the bottom log. Everything was so clean it brought pleasure to Kelsey. “It’s like being home,” he said.
Dolly Gentry was pleased to see him. She was plump, had a small pale face and little soft hands that glittered with rings. She patted her hair, which fascinated Kelsey, for it was an odd shade of black with no shine to it, and because of the way it fitted her head he wondered if it might be a wig.
As they sat at the table she said, “You must find the Red Hill lonely, and no pleasure or good comes to any man who works for Monte Maguire. She’s nothing but a—”
“Dolly!” Faun scowled at her.
“Well, it’s true! Why shouldn’t I say so?”
“You’ve no proof, Dolly.”
“Ha! Proof! Does a woman need proof when one of her kind spends all her time around men? And how’d she get hold of all that land she’s added to her holdings since old Flit Maguire died? Why did Tommy Cameron give up his good homestead, turn it over to her and go to work for her? And what about the cowpunchers who worked for her, got fired, and left the country broke? What happened to their money? You know as well as I do that lots of them never spent anything in town.”
“Dolly,” Faun said, “all you say is gossip. Monte’s the best customer I have, and I’d thank you to keep your mouth shut.”
“That’s it,” Dolly said peevishly, “stand up for her. Men always do. But she can’t pull the wool over a woman’s eyes! Why, she hadn’t been married to Flit Maguire any time when she was chasing all over the country with his hired men.”
“And why not? Flit got so he wouldn’t even bring her over town when he came for groceries. And he was a lot older than Monte. I never liked Flit Maguire, Dolly. He was a hard, cruel man, and I’d not have blamed her if she’d left him.”
“Ha!” Dolly laughed shortly. “She wouldn’t leave him, not when she knew he was old and ailing and owned a ranch and cattle. She knew he’d die and she’d get it. And no wonder he wouldn’t take her anywhere—a girl he picked up in a cathouse!”
“Shut up!” Faun shoved his chair back from the table. “And she was only dealin’ cards at the house, in case you didn’t know the truth.”
“Dealing cards! Well, that’s the fanciest name for it I ever heard!”
“Come on, Kelsey.” Faun turned at the door. “I’m working at the store tonight. Won’t be home till late.”
“Is that so? See you don’t drift into Bill Dirk’s saloon, close as it is to the store.”
Faun’s brows lifted. “Bill Dirk’s? How would I have time to get over to Bill Dirk’s?” He walked with Kelsey into the soft June night. The wind had gone down, and a stillness hung over the town. When they got to the street they angled across it to where a wooden sign hung creaking in the wind—BILL DIRK’S.
“Looks like a few o’ the boys got in,” Faun said, jerking a thumb toward the horses tied at the hitching rack.
Inside the air was smoky and close. There was a crude wooden bar at the far end with an oil painting of two naked women hanging on the wall behind it. Bill Dirk came forward. He was short and fleshy, with thin black hair parted in the middle and slicked down, but the ends stuck up like spikes. His features were fine, almost feminine, and he wore a big diamond on his little finger. He shook Kelsey’s hand and said, “I know Tommy. Good man, but no poker player. We don’t ask him no more. He’s afraid of money—pains him to lose and damn near scares him to death to win, for fear he won’t be able to keep it. Man oughta leave poker alone if he’s afraid of money. Come in the back end. We got a game ready to go.”
They went past the bar and through a narrow doorway into a small room with a window set high in the wall. Around a bare table four men were waiting: the Swedish rancher, Vic Lundgren; Jed Posser, who ran the hotel; Slim, a cowhand from the south end of the Park; and Jediah Walsh.
Jediah peered at Kelsey with his faded blue eyes. “Shucks, boy, if I’d known you was comin’ in I’d have rode with you instead of on horseback. I come in late this afternoon. My ears was plugged with wax again. Friend of mine come up yestiddy, and I got him to watch the headgate while I was gone. Old Doc Bingham said it wasn’t any wonder I was deaf as a post. Sit down, boy. Y’know how to play this game?”
“Dalt and Jake played with me a couple of times in the bunkhouse.”
“Dalt, eh? Well, that young fella knows his cards. But Jake never did have any card sense. Born without it. Always havin’ to ask who bet and who raised and if it’s stud or draw. And he wants to stay in every pot because he can’t stand to be out. Holds his cards up close like he hoped to read new spots onto them. Now, Vic there, he’s the one to watch. He’s been suckin’ us dry all year.”
The blond middle-aged Swede nodded. “Yup, yup,” he said, clicking his false teeth. “You want to start now, Dirk?”
“What we come for, ain’t it?” Posser said, his pale eyes shifting nervously. His hand trembled as he stroked down his thin iron-gray hair. He began to cough and finally put a soiled handkerchief over his mouth.
Slim said nothing. He was tall and thin and moody-looking.
“Deal ’em. I come to play.” Faun rubbed his tobacco-stained hands together. “And bring in the bottle, Dirk. I’m thirsty.”
“Open for two bucks.” Vic’s teeth clicked.
“Raise the openers. Up two,” Kelsey said.
They looked at him. Jediah smiled, his old lined face beaming. “That’s tellin’ ’em, boy!”
The game settled into silence except for the placing of bets and the clanking of chips and silver. The air got heavy and stifling with smoke. Faun Gentry took off his tie and then his coat. Jediah Walsh sat in his heavy underwear and the stench of sweat and beaver castors came from him. The bottle passed from hand to hand. The cowboy, Slim, looked more gloomy. Posser twitched nervously. Periodically Vic Lundgren’s teeth clicked and he muttered, “Yup, yup!” Faun Gentry smoked constantly; as one black cigar burned away, a fresh one replaced it. Only Jediah Walsh was relaxed.
Kelsey won pot after pot. He began to feel expansive. Why, hell, he thought, I’m on top of the world tonight. I can’t lose. I’m like a damned blood in the old country!
This was the life! This made a man forget a girl in Scotland, a girl who didn’t write him as she should; made him forget the lonely nights at the Red Hill Ranch, and his heart crying for the green land far away. And God, the fun of it!
He looked around the table, filled with affection for all these men who had welcomed him to their game. “Since I left my mother, Taraleean, I’ve not spent such a wonderful night,” he said, his voice rising with excitement. “But I’ll be no hog with my money. From now on the whiskey’s on me!” And he tilted back in the creaking chair, shouting, “Hey, bar-lad! Set them up on Kelsey Cameron! Wet the gentlemen’s whistles, please!”
The men laughed, and Vic Lundgren said, “He ain’t like Tommy. And did you ever see anything like the hot streak he’s had? Beginner’s luck, yup, yup!” Vic stood up a little unsteadily and lifted the fresh bottle. “Here’s to you, Scotty. May you live long and have a good woman to sleep with!”
Again the game settled into silence. They played harder now; the money was shoved from hand to hand, but most of it stopped before Kelsey. Daylight was showing against the narrow high window when Vic stood up and said, “Breaks me. And I still owe you fifty dollars, Scotty. You want a check, huh?”
Kelsey rubbed his eyes, which were bloodshot and smarting from the smoke. He was drunk, as much from winning as from the whiskey. “No,” he said, getting to his feet, standing tall in the little room, his red head thrown back, “not a check, but a cow—a cow that’ll have a calf in spring, a good cow with a straight back, short legs, and just enough white showing in the right places, a cow out of