by the bench.
    Fargo moved close to a buckboard that was clattering past and crouched so he couldn’t be seen. Keeping the buckboard between him and the butcher’s, he closed on his quarry.
    Ranson said something to the women and one of them laughed and they walked on. He stared at the saloon and idly rubbed his chin.
    Fargo put his hand on his Colt. The marshal would have a fit if there was gunplay in the street but he was going to get to the bottom of this, here and now.
    The buckboard was almost abreast of the butcher’s. The farmer in the seat glanced down and loudly blurted, “Hey, mister. What are you doing down there? Who are you hiding from?”
    Ranson heard, and looked over.
    With an oath, Fargo darted around the end of the