Ralph Compton - The Alamosa Trail

“Where do we find these horses?”

“Allison is sending a Mexican fella to guide us to where we’re goin’.”

“Who is this Mexican fella? You ever met him?”

“His name is Hector Ortega, and no, I haven’t met him yet.”

“Any of the other boys showed up to go yet?”

“Not yet,” Jim answered. “But we’ve got three hundred dollars more to pay out in advances.”

“What if nobody else shows? Couldn’t we just split the advance money amongst ourselves?” Tennessee asked.

Jim shook his head. “Afraid not. When Allison brings Ortega to us, he will expect to see a body for every hundred dollars he’s advanced. Anyway, I figure it’ll take at least three more if we’re going to do this, easy. If nobody else shows, I guess I’ll just round up some of the locals, but I’d much rather have some of our own making the money. Truth to tell, I’m not all that pleased about havin’ this Ortega fella go along with us. But I reckon if we’re goin’ to be poking around down in Mexico, it would be good to have someone with us who knows the country and speaks the lingo.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Barry said. “Lis ten, if you don’t need us anymore, I’m going to go see about a bath.”

“Yeah, and a meal,” Tennessee added.

“You boys go ahead,” Jim said. “Have yourselves a good time tonight, but check back with us tomorrow.”

“That when we’re headin’ out?” Barry asked. “Tomorrow?”

Jim nodded. “Looks that way. Allison said he would meet us, with Ortega, at the Border Oasis at noon on Saturday, the tenth of April. That’s tomorrow.”

Barry smiled broadly, then punched Tennessee on the shoulder. “See there? I told you I thought it was April,” he said.

“That you did,” Tennessee agreed. “Yep, it’s just like I said. A man has no need of calendars when he’s got ol’ Barry Riggsbee around.”

Jim and Frank laughed as their two friends left the saloon in search of a bath and food. They had just turned back to the bar when they heard a shout from one of the tables where a card game was in progress.

“What the hell? How the hell did you do that? I had two aces showing. How’d you know I didn’t have ’em backed up?”

“You’re not suggesting I’m a cheat, are you, Perkins?” one of the other players asked.

“No, no, of course not. It’s just that I don’t know how you can do that.”

“Sounds like a pretty good game going on over there,” Frank suggested.

“Pretty good for someone, I’d say,” Jim agreed. When the two of them looked toward the gaming table, they saw a large, bald-headed, well-dressed man raking in a pile of chips.

“You want to know how I did this?” the bald man asked the player who had questioned him. “I did it by skill. You see, poker is eighty percent skill and twenty percent luck. It takes skill to run a bluff, and it takes skill to know when a bluff is being run. I always say that’s what separates the men from the boys in this game. You, Perkins, are just a boy in a man’s game.”

Frank drank his whiskey and studied this skilled gambler for a moment. The bald man’s eyes were brown and flashing brightly in the reflected light of the overhead lanterns.

The gambler chuckled happily, then continued. “Boys, when you play with Mitch Jensen, you gotta expect to lose. But look at it like you was goin’ to school, learnin’ the game.”

“Jensen, you’re as full of shit as a Christmas goose,” Perkins said.

“I may be a Christmas goose, Perkins,” Jensen said as he shuffled the cards for another deal. “But you are a plucked hen.”

Perkins looked chagrined as the others laughed. “Deal me out,” he said.

Frank continued to study Jensen. Feeling Frank’s steady gaze upon him, Jensen put his finger to his collar and pulled it away from his thick neck. Frank’s eyes bore into him so that he had to look around.

“Can I help you, mister?”

Frank nodded toward the table. “Private game?”

Jensen smiled. “Private game? Hell, if you got the money to lose, I’ll be glad to take it.”

Frank turned toward Jim. “What do you think about playing with Allison’s money?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Jim said. “But if you’re going to do that, I’d rather you not lose.”

Frank smiled. “I’ll do my damnedest not to. You sort of keep an eye on things.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Jim said as he lifted his drink.

Frank walked over to the table. When he arrived, Jensen looked over at Perkins. “You’ve taken yourself out of the game, Perkins. Get up and give the man your seat”—Jensen looked at Frank—“unless you feel the chair is unlucky.”

“There are no unlucky chairs,” Frank replied as he started toward the table. “Just unfortunate players.”

Jensen laughed again. “Unfortunate players,” he repeated. “Yes, to be sure. Well, let’s see whether you will be fortunate or”—he paused for a moment before he let the last word slide out—“unfortunate.”

Frank pulled the chair out, then sat down.

“You do have money?” Jensen asked.

When Frank put two hundred dollars on the table, some of the other players whistled softly.

“Well, now,” Jensen said as he watched Frank make neat stacks of the bills in front of him. “Yes, I think you will make a fine addition to the game. And your money will be a fine addition to my wallet,” he added with a laugh.

As he had discussed with Jim, the two hundred dollars Frank was playing with came from the money they were carrying to be advanced to anyone who agreed to go to Mexico with them. It was a risky operation but Frank had a feeling about Jensen. Jensen was a little too overconfident, and it had been Frank’s experience that overconfident gamblers could be taken.

Jensen picked up the cards, but Frank waved his finger back and forth. “There’s a new player at the table,” he said. “I have the right to call for a new deck.”

“A new deck? All right,” Jensen said, picking up a fresh box. Using his thumbnail, he broke the seal, then took the cards out. Removing the joker, he spread the deck out on the table, then turned the cards over expertly in one motion. He was quite dextrous and made a little show of it for Frank. “Are you satisfied with the cards?” he asked.

“Deal them,” Frank said.

Jensen shuffled the cards and the stiff new pasteboards clicked sharply. His hands moved swiftly, folding the cards in and out, until the law of random numbers became the law of the table. He shoved the cards toward Frank, who cut them, then pushed them back.

“Is five-card draw all right with you?” Jensen asked.

“Five-card draw is fine.”

Frank lost fifteen dollars on the first hand, folding cautiously with a hand that would have been good enough to win had he stayed in the game.

Jensen laughed as he dragged in the pot.

“This isn’t a game for the weak of heart, stranger,” he said. “You should’ve bet the hand.”

Frank lost the second hand the same way, and again Jensen laughed.

By the third hand, Frank was down thirty-five dollars, but there was over sixty dollars in the pot, and he had drawn two cards to complete a heart flush. He bet five dollars.

“Careful now, mister,” Jensen warned. “You don’t want to get carried away here. I’ll see your five, and raise you five.”

Frank made a big show of studying his hand carefully. Finally, as if only after careful consideration, he called, but didn’t raise Jensen’s bet.

“All right, cowboy, let’s see what we have,” Jensen said. Jensen was holding three kings, and he laughed when he saw Frank’s hand.

“A flush? You were holding a flush and all you did was call?”