Chronicles Of The Maca Collection

Chapter 27

The little saloon was packed. Jesse Owens was behind the bar, happily pouring drinks and taking bets. Kasper celebrated the return of his sister by buying a round of drinks for those present and inviting his neighbors to a Texas barbeque in three days. He had stayed long enough to drink two filled mugs without commenting how much better his own brew was. He had even bet on the outcome of the evening"s poker game. Most of the men had snickered at Kasper betting on a fellow Dutchman. Rolfe had bet that he would win, but the others believed differently. MacDonald was the one to pick. Look at the size of the man. He had to have a larger capacity. He would be able to sit and drink longer than Rolfe without going outside to piss.

Jesse, as owner of the saloon, held the bets. He would collect ten percent no matter who won. The pot was to keep growing by one cent as long as the players sat there. Any man that went outside to piss lost his winnings, his place at the table, and the chance at the pot. Another was eligible to take the empty chair if they had five cents and had not gone outside. If they lost their money, they would still have a chance at the pot as long as they didn"t take a trip outside—for any reason. Every man had to drink the same amount of beer.

Both Tilden brothers were here and one hand from each ranch. The Jacksons, both Ben and Tom, had drifted in early and were sipping their beers. Tom was really too young to drink, but if the old man didn"t give a damn, neither did Jesse. Profit was profit. Malcolm Phillips, the wainwright, had his hat pushed back and a frown on his lean face. He was determined to beat both Rolfe and MacDonald.

The Blue Diamond mule train had arrived just before twilight and unloaded Kasper"s cargo before delivering to Jesse. They"d stacked his beer kegs along the wall behind the bar and stayed. Some of them paid Consuela for a plate of the beans she had cooking outside. Jesse needed to consider having that available more often. Consuela and her husband, Cruz, might be without dinner occasionally, but they were using his place of business to make money. They had also moved their shack onto his property. Where they had been was part of Rolfe"s land, and Jesse didn"t charge rent. Consuela cleaned for him and Cruz did small jobs.

The game had seesawed back and forth. Rolfe had won an early pot, and then Phillips pulled in a bunch of chips. The cost of the ante wasn"t high. These were friends and neighbors and they valued the chips at a penny each. No one could afford to lose big in these times. The Tillman"s hands were young and had dropped out early. Malcolm played until his last two nickels. He kept them for more beer if the game ran much later. He was frowning at the men playing.

It was well after the midnight hour and MacDonald and Rolfe were the only two left playing and the only two who had not been outside. Jesse kept filling their mugs whenever they both were empty and each laid a nickel on the table. All of the men were sipping slowly to forestall running out of money for beer. The late crowd was seriously depleting his delivery, and Jesse was wondering if he"d ordered enough beer for the month.

Rolfe dealt another hand. “Tell du vhat, Mac. Ve drain these fast and order another.”

“Go to hell, Rolfe. I"ll bet two pennies.” A strained look came over the broad face and he stood, leaned over the table, and glared at Rolfe.

“Friend Rolfe, ye are nay human!” He stomped out.

Rolfe grinned at the retreating back and pulled in the pot. He stood, stuffed the coins into the bag hanging down from his belt, lifted his mug, and drained the contents.

“Vell, boys, dot ends this evening"s play. I"ll be back in to collect my vinnings.” He followed the big man out the door.

Jesse considered running after him. If some of those freighters hadn"t slipped into a drunken sleep he might have for it was Rolfe"s and Kasper"s money that he held, plus his own ten percent. Anger and bafflement were on every face.

“What the hell? Was that planned? Did those foreigners make fools of us?” Malcolm was bitter. He didn"t trust those men. They weren"t true Texans or Southerners. Buchanan was a s**t poor president, but he was too weak to do anything about the South.

Leighton Andrew, head Blue Diamond freighter, placed his empty mug on the bar. “I doubt it. I"ve dealt with Kasper since he"s been here. If he has a fault, it"s being too damn honest.” He nodded at Jesse and turned to his crew.

“Let"s go. We"re rolling out early. Somebody kick McPherson and Kincaid awake.”

Rolfe was still emptying his bladder as they left the saloon. MacDonald was buttoning his flap. The deep rumble of MacDonald"s voice was heard.

“Twould ye care for another drink, friend Rolfe?”

“Hell, no, Mac, Clara"s going to be on a warpath tomorrow. Let"s go collect my winnings.”