Quick on the draw, p.1
Quick on the Draw, page 1
Quick on the Draw
Scott Connor
Published by Culbin Press, 2023.
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014, 2023 by Scott Connor
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
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Chapter One
Coyote Ridge was everything Jackson Crowley had hoped it would be, and had feared it might be. The reek of sizzling steaks and pungent perfume assailed him. On either side of the heavily rutted streets people crowded the boardwalks and shouted to each other.
In fact more people were here than Jackson reckoned he’d seen in his whole life and he couldn’t help but gawk at the fancily dressed women, the suited businessmen, everyone. Jackson reckoned he could spend the rest of the day soaking up the wonder of this place, but he had a task to complete.
That thought made him feel as excited as he had been a week ago when he’d embarked on a journey that his father, William, couldn’t now complete. William Crowley had been away for most of Jackson’s early life, but after a bleak winter illness had taken his mother, William had made up for his absences.
He had returned and they’d forged a good relationship. Often he had regaled Jackson with hair-raising tales of his adventures with his old friends Finbar Stuart and Preston McBryde.
Two weeks ago William had received a letter from Finbar, but he had died before he’d had a chance to read it. Its content had been short.
“William, it’s happening in Coyote Ridge on July first,” Jackson said to himself, quoting the letter. “I’ve already confirmed I was right. The search is over. We’ll meet in the Horned Moon and end this. Be careful.”
Since receiving Finbar’s letter, Jackson had looked forward to meeting a man who had been important to his father. He hoped he might learn more about the life of the man he’d gotten to know only over the last few years.
He was also excited about the hinted possibilities in the message that suggested Finbar was calling William and perhaps Preston to join him on an escapade. With his father unable to help, Jackson intended to complete whatever role his father would have taken.
Accordingly, he’d brought along his father’s Peacemaker. His father had trained him well and he could draw quickly. He’d never fired the gun in anger, but he was eager to face any eventuality.
He had traveled as fast as he could, but he had still arrived late in the afternoon on the specified day. He started reading the signs. The first sign to draw his attention was the banner splayed across the main drag.
Written in letters five feet high was the announcement: The $64,000 Poker Game – July 2nd to July 4th.Below these words the banner said this game was happening in the Five Star saloon, so he carried on down the main drag until he reached the end, still not finding the Horned Moon.
Then he investigated Coyote Ridge’s block structure, riding up and down streets that were just as bustling as the main drag until, at the end of the third street he tried, he found the saloon. It was smaller and quieter than the establishments on the main drag, but presumably that was why Finbar had chosen it.
Jackson went inside. Several people were sitting on their own along with at least five groups. He didn’t know what Finbar looked like and none of them were facing the door as if they were waiting for someone.
On the other hand Finbar wouldn’t be expecting a young man to arrive. He was considering who might be the most approachable when the bartender grunted a question.
“What do you want?”
Jackson turned and shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“Then you’re in the wrong place,” the bartender said, turning away.
“But you might be able to help me. I’m looking for Finbar Stuart.”
“There are lots of new people in town.” The bartender didn’t break his stride. “I don’t know any of them.”
Jackson returned to appraising the customers. In the corner a heavily bearded man was holding his head to one side as if he thought he’d heard his name uttered but he wasn’t sure with the background noise.
He was sitting with another man. A chair at their table was vacant. With his heart beating faster, Jackson made his way over to their table.
“Finbar Stuart?” he asked.
Both men rocked back and Jackson decided he’d made a mistake. His father had often talked about his friends, describing them as men who were full of mischief and adventure, but these old men couldn’t be those men.
One of the men was well-dressed and had eyes that bored into him, but his interest only made Jackson think he was working out how much money he had on him and how he would take it off him. The bearded, elder man had cold, dead eyes and a hand that had already strayed close to his gun.
“Who wants him?” this man said, his voice muffled through the vast untidy beard that coated his face nearly up to his eyes.
“You mean you are Finbar Stuart and Preston McBryde?” Jackson said, surprised.
The men frowned before he received a reply from the well-dressed one.
“I’m Finbar,” he said. “Have you got a message for us?”
“I have.” Jackson gestured at the empty chair and received a brief nod. He sat down, clearing his throat. “You sent a letter to William Crowley.”
“I did. Where is he?”
“He’s not coming.” Jackson’s voice broke and he coughed to compose himself before he provided the bad news. “He’s dead.”
“How?”
Jackson frowned. Neither man had reacted with the shock he had expected.
“He fell off his horse and broke his neck. He never read your letter.”
Both men cringed, as if the manner of his death was more shocking than his actual death.
“Anything suspicious about the way it happened?”
“No.”
“Then that isn’t a dignified way for a man like William Crowley to die.”
“It sure wasn’t.” Although he hadn’t received the encouragement he’d expected, Jackson drew his chair closer to the table. “There was this damn creek that was just too wide to jump, but for years he said that one day he’d clear it. So one morning he must have ridden off to do it, but he never made it. These two men were passing by and found him lying face-down in the water all cold and stiff.”
“William never could resist a challenge, but there weren’t no need for you to come all the way here to tell us that.”
“I thought I ought to. Your message sounded urgent and I didn’t know what to do for the best.”
Finbar narrowed his eyes. “Am I right in thinking you’re William’s son?”
“Yeah.” Jackson raised his chin. “I’m Jackson Crowley, and no matter why you called him here, any problem of my father’s is now my problem.”
“It isn’t, kid,” Preston said. “We’re obliged to you for coming here to tell us the news, but this is our concern.”
Finbar shook his head. “You’re wrong. This is more important to William’s kin than either of us.”
“It sure isn’t,” Preston grunted, slamming a fist on the table for emphasis. “We agreed that we three would end this. If one of us can’t, there’s no reason for nobody else to get involved, and that’s—”
“Hey, I’ll decide whether this has anything to do with me,” Jackson said, raising his voice.
Finbar and Preston turned to him. Jackson gulped, knowing he’d spoken out of turn, but Finbar broke the tension by laughing and then slapping his shoulder.
“You’re William’s son all right, and that’s good enough for me.” Finbar stood up, buttoned his jacket and gestured to the door.
Preston stayed sitting, shaking his head. “We don’t need more people knowing about this.”
“Since Meeker Trent started displaying it that hasn’t mattered none.” Finbar withdrew a watch from his vest pocket. “In fifteen minutes everyone will get a final chance to see our problem. I reckon it’d be easier to just show Jackson rather than explaining it.”
Preston bunched his jaw suggesting he would continue arguing, but then shrugged. Finbar turned his back on Preston and then placed a friendly hand on Jackson’s shoulder to shepherd him to the door.
Preston stood up and joined them, radiating disapproval with a fixed sneer. Without further talk they headed to the main drag, where they mingled in with the people bustling along toward the Five Star.
Jackson reckoned the crowd had grown even denser in the short time he had been in the Horned Moon. Accordingly, the saloon was boisterous and heaving with so many people crowding around the entrance they had to elbow their way past ten rows of men just to get through the doorway.
The solid mass of customers was all facing the stage at the back of the saloon. Jackson had to crane his neck to find out what was interesting them, but as far as he could tell the stage was unoccupied.
Faced with so many people Preston finally gathered some enthusiasm for Finbar having brought them here and with his help in barging people aside, they snaked closer to the stage. Three rows back was the closest they could get although a sudden roar of approval followed by a lurching of people from behind meant Jackson was close enough to reach out and touch the stage if he’d wanted to.
Then the prettiest woman he had ever seen came out of a door at the back of the stage and walked to the front, her stiff and unmoving skirt making her motion seem as if she was gliding. Above the skirt, her slender body sashayed from side to side in a way that made Jackson’s collar feel too tight and made his cheeks burn.
She kept her eyes cast downward, but when she stopped walking, she faced the rows of menfolk, making Jackson gulp to moisten the sudden dryness in his throat. He was vaguely aware that an older man then came on to the stage and announced something, but Jackson had eyes only for the woman.
He drank in her beauty like a dying man who’d found an oasis in the desert. Presently, Finbar nudged him in the stomach, which Jackson ignored, but when a second stronger nudge got his attention Finbar winked and then pointed at the stage.
“I didn’t bring you here to ogle Amelia Trent,” he said. “You’re here to listen to what her father Meeker is saying.”
With a supreme effort Jackson forced himself to listen to Meeker’s speech, but he was already too late.
“The game will begin tomorrow afternoon here in the Five Star saloon and culminate on the fourth,” Meeker was announcing.
A roar went up, confirming that Meeker had finished his speech. Piecing together the information he had: the banner he’d seen outside and the few words of the speech he’d heard, Jackson deduced that the game Meeker was talking about was this $64,000 poker game.
“Have you heard and seen enough to understand why we’re here yet?” Finbar said.
“Not really,” Jackson admitted, again turning to Amelia.
“Then take your eyes off her and listen.” Finbar waited until Jackson turned to him before continuing. “Sixty-four of the finest poker players have come to Coyote Ridge. Each man will stake a thousand dollars to take part in the greatest poker game there’s ever been. The prize for the winner is. . . .”
Finbar took Jackson’s chin and pushed his head to the side.
“The prize is her?”
“No, my dewy-eyed little friend,” Preston said with laughter in his tone. “The prize is around her neck.”
“There’s something around her neck?” Jackson said. Then he noticed a pendant dangling against the flawless white skin of her neck.
“It’s not just something,” Finbar said. “That pendant is crafted in gold with sixteen tourmaline crystals set around the largest diamond anyone’s ever likely to see.”
Jackson screwed up his eyes, judging that the diamond at its center caught the light in an appealing manner, but not as appealing as the way Amelia’s eyes twinkled.
“I guess it’s a worthwhile prize for this here poker game, but what’s that got to do with you, and me?”
Finbar lowered his voice. “Fifteen years ago your father dug up that diamond, except three months later some varmint took it off him and none us ever got to clap eyes on it again, until now.”
Jackson winced as sudden understanding came to him.
“And you’re here to take part in this poker game and win it back?”
“I sure am.” Finbar pointed at Preston. “If I don’t, he’ll shoot up anyone who gets in our way, but no matter what, we’re not leaving town without reclaiming your father’s diamond.”
Chapter Two
“So there’ll be sixteen poker games, each with four men in which the required stake is a thousand dollars,” Jackson said, summing up what he’d learned now that he was back in the Horned Moon. “The winners move on to play the other winners until only one man remains.”
Finbar nodded. “That man will hand over the sixty-four thousand dollars in exchange for the pendant.”
“Is it worth that much?”
“Who knows? Something that rare could be worth ten times that.”
“To us it’s worth everything,” Preston said, speaking for the first time since they’d returned.
“How did my father find it?” Jackson asked.
Finbar grunted, inviting Preston to talk. Preston composed himself, and when he spoke his voice was low and his eyes were distant, as if he were reliving the events in his mind.
“Four of us were prospecting when William heard about these old mine-workings,” he said. “Navajo or Mexicans had made them and they were in a poor state. Sure enough, a month after we went in, the main tunnel collapsed. We barely got out alive, but the brush with death had been worth it. William had found this huge diamond, the first anyone had ever found there. Being the man he was he shared it, but the fourth man was Pierre Dupré. He was nothing like your father. He stole it.”
Preston turned to Finbar who picked up the story.
“The full truth is we played poker. We were drunk and ended up playing for the diamond. We weren’t serious, but Pierre won and claimed the game was binding. Nobody agreed so he made off with it. We vowed to track him down, but it took us a year to find him. I was sure I could win it back.”
“If we’d carried out my plan of bushwhacking him,” Preston grumbled, “we’d have gotten the diamond back there and then.”
“We’ve been over this again and again for the last fourteen years,” Finbar said wearily. “I still reckon he’d have gotten away. That Pierre was a sneaky varmint.”
Preston snorted, not accepting this view and they descended into surly silence until Jackson prompted them.
“What happened then?” he said.
Finbar sighed and then leaned forward as he resumed the tale.
“When we found Pierre he told us he’d gotten the diamond cut and set in a pendant, but without the tourmaline. I challenged him to a game. He said he’d meet us in the saloon that night, but he never showed up and when we went to his hotel room, all we found was an open window. We’ve not seen him or the diamond since.”
“Until the diamond shows up here as the prize in a poker game,” Jackson said when he was sure there was no more to this tale.
Preston sneered. “It has, and this time there’ll be no mistakes. One of us will get it, no matter what.”
“Yes, one of us will get it,” Finbar said.
Preston narrowed his eyes when he gathered Finbar’s meaning.
“One of us two will, surely?”
“No. Jackson is a part of this. He’s William’s kid and there’s plenty he can do to help us. For a start, he can play in William’s place.”
Preston’s mouth fell open, suggesting he wondered whether Finbar was being serious. When Finbar smiled, he waved a dismissive hand at him.
“That’s ridiculous. I doubt even William would have won through here, but the kid sure isn’t worth wasting a thousand dollars on.”
“Perhaps he isn’t, but I reckon we ought to ask Jackson himself.” Finbar turned to Jackson and raised his eyebrows.
Jackson jutted his jaw while he mulled over the question.
“Is poker the game where you have to get to twenty-one?” he said.
“No!” Finbar said, his eyes opening wide in bemusement, while Preston grunted with irritation.
“Which one is it, then?” Jackson tried to keep his expression blank but slowly a smile appeared.
Finbar roared with laughter and then slapped him on the back.
“That poker face means you’re worth a thousand dollars.”
“Not of my money he isn’t,” Preston said.
He rose to his feet, his quick motion nudging the table and rocking it. As he headed to the bar, Jackson turned to Finbar.
“I’m obliged to you for speaking up for me,” he said. “But I haven’t played that much poker and then only for cents and not against the kind of players who’ll be here. Preston’s right. I’m not worth risking a thousand dollars on. I couldn’t even raise ten dollars.”
