The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [20]
Payment for boredom.
One night, after they had been dismissed for the day, Pete and Quantro shared a beer in the Copper Queen. They were both morose, fiddling aimlessly with their glasses while all around them miners attempted to forget their own harsh days in the confining reality of the shafts and tunnels that yielded the ore that paid their wages. If escape wasn’t to be found playing the faro layout, maybe it was by playing poker or downing the bumble bee whiskey until they keeled over into oblivion. The lesser drunk ones disappeared upstairs with the girls as they became available.
“I’ve had it with this job,” Quantro declared.
“Me too,” Pete agreed, “but what the hell, the money’s better than when we worked underground. It ain’t natural, besides, for a man to be in the dark when the sun’s up.”
“But the days seem three times as long waiting on Harley.” He drained his glass. “Doin’ nothing just tires me out. I’m quitting. You got any ideas?”
Pete shook his head. “Why buck it? We’ve got an easy meal-ticket. Might as well ride it out till we’ve got a decent stake.”
Quantro waved to the bartender for another two beers. When they were delivered, he sank a long draught. They had waited outside nearly all day in the sun and no matter how much he drank he still felt dry. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Got me an idea. You ever heard of the Scalphunters’ Ledge? Down south?” Quantro said.
Pete nodded. “Sure I’ve heard of it.”
“They say there’s a whole heap of gold there.”
“It’s a dream.”
“Maybe it is and maybe it ain’t.”
“I’ve prospected,” Pete said dryly. “There was the Blue Bucket lode on the Malheur River in Oregon, the Lost Bonanza in Nevada, the Lost Cabin in Montana, the Lost Cement in California, the Jim Bowie in Texas. There’s a list as long as my arm and yours put together. They’re all dreams. There’s always legends about lost lodes. Believe me, that’s all they are, legends…”
“Hey, Pete!”
Pete broke off his monologue and turned to see another of Harley’s guards, Buck Hulbert, waving from a poker table.
“Yeah?”
“Empty chair here. You want to sit in?” He grinned a wolf’s head leer. “Give us poor boys a chance at your money.”
“No.”
“What about Quantro? He wanna try?”
Quantro grinned lopsidedly, more from the beer than good humor. “Sure do.” He pushed back his chair. “We’ll talk about Scalphunters’ Ledge again, Pete.” He weaved among the tables and planted himself in an empty chair.
Buck Hulbert gestured at the heaps of silver coins. Quantro nodded and dug out his money. They cut around the table for the deal. Hulbert pulled a jack, the highest of the five cards. He shuffled, then straightened off the edges of the deck before he dealt each player an opening card, face down.
“Stud poker,” he declared. The first player tossed a coin into the center. “Okay,” Hulbert beamed, turning the next card over. “Possible pair of tens here.” A card to the next player. “Possible pair of queens…”
***
At nine o’clock the next morning, when Harley came down looking scrubbed and eager for the day, both Quantro and Hulbert were still at the poker table. Gritty-eyed and gravel-throated they fanned their cards. They had both played well. Quantro’s winnings stood a little lower than Hulbert’s.
“You two work for me, or don’t you?” Harley said, lighting his first cigar of the day.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Harley,” Hulbert said, folding his hand on to the table and gathering his stake money. He rose and crossed the foyer. Quantro flipped over Hulbert’s cards. He grinned. Busted flush or not it was still a better spread than his own. Both of them bluffers. Shaking his head, he pocketed his winnings before scooping the pot up from the center of the green baize.
“This is yours,” he said, holding out the coins.
Hulbert frowned as he took them.
“You won. Your ace high beat my jack.”
“When you two have finished, there’s work to do,” Harley said sourly as he sat down to a table