No Good Deed 18

The hand-guns belonging to Duchamp's playing partners lay alongside their markers on the table. He himself had merely undone the flap of his holster, after taking his seat. Duchamp's markers seemed to be made of ivory; I noticed that some of the players referred to them as chips. The majority, as Haycock's rough-shaped discs had been, were made of wood. I noted several looked to be made of clay; although - if so - these surely would have shattered under the treatment they suffered at the table.

The game - of course it was poker – continued through several hands. Duchamp's pile of chips diminished steadily to the benefit , for the most part, of the fellow smoking the cigar. One of the other two players was unremarkable enough; he could have passed for Haycock without the grandiose moustaches. The other however was a giant of a man, or rather youth. No stubble flawed his creamy young skin. I doubted he had reached sixteen years. He appeared to be playing carefully, no callow enthusiasms betraying his fortune - good or bad - with the cards being dealt him. His wrists and a great deal of forearm were visible below the end of his sleeves although his clothing appeared quite new. The gun before him on the table was an older, less well-polished version of Duchamp's Navy Colt.

The deal passed to Duchamp for a third time. He began to win, in spectacular fashion, the cards in his hands trumping the pairs and prials that were the best of the others', even after the deal passed to themselves once more. The cigar smoker let his tobacco go out, the smell remained, while he chewed the stub to a noisome pulp. The boy developed a tic in his cheek. The remaining player contented himself with a great deal of sighing and puffing. Finally the cheap wooden chips in front of the boy had diminished to one remaining disc. He looked across the table at Duchamp.

'Yore a damned cheat, Mistuh!' he drawled the words, as if they had been some kind of off-hand compliment.

Predictably, Duchamp's chair clattered to the floor behind him, his improbable chest thrust forward still more if that were possible. A squeak of outrage emerged from his beak-like mouth:

'How dare you, boy? Call me a cheat and I'll shoot you like a dog.'

'Ah said yore a cheat and ah meant it.'

The boy had shot Duchamp through that chest before the defender of that fellow's reputation had cleared the holster. The man's red vest took on a darker hue as the blood stained the damask. Haycock appeared at the young man's shoulder, placing a hand on his shoulder, something he would have found difficult had the boy not still been seated.

'Aw Hell, Dallas Stoudenmire, cain't ah leave you alone for a minnit?' Haycock said.

'Self dee-fence, ever'buddy saw it. He drawed on me.'

Haycock looked at me, nodding toward Duchamp's relict.

'You know this guy, Northrup? He travellin' with someone?'

'I doubt it Mr Haycock, the man was entirely too deficient in charm to have any willing companion.'

'Guess that means no. Don't reckon the Cap'n'll want a cadaver aboard all the way to Hannibal, somehow.'

Haycock nodded at the cigar smoker, and then spoke to the other card player.

'Oliver Otis, lend a hand with this sharper, let's get him on deck and see what he wants us to do.'

The man nodded at Haycock and said,

'Shore, Cuz. Let's check his pockets though, wanna cash in our markers first.'

Dallas Stoudenmire, Oliver Otis Haycock and the cigar smoker crowded round the body, emptying pockets. Several playing cards fell to the floor as the sleeves of the man's coat were disturbed. I could think of no circumstance wherein a cheater at cards would require so many examples of the Queen of Spades, not even in so outlandish a game as Poker. A thick wad of bills in a money clip clattered onto the table, as did a purse which clunked, metallic and satisfying beside it. A gold repeater watch on an extremely heavy chain joined them. It was picked up by the man with a fresh cigar - at last - at his lips,

'Guess I'll take this, you gents can have the money.'

Otis Oliver and his cousin transported the late Mr Duchamp out onto the deck while I wondered how many cheats had really been in the game.