William Johnstone - A Rocky Mountain Christmas

“That’s not your pot.” Jay Miller, a lawyer from St. Louis, was the fourth player at the table.

“Yeah? Well, we’ll just see whose pot it is,” Holman said contemptuously as he started to put the money in his hat.

“Leave the money on the table, Holman.” Those were the first words Matt had spoken since being challenged.

“The hell I will. This money is mine, and I’m takin’ it with me.”

Jenny hurried over to the table. “Mr. Holman, please. You are creating a disturbance, and your behavior is making the passengers uneasy.”

“Yeah? Well, to hell with the passengers. What kind of boat is this, anyway, that you allow cheaters in the games?”

“I wasn’t cheating,” Matt pointed out dryly.

“Mr. Jensen is tellin’ the truth, Miss Lee.” Dr. Gunter pointed toward Matt. “He wasn’t cheatin’.”

“What do you say, Mr. Miller?” Jenny asked the third man.

“I’ve played a lot of cards in my day, and I think I can tell when someone is cheating. I don’t believe he was.”

Jenny looked back at the angry gambler. “These gentlemen don’t agree with you.”

“Of course they don’t. They are probably in on it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they all get together later on and divide up the money. My money.” Once again, he leaned over the pile of money on the table. “Like I said, I’ll be taking this pot.”

“Miss Lee, I’ve played cards with Mr. Jensen,” declared a passenger who wasn’t currently in the game. “I’ve never known him to be anything but honest.”

“Same here,” another put in. “I wasn’t in this game, but I’ve played a few hands with him since we left New Orleans, and I found him to be an honest man. If these two gentlemen who were in the game say he wasn’t cheating, then I would be inclined to believe them.”

“Mr. Holman, that makes four people who say Mr. Jensen wasn’t cheating. When you play cards for money, you are accepting the possibility of losing. The only thing protecting the game is the honesty, integrity, and honor of the players.”

“You!” Holman pointed at Jenny. “You are in on it too, aren’t you? You are all in it together.”

“Look. We were in the same game as you. You think we would take up for him if he was cheating? Hell, we lost money, too,” Miller said.

“Yeah, well, neither one of you lost as much money as I did.”

“That’s because neither of them is as bad at cards as you are,” Matt gracelessly pointed out.

“What do you mean, I’m a bad player? Why, I’m as good at cards as any man.”

“No, you aren’t,” Matt insisted. “You can’t run a bluff and you raise bets in games of stud when the cards you have showing prove you are beaten. You should find some other game of chance and give up poker.”

Jenny turned to Matt. “Mr. Jensen, I believe the pot is yours.” She reached for the money to slide it across the table toward him, but Holman pushed her away from the table so hard that she fell.

He pointed down at her. “Keep your hands off my money. Like I said, I’m takin’ this pot, and there’s nobody here who can stop me.”

Matt and another passenger helped her up. “Thank you for interceding, Miss Lee, but I think you had better let me handle this now.”

“Ha!” the angry gambler cried. “You are going to handle this? What do you plan to do?”

“Oh, I’ll do whatever it takes.” Matt’s calm, almost expressionless reply surprised the angry man.

The shock showed in his face, but was quickly replaced by an evil smile. He stepped away from the table and flipped his jacket back, showing an ivory-handled pistol in a tooled-leather holster.

“Mister, maybe it’s time that I tell you who I am. My name ain’t John Holman like I been sayin’. My actual name is Quince Justin Holmes, only some folks call me Quick Justice Holmes because I tend to make my own justice, if you know what I mean.”

“Quick Justice Holmes,” A passenger repeated in awe. “That’s Quick Justice?”

“This is gettin’ downright dangerous,” another said.

“What do you say now?” Holmes asked.

“I say the same thing I’ve been saying. You aren’t getting that pot,” Matt said resolutely.

“It won’t matter none to you whether I get the pot or not, ’cause you ain’t goin’ to be around to see it,” Holmes said, his voice menacing.

“Does this mean you are inviting me to the dance?” Matt asked, still calm.

Holmes laughed. “Yeah, you might say that. I’ll even let you make the first move.”

Despite his offer, his hand was already dipping for his pistol, even as he was speaking. He smiled as he realized his draw had caught Matt by surprise. But the smile left his face when he saw Matt’s draw.

To the witnesses, it appeared Matt and Holmes fired at the same time. But in actuality, Matt fired just a split second sooner and the impact of his bullet took Holmes off his aim. Holmes’s bullet whizzed by Matt’s ear and punched through the glass of one of the windows of the Grand Salon.

“I’ll be damned! I’ve been kilt!” Holmes cried as he staggered back from the blow of the bullet.

“You could have prevented it at any time,” Matt uttered.

Holmes dropped his gun and clamped his hand over the wound in his chest. Blood spilled through his fingers, and he opened his hand to look at it before he collapsed.

Matt returned his pistol to his holster. Looking over toward Jenny, he saw a horrified expression on her face. “I’m sorry about this, Miss Lee.”

“No,” she replied in a small voice. “You . . . had no choice.”

The boat put in at Memphis, and a coroner’s inquest was held. The hearing lasted less than an hour. Enough witnesses testified that Quince Justin Holmes instigated the shooting and a decision was quickly reached.

Quince Justin Holmes died as a result of a .44 ball, which was energized to terrible effect by a pistol held by Matthew Jensen. This hearing concludes that Mr. Jensen was put in danger of his life when Holmes drew and fired at him. It is the finding of this hearing that this was a case of justifiable homicide and no charges are to be filed against Mr. Jensen.

Matt was welcomed back aboard the Delta Mist by those who had witnessed the shooting, as well as those who had only heard about it. He apologized to the boat captain for having been involved in the incident.

“Nonsense,” Captain Lee replied. “Why, you’ve made the Delta Mist famous. People will want to take the boat where the infamous Quick Justice Holmes was killed. To say nothing of the fact that he was killed by Matt Jensen. You are truly one of America’s best known shootists, as well known for your honesty and goodness of heart as you are for your prowess with a pistol.”

“Hear, hear!” someone called, and the others cheered and applauded.

For the next 575 miles, the distance by river from Memphis to St. Louis, passengers vied for the opportunity to visit with Matt, or better, to play poker with him. His luck wasn’t always as good as it had been during the trip from New Orleans to Memphis. By the time the boat docked up against the riverbank in the Gateway City, he had no more money with him than he had when he left New Orleans.

Jenny Lee stood by the gangplank, telling the passengers good-bye as they left the boat and thanking them for choosing the Delta Mist.

“Mr. Jensen, I do hope you travel with us again. You managed to make this trip”—she paused mid-sentence and smiled broadly—“most interesting.”

“Perhaps a little too interesting,” Matt suggested as he took the hand she had offered him.

CHAPTER TWO

At sea—September 23, 1890