Devil's Dare. Laurie Grant

he’d see Mercedes working this early, but to avoid further poker games with Earp. As likable as the cardsharp was, he was determined not to lose any more money to him.

      About noon, therefore, he was firmly ensconced in a rawhide-backed chair in the Longhorn Saloon, holding three aces and a king. Boy Henderson, who had been regaling them with a tale about losing his virginity in the arms of a sloe-eyed harlot the night before, had just stepped out back to relieve himself when Tom Culhane ambled in, saw Sam and scowled.

      “Morning, Tom,” Jase Lowry said in greeting. “Pull up a chair and set a spell, and watch me lose some more money to Dev here.”

      “I ain’t intr’sted in sittin’ nowhere with that sumbitch spoilsport,” snarled Culhane, glaring at Sam with bloodshot eyes.

      Sam sighed. If that cowboy wasn’t careful, he was going to ruin a perfectly good morning—make that afternoon, he thought, noting that it was fifteen minutes past twelve on the clock.

      “Aw, come on and sit down, Tom,” he said, motioning to a chair opposite him. “Hellfire, I’ll even buy you a drink to prove there’s no hard feelin’s. That’s why you’re such a sorehead this mornin’, you know—you need a hair of the dog that bit you.”

      “You may not have hard feelings, you sumbitch, but I do,” sneered Culhane, pointing a finger at Sam. “You thought you wuz some high-an’-mighty knight in shinin’ armor last night, didn’t you? Showin’ off for the filly you found—an’ at my expense! I hope she gave you some disease that makes your pecker rot off.”

      Sam was determined not to let Culhane rile him, though it was clear the cowboy was spoiling for a fight. “Aw, Culhane, what was I supposed to do? Miss Mercedes told me her sister wasn’t in the business. Granted, sashayin’ around cowboys like that, it won’t be long, but I had to let you know you’d made a mistake, didn’t I?”

      Sam’s reasonableness apparently only enraged Culhane further. “What you wuz supposed t’ do, Devlin, was mind yer own goddamn business!” shouted Culhane. “You ain’t my boss no more! You don’t tell me what t’ do!”

      “C’mon, Culhane. Don’t be yellin’ like that,” pleaded Jase. “I got a headache. B’sides, ya might wanta work for Dev again next spring.”

      “I wouldn’t work for that stupid sidewinder if he wuz the las’ trail boss in Texas!” Culhane shouted back, but his eyes remained on Sam. His hands dropped, hovering near the Colts strapped at his hips.

      Sam noted the fact. Yep, the pleasant afternoon was definitely about to get ruined. He was armed, too, of course—there was as yet no real law in the wild cow town, so a man had to be prepared to defend himself. But he had no intention of drawing down on the young cowboy. He rose to his feet, slowly and deliberately. “You don’t want to do this, Culhane,” he advised.

      The saloon became very quiet as cowboys nearby took note of the explosive situation. Those nearest Sam’s table edged away. A drummer who had come in to wet his whistle backed out the doors, keeping a nervous eye on the two Texans.

      Culhane went right on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Fact, when I get done with him, ain’t none o’ you saddlebums gonna work for him. Whenever you’re ready, Devlin,” he said with a meaningful glance at Sam’s pistols.

      “Tom! What are you doin’?” shouted Boy Henderson from the back of the saloon. He had come back just in time to see Culhane fixing to draw on the boss.

      Involuntarily, Culhane glanced in the direction of the boy’s voice, and Sam took instant advantage of it, launching himself at Culhane with doubled-up fists. A moment later Culhane was out cold on the saloon floor, and the patrons of the Longhorn were going back to their whiskey and cards.

      “We’ll get him back to his room, Dev,” Jase Lowry said, gesturing for Boy and Cookie to join him, “so’s he can wake up peaceable. I’ll try an’ talk some sense inta him when he comes to.”

      Sam was just finishing a mental thanksgiving that he’d been able to avoid using his gun on his own drover. “Much obliged, Jase. I’m not so sure anyone can talk sense into that mule-headed fool, though,” Sam said with a heavy sigh. He’d made an enemy, and now he was going to have to watch his back.

      Jase nodded his agreement. “I can try. But I know what ya mean, Dev. I can explain it to him, but I can’t understand it for him.”

      

      As it happened, all the schemes Mercy and Charity had concocted turned out to be unnecessary. At about four o’clock in the afternoon, when Mercy was just coming in from the barn after having managed to stash her chosen ensemble for the evening there, she noticed George Abels’s buckboard parked in front of the house.

      Going inside, she found the middle-aged farmer in the parlor with her father and Charity, telling them that his elderly father-in-law, who lived with them and who had been declining for months, was saying he was going to die again. He wondered if the reverend would come out, and sit up with him for a while, and quiet his doubts about the hereafter.

      Mercy did her best to smother a smile. This had happened so many times before that it had become something of a joke between the girls, for their father would go out to the soddy out by the Smoky River, spend all night praying with the cantankerous old man, return home exhausted but triumphant that he had helped save the old, nearly deaf reprobate’s soul, only to have the process repeated in a few months. Mercy suspected the old man used his imminent death as an attention-getting device, or a means of quieting his daughter’s numerous brood when he’d had too much of their noise. Their father never failed to go, however, for old Ike Turnbull was nearing eighty and each time might be the real thing. No, their papa never failed to go; a pastor must tend his flock.

      The Reverend Mr. Fairweather said he would go again this time, of course.

      “Oh, bless ya, Reverend. I…I think this time he means it,” Abels said, just as he said every time. “He’s been lookin’ might poorly for some time now, laws, yes.”

      When they had first moved to Abilene, the reverend would bring Mercy and Charity with him on these calls, volunteering them to help with the farmer’s twelve children, so that the farmer’s wife could be with her father, but after the first couple of times he had told his daughters it wasn’t necessary. Perhaps he suspected the old man was hoaxing him, or perhaps he realized that the older children were perfectly up to watching the younger ones, but in any case Mercy and Charity were relieved not to have to go.

      She offered one more time, however, just in case God had decided He had favored her enough by allowing Charity and herself to sneak back into the house undetected last night and was not inclined to bless her any further by permitting the secret supper with Devlin this evening.

      “Mr. Abels, would you like Charity and me to come out and watch the children, so your wife can sit by her father’s sick bed?” Give me a sign, she prayed. If you don’t want me to see Sam Devlin tonight, let Mr. Abels take me up on my offer. Then she held her breath. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, imagining Sam Devlin waiting in vain for her in front of the Abilene Grand Hotel.

      The reverend beamed proudly, not noticing Charity’s shocked, dismayed face, or her attempts to get her sister’s attention.

      “Oh, bless ya fer offerin’, Miss Mercy, but that won’t be necessary,” Abels replied. “The house is plumb fulla relatives come over from across the Smoky River. They think this might be the end, too, so there’s plenty t’ help. No, I won’t take you girls away from the house, but your papa should be mighty proud of you girls, mighty proud indeed. Laws, yes. You’re good girls.”

      “Thank you, George. Yes, I know I’m blessed in my daughters,” said the reverend, rising from his seat. “They’ve been such a comfort to me since their sainted mother went to her reward. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get my Bible from my bedroom before we go.”

      Mercy let Charity handle the small talk while they waited for their father to return.