Read Online Wild Cards and Iron Horses by Sheryl Nantus - Free Book Online Page A

Victor pulled a cigar from an inside pocket. After biting off one edge, he spat the nub onto the floor. He struck a match and lit the open wound, sucking deep on the thick bundle. Tossing the spent stick over his shoulder, Victor took a deep puff on the fresh cigar. “Nothing like a good smoke.” He smiled, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Cheaper than women and always there when you want one.”
    One of the men, an older man, got to his feet. “I know when I’m outmatched. Victor Morton and Jon Handleston at one table.” He touched the brim of his dark blue cavalry hat. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away now.” This was directed to the young man sitting opposite him.
    The remaining gambler looked around the table, his blue eyes sizing up the competition. Suddenly he grinned and got to his feet. “My mother didn’t raise any idiots.” Nodding to the two men, he scrambled to leave the saloon.

    “Thanks for scaring away the locals.” Victor scowled, scratching his thick grey beard. “Almost had it all.”
    “You had enough.” Jon looked at the stack of bills and coins in front of his competition. It added up to almost a hundred dollars, easily.
    The wooden chair moaned under Morton’s weight. “True, they’re hardly much of a challenge. But it occupies my time until I get the chance to take your money. Again.” He smiled. “And that’ll be soon enough.”
    “This is a good town. Filled with good people.” Jon pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “We’re just passing through. Don’t steal from them.”
    “Jon, you should know me by now. I never steal.” The gambler spread his hands, a sneer on his face.
    “Besides, it’s just another one-train town on the line. I’ve seen dozens of them, as you have. Or you will, in time. They may hate us, but we bring them business. We bring them the attention they want and need to survive.” He pointed towards the bar. “There’s already five reporters here to send the stories back East.”
    Jon followed his gaze. The familiar faces glanced his way and then turned back to their drinks. They must have come in on the train behind him, or perhaps the one before, all of them scoping out the competition and feeding the information to the bookies before filing their own stories. Even now the bookies would be collecting bets as they waited for the outcome to make and break other men’s fortunes. A long, unbroken chain of greed that stretched around the world.
    “All waiting for the winner of the Ridge Rocket Stakes. Which, of course, will be myself.” Finishing off the last few drops of whiskey, Victor got to his feet. “And don’t you worry, I’ll be watching you. You and that infernal contraption of yours. I don’t know how you cheat, but I’ll catch you at it this time. And when I do…” his Cheshire cat smile spread across his face, “…you won’t be able to find a decent game anywhere in the world.” A flash of anger lit his eyes. “And you’ll be finished.”
    Jon didn’t move as the older man strode by, brushing hard against the chair and Jon’s right shoulder.
    He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, waiting to see if he would dare call out Victor, challenge him to a duel or a shootout or whatever they called it out here on the frontier.
    The small derringer in his vest pocket felt heavier than the cannonballs he’d slept near during the war.
    He turned away from the table and strolled towards the door, allowing Victor to leave first. No one spoke to him on the way. A man scowled at him, but since he was missing an eye and an ear, Jon considered it more of a compliment than a reprimand.
    The door slammed behind him with a crash. Victor was nowhere in sight; the streets were deserted.
    The harsh night air was cool, but was still a thick gel settling in his lungs. It stuck to his face, mixing with the sweat on his upper lip. Jon willed his pulse to settle. There was no use letting Victor get under his skin before