Texas Bluff

CHAPTER 8

Without John Tunney the game went along much smoother. Three-Eyed Jack did, indeed, cool off and the hands began to go to Coe, Clark, and Butler a little more often. Jake Johnson was the next man to bust out of the game, leaving them four-handed for the rest of the night.

Butler hadn’t realized the game would be an all-nighter but that was okay with him. Even though he’d ridden in that day, he was feeling fresh. Luke Short had a girl come up every so often with a pot of coffee, and one time even some sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs.

“Six A.M.,” Charlie Coe announced eventually. “Anybody got anything to do today?”

“Sure,” Dick Clark said. “I got a poker game to get to.”

“Another one?” Coe asked.

“No, stupid, this one,” Clark said. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m just startin’ to warm up.”

“You fellas?” Coe asked.

“I’m here for the duration,” Jack said, “although I would like Luke to bring us some fresh meat.”

“Butler?” Coe asked.

“I’m in.”

“Anybody got any suggestions for Luke?” Dick Clark asked.

Nobody said anything, so Butler said, “I might have one…”

A couple of hours later Luke Short brought Al Newman into the room and introduced him to the other players. Newman gave Butler a look he correctly interpreted as “Thank you.” He nodded.

“Hey, Luke,” Coe said, “how about some breakfast.”

“I’ll have something set up on that table over there,” Short said. “You fellas can decide if you want to eat at or away from the table.”

Newman sat down and put his three thousand dollars on the table.

“All right,” Clark said, “and we’re back to five-handed.”

“I’ll keep lookin’ for a sixth while I’m rustlin’ you gents up some breakfast.” Short spread his arms. “Anything else I can do for anyone?”

“Yeah, have some more coffee brought up right away,” Coe said.

“Comin’ up.”

Short left, and Butler dealt out the next hand.

Newman got hot right away, Three-Eyed Jack played steady, Butler won as much as he lost, but both Coe and Clark went ice cold.

Coe had a full house that was beaten by Newman’s four of a kind.

Dick Clark actually lost with a straight flush to a higher straight flush held by Butler.

That was when he really knew he was cold.

As Newman raked in yet another pot, Jack asked, “Who invited this guy?” Then, before Newman could get insulted, he added, “Nice hand, Al.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

The deal passed to Jack and he quickly shuffled the cards and announced, “Let’s play a hand of draw poker, gents. I’m getting’ tired of looking at all these face-up cards. I just want to look at my own.”

Although they had been playing five-and seven-card stud since the day before, nobody objected.

Jack dealt each man five cards and they went around the table in turn.

Newman, sitting in the chair vacated by Tunney, said, “I open for a hundred.”

“Call,” Coe said,

Clark said, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” and followed with a call of his own.

“Butler?” Jack asked.

Butler was looking at a pat hand—he had three eights and two aces. It was sort of a reversed Deadman’s Hand. He was wondering if he should call, or raise. Coe and Clark already had money in the pot, but Jack was still to make a play.

If he just called, not wanting to give away the strength of his hand, they’d all know he had a good hand when he didn’t take any cards. It made more sense to see how much money he could get into the pot now.

“I raise two hundred,” he said.

“Ah,” Jack said, “we have a game. I call. One hundred to you, Al.”

“I’ll call.”

“Charlie?”

“Call.”

“Clark?”

“Against my better judgment,” Dick Clark said, “I call.”

“Well, gents,” Jack said, “this has the look of an interesting hand. How many cards?”