Free Song of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page B

remember, it was me who got the ranchers to take less for their beef or have their credit cut off at the store, and it was my idea to have the Evans gang steal cattle from Chisum so we could get it at an even lower price.”
    Dolan took a deep swallow of his whiskey. “So don’t whine to me about the good old days. You’re making more money now than you ever did before you sold out to me.”
    Murphey nodded. “I know, Jimmy. I just miss Fritz, an’ wish the consumption hadn’t eaten him up so fast.”
    â€œBe glad it did,” Riley said, putting a cigar in his mouth and lighting it. “If it hadn’t, you would never have sold out to Jimmy, and we’d all have to be working for a living.”
    He turned to Dolan. “Jimmy, you need to get in touch with Judge Bristol and William Rynerson, the District Attorney of Lincoln County, and tell them to squash these complaints Tunstall’s been making. Let ’em know their share of our contract profits will end if the army starts listening to what he’s saying.”
    â€œI’m already on it, Johnny. Our friends in the Santa Fe Ring are taking steps to make sure no one listens to anything Mr. Tunstall has to say. Tom Catron, District Attorney in Santa Fe, will make sure the contracts keep coming our way.”
    â€œWhat about McSween? He’s been making some noises about a lawsuit over at the courthouse.”
    â€œYou leave Mr. McSween to me. I’ve got plans for him that will get him out of our hair, too.”
    He looked over at Jesse Evans. “Jesse, you can take what I’m paying you to rustle those cattle for us, and I’ll double it if you can help me get rid of McSween.”
    Evans smirked. “You want him shot in the back, or the front?”
    â€œNeither. I want you to get with Brady and find some . . . ah, legal way to do it.”
    â€œYou want it legal?”
    Dolan nodded. “At least, I want it to look that way if anybody asks.”

Nine
    Falcon peered over the top of the cards he held in his hand at a grinning Billy Bonney.
    â€œCome on, Falcon. It’s a simple decision. Call the bet or fold,” the Kid said.
    The other four men at the table had folded when the Kid raised Falcon’s twenty dollar bet by fifty dollars. Falcon held a pair of jacks. Kid had drawn two cards in the five card stud game, indicating he might have three of a kind.
    As Falcon thought, the Kid chewed for a second on his bottom lip, then resumed his ever present grinning.
    â€œI’ll call the bet, Kid. I have a pair of Dukes, and I think you have a busted flush.”
    Kid shook his head and nonchalantly flipped his cards into the middle of the table.
    â€œTake the pot, Falcon. You called it right.”
    â€œThanks, Kid. I was getting a mite short over here for a while. Maybe this hand changed my luck,” Falcon said as he raked in the pile of money.
    â€œHow’d you know what I had?” the Kid asked, his face serious, no grin on it now.
    Falcon pursed his lips, thinking on it for a moment.
    â€œIf I tell you how, it will ruin the magic of it,” Falcon answered.
    Roy Young, a local puncher who was sitting in the game next to Kid, spoke up. “I’d kind’a like to know, too, Mr. MacCallister. Otherwise, people might get suspicious you got these here cards marked.”
    Falcon sighed. He knew he shouldn’t have said it the moment he’d told the Kid what he had. That’s what I get for showing off, he thought.
    â€œIt’s really very simple. The Kid did something that he always does when he bluffs. If he was bluffing, then he didn’t have three of a kind, so the only reason to draw two cards instead of three or four, is to try and make a flush.”
    â€œWhat was the Kid doin’ that told you he was bluffin’?” Roy asked.
    â€œThat I don’t tell you. If you studied the game as I do, instead of trusting to blind luck,