The Honest Dealer

Chapter Three

It was four o’clock when Johnny Fletcher and Sam Cragg returned to Baker, after their abortive venture into Death Valley. They pulled into the same filling station from which they had taken their departure.

The place was ablaze with neon lights, but there was no one in sight. The gas tank was virtually empty, there hadn’t been any water in the radiator for the last fifty miles and the winds were still howling out of Death Valley.

Johnny honked the horn and when that produced no results, went into the station. The attendant was sprawled on a canvas cot, with his mouth wide open, snoring lustily.

Johnny shook the man. “Hey, wake up!”

Eyes opened and stared stupidly at Johnny. “Huh?”

“I want some gas.”

“Yeah, sure.” The man sat up and yawned, “Whatcha say?”

“Gas!”

The attendant groaned. “And I just got to sleep.” He got up and went outside.

Johnny followed him. “Aren’t you the fellow who was on duty around five o’clock?”

The attendant stuck the gas nozzle into the tank of Johnny’s car. “Guess so, why?”

“Remember me?”

The man shrugged. “Everybody stops here; ain’t another town between Las Vegas and Barstow.” He blinked sleepily and looked at Johnny. “Yeah, you’re the guy was going into Death Valley.” He laughed. “Came back, huh? Kinda windy, wasn’t it?”

“Why didn’t you warn us?”

“Ain’t my job. If some fool wants to drive into Death Valley at night, it’s his lookout.”

Johnny used some dirty words. The station attendant merely grinned.

“Your radiator sounds like it’s dry.”

“It’s been dry for the last hundred miles,” Johnny said angrily.

“Oughta watch that. You can crack your block, you know.”

Johnny’s eye was on the gas pump. “That’s enough.”

“That’s only six gallons; your tank’s almost empty.”

“I know, but that’ll get us to Las Vegas.”

“What’s the difference you buy in California or Nevada?”

“Money,” said Johnny. “In California I’m broke, but in Nevada I’m going to make money.”

The attendant snickered. “Are you kidding? I see them coming and going here. They’re happy going and sore coming back. You can’t beat the percentages.”

“Quite right,” said Johnny, “but you can nudge ’em a little.”

“Try it. They’ll take you up to the State Line and boot you across.”

Sam Cragg leaned out of the car. “He’s kidding you, buddy. We’re only going to pass through Nevada.” He turned an anxious eye on Johnny Fletcher. “Aren’t we, Johnny?”

“We’ve got to pass through to get to New York.”

“You coulda stayed on Highway 66, at Barstow,” said the gas station attendant. “That way you woulda gone right into Arizona. It’s shorter, too, but the road ain’t so good. Most people prefer this way; to Las Vegas, then down through Boulder City to Kingman, Arizona, where you meet 66 again.”

“That’s the way I had it figured.” Johnny drew two bills from his pocket. “Dollar eight, isn’t it?”

The man held up the oil gauge. “You could use two quarts of oil.”

“Never mind.”

Johnny accepted the ninety-two cents change and dropped it into his pocket to join a few other coins. He got back into the car.

“Luck,” said the gas man. “You’ll need it.”

Johnny rolled the car onto the highway. Beside him, Sam Cragg fidgeted. “We are just going through Las Vegas, aren’t we?”

“If we don’t spend any more money between here and there,” Johnny said, “we’ll land in Las Vegas at breakfast time with a dollar and forty-four cents. If you’ve got any ideas how we’re going to continue with that amount of money, this is the time to come out with them.”

Sam groaned. “But when we started into Death Valley, you said something about stopping off tomorrow at the Furnace Creek Inn; how were you going to pay for that?”

“Oh, I’d have thought of something.”

“Then why can’t you think of something in Las Vegas?”

“I will.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t think I’d care much for making little ones out of big ones in Nevada.”

Johnny reached into his pocket and brought out a round object. “What’s this, Sam?”

Sam shivered a little. “It’s the poker chip you took from the dead guy.”

“Right. Only it isn’t a poker chip. It’s a check that they use in gambling houses. In Nevada the silver dollar is the medium of exchange. But in the gambling houses they use these checks for larger amounts — five and twenty-five dollars. This check is worth either five or twenty-five — if we can find the right place.”

“That ought to be a cinch. How many gambling joints can there be in Las Vegas? It’s only a little town.”

“That’s right — and I’ve got a clue,” Johnny reached into his pocket again and drew out a paper match pad. “He had this in his pocket, too...”

Sam leaned over and read the advertising on the match pad. “El Casa Rancho, the Pride of Nevada... Say, you think...?”

“Could be, although he might have gotten the matches elsewhere. They give them out all around for advertising purposes. But we’ll try this El Casa Rancho first.”

A few miles east of Baker they began ascending an easy mountain slope. Crossing the crest of the mountain, the winds of Death Valley stopped abruptly and Johnny and Sam began to cool off. In another ten minutes they were buttoning their coats and by the time dawn broke they were numb from the cold.

The sun was a welcome sight as it rose slowly over the horizon, shortly after they crossed the Nevada State Line. But the country was about as bleak as any they had seen, sand, a Joshua palm here and there, sand, tumbleweeds and more sand.

Signs and billboards began to appear. They advertised Joe’s Club, Mike’s Club, Harry’s Club, Elmer’s Club, The Last Frontier, El Ranch Vegas and El Casa Rancho.

They whizzed past a couple of motels, seemingly dumped on the desert wastes. Then far ahead, they saw a haze of smoke in the sky.

“Las Vegas,” Johnny announced.

Sam exclaimed, “Lookit the hitchhiker; musta been walkin’ all night.”

The hitchhiker stepped to the edge of the pavement and began using his thumb. Johnny took his foot off the gas. “Might as well give him a lift; it’s still six-eight miles to town...”

The hitchhiker wore Levis, a bright red and white checked flannel shirt, cowboy boots and a flat-crowned black Stetson hat.

Johnny began applying the brakes and then emitted a low whistle. “He’s a she!”

And it was — a girl wearing a man’s western outfit. A girl with golden hair, not quite concealed under her hat. A girl with finely chiseled features and a complexion like golden honey.

Johnny leaned across Sam. “Lift?” he called to the girl.

Although she had given them the thumb from a distance, she seemed suddenly not so sure that she wanted a lift; two men in a coupe — two big men. It would be a tight fit.

“My horse threw me,” she said. “And I’m not used to walking in these boots.”

Sam swung open the door and slid over closer to Johnny.

“Hop in, sister!”

The girl gave Sam a sharp glance. Then she got into the car. Johnny threw the gear shift lever into second, but held his foot on the clutch. “What about your horse? I don’t see any around.”

“Oh, he’s probably back at the place by now. He threw me ten minutes ago.”

Johnny let out the clutch and the car leaped forward. “Live in town?”

“Oh, no, I’m just in Las Vegas for... for a visit...”

Johnny grinned. “A six-weeks’ visit.” Then, as she made no reply to that, “Kinda young to be getting divorced.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, no offense. I was just thinking you look almost too young to get married, much less divorced...”

She said coldly, “You can drop me at The Last Frontier, over there on the left.”

“Staying there?”

“I’m staying at El Casa Rancho,” she said, “but I can get a cab at The Last Frontier.”

“Oh, we’ll drive you all the way,” Johnny said easily.

He glanced out at The Last Frontier, a magnificent tribute to the laws of Nevada which made gambling a legal — and the chief — business of the state.

Beyond The Last Frontier was El Rancho Vegas, every bit as large and luxurious. A half mile more and the third luxury hotel and casino appeared — El Casa Rancho, almost a principality of its own; a main hotel and casino and dozens of cabanas and hotel cabins sprawled behind it. The place had private macadam drives, a little green park of its own, a swimming pool and “health” club. You could lose your money here and still enjoy yourself.

Sam whistled as Johnny turned into the El Casa Rancho drive. “Some layout. What do they charge you a day?”

The girl ignored Sam. She began opening the door. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you for the lift. I’m sorry I have no money with me, but if you’ll wait...”

“Oh, that’s all right, babe,” Johnny chuckled. “Maybe you can give us a lift sometime.”

She got out of the car and without looking around, entered the hotel. Johnny shook his head and drove around a circular flower bed. “It’s a little early, so we’ll run into town and get some breakfast, then come back and see what’s what...”

“You were kinda rough on the kid, Johnny,” said Sam.

Johnny shrugged. “A girl who can’t ride a horse has no business being out on the desert before sunrise.”

“I didn’t mean about that. The divorce stuff... s’pose that’s what she’s here for?”

“Nevada has two industries,” Johnny said. “Gambling and divorces. Men come here for gambling; women for divorces.”