Dead Mans Hand

Dead Mans Hand

 Chad McConnel slapped his cards down on the green felt tabletop. A small cloud of dust coughed in protest.

  “Two pair. Aces and eights. Your hand’s like your ranch Creed. Nothing but bullshit!” The sheep raising farmer glared at the well-dressed cattleman across the table. “This is one fence you can’t cut!”

  Connor Creed eyed his adversary with a thoughtful squint. Personally, he felt that 1848 would be a better year if Chad McConnel would be swallowed up by the earth, his sheep with him. For now, he wanted to savor the moment. He laid his cards in a pile on the table with the two of spades showing. An expectant hush fell over players and onlookers alike. Slowly Creed fanned the first three cards, all twos.

  “Three of a kind Mac. It appears to me you’re busted.” He swept the stack of chips towards himself, then looked across the table with a rattlesnake’s stare. “Unless you maybe want to keep playing, for that farm of yours?” His bushy eyebrows raised hoping for a response.

  The smaller man in the decidedly worn clothing jumped to his feet, knocking his chair backwards and to the floor where it banged for everyone’s attention like a judge’s gavel.

  “I hope you get trampled to death by your own beeves Creed!” Hands around the saloon reached for their sidearms, but the beaten man was unarmed, and sensing he was over matched, he stormed through the front into the falling night. Before the twin doors stopped swinging a stranger entered the saloon that was already returning to its self-absorbed distractions.

  “I see that there’s a newly opened seat. Mind if I join in?” the stranger asked the players remaining at the table. A small nervous man with darting eyes returned to the table just then, and pulling out his seat and sitting he broke the silent pause of scrutiny.

  “Sure, you can mister. My names Clay Baker.” he said, offering his hand to the new player, and gesturing to the seat to his left.

  “Texas. Texas Rabbit is my name.” A tall man with a sun weathered face smoothly shaven, Rabbit waited for the inevitable reactions.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Connor Creed, vest buttoned, wearing a large turquoise ring on his right hand, sat to the new man's left behind the biggest stack of chips on the table. “Now that’s a name with a story to tell!”

  “Rosalee! Chip up the new player dear.” beckoned a pudgy balding man with a gray walrus moustache. “Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Rabbit. Doctor Walter S. Ragsdale, this town’s resident medical expert.”

  “And known to self-medicate with a bottle from breakfast and beyond!” chipped in Clay Baker sarcastically as he shuffled the deck of cards.

  “Young Clay, need you be reminded that I brought you into this world thirty-two miserable years ago.” Doc Ragsdale pointed a crooked finger at the dusty man. “I can take you out of it as well.”

  “You and every claim jumper east and west can come at me for my mine, but you’ll end up buried in it instead.” sneered the miner, gold tooth catching the light and winking at the doctor for emphasis. “Um, that mine is gonna pay out soon, you watch.”

  “As long as you’re only mining your claim, right Clay?” interjected Connor Creed.

  “What do you mean by that cattleman?” the miner shot back quickly.

  “I’m just sayin’. I wouldn’t say a man was seen panning the river north of the oxbow, which is, by the way, on my ranch, but what I’m sayin’ is that if he was seen doing that, he might not be seen again.” Creed emphasized the threat by dancing a poker chip deftly back and forth across the knuckles of his well-manicured fingers without releasing the miner from his icy stare.

   Just then a buxom young woman dressed in a petticoat and tight white blouse approached their table with a serving tray. She set a stack of chips in front of Texas Rabbit and leaned in closely as she did.

  “If a stranger were needing some…companionship, upon finding himself in a new town, he’d do well to remember the name Rosalee.” She leaned even further so that Texas had a clear view of her ample cleavage, and as if she needed any more emphasis, she squeezed her breasts together with her arms, nearly thrusting them into the cowboys’ face. He caught a flash of gold that disappeared into her bosom as if it had never appeared.

  “Rosalee, you may be making our guest hungry, but you’re making me damn thirsty!” growled Doc Ragsdale.

  “One for everybody Rosy.” insisted Clay Baker.

  She set a half glass of whiskey in front of Connor Creed, then began to pour one for the man between Creed and the Doctor.

  “I didn’t catch your name stranger.” Looking intently at the fifth man at the table, Texas meant it as a comment, not a question.

  The stranger slowly raised his eyes and stared at Texas from under the brim of his hat. “I didn’t give it. Mister Rabbit.” Both men locked eyes while sizing the other up. After a moment the man with the black pencil thin moustache answered.

  “Bone. Zeke Bone.” He waved Rosalee back as she finished pouring the last of the men’s drinks. He knocked back the half glass in a swallow and held out his glass for another. “I’m a gambler Mr. Rabbit, so if you don’t mind, can we play some cards?”

  “I’ll take that bottle Rosalee.” said Doc Ragsdale as he snatched the bottle from her tray. “Mr. Baker, it’s your deal.”

  The poker chips soon found their rhythm again, like the cicadas in the darkened night.

  Zeke Bone broke the silence after several hands. “Mr. Rabbit. You are nearly as unreadable as the cards you hold. You may already know that Mr. Creed is a gluttonous greedy rancher who practically runs this town.”

  “Now you wait just one minute!” Connor Creed began to rise to protest his innocence, but he sank back into his chair, sweat beading on his brow.

  Zeke Bone raised a single finger as if commanding silence. His sharp features cut off any resistance.

  “You may already know that Doc Ragsdale is a drunken fool who dresses up sometimes as the towns sawbones.”

Doc Ragsdale gripped the bottle with defiant agreement and knocked back a swig.

  “You may also know that Clay Baker is a gold miner, and that he’s struck it rich with a motherlode in that mine of his.”

  The miners’ face slowly reddened until the silent answer couldn’t be hidden.

  “So, knowing all of this Mr. Rabbit, we know so very little of you.”

  Just then the doors swung open, and Sheriff Zucker entered, scanning the room, he headed for the bar. No one caught the unspoken look exchanged between the sheriff and Texas Rabbit. Zeke Bones’ eyes tracked the sheriff from the front doors and across the room where he settled against the bar with a boot on the rail.

  “I bet two.” Texas Rabbit opened the betting on a new hand. “Actually, Mr. Bone, I was given my name by the family of Osage Indians that raised me. My Indian name, “Moschinka”, means rabbit. My real father, who I am looking for now, was a Texas Ranger.”

  Zeke Bone’s reaction wasn’t lost on Texas. When he mentioned Texas Rangers, his look was like a one-armed man who once again meets up with the rattlesnake that bit him in the hand.

  “I’ll bet one.” Connor Creed struggled to hold his cards still. The stocky man loosened the kerchief around his neck.

  “You can’t bet one Creed! Rabbit here already opened with a bet of two.” Clay Baker told the cattleman with a measure of scorn.

  Ignoring the bet Doc piggybacked on the conversation between Bone and Rabbit. “I remember treating a Ranger once, years ago. Arrow in the ass specifically.”

  Texas Rabbits eyes widened. He had searched for his father ever since his Osage Indian brother Wahto had returned a Rangers badge to him that his Indian father had hidden from Texas for his entire life. When Onaga passed from this world Wahto had returned the badge to Texas, explaining that Onaga as a young warrior had shot a white man in uniform, and taken his badge as coup while sparing his life. He said that the man was ruined, as he shot him in the back side with his arrow, and what man had any use if he could not sit on his horses back?

  Before Texas could press Doc for details, Connor Creed stood partially from his chair, suddenly falling to the wooden floor. In moments he started thrashing about like a fish on the bank of a river. White foam flecked his lips as moans escaped his clenched teeth.

  “Creed!” shouted the Doc as he rose clumsily from his chair. Texas kneeled at the stricken man’s side and tried to restrain the convulsing cattleman. The thrashing eased, and Creeds body relaxed. Rabbit thought he saw the man’s eyes clear for a moment. He leaned closer as he realized the rancher was trying to speak.

  “Gold” was all he said before he took a hoarse shuddering breath and lay still. Texas and Doc both wrinkled their noses and shared a look over the man’s body. The doctor held his finger under the fallen man’s nose, then looking back up, sadly shook his head.

  Zeke Bone, grabbing his remaining chips, rose from his seat. “Looks like that man is done, and this game too.”

  “Just have a seat stranger.” ordered Sheriff Tom Zucker, placing his right hand on the butt of his Colt .45 revolver for encouragement. “Keep your hands on the table too, until we get this straightened out.”

  “Straighten what out? This rich bastard drops dead from gluttony and gout, and you hold us here?” Bone growled as he returned to his seat and slowly put both of his hands on the table.

  “Stranger’s right Sheriff.” Chimed in Clay Baker. “We were all sittin’ right here when he keeled over. None of us touched him!”

  “Doc, what do you think?” Sheriff Zucker asked Doc Ragsdale.

  Doc unsteadily got to his feet and gave the body one last look. “It would seem, er, ah, by the first impression I have of this man, I mean Mr. Creed, well, I am forced to conclude that he was poisoned. Beyond that I can not tell you more, until…until…morning at least!” The doctor shuffled unsteadily towards the door.

  “Hey! You mean you’re letting him go? That’s just downright unfair!” Zeke Bone pounded the poker table petulantly with both closed fists.

  “I know where to find him! You, now that’s a whole different story.” Sheriff Zucker shot back.

  Clay Baker chimed in “You know, that McConnel fellow left here pretty heated. You know how often beef and sheep ranchers have at it these days. Seems to be a prime suspect to me.” The gold miner nodded his head knowingly.

  “That right Texas? Did McConnel and Creed have a beef?” It was to everyone’s surprise that the Sheriff seemed to know Texas Rabbit.

  “What Mr. Baker tells you is true. Losing his money to Mr. Creed seemed to be one of many feuds running between those two men. But that man didn’t kill Connor Creed.” Rabbit said emphatically.

  “How can you be so sure?” asked the Sheriff.

  Let’s have Rosalee bring us a round of drinks, and I’ll tell you. Rosalee? A bottle and glasses please!” Texas yelled out. “Empty glasses.”

  At this addition Rosalee seemed flustered, but more so when she brought the drinks and he insisted that she take a seat at the table with them. She reluctantly sat, and shakily measured out each glass one after the other, finally pouring one for herself.

  “I noticed earlier that when you brought us a round of drinks, one of them was already poured.” This statement by Texas caused the barmaid to spill some whiskey from her glass as she was sipping it. Her eyes darted from Texas to the Sheriff and back. Then to Zeke and Clay, where no help was forthcoming.

  “I ah, must have started filling them all but got, maybe distracted. Then I finished the job when I got here to the table. What’s the big deal? What are you saying?” She tried to hide the shaking of her hands by gripping the empty glass tightly to the table.

  “How are the tips at this job?” Texas suddenly changed tack.

  Even more flustered, Rosalee nodded before she could dig up the word “good”.

  “Some nights better than others I suppose. Some tippers…better than others.”

  Rosalee’s hand went instinctively to cover her cleavage as she softly answered, “I suppose so.”

  “But who would tip you a gold nugget, and for what?” Rabbit’s voice rose and he leaned over the table at Rosalee.

  “Stop! Here,” she dug between her breasts and fished out a golden nugget, “take this cursed thing back!” She slammed the nugget down on the table, in front of Clay Baker. The miner’s eyes widened, and he sputtered to find words.

  Texas held up a hand to silence any protests, then began.

  “Mr. Baker, when I entered the saloon, you were just returning to the table. Mr. Creed made a comment that implied that you have been panning, at least, on a stretch of the river that is his property.”

 “Now there was nothing of the kind…”

  “Please Mr. Baker, allow me to go on. You claim lack of success, yet your dental work says different. That tooth took a good bit of gold to make it fit right.”

  The miner clenched his jaw defiantly but kept his lips sealed.

  “When Rosalee here came to the table, there was one drink already poured, and she gave it to Mr. Creed. There was an empty glass for each of us, but I had just arrived. The glass must have been meant for the man that just left, meaning someone ordered those drinks just before I got here.” At a small jerk of Rabbit’s head, the Sheriff slid quietly behind the miner’s seat and stood at the ready. Texas Rabbit continued, “Even the “how” of it points the finger of guilt at you, Mr. Baker. When Creed expired both the doctor and I smelled almonds. I happen to know from experience that cyanide has the smell of bitter almonds. Also Mr. Baker, I happen to know, that cyanide is used by gold miners in processing their gold.”

  The miner dropped his head but remained silent.

  “The question I have is,” said the Sheriff taking Baker by the arm and hauling him up from his seat, he looked directly at Rosalee. “Who poured Creed’s drink?”

  “What difference does it make?” spat out the miner.

  “Difference? Well, none to you. But to her, it’s the difference between jail, and a rope.”

  “I didn’t put no poison in the man’s drink!” Rosalee shrieked, but the Sheriff’s heavy hand kept her in her seat.

  “Hold on Sheriff. She didn’t do it, I did.” Baker confessed. “He was a dirty rotten scoundrel who deserved to die!”

  At this Zeke Bone rose from his chair and flicked the sides of his leather overcoat over the handles of his twin pistols. “I appreciate your help Mr. Baker. What an irony that I watch the murder of the man,” he paused and looked Texas Rabbit straight in the eyes, “that I was hired to kill! Having his confession, no doubt, I am free to go. But one more thing.” He spoke directly to Texas Rabbit. “Good luck on finding your father.” He paused as he pushed open the saloon’s swinging double doors, and before slipping into the darkness of the night, he said, “For his sake…I hope you find him first!”

THE END

  Texas Rabbit appears in the short stories “Dogfight at Yellowstone Pass” and “White Gold”, as well as “Dead Mans Hand”. Building the saga for a collection, “The Tales of Texas Rabbit”.