Buchanan's Revenge (14 page)

"I'll watch it," Buchanan promised.

"Look 'em over, though," Harper said. "If you see one you like I'll fix it up for you." He winked. "I got connec
tions," he said.

"I'll bet."

Two men came up to the table then, their faces serious,
took chairs without a word of greeting and sat there wait
ing. A colored boy appeared, holding two decks of cards,
and threw them atop the felt-topped table.

"Would you open one of those, mister, and count 'em?" Harper said casually, "like to have a man pick his own
poison."

As the man unwrapped the fresh deck Buchanan drifted
unobtrusively backward, lowered his big frame into one of
the spectator seats nearby. He glanced then at Harper,
who shook his head to tell him neither of these was the
one he was worried about.

Play began, for token stakes, and though one of the bettors began to win, Harper held his losses to a minimum by
scoring against the other. The winner, after twenty min
utes, upped the value of his cards to two dollars, doubling
the amount whenever he was dealt an ace. And, as Bu
chanan had been expecting he would, Harper began to con
centrate a little more deliberately on that man's layout and
to change his tactics. It was, of course, the old come-on.
The dealer begins the game in a wild fashion, taking un
likely risks and going over twenty-one himself more often
than not. And instead of noting the dealer's chance-tak
ing, the opponent too often credits his own skillful play
for his winnings. He doubles his bets, as this one did, and
anticipates a killing. Abruptly, the game changes pace. The dealer no longer takes new cards for himself like a
bear in a honey barrel. He begins to stand pat on sixteen,
even fourteen, and unless his opponent really has Lady
Luck standing behind his chair, the old law of averages catches him. Now his game becomes the wild one and he doubles the bet again to recoup. Good money chasing bad,
and it all has a way of winding up beside the dealer's el
bow.

Another player joined the game, and a fourth, but st
i
ll
no warning signal from Harper. The blackjack game
droned on
—exciting enough when you're playing but dead
ly dull to watch. At least it was for Buchanan, who by this
time had figured the gambler's style, observed enough
small mannerisms to believe that he could give him a
lively time across the table. That, however, didn't seem
very sporting, somehow. To beat Harper using the man's
own twenty-five dollars for a stake . . .

There was a stir nearby and Buchanan looked to see
that John Lime had included the Crystal Palace in Cris
ty's tour of the city. He smiled at the look of surprise the
girl feigned as the sheriff demonstrated how a roulette
wheel worked, and the birdcage dice, and explained the meaning of all the numbers painted on the side of the big
craps table. Slowly they were working their way in his di
rection and Buchanan was curious to hear what
L
ime was
going to tell her about blackjack.

Hal Harper, in their honor, interrupted his game, rose from the slot and bowed politely. The other players fol
lowed suit.

"Perhaps Miss Ford would like to play a few hands?"
Harper suggested.

"You mean
—gamble?" Cristy said, so convincingly that
Harper threw Buchanan an accusing look.

"Go on, Cristina," Lime said. "You might find it di
verting."

"Oh, but I couldn't. Really-"

"Of course you can, my dear," Lime insisted, taking a wallet from his coat and extracting a fifty dollar bill. "You
ju
st sit there and I'll explain how to play."

Cristy's eyes, by force of habit, followed the course of
th
e bill across the table with hawklike interest.

"Fifty ones?" Harper asked, preparing to break it. "Or
te
n fives?"

"Five tens," Lime told him. "We'll give you a run for
i
t
."

"John, really, I couldn't," Cristy was still protesting de
mur
ely when her glance happened to lock with Buchan
an.
He was grinning at her from ear to ear. She turned
her
face to Lime. "All right," she said. "If you insist." She
sat down in the chair opposite the slot and the play be
gan. Buchanan edged closer to the table, remained stand
ing to get a full view of what was going to happen here.
By mutual consent it was to be just she and Harper.

On the first face-up card, Cristy was dealt a nine
spot.
Lime, peering at the hole card, advised her to take anoth
er. She did and it was an eight.

"Well, we lose," Lime said, turning the cards over.

"We do?"

"Yes. You see, my dear, there was a five in the hole. That plus the seventeen makes twenty-two, one over the
limit."

"Oh, I see," Cristy said.

Harper dealt again, one down, one up. A jack was show
ing and Lime leaned down to see the other card. He told
her to take a third card. She nodded to Harper and he
dealt a second jack.

"Well," Lime said, "we lose again. Those two jacks
gave us twenty-four."

"Yes," Cristy said sweetly. "I know."

"Just bad luck, that's all," Hal Harper said sympathet
ically, but only Buchanan could enjoy the true meaning
in the girl's expression at the gambler's remark. Bad luck?
it said. That was plain stupid playing.

The third hand was dealt. This time the king of hearts
was the up card. Lime took his peek at the hidden one.

"This time, my dear, we'll play these."

"No, John, let's try one more."

"But-"

"One more, please," Cristy said firmly.

"Better listen to Mr. Lime," Harper said. "He knows
this game like an expert."

"Another card," Cristy said. "Please."

Harper shrugged, peeled the card from the top of the deck. It was an eight, making a total of eighteen show
ing, and Harper actually looked like he was sorry he'd,
won.

But had he?

"Now we have enough," Cristy was saying. "Don't you
think so, John?"

"Yes, my dear," Lime said, his voice admiring.
"Now it's your turn, Mr. Harper, isn't it?" Cristy said
with an innocent smile.

"It sure is," Harper replied. His up card was the jack and
now he looked to see what he had in the hole. "The deal
er takes another," he announced. It was the four of clubs.
"
Al
l right, Miss," he said. "The dealer pays twenty."

"Why, that's just what we have, isn't it, John?" And she
did, eighteen up and a two
spot under. Cristy won the
fourth hand, the fifth and the sixth, each time gently but
firmly overruling Lime's "expert" advice. Harper had just
begun dealing the seventh round when there was an ob
jection raised in a surly, ill-tempered voice.

"Whatta you doin', dealer?" Jules Perrott snarled. "Try
in' to cut me out 'cause I got your number?" He pulled a
chair out, sat down in it defiantly, and Buchanan didn't
need any signal from Harper to know that this raw-boned,
tough talking newcomer was the one he'd been hired to handle. He shifted his position so that he was behind the
slot.

"Deal me in, small man," Perrott demanded. "I bet a
hundred."

John Lime walked to where he was seated. "There are
other tables where you can play blackjack," he said to
him. "Go find yourself one."

Perrott surveyed the other man with an insolent leer, paid particular attention to the fact that Lame had come
out for a social evening unarmed.

"I like it right here, dude," he said. "And tonight I'm
gonna break this game for good."

"I'm ordering you to move," Lime said tightly. "In fact,
I
’
m ordering you out of this casino altogether." Perrott
lau
ghed up at him, slid his hand back along his belt to the
protruding gun
butt. Lime turned halfway around, search
ing
for a deputy.

Buchanan had quit watching the argument a moment
be
fore. He was looking down at Cristy, reading the ex
pression of startled concern in her beautiful face. He
g
lanc
ed sharply at the newcomer again, took a step to his
left
that put the length of the table between them.

Perrott had laughed in John Lime's face, moved his long
fingers to the .44. "Whatta you mean, you're orderin',"
he asked menacingly. "Nobody orders me
—"

"Stand up, mister," Buchanan's voice said, cracking like
a whip. The seated man switched his attention swiftly.
"Are you Gill?" Buchanan asked. "Or Perrott?"

"What's it to you?"

"Gill or Perrott?" Buchanan repeated.

"I'm Jules Perrott! So what?"

"Mr. Lime," Buchanan said, "take Cristy out of the
way. Harper, the rest of you
—back off."

"No, Tom!" Cristy cried out.

"Get her out of the way," Buchanan said again, his wintry gaze boring into Perrott's face. Lime pulled the
girl from the chair, moved her aside. Hal Harper and the
other players jumped clear.

"Say, boy," Jules Perrott drawled, "what the hell's goin'
on here tonight?" He accompanied it with a lazy smile,
but his own scowling, deep-set little eyes watched Buchanan intently.

"A shiny new red wagon," Buchanan said. "The Dou
ble-B Fast Freight. Remember it?"

"Maybe."

"A 'B' for Bogan and a 'B' for Buchanan. I'm Buchan
n-"

Jules Perrott fired without leaving his seat. Fired
through an open-end swivel holster that he kept greased
for times just like this. That sneak shot was his favorite;
and there wasn't a man in Leech's gang who wasn't wa
r
y
of him for it. Perrott fired through the holster and the
n
did leave his seat. He was blown clear out of the char
by a slug from Buchanan's Colt that caught him almos
t
dead center. Off center about one-sixteenth of an inc
h
Buchanan hit him with two more before the man's boo
ts
had reached the carpeted
floor, then swung around, search
ingly.

"Fred Perrott, you here?" he called out to the stun
ned
room. "Are you here, Sam Gill? Now's your chares,
boys!"

They weren't present and Buchanan holstered the s
mok
ing .45 until the next time. That was the signal that re
leased the onlookers.

"Jeezu!" Hal Harper breathed for them all. "I'll tell the
world you can use that thing
.
"

John Lime agreed, was impressed, but the thin-skinned
and position-conscious sheriff was having some immediate
second thoughts on what had occurred and he didn't like at all the role in which he'd been cast. He could hear
Buchanan ordering him around, relegating him to shepherd, to common spectator. And not only in front of this
impressionable crowd but before the eyes of the young
la
dy he, himself, was trying to impress. Second best was
not for John Lime, and now he acted impulsively to re
gain face.
"Buchanan!"

Buchanan turned, his eyes quizzical at the stern tone.

"I warned you," Lime said, "about taking the law into
four own hands. You deliberately provoked that gunplay
fast now."

Buchanan smiled sheepishly. "Damn near provoked my
self to death," he admitted. "Them swivel jobs are
t
ric
ky-"

"You're under arrest, Buchanan!"

"John," Cristy said, "you're not serious?"

"
P
lease don't interfere, Cristina. The law has been bro
ken.
There can be no compromise with justice. Not in my
town.”
He moved away from her, came to stand directly
besid
e Buchanan. "Hand me your gun, Buchanan."
Bu
chanan looked down, half-smiling, half-squinting.

"'
I
don't get you, Mr. Lime," he said softly. "What
harm
's been done to your precious law?"

“I
said hand me your gun. You're under arrest."

Buc
hanan looked over the man's head, into Cristy's
eyes,
Hal Harper's, glanced at the faces of total strangers.
In each
he saw the same disturbance he was feeling, the
bewilder
ment, the inability to comprehend Lime's posi
tion.
And, importantly, Buchanan felt their oneness with
him, the
ir complete support if he defied the sheriff, told
him
go to hell. Even Cristy.

His eye
s went again to Lime's intense, unyielding ex
pression and the urge was there, all right, to brush the
sanctimonious little martinet aside and be on his way.

"For the third and last time, Buchanan, your gun!"

The candlelight in the crystal chandelier overhead
caught Lime's small gold badge and made it glisten. Not a
shield at all like the tarnished, bullet-creased old star that Jess Bogan wore back in Alpine. But they both stood for
the same thing, the law, and suddenly the persons of John
Lime and Jess Bogan became fused in Buchanan's mind.

He lifted the Colt from its holster backhanded and surrendered it.

"That's showing good sense, mister," Lime said.

"Just take it," Buchanan advised him. "Don't talk about
it."

The sheriff of Brownsville followed his big prisoner out
of the Crystal Palace, had to quicken his stride to keep
pace, and he wondered just how much of his dignity he'd
regained.

Ten

I
t never
occurred
to Turkey Forbes to report first to
Lash Wall. He hurried into the hacienda, stood in the
doorway of the room where the poker game was in progress
and announced his news in a shrill, charged voice.
"Jules Perrott
is
dead
.
"

The roomful of gunmen seemed to freeze, then one by
one they all swung their attention to Fred Perrott. Per
rott's slack jaw hung open as he slowly climbed to his
feet

"Say that again," he said hollowly.
"Your brother just got himself shot and killed in
Brownsville," Forbes repeated. "I couldn't follow what him
I and the big guy was arguin' about, but it sure got over in
a hurry."

"How big?" Wynt Jenkins asked. "Near as big as Big Red."

"Ain't nobody as big as me!" Leech himself said loudly,
coming into the room. He glanced around at the faces of
the
men. "What's the matter here?"

"Somebody got Jules Perrott," Sherm Moore informed
in.

“
Got him?" Leech echoed. "Who? Where?"

"He slipped into town tonight," Turkey Forbes said,
Lash
sent me to keep an eye on him. Only I was too late.
It was
all over before it started, seemed like."

"You were there," Fred Perrott said, "and didn't take a
hand?”

L
is
ten, Fred," Forbes answered, "that fella spotted your
brother
that swivel shot of his and plugged him three
times
through the heart. Then he swings the gun around
and starts callin' for fresh meat
—namely you and Sam
Gill."

"He knew us?" the heavy-set Gill asked.
Forbes shook his head. "It wasn't like he knew you,
Sam. Just your name, and Fred's. And he invited you both
to step up and try him."

"Well, I'll damn well oblige him," Fred Perrott said,
stepping forward. "Come on, Sam."

Lash Wall had come into the room, heard a part of the
conversation
.
"Hold on, Fred," he said.

"Hold on, hell! Jules is dead."

"If it's the ramstam I think it is," Wynt Jenkins
drawled, "you and Sam better approach him real careful."
"Amen," Sherm Moore said dryly.

"You mean the same one that took Prado and you?"
Lash Wall asked.

"The description is close," Wynt replied. "Especially the spotting old Jules' first shot, then hitting him three
times."

"He don't scare me none," Fred Perrott said hotly.
"Stand aside, Lash!"

"Everybody hold on here!" Big Red thundered. "Who's
runnin' this outfit, anyhow?"

"Big Red, somebody is cutting this outfit down," Lash
Wall commented. "We can't lose any more."

"Don't tell me what we can and can't!" Leech shouted at his lieutenant. "Now, forgettin' the fact that Jules dis
obeyed me personal, the fact remains that there's som
e
scudder runnin' around loose and makin' this army lo
ok
bad. We got hired for this job on our rep, and by damn
I
ain't gonna lose it to no lucky shootin' sonofabitch! Sadd
le
up, everybody!" Leech ordered. "We got a maverick is
Brownsville that needs lynchin'!"

"He's already in the pokey, Red," Turkey Forbes announced. "The sheriff took him in immediate for shoot
ing
Jules."

"Then we'll just take him the hell out of the pokey!"

"No, Big Red," Lash Wall protested. "That sheriff
will
fight
.
"