High Card

~A Rivers Short Story~

He looked dead. Sprawled out in the grass, unmoving, a neat crimson stain on his vest, I had to say he carried all the hallmarks of a man who'd cashed in. Yet I remained unconvinced. I shouldn't have a doubt, after all, I'd lined up the rifle, I pulled the trigger, and at less than eighty yards I don't miss. So why was I still here? Well now, I just couldn't make myself ride on. I simply had to be sure. After all, when you agree to kill a man like Emmett Rivers, you'd best be certain.

Chewing on my lip, I pondered the situation, liking none of it but the three hundred dollars in my saddlebag. It had all begun three days past, back in Globe during a poker game. I was sitting pat on a pair of sevens, and the hombre on my left had folded. That made the game betwixt a tall, quiet stranger, Gar Locke, and me. Now, unless I missed my guess that stranger was no tinhorn and Locke was cheating. Wanting no part of what was coming I'd folded, Locke raised and the man in the gray buckskin called.

"Three of a kind!" Gar had been triumphant. "Jacks! Let's see you beat that!"

"You asked." The stranger flipped his cards and the room went silent.

The man had turned over a royal flush, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was the jack in his flush twinned one of the jack's in Locke's hand. It was an offense men made a habit of dying over. Uneasy, I felt my stomach flop as the man in buckskin regarded the cards, his eyes flat and cold. His dark glance pinned Locke to the spot.

"Well, ain't that somethin'."

It seemed to me Gar Locke had lost a bit of color in the last minute, and he was sweating. Not wanting to get involved I slowly made to push back my chair, but that hard voice stopped me.

"I don't reckon it a healthy thing to be headin' out just yet." His eyes were still on Gar. "I think you'd best sit back down, mister."

I decided right then to play it smart and set back, only making sure to do it almighty careful. Last thing I wanted was gunplay, with me trying to go honest. Figures. I glanced at Gar and felt a sickening coldness clench over my belly. He wasn't gonna be smart, I could see it in his eyes. With an abrupt move Gar shoved the table away from him, starting to rise, going for his gun.

"Gar, don't!"

My shout came too late, drowned by the bellow and flame of gunfire. Just like that Gar Locke was dead and the stranger was loading his smoking pistol. For a long moment there was utter silence in the saloon, and not a body moved. The German who ran the saloon was the first to speak.

"You'd best be ridin' mister."

"He's a cheat, an' he got what was comin'." It was a stiff response, and a challenge.

"Can't argue his judgment, but Gar has family and you're a stranger here. Men have hung for less."

"I ain't a-huntin' for it, but if his kinfolk want words, you tell 'em Emmett Rivers says to come a-callin'. Anytime."

There was no sound at all as Rivers picked up most of the pot and straightened his hat. He glanced at me and the other man at the table.

"Split what's left fellas. We was playin' a cheat."

Not a half-hour later Gar's brothers showed up and had it explained to them, the unfortunate outcome of Gar's bad decision-making. It was a fair shooting, none argued that. Only thing, the Locke brothers reckoned themselves to be almighty important folk. No saddle tramp gunslinger was going to shoot one of them down and ride off scot-free! Talk of going after Rivers was being circulated, and I knew I should rattle my hocks out of there, but it was late and I was tired. Then Sev Locke spotted me.

"Tap!" he greeting was loud and the heavy hand he clapped over my shoulder hit a little hard. "I hadn't heard you was in town!"

"Only for the night Sev," I said quiet, nursing my drink. "Come daylight I'm a-driftin'."