Backwoods Bloodbath Read Free Page B

with a friend and set up secret signals, or both.” The gambler stared squarely at Niles. “How you two expected to get away with it is beyond me.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Niles huffed. He slid his right hand close to the edge of the table, and to his open brown jacket.
    Tilton switched his hard stare to the store clerk. “And you, Weaver. Why would you try it? Don’t I always play fair with you boys when I visit Kansas City?”
    Weaver paled and looked at Niles, who angrily demanded, “Are you accusing the two of us of cheating? Of working together to fleece a few hands?”
    “Yes, that is exactly what I am saying,” Hale Tilton said. “But you are free to prove me wrong. Turn over your cards, Mr. Weaver, and show us what Mr. Niles has dealt you.”
    Fargo patted Saucy on the fanny and bobbed his chin. A veteran of her trade, she understood immediately; she rose and moved well away from the table. Fargo lowered his right hand and hooked his thumb in his belt next to his Colt.
    Weaver was not especially brave, but he knew his poker. “I am not required to show my hand until the betting is done. That’s the rule.”
    “No one else is going to bet,” the gambler said quietly.
    “Even so,” Weaver said, his voice rising, “I’m not turning my cards over, and that’s final.”
    “You are turning them over,” Hale Tilton insisted, “or this will be your final day on earth.”
    Nearby players and patrons had overheard. A current of hushed voices rippled through the room. All eyes turned to their table. The more prudent sidled elsewhere to avoid taking a stray slug.
    Fargo happened to notice one man who did not. Another townsman, he sported bushy sideburns and, like Niles, wore a bowler. The man had been idly watching their game. Fargo had not thought anything of it until now. He realized that the man was standing behind Hale Tilton, but to one side, where Tilton was less apt to notice.
    A conviction came over Fargo that there was more to Niles’s and Weaver’s shenanigans. On a hunch, he casually shifted in his chair, and sure enough, another townsman was behind him. It set him to wondering why they had let him win so much. Maybe he was imagining things. But then, it was his habit to keep his cards flat on the table and slide them close to the edge before taking a quick peek. The man behind him had not been able to see his cards.
    The bank teller removed his cigar and jabbed the lit end at Niles. “Is what he says true? Have you and Weaver been cheating us?”
    “Of course not, Sam,” Niles said unconvincingly.
    “Because if you have,” the teller went on, “it stands to reason this isn’t the first time.”
    Niles colored the same shade as a beet and snapped, “I tell you it’s not true! Why in hell don’t you believe me?”
    Sam jabbed the air with his cigar again. “Because it explains how you manage to win so often on days that me and some of the other boys get paid. Or didn’t you think any of us would notice?”
    “I don’t have to sit here and take this!” Niles declared, and started to rise. He stopped when Hale Tilton’s right arm rose and extended in his direction, Tilton’s fingers bent slightly back.
    “You are not going anywhere until your friend turns over the cards you dealt him,” the gambler said in a low tone pregnant with menace.
    Weaver was squirming in his chair like a chipmunk on a hot rock. “Niles? What do I do?”
    “You don’t turn over the cards and you keep your damn mouth shut.” Niles gazed expectantly around the room, but if he was hoping for support from any of the onlookers, he was disappointed. No one was willing to intervene. Cheating at cards, like stealing a horse, was a serious offense.
    “The cards, Mr. Weaver,” Hale Tilton said quietly.
    Trembling like an aspen leaf in a brisk breeze, Weaver reached for his cards but stopped at a sharp cry from Niles.
    “Don’t you touch them, damn you! He has no right to make you!