He lost fifty … a hundred … thirty … He won a little, lost a little more. Then bucking Pavel, he drew two pair and on a hunch stayed with it and added a third queen for a full house. He won sixty dollars, then won again.
“You have been doing all right,” he commented to Pavel. “You’re a lucky man.”
Pavel shrugged. “Sometimes.”
An hour later Pavel was sweating. His run of luck had failed him and he lost three hands running, at least two of them when he was obviously beaten.
Bricker had been losing, Masters had won a little. Murray cashed in and left the game. Cope was watching Val with some curiosity and a little puzzlement. He had become aware that Val was playing against Pavel, that it was only when Pavel was raising that Val pushed his luck.
Val was taking his time. He had played poker since he was a child, and he had been coached by a master, and had watched many games. Moreover, he knew that Pavel was a compulsive gambler as well as a complete egotist.
He picked up his hand to find three nines. Pavel was staring at his hand, trying to compose himself. Pavel took one card, Cope threw in his hand, and Masters took two cards. Val hesitated, seemed uncertain, then asked for two cards. He drew a trey and a nine … four nines.
Pavel was raising, Masters stayed, and Val saw Pavel’s raise and boosted it five hundred dollars. Masters threw in his cards, Pavel saw the five hundred and raised another five.
“It’s been a long time, Pavel,” Val said, “but for old times’ sake I am going to raise you one thousand dollars … if you aren’t afraid.”
Pavel stared at him, his irritation obvious. “What do you mean … afraid?” He counted one thousand dollars from the stack before him and shoved it to the middle of the table.
Val glanced at him. “Are you going to boost the price a little bit? You must have six or seven hundred on the table.”
Pavel stared at him. “All right, if you have money to lose.” He shoved the money to the middle of the table. When Pavel spread out his cards he had a full house—aces and kings.
Val took his time placing his four nines on the table; then he reached for the pot.
Pavel flushed as he watched the money drawn in and stacked. “I have had enough,” he said lurching to his feet.
Val remained where he was. “As I said a few minutes ago, it has been a long time.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don’t lose well,” Val said, “but you never did.” Val tucked a sheaf of bills into his inside coat pocket, and gathered the coins into a sack. “I think you had better get on the train and go back to New York, and from there back to Russia, and be glad you’re getting there alive.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Pavel said. “Are you trying to quarrel with me?”
“You aren’t a man with whom one quarrels,” Val replied. “You hire your killing done.”
Several other men had come into the room, and all were standing about, watching.
Pavel’s face had turned pale. “That’s a lie!”
“I could kill you for that,” Val said, “but I don’t intend to. I think you will suffer more from staying alive.”
He pushed back in his chair. “You gentlemen deserve an explanation,” he said. “The Prince here does not remember me. I was only a child then.” Coolly, in a quiet voice he told them the story. The attempted whipping, the escape over the mountains, the final murder of Will Reilly.
“Three men performed that killing, using shotguns on an unsuspecting man. I should kill him, but I decided that taking his money would cause him more grief.”
He stood up. “Gentlemen, I understand that you may wish to talk business with me. Tomorrow morning I am leaving for the new town of Durango. If you still wish to talk business, I can see you there.”
Deliberately they walked out, and no one looked back at Pavel. He stood there for several minutes, his face gray and sick-looking. Then he went out into the night and started for the hotel. Why had he been such a fool? He might have known he would lose, lose to that, that …
He stumbled once, then walked on. When he reached the hotel he went at once to his room. He had six dollars and a handful of rubles.
Myra was not in, and he went to Louise’s room. There was no one there, but a maid walking along the hall paused and said, “The lady that was in that room left about an hour ago. She said she was going to Empire or Georgetown or somewhere.”
Louise gone? He couldn’t believe it, but at the desk they confirmed what the maid had said.
There was nothing to do but wait for Myra. After a few minutes Masters entered and walked past him, ignoring him completely. Pavel swore, but he remained where he was.
He had to get out of this town. He had to get back east. He began to pace back and forth, then went outside. If only Myra … but suddenly he became uneasy. If Myra knew, if she even guessed, he would no longer have any bargaining position with her at all. The first moment he could get he had best cable for some cash … cable to whom? He owed everybody.
Cheyenne Dawson was sitting at his usual table when Henry Sonnenberg strode through the door. “Hi, Henry! Come an’ set!”
Sonnenberg strolled across the room and dropped down at the table. “Where’s the barkeep?”
“I let him off. Things’re slack today. Here”—Dawson pushed the bottle toward him—”this here’s better’n bar whiskey.”
When Sonnenberg had filled a glass, Dawson spoke up. “Hank, I been keepin’ an ear to the ground. There’s more goin’ on around here than a body would figure. Me, I got me an idee how we can make some money.”
“I got a job.”
“Now, see here. You been gettin’ work through me. Don’t you figure you should ought to split with me?”
Sonnenberg chuckled, without humor. “Now that would be somethin’, wouldn’t it? No, I got me two jobs, Cheyenne—one of them right here in town, the other one in Durango.”
He paused for a drink. “Cheyenne, this here’s a job I’m going to like. I’m going after Val Darrant.”
Dawson sat up slowly. Val Darrant was living at the same hotel as Myra Fossett, and he was the one they said owned all that property.
“Ain’t he the one who got Hardesty?”
“Uh-huh … and Pike, later. I never figured that kid would get old Thursty.”
Cheyenne was drawing wet circles on the table top with his glass. He was scarcely listening to what Henry was saying. “You know,” he said, “there’s money in this. Not just a few dollars … there’s real money in it, but we got to act fast.”
“I told you I got a job. I got one right here in town.”
“In town?” Cheyenne looked at him. “Who is it, Hank?”
Henry Sonnenberg wiped his mustache. He smiled suddenly, his small eyes almost closing.
“It was this woman,” he said. “She gave me five thousand for Darrant’s scalp, and a thousand for the other job.”
“Who is it? You can tell me, Henry.”
Henry grinned at him. “Sure I can, Cheyenne. It’s you.”
Cheyenne Dawson stared at Sonnenberg, not grasping what he had said. Then slowly the idea got through to him, but even then it was not real. It could not happen to him, not to Cheyenne Dawson.
“You got to be joking,” he said. “That ain’t funny.”
“This woman, she gave me a thousand for you. I never figured to make that much so easy, but she wants you done in, Cheyenne, and tonight. So I taken the money.”
“Why, that don’t make sense. Look at all the money we made together.”
“After I done the work,” Sonnenberg said. “No, she paid me for the job. That Val, he might be good with a gun. He might give me trouble, but not you. Seems you’ve been getting nosey in the wrong places, Cheyenne. You’ve been askin’ questions.”
“Look, Henry, this is real money. You forget this deal and work with me. You’ll make twice as much—”
The gun sound was muffled by the table, but it still seemed loud. Cheyenne felt the blow in his stomach, and he tried to cling to the table as he slid off his chair and fell to the floor.
For a moment he was there on his knees, his fingers on the edge of the table as he stared across at Henry, who picked up the bottle, took a long drink, and got to his feet. Cheyenne slid down from the table and sprawled on the floor.