Free Buffalo Trail by Jeff Guinn

dollars and quit the game. Doc glanced around at the onlookers and said in a syrupy Southern drawl, “We’re down a man. Who’s the next huckleberry?”
    McLendon said impulsively, “That would be me.” He got another drink before he went over to the table, carefully setting the glass down so the liquor wouldn’t spill. He and the two sergeants shook hands and introduced themselves, but when he held out his hand to Holliday, Doc asked sharply, “Can you pay off if you lose? I want to see your money.”
    â€œBy all means,” McLendon said. Feeling reckless, he pulled a wad of bills from his boot, his remaining stake of about five hundred dollars. He was pleased to hear a collective sharp intake of breath from the onlookers, and even Doc Holliday nodded approvingly.
    â€œYou can afford to participate,” he said. “Now let’s see if you can play.”
    The first hand was exhilarating for McLendon. The two sergeants soon folded their hands, and McLendon found himself gazing at Doc Holliday over a pot of nearly twenty dollars.
    â€œHow many cards will you have?” the dentist asked courteously. He was dealing. McLendon, who had a pair of jacks, asked for three cards, and one was a third jack. Doc took two cards. Trying hard not to look too confident, McLendon chewed on his lower lip a moment before raising the pot by five dollars.
    â€œThe rich stranger isn’t afraid to push,” Holliday announced to the crowd. “I believe I’ll just test his mettle.” He matched McLendon’s five dollars and raised him another five. McLendon made a show of trying to decide what to do, then called Doc’s raise. The dentist slapped down ahand with three tens and reached for the money in the middle of the table.
    â€œNot so fast,” McLendon said, and showed his jacks. Holliday, obviously impressed by such coolheaded calculation, grinned ruefully and tipped his hat.
    McLendon’s luck held. He won several more pots, once bluffing his way to victory with only a pair of treys. After a while the two sergeants were cleaned out, and McLendon was up by almost ninety dollars. Instead of calling for new players, Doc suggested that he and McLendon play a two-man game “so the best player can be determined.” Fortified by several more drinks, McLendon agreed. He was having fun, and for the first time in quite a while wasn’t obsessing about Ellen’s death, Killer Boots on his trail, or Gabrielle and Joe Saint being in each other’s arms back in Arizona Territory. It was a fine thing to have a little recreation. The last months had been hard going, and he’d earned a chance to enjoy himself.
    Doc and McLendon dueled at the card table for several more hours. McLendon still won more hands than he lost, but the pots Doc took were usually bigger. They both drank hard while they played. Doc didn’t show any effects from the liquor and McLendon didn’t think he did, either, though it seemed to him that the stakes must have been gradually raised because suddenly every hand involved a hundred dollars or more. McLendon studied the dentist’s face closely, but there was nothing to read in his eyes but a certain belligerent gleam.
    Sometime around four in the morning, when he’d lost count of the drinks he’d consumed and the number of hands that had been played, McLendon suddenly found most of his money on the table, matched by a high pile of Doc’s. How did that happen? He wasn’t sure.
    â€œHow many cards?” Doc asked impatiently, punctuating his wordswith coughs. The dentist dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief and McLendon thought he saw a red smear on the linen.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHow many cards?”
    McLendon studied his hand—two nines, two sevens, a deuce. “One, I suppose.”
    Doc shot a card in his direction. Cash picked it up—a six.
    â€œDealer takes three. What’s your