game at The Wolf’s Den. He won the first two hands
and felt his luck was good tonight. The cards were coming his way.
Three hours later, he was forty dollars ahead. If things continued
on this winning course, he stood to double that and have more than
enough of a stake to get into the tournament games tomorrow.
Around midnight he still sat at the same
table with four others; then three chairs emptied as the gamblers
either lost or tired of the game and left. It didn’t take long for
replacement players to fill the empty chairs. A beefy yellow haired
cowboy came to the table lugging with him a gunnysack of unknown
contents. He clumsily fell into one of the chairs across from Luke.
The man appeared drunk and began making obnoxious insinuating
remarks to a soiled dove who wandered by.
“Hey darling,’ I’ll show you what a real man
is like and I won’t even charge you.” A few other remarks and
wandering hands was enough to send the dove scurrying away. The man
cackled with laughter from his own remarks, but others at the table
did not comment.
“The ante is a dollar,” the dealer, named
Wilkes, declared. The yellow haired man reached into his shirt
pocket; his hand came out with a wad of bills and coins. He dug
through the pile, hesitating long enough to count out a dollar’s
worth of coins, then pushed them into the center of the table.
Everyone at the table exchanged first names, including the yellow
haired man, who called himself Hardy.
Hardy Briggs talked too loudly, spat
carelessly in the direction of the cuspidors and cried out
gleefully when he won the ante pot after everyone but he folded on
the initial deal.
Later on, Luke had just pocketed more than
thirty dollars from the last hand and the look on the face of the
drunken Briggs reflected more than dismay at having lost five out
of the last five hands, his pile of money growing smaller after
each game. His discomfiture did not bother Luke in the least. The
man had the same chance as everyone else at the table but his bets
were stupid.
Wilkes seated to Brigg’s left, offered.
“This game will be here for a while, Hardy, if you wanted to take a
break and get some coffee.”
Briggs brushed the comment off, too
inebriated to listen to reason, “Naw, just deal the cards.”
Wilkes glanced at Luke and the others then
shrugged and dealt out a hand of five-card draw.
When the draw was finished, Luke bet ten
dollars on his three tens. Wilkes and two others folded. Hardy
Briggs began counting out the money and came up short. He only had
four dollars left.
The men at the table watched while Briggs
began a search of his pockets. When the search ended, everyone
figured Briggs, unable to call the bet, would have to fold his hand
and go crash somewhere to sleep off the liquor. Instead, Briggs
reached down beside his chair and brought up the gunnysack, then
plunked the sack in the middle of the table. “That ought to cover
it,” he said.
When no one made a move, Wilkes said, “I
guess he wants us to look in the sack.” He then reached to open the
sack and pulled out a pair of fancy boots. Wilkes looked at them a
moment and said, “Nice ones,” then offered one to Luke to
examine.
Luke rolled the boot around in his hand.
“Yes, they are,” Then he turned his head to Briggs. “So you are
saying you are willing to put these boots up to cover the bet?”
Hardy Briggs grinned and nodded.
Wilkes sat back and declared so that those
around could hear, “This man is betting these boots on this
hand.”
At the next table over, one of the men
nudged the man next to him, “Some damned fool is betting his boots
over there.” They halted their playing to watch.
Luke looked at the boot again and judged it
to be about his size. “Okay, I’m willing to say they are worth the
six dollars.”
“Hell, they’re worth more’n that!” Briggs
scoffed.
When the cards lay face up, the three tens
in Luke’s hand clearly won over the pair of kings and pair of
and felt his luck was good tonight. The cards were coming his way.
Three hours later, he was forty dollars ahead. If things continued
on this winning course, he stood to double that and have more than
enough of a stake to get into the tournament games tomorrow.
Around midnight he still sat at the same
table with four others; then three chairs emptied as the gamblers
either lost or tired of the game and left. It didn’t take long for
replacement players to fill the empty chairs. A beefy yellow haired
cowboy came to the table lugging with him a gunnysack of unknown
contents. He clumsily fell into one of the chairs across from Luke.
The man appeared drunk and began making obnoxious insinuating
remarks to a soiled dove who wandered by.
“Hey darling,’ I’ll show you what a real man
is like and I won’t even charge you.” A few other remarks and
wandering hands was enough to send the dove scurrying away. The man
cackled with laughter from his own remarks, but others at the table
did not comment.
“The ante is a dollar,” the dealer, named
Wilkes, declared. The yellow haired man reached into his shirt
pocket; his hand came out with a wad of bills and coins. He dug
through the pile, hesitating long enough to count out a dollar’s
worth of coins, then pushed them into the center of the table.
Everyone at the table exchanged first names, including the yellow
haired man, who called himself Hardy.
Hardy Briggs talked too loudly, spat
carelessly in the direction of the cuspidors and cried out
gleefully when he won the ante pot after everyone but he folded on
the initial deal.
Later on, Luke had just pocketed more than
thirty dollars from the last hand and the look on the face of the
drunken Briggs reflected more than dismay at having lost five out
of the last five hands, his pile of money growing smaller after
each game. His discomfiture did not bother Luke in the least. The
man had the same chance as everyone else at the table but his bets
were stupid.
Wilkes seated to Brigg’s left, offered.
“This game will be here for a while, Hardy, if you wanted to take a
break and get some coffee.”
Briggs brushed the comment off, too
inebriated to listen to reason, “Naw, just deal the cards.”
Wilkes glanced at Luke and the others then
shrugged and dealt out a hand of five-card draw.
When the draw was finished, Luke bet ten
dollars on his three tens. Wilkes and two others folded. Hardy
Briggs began counting out the money and came up short. He only had
four dollars left.
The men at the table watched while Briggs
began a search of his pockets. When the search ended, everyone
figured Briggs, unable to call the bet, would have to fold his hand
and go crash somewhere to sleep off the liquor. Instead, Briggs
reached down beside his chair and brought up the gunnysack, then
plunked the sack in the middle of the table. “That ought to cover
it,” he said.
When no one made a move, Wilkes said, “I
guess he wants us to look in the sack.” He then reached to open the
sack and pulled out a pair of fancy boots. Wilkes looked at them a
moment and said, “Nice ones,” then offered one to Luke to
examine.
Luke rolled the boot around in his hand.
“Yes, they are,” Then he turned his head to Briggs. “So you are
saying you are willing to put these boots up to cover the bet?”
Hardy Briggs grinned and nodded.
Wilkes sat back and declared so that those
around could hear, “This man is betting these boots on this
hand.”
At the next table over, one of the men
nudged the man next to him, “Some damned fool is betting his boots
over there.” They halted their playing to watch.
Luke looked at the boot again and judged it
to be about his size. “Okay, I’m willing to say they are worth the
six dollars.”
“Hell, they’re worth more’n that!” Briggs
scoffed.
When the cards lay face up, the three tens
in Luke’s hand clearly won over the pair of kings and pair of
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