High Wild Desert by Ralph Cotton Page A

stepped closer.
    â€œWhat do I have to do to get you between my knees, cowboy?” she asked softly. She reached for the waist of his trousers, but he stepped away, turned and walked toward the bed.
    Okay, maybe he couldn’t wait, she thought, so perhaps the hot bath would have to. She could go that way. It wasn’t her first choice.
    Oldham stopped and picked up two of the four stacks of cash from the nightstand beside the bed. Next to the cash were six stacks of chips. Yet he didn’t even touch the chips.
Here it is,
she thought. She slumped and drew a patient breath.
    â€œI’ve got something I have to do,” Oldham said, his voice sounding changed, harried. He picked up his shirt and walked about the room gathering his clothes. “I won’t be long, Anna Rose, but I’ve got to go do this.”
    â€œA gambler . . . ,” she whispered under her breath.
    Oldham offered a tormented smile.
    â€œNo, I mean it,” he said, hurrying with his clothes. “I won’t be long.” He nodded at the money and chips still lying on the nightstand. “Watch that for me. Take whatever you need, but wait for me.”
    â€œWhatever you say.” She picked up a nightshirt and slipped into it. “I’ll wait for you.” She stopped and gave him a serious look. “It’s going to cost you plenty, but I’ll wait.”
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    At the bar, Karl Sieg and Little Deak watched as Oldham walked back down the stairs and weaved his way across the crowded saloon to the gaming table he’d left not more than a half hour earlier. From the table in the rear corner, Teague and Sonny Rudabaugh saw him too. Teague sat holding his glass of rye, a cigar hanging between his fingers.
    â€œLook at this, Sonny,” he said. “I told you this dog hadn’t gone off the hunt, didn’t I?”
    â€œYep, you did,” said Sonny with a thin smile.
    â€œI’ll be honest, though,” said Teague. “I thought it would be longer than this. What kind of man leaves a pretty little dove like that one lying in bed alone?”
    â€œBeats me,” said Sonny, watching Oldham Coyle pull out an empty chair, sit down and flop a stack of cash onto the tabletop. “You want to do like you was saying, set him up to lose, maybe see about slipping some dope into his whiskey?”
    Teague puffed his cigar, watching Coyle, considering it. Finally he let go a long stream of gray smoke and gave a thin smile.
    â€œNaw,” he said, “this guy won’t need setting up. I’m betting he’ll beat himself without our help.”
    â€œWhat about doping him?” Sonny asked. “You know, just enough to keep him from being able to handle his play?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” said Teague, watching. “There’s some men you don’t need to dope to make them lose. They go around carrying their own poison.” He puffed on his cigar in satisfaction. “Some men you don’t have to do nothing but stand back out of their way. Sooner or later, their nose hits the floor.”
    â€œAll right, then, what do you want me to do, Henry?” Sonny asked, looking back and forth almost nervously.
    â€œI just said nothing,” said Teague. He reached out and filled both their glasses. “For the time being anyway. Let’s just relax, have our rye and enjoy the show.”
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    Across the floor at the bar, Little Deak and Karl Sieg stood watching the poker platform as the dealer, Ozwald White, slid six stacks of chips across the tabletop to Oldham. Little Deak sat on the edge of the bar top facing out across the crowded floor. Beside him stood Blind Simon, looking back and forth at the dark shadows interwoven with streaks of pale light moving around before him.
    â€œThis is what Dave told us to watch out for,” Sieg said sidelong to the dwarf