Free Wolf Creek by Ford Fargo Page B

were the
winners, the ones who’d go on to the final round.
    Billy Below watched Chuck Waters play
against the best. He seemed careless and sometimes lost hands he
could have won. Still, he always looked happy and wore a little
smile on his face the whole time. It didn’t sit well with Billy.
After the round, when everyone was congratulating the winners,
Waters quietly left the Eldorado. Billy followed, half a block or
more behind. The throngs of people made it hard to keep the little
man in sight, but he went straight to the Imperial Hotel. He’d
lost. No doubt he’d leave on tomorrow’s train. Billy decided he’d
see Waters off, just in case. In case of what, he didn’t know, but
just in case.
    After seeing Waters to the Imperial, Billy
made his way to the marshal’s office. No one was there. He’d not
heard any ruckus, but with so many people in town, Marshal Gardner
and the deputies were probably out showing the badge, as Gardner
said, making sure people knew the law was out and about.
    A new pile of flyers sat on the marshal’s
desk so Billy riffled through them. Nothing much. He put the flyers
down and picked up the Wolf Creek Expositor’s special
edition, published in commemoration of the Great Wolf Creek Poker
Tournament.
    The front page listed the sixty players in
alphabetical order, with a short comment from each. Neither Chuck
Waters nor Nick Brant said much, and their comments were nearly
alike. “I know I will be competing with the best in the territory.
All I can hope is that Lady Luck smiles on me.”
    A small news article on the back page caught
Billy’s eye.
     
    NO PROGRESS ON FARMER’S BANK ROBBERY
    Since the robbery of Farmer’s bank on
Thursday last, with the thieves having left a calling card in the
form of a note, no progress has been made in the way of
apprehending said perpetrators. Rumor has attributed the deed to
the bank-robbing duo known as Devon Day and the Sweetwater Kid.
Young lawbreakers oft-times take the name Kid, perhaps to say that
their lawlessness is merely the impulsiveness of youth. But no kid,
from Sweetwater or Hoboken, is known in this territory.
    Billy sighed, folded the newspaper, and set
it back on the marshal’s desk. He tipped his hat down over his
eyes, leaned his chair back against the wall, and nodded off.
    He awoke enough to greet Sam Gardner when he
came back from his rounds. “Quiet night for a poker tournament,”
Gardner said.
    “Hmm.” Billy went to sleep again.
    Melvin Lohorn thundered up the steps to the
marshal’s office and crashed in the front door. Breathless, he had
to huff and puff several times before he could speak.
    “What is it, Lohorn?” Sam Gardner said.
    “Gone!” Lohorn croaked. “All gone.”
    “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”
    “All the money in the bank’s safe is gone.
We’ve been robbed.”
    “Robbed?” Gardner said, like he didn’t
believe Lohorn, or didn’t want to.
    “They even left a note, signed by the
Sweetwater Kid.”
    Then the newspaper article in the Expositor clicked with Sarah Sue’s whining voice. “Back in
Clearwater, they just called him ‘kid.’” Clearwater Kid. Sweetwater
Kid?
    Billy glanced at the clock. Ten to nine. He
jammed his hat on his head and left for the Wolf Creek train
station at a trot. He got there just before the train was ready to
pull out. The last of the passengers were climbing the steps to the
cars. He slowed to a walk and went up to the conductor. “Official
business,” he said, tapping his badge. “Don’t let this train move
before I get back.”
    “I’ll hold the train, deputy,” the conductor
said.
    Chuck Waters was in the second car. Billy
Below saw the swirl of cigar smoke and recognized the top of his
dove gray bowler. He drew his six-gun. Just behind Waters, he
stopped. “If it ain’t the Kid,” he said, cocking the revolver. “And
Devon Day, I dare say. Alias Nick Brant—alias ‘Chance Knight from
San Francisco.’”
    “Are you speaking to me?”