The Complete Novels of Ernest Haycox. Ernest Haycox

St. Jennifer Crèvecoeur Nightingale, whose ruddy cheeks and sky-blue eyes mirrored a certain puzzlement with the game. Cal Steele, possessing under all circumstances the manners of a gentleman, laid down his hand momentarily.

      "You fellows ought to know each other. Nightingale, this is Dave Denver, owner of a spread known as D Slash. Nightingale has bought out the Bucket range from the administrator of old Lindersleeve's estate, Dave."

      Nightingale rose slowly and stretched his loose frame to substantial height. The two shook hands. Nightingale's slurred and casual "pleasure'm'sure," seemed lackluster, but his steady, square glance contained something that struck Denver pleasantly.

      "Any time you want advice or help," went on Steele, "go to Denver. I pass the information on to you because I understand how a newcomer feels. Was one myself, and I considered it a lucky break to have had Dave to steer me through the early rough spots." Then Steele smiled, fine handsome face lighting. "So if I have taken the easy and evil road it is not because I didn't have sound advice."

      "We will now pray," drawled Denver. "You'll have to learn the difference between that man's truthfulness and alleged humore, Nightingale. I see you play our pastime."

      Nightingale was dealing and doing it rather awkwardly. "Poker? Well, y'know, I heard it was the thing out here, so I took pains to purchase a book by a fella and read the rudiments. Hoyle—that was the chappie's name. I read his strictures on the game. Seems simple though entertainin'."

      Eyebrows drooped around the circle of watchers. "Call it that," grumbled Steve. "I got a different sentiment."

      "See you slopped over on your resolution," accused Dave.

      Steve thumped the table to indicate he could not open and stared at Denver. "Yeah. Debbie come to town to see the show. How in hell was I to know she was a-goin' to come? She sends for me. I goes. I gets the hide blistered off me for not bein' cleaned up and good clothes on. I asks yuh again, how was I to know? She wouldn't let me take her to the show, wouldn't be seen walkin' beside a dirty son of a gun like me. Cast me to the outer shadders. Ha!"

      Niland and Meems likewise passed, though Meems expressed audible grief that he wasn't permitted to open on four good- looking clubs. Steele shook his head; at which Stinger Dann, calculating a pile of ante chips grown healthy by several infertile rounds, shoved out a stiff opener. Nightingale studied his cards for so long a time that Stinger Dann grew heavily sarcastic.

      "Didn't Hoyle tell yuh how to read the spots?"

      Nightingale was apologetic and entered his chips with the air of a man somewhat flustered. The percentage being rather sweet, all the others took a flyer, and Nightingale slowly thumbed out the draw cards. Niland had been prospecting, and he threw down out of his turn, studying the Englishman with sharp attention as if he were finding angles of the man that intrigued his legal mind. Dann having opened, it was his first bet, and he was about to shove out a stiff one when the Englishman exclaimed plaintively:

      "These ruddy sequences and combinations elude one damnably. Let's stop a minute while I get this clear. Purely hypothetical question, y'understand. I have no such hand, but just what relative value do five of the same color and suit possess? Mind, it's purely hypothetical."

      Someone in the back of the crowd guffawed, at which Dann bellowed irately: "If some of you damned monkeys don't quit breathin' down my neck I'll bust yuh!" He drew back his tentative bet and snapped at Nightingale. "Supposin' you bet."

      "But, I say—"

      "The unique situation of which you speak," drawled Denver, deriving considerable pleasure from the scene, "is known as a flush and generally considered easy to look at. Among honest men, such as these present, it tops a straight but not a full house."

      Dann's heavy eyes flicked dangerously across Denver's face and settled on the Englishman. He, feeling the weight of both players and spectators upon him, grew plainly flustered. "But I haven't got a flush, gentlemen," he muttered and pushed a bet into the center. Meems instantly laid down with an exaggerated politeness. "I'll just take yore word for it, Nightingale. I won't contribute to no painful knowledge." Cal Steele smiled broadly and likewise threw his cards away. Dann studied the Englishman at length, more and more belligerent. In the end he hurled his cards across the table without so much as showing openers.

      "Take the pot, you!" he snapped. "I despise playin' with a beginner that's got fool luck!"

      "Do I gather the stakes are mine?" asked Nightingale humbly.

      Dann swore brutally and brushed the chips into the Englishman's lap at one violent sweep of his arm. The spectators fell quite silent, some edging off from the table. Nightingale seemed oblivious of the insult. "How odd," he remarked. "I believe you thought I had a flush." And he laid down, face up, five cards of no related poker value at all. Then he reached for his fallen chips.

      Cal Steele exploded in laughter. "You'll never work that one again, Nightingale! But it was good acting while it lasted!" And Niland nodded as if some guess he had made to himself was verified. Stinger Dann swore again and reached over to tear Nightingale's discarded hand into fragments. "Damn you, Englishman, don't try to make a fool out of me!"

      Denver's suddenly cold rebuke fell into the expectant quiet. "Don't you know better than to haze a stranger, Dann?"

      Dann, still seated, thrust his long jaw up at Denver. "Who asked you to butt into this affair, Mister Denver?"

      "I usually act on my own judgment, as you well know," replied Denver coolly, "and I dislike Nightingale to think your poker manners are the manners of Sundown in general."

      "Pretty damn proud of yore manners, ain't you?" cried Dann.

      "They're better than yours, which is sayin' little enough."

      Dann's full cheeks slowly purpled, and his big neck began to swell at the collar. "Maybe you'd like to give me a lesson," he sneered.

      "You might not like my price for teachin'," was Denver's level reply. He had never stirred, never moved his fists from their hooked position in his belt. All the sounds of Grogan's saloon had ceased to the uttermost corners of the room; and as if by invisible command the spectators drifted clear of the table, leaving a wide alley down which the two men stared. Those sitting at the table kept their places, very grave. Cal Steele's cheeks slowly drained to pale gray, and he tried to catch Denver's attention.

      "When I pay you," shouted Dann, "it will be a long cold day! You know my regards as to you! It's public knowledge and yores for the havin'! Any time yuh want to take exception, just go ahead!"

      "My idea exactly," said Denver. "You've been stampin' around Sundown all day tryin' to start something. What it may be I don't know. But I'm tired of havin' to watch you. Takes up too much of my time, and you're not worth it. It's a pretty cheap way of gettin' a reputation for bein' a bad man—this business of standin' on street corners and scowling at peaceful people. If you are pointed my way, I suggest you get up from your chair and start forward."

      As quiet as the words were, each one of them fell across the table like the lash of a whip and stung Dann's savage, undisciplined temper. The kick of his foot against his chair shot through the room, and his great body sprang forward. At the same time Cal Steele leaped in front of him, crying, "Stop that!" and Steele's hand plunged down to check Dann's draw. "Stop it! This is no night for gunplay!"

      Dann cursed wildly and by a heave of his shoulders threw Steele aside; but the moment of attack was past. Denver's unmoving position somehow took the edge off gunplay, as also did his next drawling suggestion.

      "You took a chance, Cal, but maybe you're right. However, we've got to satisfy this amateur bad man before the night's over. Unbuckle your belt, Dann, and I'll do the same. We'll give the boys a treat."

      Dann ripped his gun belt free and threw it aside, rolling out from the table into the center of the room. Denver dropped his own belt and moved to meet him. Somebody cried a suggestion that fell on deaf ears. In the flash of a second Stinger Dann yelled, "I'll kill you—I'll break your neck with my fists!" and lunged into Denver. His bare head struck Denver on a shoulder blade, and the sharp impact cracked across the circle;