Molly

Tom and Sarah

Prologue

Frank Jackson had decided months ago to head out west, make a claim on land, and live his life in anonymity. He had just passed his fortieth birthday and circumstances being what they were, he did not have a much of a choice. His wife died in Peoria, the summer of 1792, from pneumonia. His son Tom was seventeen at the time. After a period of grieving, Frank moved Tom and himself to Kansas City. Tom discovered his father was a gambler. He liked to play cards and was very good at poker. He always found a seat at the table. Frank was a slight man, who walked with purpose. He was always nicely dressed and clean shaven. He had the look of a gentleman. Tom did not know his father was much more than a poker player. His father had a dark past. Out west, he was a legendary gun fighter. When is wife became ill, he moved from Cheyenne, Wyoming to Peoria, Illinois where she had family. After she died, he moved Tom and himself to Kansas City. He decided to move to a larger city and hoped that his reputation was left far behind him.

Frank won at poker more than he lost. He kept his ability to read player tendencies sharp. He could spot a "tell" from any player. He used them to his advantage when the time was right. Playing cards took a lot of stamina and concentration. Frank could sit at a table all night. He was affable and fit in with the other guys. Most everyone knew him, and he was well liked. He would buy rounds for the table, but he hardly ever had a drink.

One evening, a well-dressed man walked through the swinging doors of the saloon and headed directly to the bar. People turned their heads. They had never seen someone that well- dressed in the saloon. There were other high-end places down the street, so it was unusual to see a man of his social stature in their establishment.

He watched the poker game, and when he finished his drink, sauntered over to the table. "I see some empty seats. Mind if I join you?" Frank looked around the table. He knew the remaining players would be no match for this man. He knew the type. Frank told the stranger that they were just wrapping up. "Maybe some other time," he said. Just as Frank was rising from his chair, the stranger subtly blocked him from leaving. The remaining players got up and left. "You seem to be a decent player. Are you afraid of losing?"

Frank was many things but afraid was not one of them. He was also a smart man and he knew playing cards with this man, win or lose, would bring trouble. "Sir", Frank said, "this is just a friendly game. I am a good poker player, but poker is as much a game of chance as skill. You cannot win against people with better cards than you." "You are a cheat and a fraud,"whispered the stranger.

He played poker to win money but he never cheated. He would not stand to have his character challenged. 

Tom, now nearing twenty years old, entered the saloon. He was a 6'2" nearing 190 pounds. He was a strapping young man, an iron bar, who was much stronger than he looked. His features were sharp, with bright hazel eyes and tousled brown hair. He was handsome but shy. The young ladies vied for his attention, but his mind was always on work. He was forced to grow up fast, and was very self-sufficient. He worked a farm that Frank had purchased. His father would help him by day, but at night he would find his father gambling at a bar.

He saw his father talking to a well-dressed man, next to a card table. As he grew closer, he called out to his father. "It's time to come home. We have to go to the market tomorrow. It's getting late." The stranger started to mimic Tom in a sarcastic voice, "Come on father, it's time to come home." Tom edged forward. It took two men to restrain him. Okay, Frank relented, "Let's play."The stranger said, "I will be right back." Fifteen minutes later he returned with three men, all of whom had guns hanging from their holsters.

Frank invited the stranger to take a seat at the table. "What is your name," asked Frank. "Jim McVey" he replied." I am just passing through town and thought I would stop at the saloon and grab a drink." Frank knew that was a lie. 'This man is trouble', he thought to himself. The saloon owner also sensed something was wrong. He reached below the bar, and grabbed a shotgun. He dropped it a few inches above the surface of the bar. It was not loud enough to make folks jump but it was the right volume for the gunmen to hear. They stood facing the card table with their backs to the bar. They slowly moved to either side of the room and took up positions that were half facing the table and half facing the bar. Some of the patrons picked up their hats and headed out. Only a few stayed behind. They were curious about the outcome of the game. McVey yelled to the bartender to bring himself and a Frank a drink. The bartender hesitated. "It's ok, Woody," exclaimed Frank." Bring us a bottle of your best whiskey." Woody reached behind himself and grabbed a bottle from the top shelf. He brushed off the dust, strolled through the small gate at the bar's end, walked across the room, and deposited the bottle along with two shots glasses on the table. He hesitated and looked at Frank."Thanks Woody,"said Frank.