August 4, 2012

OUTLAND III

The town’s population grows by two, a birth and Jake Beam, a faro dealer for the Dusky Road saloon. The council’s headman, McDaniel, owns the saloon.
“I know you want to get as much of the ranch hand’s wages you can get but is a faro table the way to do it,” Sheriff Tom says.
“Sure. Why not.”
“I have seen those guys cause trouble with their cheating.”
“He’ll run a clean table.”
“I don’t think he has it in his heart to do so.”
“I’ll make sure he does.”
“If I have to go to the table more than once a week to keep the peace, it closes down.”
“You’re the sheriff. I’ll let him know.”

Tom drinks whiskey; only a shot or two with a cigar, after the town closes down, from the bottle he keeps in the jailhouse. The bartender is surprised to see him in the saloon, since nobody is making trouble. Then, he remembers Jake Beam sitting at the faro table.
“Everything is okay Tom.”
“Just making a walk around.”
“Good enough.”
As he leaves the saloon, he sends Jack Beam a warning stare that is accepted with a smirk.

Ever since Tom rescued Betty Fielder from kidnappers, she visits him whenever she comes to town for merchandise.
“Every time I visit, there’s no prisoners in the cells,” she says.
“Quiet town,” he says.
“I got some cooked ham slices and boiled potatoes.”
“Lets eat.”
“Do you visit Lois’s house?” Betty asks.
Tom stops chewing but manages to say. “Sometimes.”
“Well from now on I’ll visit you for that.”
“What?”
“I’m not trying to make you my husband, just want to do it with you.”
“Okay.”

One night after his rounds, Tom writes it in the log. The door opens. An Unknown Man enters.
“May I help?” Tom asks.
“I’m here to kill you.”
“What?”
“I was hired to kill you.”
“What?”
“The train is leaving, draw and shoot.”
Tom wears his revolver so he has to cross draw. He and the Unknown Man draw even, bullets miss. Tom cocks and presses the trigger quicker on the second shot, striking the Unknown Man’s shoulder of his shooting hand that makes him drop his revolver. He backs against the wall. “Damn,” he mumbles, “it hurts.”
“Who put you up to killing me?”
“I’m not telling.”
Tom pats him for revolvers or knives then locks him in a cell.
“I’ll get the doctor.”

Tom walks into the saloon, over to the faro table, glares at Jack Beam. The three players look on confused.
“You gentlemen mind leaving us for a minute. You’re money will be safe.”
“You want to play alone?” Jack Beam asks.
“Don’t send another gunslinger after me.”
“I had nothing to do with that. McDaniel said you would think so.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” Tom warns him.
“It wasn’t me.”
After an I don’t believe you glare, Tom leaves the saloon. END

George A. Davis born in Philadelphia PA (presently resides in Tampa FL): studied creative writing at The Community College of Philadelphia, retired Federal government employee and presently writes stories. http://gadavis-writergeorge.blogspot.com