The Gambler
1
I felt a frown cross my face as I walked along the narrow corridor of the coach. Men were combing the cars behind me. I stumbled against a door when the train hit a rough bit of rail, knocking it open with my hand.
"Come in, young fella," a cracked voice.
The sun had gone down a long time ago so the windows on the other side of the car were pitch black. A set of small lamps on the wall revealed a white faced coot in a black undertaker's suit. His straight brimmed Stetson sat on the seat next to him.
I nodded as I stepped in the room, closing the door. I took the seat opposite of him, watching the window trying to see some sign of the real world beyond.
"Name's Whip Barton," the old man said. One wrinkled, spidery hand showed itself for a shake, and then retreated back under his coat. I wondered if he had some kind of fancy shoulder holster the way he kept that hand close to his chest like that. "I'm going to Denver to try my luck with the cards. What about you?"
"I'm going that way myself, then going into California," I said. "Moving around is in my blood, I guess."
"I know what you mean," said Barton. "It seems to me I have been all over this country at one time, or another. A lot of changes going on, some of them not to my liking."
I let that pass. The government had pushed out west, grabbing land from the Indians while it ran settlers who had come before off their piece. No use to think about that when you were on a train with a bunch of men who would rather see you dead than in the jail at the next stop.
"Have you got a smoke," Barton asked. "I'm out."
"Sure," I said. I rolled a cigarette with my last fixings, and handed it over.
Who needs a small bit of tobacco when you might be shot as soon as the wrong man saw you.
Barton asked for a light before he sat back against the seat. He sucked on that cigarette that first pull as if he hadn't had one in years and missed the taste. He smiled around the tube with closed eyes.
I noticed his other hand held the smoke. His right still hovered under his coat.
We talked for hours, exchanging views and news of what we had come across in our travels. He seemed particularly amused at my description of an aborted hanging I was at. I didn't tell him I was the guest of honor.
I didn't want to make him nervous.
He stubbed the used cigarette out on the window sill, as he closed his eyes. He shifted to lay across his bench. I thought he said, "You have to know when to walk away." before he started snoring lightly.
2
I sat next to the wall, looking out the window, listening as the train rattled through the mountain passes to Denver. I don't know when I noticed Barton had died in his sleep. He had stopped snoring, and I put it down to a shift in position even though I knew that wasn't right.
I leaned over and placed my hand over his goateed mouth. No breath reached my palm. I grabbed his neck, feeling for a heartbeat. I was not surprised I couldn't find one. I sat back.
"Looks like you broke even, old timer," I said, wondering what I was going to do now.
I searched the body, placing the few odds and ends I found in my own pockets, before standing up and draping a blanket over his upper parts. His face was bloodless and staring as I covered it.
I glanced at the window as I straightened. I didn't like the reflection there.
A couple of guys stood with their silhouettes blocking the windows on either side of the sliding door. I could see them in the window in front of me. They sure didn't look like the porters I had seen loading the train before I boarded.
I turned, pulling the revolver I had lifted from a deputy from my belt. The men jumped back from the windows at my sudden move. They were fast, but I clipped one in the arm and spun him around. The other got a spray of glass in his hair as he jerked out of the way.
They would be on me in a moment if I didn't think of something quick.
An idea came to me as I covered the door. I didn't like it, but what the heck. Something was better than nothing.
I changed coats with Whip with an apology. I didn't know how much time I had so I moved as fast as I could. I placed my hat on his head, and dragged him to the door. I pushed him out in the hall, keeping my pistol in my hands.
I hoped four bullets was enough for what I had to do.
They riddled Whip's body like I expected. I could hear whoops of joy as I waited. They would look things over in a moment. I waited for the right time before stepping out in the hall. My pistol spoke its four words as it went from right to left. I stepped over the bodies as I headed for the end of the car.
Time to walk away.
3
I stood at the platforms between cars, looking at the scenery pass by in a slight blur. The train was climbing through the mountains, heading into Denver. Lots of men died laying the rails for this thing.
I wished I had kept my horse now. Getting stuck in the Colorado Mountains could be bad. Ask the Donners about that.
At least it wasn't the middle of winter.
"I hope this isn't a bad idea," I said to myself, working on my nerve for what I had to do.
A clear patch appeared in the dark ahead. I waited until I thought the time was right then I jumped from the car platform. I tried to roll when I hit. It took a while for me to catch my breath. I got up, brushing my stolen jacket off as best as I could.
I limped away, wondering if Barton would be taken for me. That might throw the hounds off for a while. I reloaded the pistol to replace the bullets I expended. I might need them before I walked to someplace I could get a horse and supplies.
I put the pistol in my belt as I headed for whatever lay south of wherever I was at the moment. Hopefully I had confounded my trail so well that people would think I was dead from now on.
I could settle down as a farmer, or something.
Epilogue
"What do you think?," Kiley asked, gesturing at the display.
Kid Kelly's mummy stood in a display case, dressed in a fancier version of his usual corduroy coat and dungarees. A display table held mementoes connected to him under glass. A weather beaten revolver took the dominant space, with coins, a pocket watch, and a torn and tattered deck of cards filling their own spots.
"Looks good to me," Moe said, detaching himself from his own job of setting up another case across the room. "I don't remember Kelly being much of a gambler. I wonder where the cards came from."
"Probably someone he shot," said Kiley.