Texas Bluff

CHAPTER 2

Butler was impressed with the White Elephant Saloon as soon as he entered. It was easily the largest gaming hall he’d ever been in, and it apparently had some other, private, rooms where—more than likely—its high-stakes games took place.

Butler had heard that famed gambler Luke Short was now part owner of the White Elephant. He knew that Short was good friends with both Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp, two legendary lawmen and gamblers who had become his friends over the past couple of years. Both of those men admitted that Luke Short was probably a better man with a deck of cards than either of them was. Butler was looking forward to meeting the man he’d heard so much about.

He approached the vast bar and easily found a place for himself, even though the saloon was buzzing with activity.

He ordered a beer, and when it came the mug was frosty, almost too cold to pick up.

“Is this place always this busy?” he asked the bartender.

“You ain’t never been in here before, have you?” the man asked.

“No,” Butler said. “I just got to town.”

“The answer is yes,” the bartender said. “It is always this busy in here.”

“I heard you have private rooms.”

“We’ve got lots of rooms,” the man said. “The owners live upstairs, and Mr. Short has a special room for high-stakes poker games.”

“Ah,” Ty Butler said, “that’s the one I’m interested in.”

“I thought you had the look of a gambler when you walked in,” the bartender said, “but people only get to play in that game by invitation.”

“And how do I get invited?”

“Do you know Mr. Short?”

“No, but—”

“What’s your name?”

“Butler.”

The man shook his head.

“I don’t know the name” he said, “so you ain’t famous.”

“No,” Butler agreed, “I’m not famous.”

“Then you ain’t gettin’ invited,” the man said. “Not unless you do something to get yerself noticed by Mr. Short himself.”

“I might just have something,” Butler said.

“Well, you better trot it on out, then,” the bartender said. “Gotta go. Duty calls.”

The bar was so long there were two bartenders serving drinks.

“’Scuse me,” the man next to him said.

Butler turned to look at him. He was well dressed—although not as well dressed as Butler—and had the look of a man fresh from a bath and shave. He smelled of bay rum and his mustache was carefully curled on the ends.

“I couldn’t help hearin’ your conversation,” the man said. “I’ve been tryin’ to get into one of Luke Short’s private games for weeks.”

“Pretty tough to do, huh?” Butler asked. “The bartender seems to think I’d need to know somebody.”

“I know Short’s partner, Bill Ward,” the man said, “and I still can’t get invited.”

“Wow,” Butler said, “that does sound tough.”

The man put his hand out and said, “Al Newman. I heard you say you just got to Fort Worth. I live here. Welcome.”

“Ty Butler,” Butler said, shaking the man’s hand.

“I come here every night, have a beer, gamble upstairs, and hope I’ll do something that will attract Luke Short’s attention.”

“Well,” Butler said, “you could shoot somebody.”

“I don’t want that much attention.”

“Doesn’t look like there’s much going on here in the way of gambling,” Butler said. “Upstairs, you say?”

“That’s where the real casino is,” Newman said. “You go up this long stairway, passing the losers who are comin’ down.”

“Well,” Butler said, “that sounds like the place I should be.”

“Finish up your beer, my new friend, and I’ll show you how to get up there.”

Butler was really in no hurry to finish the beer. It was cold, and the taste was excellent. Newman had a similar brew in front of him. So they finished up together while Newman told Butler he had a business in town.

“I’m a lawyer,” he said.

“Criminal lawyer?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Newman said.

“Since you say you’re a friend of Luke’s partner, I’m going to guess that you’re a fairly prominent lawyer.”

“I’d say you were right,” Newman said. “Fact is I ran for district attorney one year. Didn’t win, but yeah, I guess I’m fairly well known.”

“And even that can’t get you into one of the private games?” Butler asked.

“Luke Short is impressed with what people can do at a poker table, not what they do in their everyday lives.”

“Well,” Butler said, “I guess I’m ready to go up and have a look at where all the action takes place.”

They both drained their mugs and Newman said, “Follow me.”