“Did you see that?” Jackson asked.

  “Sure,” Preston said. “Have you seen them before?”

  “No.”

  “Then stay here while we see what they want.”

  When Preston and Finbar set off for the alleyway, Jackson stood for several seconds before snapping out of his surprise. He hurried on, joining them when they stopped at the entrance to the alleyway.

  Finbar turned to him. “I guess it’s no use telling William Crowley’s son to stay away from danger.”

  “It isn’t,” Jackson said, trying to put the same level of authority into his voice as Finbar had provided.

  Preston snorted. “Come on, then, kid, but don’t do anything stupid and let us lead.”

  When Jackson stepped back, Preston set off down the alleyway. Jackson followed on behind Finbar down the short and deserted alleyway that opened up after thirty yards on to another street.

  At the corner Preston stepped out onto the boardwalk and swung around. Finbar joined him and Jackson slipped in a pace behind them. The three men were walking away from them along the boardwalk, about twenty yards away.

  “What do you want with Jackson?” Preston shouted after them.

  As one the men stomped to a halt and then turned to them. They broadly adopted the same postures and positions as Jackson’s group had with two men edging forward and one man standing back.

  For long moments none of them replied, during which time Jackson felt his heart beat faster. The men’s blank eyes showed they wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep if they were to kill them all and that knowledge made his guts churn and his mouth go dry. He took deep breaths to calm himself and then settled his stance.

  “We don’t want nothing with the kid,” the tallest of the men said.

  Preston snorted a laugh, enjoying his response before he made it. Finbar matched his apparent good humor with his own grunt.

  “For a man who didn’t want nothing with the kid, you still knew him by name,” Preston said.

  The tall man’s right eye flickered. Then, without warning, the man to his right whirled his hand to his gun, the other two scrambling for them a moment later. Jackson drew his Peacemaker and without thinking slammed lead into the right hand man’s weapon, knocking it from his grasp.

  Then he snapped his gun toward the tall man, kicking his gun away as it emerged from its holster. The lightning speed with which Jackson had drawn and then fired wasn’t fast enough to disarm all three men as the third man had already drawn his gun.

  But he didn’t get the chance to fire when Preston shot the man in the chest. The slug made him stagger back a pace, folding as he fell. The other two men wavered for a moment. Then they took flight toward the nearest alleyway, leaving their weapons and the shot man.

  Preston fired at their fleeing forms, but the slugs only tore splinters from the edge of the alleyway. Within moments they’d reached safety and disappeared from view.

  “Are we going after them?” Preston asked, his gun trained on the alleyway entrance in case they ventured out.

  Finbar shook his head. “They might have help elsewhere and besides, we’ve got witnesses here.”

  Finbar shouted out for support. Several people were close by and while one man piped up that the three men had made the first move, Preston headed to the alleyway and then signified with a dismissive hand gesture that the men had run.

  While they waited for the sheriff to arrive and confirm what’d happened, Preston checked down the alleyway and Finbar examined the wounded man. He confirmed he was beyond help and then came over to Jackson.

  “How did you learn to shoot like that?” he asked with what Jackson took to be genuine admiration in his voice.

  “Pa taught me.” Jackson shrugged. “I’ve never tested it on no man before, but I always hit what I aim at.”

  “William always was too soft-hearted,” Preston said from beside the alleyway. “Shooting at what you aimed at nearly got you killed. You gave that third man a chance to draw his gun.”

  Jackson had expected Preston to complement him, too, and this criticism stung him harder than he expected.

  “I’ve never shot a man and I don’t want to start unless I have to,” he said, his grievance emerging in a hurt tone. “Pa always said there’s no going back after a killing.”

  “That’s a fine sentiment, kid, but that just meant someone else had to do what you didn’t have the guts to do. Next time those men won’t be so slow to confront us, and there will be a next time.”

  Jackson lowered his head and then slumped down to sit on the edge of the boardwalk.

  “Cheer up,” Finbar said, slapping him on the back. “Your first game starts in half-an-hour. That’ll take your mind off this.”

  This thought didn’t cheer Jackson and he hunched his shoulders. Presently, Sheriff Yancy arrived to question them. With Finbar and Preston flanking him, he stood over the dead man and in subdued tones discussed the events.

  They ignored Jackson, suggesting the version of events they were relating was limiting his involvement. Yancy then spoke with the people nearby, after which he returned and stated he was sure the men had given them no choice and that they’d acted in self-defense.

  With Yancy’s permission, they headed back to the Five Star with Jackson bringing up the rear. Finbar and Preston chatted animatedly about the incident and swapped theories as to who the men might be.

  Neither man sounded worried, being apparently delighted that events were now developing. Jackson tried to let their good cheer enliven his own depressed state of mind, but failed. While they stood at the bar in the Five Star, Meeker directed the setting out of four tables to accommodate the first sixteen gamblers.

  About the only thing that could raise his spirits would be Amelia showing off the diamond prize again, but even that small joy was denied him. Instead, Meeker climbed on to the stage and called for everyone’s attention.

  The saloon descended into quiet, letting him read out the names of the first sixteen players and inviting them to take their places. When Finbar heard the names of Jackson’s opponents, he leaned over to him and chuckled.

  “I know Stack Jacobs and Ed Dwight,” he said. “They’re the kind of opportunistic varmints you’ll have no trouble besting.”

  Jackson hadn’t listened to the names after hearing his own called out.

  “What about the fourth man?”

  “You sure do look on the dark side.” Finbar winked and pushed him toward his table. “Just remember everything I’ve told you and you’ll be fine.”

  As several men emerged from the customers and made their way to the tables, Jackson shuffled to a halt. They were all around twice his age and they all had the confident swagger of professional gamblers. He turned back to Finbar and opened his mouth to try to explain his worries, but his companions’ stern expressions suggested that they wouldn’t understand.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said, feeling a twinge of loneliness. Then he picked out his table and set off.

  “You’ll do more than that,” Finbar called after him. “You’ll win through . . . until you come up against me.”

  With Finbar’s encouragement ringing in his ears he made his slow way over to his table where, while Meeker’s guards frisked him for hidden weapons, he received his first surprise. The fourth person he would be playing against was the game’s only woman, Millicent Fisher.

  The other two gamblers shared Jackson’s surprise, eyeing her with a mixture of lively interest and confidence that they could best her. This at least reduced some of the discomfort he felt at being the youngest player.

  Even so, Jackson started badly. After five hands he was $200 down and had lost every game. Millicent had also lost every hand, but she’d backed out quickly, so she had lost only $50.

  Those unsuccessful opening hands provided the unexpected benefit of making the events of the last few hours recede from his mind. He began to concentrate on the game. Finbar’s advice had aided him, even if he hadn’t gained from it so far, and he was getting a feel for how to approach each hand.

  Accordingly, for the next three hands, when his cards were useless, he backed out before receiving the river card. Then he won the next hand on the strength of a displayed ace without even having to turn over his hole cards.

  It was only fifty dollars but it cheered him and he leaned forward with enthusiasm as he took his turn to deal out the cards for the next hand. This time he dealt himself two face-up eights and a six and although his face-down hole card of a five didn’t help him, Ed and Stack folded before the final, face-down river card.

  Millicent stayed in with two exposed sevens and a king. Jackson presumed that as he had the superior exposed hand she was either trying a brazen bluff based on his lack of confidence or she had another seven or king.

  Jackson thought through the advice Finbar had regaled him with and decided he would be foolish to back out without paying to receive the river card. He dealt this card face-down and when he raised a corner to find out what he’d received, he had to fight to suppress a smile.

  He’d dealt himself another eight. With three eights his hand would almost certainly beat Millicent’s. He raised fifty dollars, which she matched so for the first time Jackson locked horns across the poker table.

  The next few minutes passed in a blurred haze and when Jackson came to his senses, over $1,500 was on the table and he was down to less than a $100. With her showing no sign of backing down, he called.

  She flicked her hair back to take it out of her eyes and then turned over her hole card, displaying the king Jackson had expected. He was reaching out to flip over his river card to present his better hand when she turned over her own river card. It was the seven of diamonds.

  “Full house, sevens over kings,” she said. “So have you got both eights?”

  “Just the one,” Jackson said, pushing his cards away from him in disappointment.

  She didn’t react with surprise, merely flicking back her hair as she swooped on the chips. He fingered the few chips he had left. On the turn of a card he’d gone from having nearly $2,000 to being almost out of the game at the earliest possible opportunity.

  Chapter Five

  “You’re sitting at our table,” Preston McBryde said.

  Pierre Dupré leaned back in his chair and then gestured for Preston and Finbar to join him.

  “I am, but I thought if I waited for you in the Horned Moon, it’d save you the trouble of finding me,” Pierre said with a smile. “This old, forgotten place suits you.”

  “So, did you kill Chang Xu to get in the game and win our diamond?” Preston said as he and Finbar sat opposite to Pierre.

  “Sheriff Yancy believes my story that I was elsewhere when he was killed.” Pierre laughed. “So maybe I’ll get to play against the kid later.”

  “You might,” Finbar said. “From what I remember of you and from what I’ve taught him, he’s sure to beat you, but the point Preston was making is that we reckon you killed a man to win our diamond.”

  Pierre nodded, his jutting jaw rocking from side to side as if he were thinking about a difficult problem.

  “So you want to skip the pleasantries, do you?” Pierre narrowed his eyes. “Then I must say that the last time we met the diamond was mine.”

  Preston grunted an oath and rocked forward in his chair with his fists clenched, making Finbar raise a hand. Preston snorted under his breath and sat back down.

  “What happened to it?” Finbar said with a softer voice than before.

  Pierre frowned, some of his arrogance fading away. “It went the same way as always: on the turn of a card.”

  “Who had that card?”

  “The name is irrelevant.” Pierre’s eyes flickered to the side, suggesting this wasn’t the case. “That’s the way I won it, so that’s the way I lost it, and that’ll be the way I win it back.”

  “You won’t, and when our diamond is in our hands, you won’t steal it again,” Finbar said.

  “I didn’t steal it in the first place, and besides, your attitude is flawed. The diamond prize Meeker is offering is not the diamond your late friend had the good fortune to dig up.”

  “We’ve seen it,” Finbar said. “We’re sure it’s the same one.”

  “It isn’t, gentlemen.” Pierre tapped his fingertips together, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. “William Crowley happened across a hunk of rock. It was the cutter I hired who transformed it into a desirable jewel and increased its value beyond anything you fools could ever have dreamed of.”

  “You increased the value of our diamond, and if you hadn’t stolen it in the first place, you’d never have been able to hire that cutter.”

  “You’re not listening.” Pierre drew his chair closer to the table. “Once the cutter had done his work, the rock was no longer the object William dug up, but a more valuable diamond. Then, when I had it set in gold, it became an item of jewelry and its value increased again. When it moved on from me, someone added the tourmaline crystals and made it into something even more valuable. Now, Meeker Trent and his poker game have raised the interest in it, and its value, again.”

  “They have, but that’s not our problem,” Finbar said cautiously.

  “It is. What will you do if you win the diamond? Repay everyone who transformed William’s hunk of rock into the desirable item of jewelry you see today?” Pierre raised his eyebrows, as if he expected an answer, but received only silence. He lowered his voice to a sneering tone. “I thought not. All you worry about is your dubious rights to something that’s no longer the object you once owned.”

  “Why did you bother with the speech?” Finbar said. “You could never hope to convince us to give up on reclaiming it.”

  “Of course I couldn’t, but think about what I’ve said. Other people reckon they have as much right to it as you do.” Pierre licked his lips. “Some of those people have already died today and more will follow before the last card turns and decides the diamond’s fate. You may think you’ll win through, but I reckon this situation suggests certain possibilities.”

  “Which are?”

  “A deal.”

  “Never!” Preston snapped, slamming a fist into his other palm with a resounding slap.

  “Never is a long time and in two days the diamond will be in someone’s hands. Just think about the possibility of those hands not being yours before you make your final decision.”

  “Is that a threat?” Preston asked. “Did you kill Chang Xu? Did you hire men to follow Jackson? Who won it off you? Who else in town once owned the diamond? How did Meeker—?”

  “Questions, questions,” Pierre said, waggling a reproachful finger at them. “As I’ve told you – many people in Coyote Ridge think they have a right to that diamond. Consider making a deal with one of them before it’s too late.”

  With that comment, Pierre stood up and left the saloon, leaving Preston and Finbar to sigh and shake their heads.

  After losing most of his original stake on the last hand, Jackson’s situation worsened rapidly.

  “I reckon it’s time to move this on,” Stack, the next dealer, said, gathering up the cards. “The ante is now one hundred dollars.”

  “Agreed,” Ed said.

  “Hey, I haven’t got a hundred dollars,” Jackson said, pointing at his pile of remaining chips.

  Stack and Ed both shrugged, neither man meeting his eye. In desperation Jackson turned to Millicent.

  “Dealer can make the ante what he, or she, wishes, as you’ll find out soon enough,” she said, ignoring him as she faced Stack and flicked her hair.

  Both men gave low chuckles, acknowledging the game was stepping up a pace, even if the raising of the bring-in had ensured that for Jackson, it had ended already. He stayed sitting at the table, hoping he had misunderstood the rules, but Stack dealt out only three hands.

  Then Ed leaned over to claim his remaining chips as part of the next pot. Seeing no choice as to what he did next, Jackson thanked his opponents, who all favored him with non-committal grunts while fingering their cards.

  Then, with his cheeks burning, he stood up. As the other tables were full, he had been the first one to lose and he had to admit that his participation had been foolish. Finbar and Preston hadn’t even stayed to see his demise, so he was about to slink out of the saloon unnoticed, but his bad luck continued.

  Meeker gestured at him to approach. When Jackson pretended he hadn’t noticed and turned to the door, Meeker jumped on to the stage and clapped his hands above his head.

  “The first unlucky player leaves the table,” he announced, his loud voice cutting through the hubbub. “Now there are just sixty-three people left in the poker game hoping to win the fabulous prize of the largest diamond in the world.”

  His comment ensured that everyone in the saloon turned to Jackson, customers at the bar and players alike, and in growing embarrassment Jackson took deep breaths to calm himself. He stood tall, put on what he hoped was an unconcerned expression and then wended his way through the tables toward the door with as much dignity as he could muster, but Meeker hadn’t finished with the humiliation.

  “Step up to the stage, young man,” he called out.

  Jackson still took a pace toward the door, but with Meeker beckoning him to approach, one of Finbar’s earlier comments came back to him. His contribution to the group’s effort in reclaiming the diamond was to have been the same as his father’s would have been.

  He wasn’t playing to win, but to learn as much as he could about the undercurrents in the town and in the game. After his disastrous failing at the poker table, meeting Meeker might be the only recompense the group would get from Finbar’s $1,000 stake.

  “I had wondered why someone so fresh-faced thought he could beat these seasoned players,” Meeker said when Jackson had snaked his way around the tables to reach the stage. He leaned down to place his hands on his knees while smiling benevolently. “I’m still wondering.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11