No Good Deed 17

There was something bird-like about Duchamp. Perhaps it was the incessant chatter that came from his pursed mouth – so like a beak as to make no difference. Or even the violent red of his waistcoat, made so prominent by his bantam chest as to make him seem an over-sized robin red-breast, though one a little out of season. I proposed making our way to the saloon bar, in the hope that more gregarious customers might be in attendance – and that I might successfully shake him off thereby.

Players were at cards around all of the tables. On the far side of the saloon, Haycock caught my eye and lifted a fingertip to the brim of his hat. The same three solitary drinkers, or some fellows very like them, were a-front the bar. The card playing appeared to be quite a boisterous affair, accompanied by a deal of shouting and on one occasion an outbreak of fisticuffs. The loser of this particular altercation left the game, nursing a bloodied nose. Duchamp and I stood at the bar and I bade the barkeeper furnish us with a whiskey each. It seemed a matter of honour among the Americans to demand that the bottle be left at one's disposal, for Duchamp, like Haycock had, did so.

'A vigorous pursuit, this Poker,' I opined.

'Yes suh, it is that. T'aint po-lite tuh call a man a cheat.'

'Indeed not, even should you know it to be true.'

'A Southern Gentleman will always call a man on such an accusation, Northrup.'

Duchamp held open his ill-fitting coat and I saw a pistol ensconced in some leather arrangement attached to a belt. The leather gleamed and I fancied it would creak loudly if he moved the hip underneath it suddenly.

'Ah find the Navy Revolver a great defender of a man's honour.'

In common with many of my acquaintance among the short of stature, there was something of the aggressive in everything he said. He espied me looking intently at the pouch containing his firearm and continued,

'Bought it in St Louis, Grimsley & Co. A fine company. Y'all go back to St. Loo say Duchamp sent ya, might change the price.'

And there was no reason to believe it wouldn't, although I suspected that any adjustment might be upward.

'Reckon Ah'll take that feller's seat in the game, excuse me and all. Ah'll stand y'all a drink, soon as Ah take the pot.'

The card table appeared to be the only place where an immediate handshake and blunt introduction was deemed unsuitable; for Duchamp took a seat amid nods and grunts, and waited while the players played out their hands. The winner proved to be a very large man, with a lantern jaw that a great deal of black stubble did more to accentuate than hide. He was smoking a cigar, whose outer wrapping leaf was a violent shade of green rather than a more customary brown. The smell and fog – for it was far denser than smoke – was unremarked by the other three players, or the newcomer Duchamp. I thought it might prove diverting to watch a hand or two.