Kid Wolf of Texas Part 28

"Don't let that worry yuh," the big-chested gambler snarled. "Sit in, or shut up and get out!"

If Kid Wolf was angered, he made no sign of it. His lips still smiled, as he drew a chair up to the table.

"Deal me in," he drawled.

The atmosphere of the game seemed to change. It was as if all the players had united to fleece the newcomer, with the bearded desperado leading the attack.

At first, Kid Wolf lost, and the gambler--called "Blacksnake" McCoy by the other men--added to his chip stacks. Then the game seesawed, after which the Texan began to win small bets steadily. But the crisis was coming. Sooner or later, Blacksnake would try to run Kid Wolf out, and the Texan knew it.

The size of the bets increased, and a little crowd began to gather about the stud table. In spite of the fact that Blacksnake was a swaggering, abusive-mouthed fellow, the sympathies of the Longhorn loafers seemed to be with him.

He seemed to be a sort of leader among them, and a group of sullen-eyed gunmen were looking on, expecting to see Kid Wolf beaten in short order.

Finally a tenseness in the very air testified to the fact that the time for big action had come. The pot was already large, and all had dropped out except Blacksnake and the drawling stranger.

"I'm raisin' yuh five hundred, 'Cotton-picker,'" sneered the bearded man insolently.

He had a pair of aces in sight--a formidable hand--and if his hole card was also an ace, Kid Wolf had not a chance in the world. The best the Texan could show up was a pair of treys.

"My name, sah," said Kid Wolf politely, "is not Cotton-pickah, although that is bettah than 'Bone-pickah'--an appropriate name fo' some people.

I'm Kid Wolf, sah, from Texas. And my enemies usually learn to call me by mah last name. I'm seein' yo' bet and raisin' yo' another five hundred, sah."

At the name "Kid Wolf," a stir was felt in the crowded saloon. It was a name many of them had heard before, and most of the loungers began to look upon the stranger with more respect. Others frowned darkly.

Blacksnake was one of them. Plainly, what he had heard of The Kid did not tend to make the latter popular in his estimation.

"Excuse me," he spat out. "I should have called yuh 'Nose-sticker.'

From what I hear of yuh, yuh have a habit of mindin' other folks'

business. Well, that ain't healthy in Skull."

If the Texan was provoked by these insults, he did not show it. He only smiled gently.

"We're playin' pokah now, I believe," he reminded. "Are yuh seein' mah bet?"

"That's right, bet 'em like yuh had 'em. And I hope yore hole card's another three-spot, for that'll make it easy for my buried ace. I'm seein' yuh and boostin' it--for yore pile!"

Quietly The Kid swept all his chips into the center of the table. He had called, and it was a show-down. With an oath, Blacksnake got half to his feet. He turned his hole card over. It was a nine-spot, but he had Kid Wolf beaten unless----

Slowly The Kid revealed his hole card. It was not a trey, but a four.

Just as good, for this made him two small pairs--threes and fours. He had won!

"No," he drawled, "I wouldn't reach for my gun, if I were yo'."

Blacksnake took his hand away from the b.u.t.t of his .45. It came away faster than it had gone for it. Guns had appeared suddenly in the Texan's two hands. His draw had been so swift that n.o.body had caught the elusive movement.

"This game is bein' played with cahds, even if they are crooked cahds, and not guns, sah!"

"Crooked!" breathed Blacksnake. "Are yuh hintin' that I'm a crook?"

"I'm not hintin'," said The Kid, with a flashing smile. "I'm sayin' it right out. The aces in that deck were marked in the cornahs with thumb-nail scratches. It might have gone hahd with me, if I hadn't mahked the othah cahds too--with thumb-nail scratches!"

"Yuh admit yuh marked them cards?" yelled Blacksnake in fury. "What about it, men? He's a cheat and ought to be strung up!"

Most of the onlookers were doing their best to conceal grins, and even Blacksnake's sympathizers made no move to do anything. Perhaps The Kid's two drawn six-shooters had something to do with it.

"Yuh got two thousand dollars from this game--twenty hundred even,"

Blacksnake snarled. "Are yuh goin' to return that money?"

"I'll put the money wheah it belongs," the Texan drawled. "Gentlemen, when I said I wasn't a gamblin' man, I meant it. I nevah gamble. But when I saw that this game was not a gamble, but just a cool robbery, I sat in."

He holstered one of his guns and swooped up the pile of money from the center of the table. This cleaned it, save for one pile of chips in front of the bearded bully.

"It's customary," said Kid Wolf, "always to kick in with a chip fo' the 'kitty,' and so----"

His Colt suddenly blazed. There was a quick finger of orange-colored fire and a puff of smoke. The top chip of Blacksnake's stack suddenly had disappeared, neatly clipped off by The Kid's bullet. And the Texan had shot casually from the hip, apparently without taking aim!

Kid Wolf returned his still-smoking gun to its holster, turned his back and sauntered leisurely toward the door. Halfway to it, he turned quickly. He did not draw his guns again, but only looked Blacksnake steadily in the eyes.

"Remembah," he said, "that I can see yo' in the mirrah."

With an oath, Blacksnake took his hand away from his gun b.u.t.t, toward which it had been furtively traveling. He had forgotten about the bullet-scarred gla.s.s over the long bar.

As the Texan strolled through the door, a man who had been watching the scene turned to follow him.

"Kid Wolf," he called, "I'd like to see yuh, alone."

The voice was friendly. Kid Wolf turned, and as he did so, he jostled the speaker, apparently by accident.

"Excuse me," drawled the Texan. "I didn't know yo' were so close behind me."

"I'm a friend," said the other earnestly. "Let's walk down the street a way. I've something important to say--something that might interest yuh."

The Kid had appraised him at a glance, although this stranger was far from being an ordinary person either in face or dress. His garb was severe and clerical. He wore a long black coat, black trousers neatly tucked into boots, a white shirt, and a flowing dark tie. Yet he was not of the gambler type. He seemed to be unarmed, for he had no gun belt. His face, seen from the reflected lights of the saloon, was clean-shaven. His eyes seemed set too close together, and the lips were very thin.

"Very well, I'll listen," The Kid consented.

The two started to walk slowly down the board sidewalk.

"They call me 'Gentleman John,'" said the black-clothed stranger.

"Have yuh been in Skull long? Expect to stay hereabouts for a while?"

The Texan answered both these questions shortly but politely. He had arrived that evening, he said, and he wasn't sure how long he would remain in the vicinity.

"How would yuh like," tempted the man who had styled himself Gentleman John, "to make a hundred dollars a day?"

"Honestly?" asked The Kid.

The man in black pursed his lips and spread out his palms significantly.

"Whoever heard of a gunman making that much honestly?" he laughed coldly. "Maybe I should tell yuh somethin' about myself. They call me the 'Cattle King of New Mexico.' The man yuh bucked in the poker game--Blacksnake McCoy--is at the head of my--ah--outfit."