By JoAnn Baker

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry walked their horses along the old trail out of Santa Fe.
Heyes, was sitting contently on his brown mare, humming softly to himself.

Kid Curry on the other hand, was fidgeting in the saddle. “It ain’t possible, Heyes,” he
mumbled for the fifth or sixth time since they left the saloon in Santa Fe. “You can’t be
that lucky, it just ain’t possible.”

Heyes feigned a hurt expression. “Why, Kid, are you calling me a cheater?”

Curry grunted. “It ain’t possible, that’s all.”

“Alright, what do you say, when we make camp tonight, we’ll try it again?”

Kid’s face brightened slightly. “You’re on,” he agreed with a nod.

The riders continued on, mostly in silence, with occasional comments about the
landscape or the weather. “How cold do you think it’ll get tonight?” Curry asked idly.
The two were currently riding with their coats off and their shirt sleeves rolled up.

His partner shrugged. “May in Santa Fe? It’ll drop some, but I don’t think it will get
down to freezing.”

Once the decision to stop for the night and set up camp had been made, the two set about
their tasks without comment, with Heyes building a fire and Curry tending the horses.

“We gotta do this before it gets too dark,” Curry warned.

“Sure, Kid,” the other man replied with a smooth smile. “Let’s do it now.”

Heyes reached into his pocket and removed a silver quarter dollar.

“You call it, Kid.”

“Heads,” the man replied.

Heyes nodded, and then tossed the coin high in the air. He caught it easily in the same
hand, and then slapped it down on his forearm. The coin sat neatly on his bare skin, shirt
sleeve still rolled above the elbow.

In the soft twilight, the image could be clearly seen on the coin. An eagle with its wings
outstretched, head turned to one side. In the eagle's talons were an olive branch and a
cluster of arrows.

1
“Again,” Curry said, through clenched teeth.

Again, Heyes tossed the coin, and again, the eagle appeared. Five more times, the coin
was tossed into the air and slapped onto the former outlaw’s forearm. Five more times the
eagle could be clearly seen.

“Aha!” Curry finally exclaimed. “That proves it! You can’t toss tails seven times in a row.
That coin doesn’t have another side—it just can’t.”

Heyes calmly handed to coin to his partner for examination. Curry smugly received the
coin and turned it over in his hand. There, looking over her shoulder, with a flag in one
hand, was lady liberty.” Curry’s face fell.

“Sorry, Kid, I’m just lucky I guess.”

“Next time, when we have to decide which one of us takes a pretty lady to dinner, we’re
going to cut for high card instead of flip a coin, alright?” Curry warned.

“Sure, Kid,” Heyes said with a smile, “no problem.”

By Maz McCoy

Kid Curry stood up and stepped out of the bath tub. Water cascaded down his toned,
muscular body, dripping onto the rug as he reached for a towel. Wrapping it around his
waist, he picked up another from the bed and began to towel dry his hair. He caught sight
of himself in the mirror that stood on top of the dresser, and paused. Kid looked at his
reflection and then touched the scar on his left shoulder, the legacy of a bullet from a
bounty hunter’s gun. There was another scar on his left side, just above the waist and one
on his right side too. He let out a heavy sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Heyes asked, from where he lay on his bed reading. There was no
answer. Heyes lowered the book. “Kid?” he prompted.

“D’you ever think about how many times we’ve been shot?” the blond man asked. “How
many times we’ve been hurt or wounded?”

“Not really,” Heyes admitted, as Kid turned to face him.

“Don’t you think we’re lucky to be alive today?”

“Well I guess we have been shot more times than most people, but I always accepted that
as a hazard of the job.”

2
Kid rubbed his hair some more as he thought.

“But we’re still lucky right? I mean the odds must be against us, so many bullets an’ all.”
He waited to see what Heyes would say.

“Well yes, I guess we are beating the odds. Where’s this coming from Kid? You don’t
usually worry about getting hurt,” Heyes said, as closed his book, sat up and swung his
legs over the edge of the bed.

“Just got to thinking that’s all,” Kid told him.

“Well now we had an agreement about that, remember?” his friend said with a smile, as
he stood up and walked towards the dripping man. He put a hand on Kid’s shoulder.
“Come on, get dressed and I’ll buy you dinner to cheer you up.”

Kid smiled.

“Besides,” Heyes continued, giving his partner a smile. “Maz and those other gals would
never let anything really bad happen to us. I mean she likes you, at least she says she
does, and the ladies that favour me, well all I have to do is flash my dimples at ‘em and
they’re putty in my hands.” Heyes grin widened.

“You know Heyes, I think you have a point,” Kid agreed. “D’you think she’d write me a
steak dinner and a cold beer? And maybe a real sweet saloon gal to…”

“Don’t push it Kid!” Heyes warned and Kid turned, smiling sweetly over his shoulder, at
the watching author, fingers poised over the keyboard.

By Shenango

It seemed that everybody who lived within miles of the town showed up for the Founder's
Day celebration. This was the fifteenth year since the city of Oakdale had been
incorporated and the town was doing very well. Most of the merchants were showing a
profit this year, the bank was well established, the church well populated every Sunday
and the weather had been favorable for a few years for the farmers and small ranchers in
the outlying valley. The town had a growth spurt like so many others after the war ended
and was well on it's way to becoming a stopping point in the road to the west. All that
was pointing to this being the best celebration in the town's history.

There were food booths and amusements along the street showing all the best in baked
goods, meats, canned vegetables and fruits. There were booths with quilts and woodcraft
items for sale and prizes were being awarded for the best in each booth. The games
included a horseshoe toss, a dunking booth and of course, a target shooting contest,
which, being the most difficult, offered the highest prize.

3
The two teen-aged boys stuck together; being the only one each other knew in this town.
They'd alternately had jobs which took them from one place to another or they'd sneaked
onto freight cars on trains, trying to stay unnoticed and not paying for the ride.

The older one was all of sixteen; his companion was a very baby-faced fourteen, but
looked much younger. It was a continual source of frustration to him, especially since
they'd run away from the home. They'd grown up a lot faster on their own than the home;
and faster at the home once they'd been placed there, after the raid. They were the only
survivors of their families and, not having relatives, the town placed them where they
thought it was best; not knowing how bad the conditions really were. Oh, they had food,
hand-me-down clothes, schooling and were taken to church regularly. But in the care for
so many children, there was a shortage of encouragement, affection and ability to
discover special skills and develop them.

Shortly after leaving, Jed, the younger one, had come across a pistol and holster. He'd
done chores for some farmer along the way, and received it in payment in addition to the
pittance of wages. It was all the farmer had to pay him with, other than food and board.
The older one, Han, had managed to find work helping a storekeeper with his books and
was given regular wages in addition to room and board. Both jobs ended and they
continued wandering, finally ending up in Oakdale.

Along the way, Jed managed to afford ammunition periodically and would practice with
the pistol. First he learned to shoot, then worked on his aim, and finally, was teaching
himself to fast draw. Han warned him that it was dangerous to learn that; that it would
eventually lead to trouble. But Jed was a good hearted boy, like his friend, and while he
had a temper, he was generally slow to anger; preferring to walk away, like his Ma and Pa
had taught him. He and Han were a good team, because they watched out for and
protected each other. It was better that way than to be alone; they'd learned that early on
in the home.

Jed stood near the target shooting booth, listening to the barker trying to draw a crowd.
The contest would start at 3:00PM and the prize was $50! Han walked up behind him,
casually looking around. "You going to enter this? It's only $2 to enter. We got the
money."

Pooling their resources had become a habit and a survival tactic for them, so most
decisions on spending money were discussed. "I was thinking about it," Jed told him. "Do
you mind if we spend the money?"

"Right now, we got enough to do it," Han answered. "I think you could take 'em and get
that first prize. You should enter it."

Nodding, Jed took the money from Han and walked over to enter. Han stood behind him,
supportive and ready to jump in to protect his partner should the need arise. Paying the
entrance fee, he knew he'd be subject to some comments and was not disappointed. He

4
was told where to go and when to be there and walked back to see who else would be
competing.

The rest of the competitors were all older than Jed; no surprise there. A few of them wore
their guns low over their hips and tied down at their legs, but most were local farmers
who mostly used their guns for protection and hunting; not everyday occurrences.

Han, meanwhile, was watching the rest of the activities near the target shooting contest.
One of the locals was taking side bets on who would win and offering odds. As each
entrant to the contest walked past him, he'd get their name and give them a keen once-
over to set those odds.

When he walked back to Han, he was stopped and asked his name. "Jed Curry," he told
the man.

"Why, Curry, you're nothing but a kid," he laughed.

Jed's eyes blazed and he was upset about the comment and once again frustrated about his
youthful appearance. Han, noting this, walked over to the man. "I'd like to put a bet on
my friend here," He told him.

A round of laughter surrounded the two boys, egged on by the man taking the bets.

But Han persisted. "What odds do you give on my friend, here?"

"To do what, young fella?"

Han stood and stared him down. "To win."

Jed stood quietly, his confidence unshaken and calmed by the support Han gave him. The
same support Han always gave him.

The man quickly looked around, checking the other contestants. All were older and more
experienced. He expected that this spunky kid would be put in his place along with his
buddy, so he gave generous odds. "I'll say five-to-one odds on 'Kid Curry' here. How's
that, young fella?"

Han and Jed had just finished a job and had more money than they'd had in their lives. He
looked over at Jed, all the confidence in the world passing back and forth between them.
"I'll put ten dollars on my friend. Five-to-one odds, you say?"

The odds taker saw easy money while everyone else saw two boys who were about to be
taught a lesson. Good naturedly, the man smiled at him, "Done!"

5
The shooting contest was a target contest. No fast draw, just for accuracy. Each
contestant was allowed six shots to knock down five targets. They would go down a line
firing, one after another, lined up in the order in which they'd signed up for the contest.

Jed was last in line.

"Now remember, fellas, we're going for accuracy here, not speed. You need to get all five
of your targets. In the event of a tie, there'll be a second round shoot-out." The
contestants all nodded.

Seven men, including one kid, lined up. In the first round, most of the contestants got at
least four of the five targets. The second round, it was just Jed and one other. The targets
were set again, farther back this time, and they once again took their places. Jed deferred
to his competitor, watching him shoot first once again. Four of the targets fell. All Jed
had to do was make a clean round to win. Han gave him a nod of encouragement and he
stepped up.

Drawing his gun from the holster, he took careful aim and started firing. Five targets
dropped almost immediately. Then, showing off to the man who had called him "Kid",
the last bullet in the chamber took down the bottle missed by the other competitor.

Silence took hold of the crowd for a minute, followed by excited cheering. Jed turned
and looked at his friend. In an "I told you so" look, he spun the gun back into the holster,
something he had only recently learned to do and smiled at Han.

Han walked over and put his arm around his friend's shoulder and they turned to the
crowd. Together they walked over to the barker and the man taking the bets - partners
themselves - and tried to contain smiles as they heard the amazement in the crowd.
Collecting their money, they each walked away with $50 for the day.

Among the comments as they headed to the pie booth, the one that made Jed finally smile
at Han was from the barker to the odds maker. "I'd have given odds myself that the Kid
wouldn't be able to shoot that good."

By Lana Coombe

The beat of their hearts echoed the rhythmic drumming of the horses’ hooves, as they
pounded the dry, cracked ground. Clouds of dust rose into the air behind them, floating
upwards, hanging for a moment, until they had passed, before descending and settling
once more, showing the route they had taken. Every so often they pulled their horses to a
stop, as one of them tried to disguise their tracks, by disturbing the dirt with a branch,
before remounting and heading on their way, at a swift pace.

6
The last three days had been spent like this, with only an occasional reprieve, to drink
some water and chew on some jerky. The continual exertion and eternal heat was
beginning to take its toll, on both men and horses.

Wordlessly, they had pulled their horses to a stop at the top of a bluff, each scanning the
surrounding area in the hope that there would be nothing to see, but once again they were
disappointed. The ominous dust ball on the horizon signalled that the twelve, strong
posse was still on their trail. With heads hung low, the horses strained for breath, their
flanks rising and falling, causing their riders to rock gently in their saddles.

“They sure are a persistent bunch, ain’t they?!”

It was more of a statement than a question and, as such, the man’s partner merely
answered with a thoughtful, “Hmm!” as he narrowed his dark eyes, in contemplative
thought.

“What d’ya think we should try next, Heyes? These horses ain’t got much left in them
and it won’t be long until they get too close for comfort.” He looked hopefully across at
the dark, haired man, hands resting on the horn of the saddle, in a seemingly relaxed
pose. But neither man felt anything like relaxed, at this moment, each facing a possibility
of twenty years in prison or even death. The wanted posters said ‘Dead or Alive’ and it
meant just that and most posses weren’t too particular, when it came to bringing in
wanted outlaws. Especially ones with such a reputation and a substantial reward on their
heads.

When no answer was forthcoming, Kid Curry reluctantly offered, “Do you think we
should split up?”

He was taken by surprise at Heyes’ quick and sharp response of, “No!” but at the same
time, relieved. Their partnership was what had made them so successful and it seemed
only right that they should stay together. Kid waited patiently, watching the approaching
dust cloud, apprehension tightening his stomach, as it got closer and closer.

Heyes gathered his reins and gave his partner a reassuring smile, showing the familiar
dimples in his cheeks. “Well, we can’t sit here all day waiting for them to catch us up!”
he said with a false cheerfulness, as he wheeled his horse up the trail. Kid sat for a
moment, feeling amazed at his partner’s ability to keep good humour in their present
predicament, before following faithfully behind.

By the time the skies had begun to darken, with the onset of night, they had reached the
rocky foothills of some higher ground. Neither man had spoken for some time,
exhaustion and strain getting the better of them.

Eventually, Heyes, who had been leading the way, stopped his horse and untied the
bandana from around his throat. He splashed a small amount of water from his canteen

7
onto it and wiped his face and the back of his neck. His partner sat motionless in his
saddle, fighting to keep his eyes open, shoulders sagging and stomach rumbling, loudly.

Heyes proffered the canteen in his direction, asking, as he did so, “Reckon we might be
able to lose them in the dark over this harder ground?” Kid took the canteen and took a
small sip, knowing there was little water left and unsure when they’d have the chance to
refill it again.

“At this stage, anything is worth a try,” he answered, wearily, passing the canteen back to
Heyes, who took a small mouthful himself, before snapping on the lid.

“Right!” he said, decisively, trying to maintain a positive attitude, as he prepared to urge

his tired horse further up the trail.

The horses slowly dragged themselves up the incline, heads down, on a loose rein. Heyes
and Kid both clung grimly to their saddle horns, as the horses stumbled their way
forward, in the encroaching darkness. After about an hour of this tiresome task, Kid’s
horse finally gave out and stopped in its tracks, refusing to take another step. Its rider
didn’t have the energy or will to drive it on and sat forlornly in the saddle, with chin
drooped down to his chest.

Heyes’ horse continued to plod on a little further up the trail, but sensing that the other
was not behind it, stopped also. Its rider glanced over his shoulder, at his dejected partner.
Heyes felt pretty much the same but he refused to give in now, not after all they had gone
through, in the hope of getting amnesty. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to
rally Kid for one last push up to the top of the ridge.

“What you waiting for?” he called down amiably. As he sat and waited for a reply,
something caught his eye on the plain below. The flashes of light told him that the posse
were still following, carrying torches, so that they could see their trail. Heyes cursed
under his breath and then, in a more forceful tone, “Come on, Kid, we’ve got to keep
moving!”

The urgency in his partner’s voice, galvanised Kid into action. Taking a deep breath, he
gathered the reins and encouraged his horse onwards. They had only gone a short
distance, when the trail petered out, to nothing but rock and scrub. The tired horses were
finding it nigh on impossible to find space, between the rocks, to place their hooves and
finally Heyes and Kid conceded defeat and dismounted.

Kid pulled at his horse’s ear and spoke soothingly to it, more to calm himself, than the
animal. Heyes stared at the rocky terrain above them, thoughtfully.

“What d’ya reckon’s on the other side?” Heyes queried.

8
“Knowing our luck, another posse!” came Kid’s despondent retort. Heyes gave his
partner an appreciative smile. Their sense of humour was one of the things that had kept
them going through all the troubles of their lives.

“Best not disappoint them then!” came the droll reply, making Kid let out a small laugh.
Without a further word between them, they retrieved what they needed and turned the
horses loose. Hopefully, they would move off and leave a false trail that the posse would
follow. Together they began to scramble up the rough ground, having to use their hands to
steady themselves, in parts.

After about half an hour of climbing they stopped, to take a breath and check their back
trail. They were unnerved to see the glow of the posse’s torches coming up the hill but
had a brief moment of joy as they began to move off, in the wrong direction, following
the horses’ tracks.

“You reckon we lost ‘em, Heyes?” Kid asked, breathlessly.

Heyes narrowed his eyes in the darkness, peering into the gloom, in the direction that the
glow had come from, saying, “Only for a while, Kid. Posse like this don’t give up too
easy.” He reached out in the darkness and gave his partner’s shoulder a reassuring
squeeze before continuing his scramble up the incline. Kid Curry took one last glance
down the hillside and then followed behind.

Onwards and upwards, they climbed, hand over foot, in a desperate effort to distance
themselves from their pursuers. Beads of sweat, from the exertion, chilled almost
instantaneously, in the cool of the night, intensifying the misery at every step, but still
they kept climbing. They neared the pinnacle of the ascent some time later, just as the
cold light of dawn began to creep across the rocks, casting lengthening shadows. Finally
Heyes sank down on a boulder, bracing his hands against his knees, struggling to breathe.
Kid joined him, laying back against a larger rock, throwing back his head to rest against
it. Both men were having to haul in every breath they took.

“We need to rest, Heyes,” Kid gasped, between breaths.

“I know,” his partner rasped back, unscrewing the top of the canteen and lifting it to his
lips. As he tipped it fully upwards, only a single droplet trickled out. Heyes shook the
container with frustration, before tossing it angrily aside.

Kid pushed himself off the rock and slid down to sit next to Heyes, letting his arms rest
loosely on his knees, tipping his head forward, to shield his eyes from the rising sun.

“It’s going to be a hot one today,” he murmured in a soft, low voice. Then, in an equally
quiet voice he added, “What we going to do, Heyes?” Memories of a small, tousled, fair
headed kid came back to Heyes, as he remembered the day that had formed their lives,
when Jed Curry had looked to him for a reassurance that he wasn’t sure he could give. He
felt the same now.

9
Not wishing to let his friend down, he replied, “I think we should keep moving and keep
as far away from that posse as we can!” Standing up, he reached out his hand and took
Kid’s arm and pulled him to his feet. Wordlessly they began to continue their climb.

The air was warm and still and both men were parched. The only sound was the click of
boot against rock and the draw of their breath. Suddenly, they heard a noise echoing from
further down the hillside. It was the reverberation of men’s voices, calling to each other.
Their trail had been found and the posse was continuing its pursuit on foot.

A resolute look passed between the partners before they, slowly, continued on their way.
A sort while later they reached the top of the ridge, which was formed with vast, craggy
rocks that rose upwards, with hard, blank faces. Heyes searched for a way through to the
other side, so they could descend down into the valley below, but each way he turned
seemed impassable. Panic rose into his chest as he scrambled about the rock face, trying
to find a gap wide enough to squeeze through. Kid looked too, but there seemed to be no
way through at this particular point.

“There’s no way through, Heyes,” Kid said finally.

“There has to be!” replied his partner, trying to control the desperation he was feeling.

“I could give you a push up,” Kid offered.

“And how would you get up?” Heyes answered, irritably.

“I’d find a way,” came Kid’s nonchalant reply.

“I know what you’re trying to do!” his partner retorted. “I ain’t leaving you, so you can
get that idea out of your head!”

“Look, at least if one of us gets away then there would be a chance of helping the other.
As it is, we’re pretty much cornered here and …”

“No! We’ll just to have to go back down and try in another place.” Heyes was already
making his way down the rocks, hunting for another possible way through. Kid gave a
sigh and began to follow him again when he suddenly froze. A flash of light, a short way
off, had caught his eye. He stilled himself and watched again. A movement to his left
drew his attention. It was a little way down the hillside but he was pretty sure it had been
a man, rifle in hand, moving between the rocks. Taking his own gun from its holster, he
checked it was fully loaded. The coolness of the metal in his hand calmed and reassured
him that he was still in control. Making his way forwards, he kept scanning the hillside
for any further movement, until he reached Heyes, who was about to crawl across a large,
smooth rock, making him a visible and open target to anyone who was following.

10
“Heyes!” Kid called in a harsh whisper. Heyes looked over his shoulder irritably at his
partner. “It ain’t safe to go across there. The posse’s right on our heels.”

Heyes’ eyes widened with this news. He took another desperate look up the rock face at
the top of the ridge.

“We’ll never make it. They’ll be able to pick us off like bottles on a log! I think we gotta
go back further down and try and make it over to that next ridge,” Kid said, indicating
another group of rocks with a nod of his head.

“And how we gonna make it across there, huh? You thought about that?” Heyes asked
impatiently.

“We’ll have to make a run for it. You go first and I’ll cover you. Then you cover me when
I run across.” Kid purposefully did not meet Heyes’ eye, but instead concentrated on
checking his gun once more. He did not need to look at his friend to know the expression
that would be on his face.

“Oh! You’ve really thought that one through, ain’t ya?” Heyes raised his eyebrows in
exasperation.

“You got any better ideas?” Kid gripped the butt of his gun firmly.

“Nope!”

Heyes manoeuvred himself into a position where he would have a clear run to the other
rocks, allowing Kid to cover his back. He suspected that there were still twelve men out
there, all too eager, to do their best, to stop him. Kid stood calmly by his side, with that
all too familiar look of stoical concentration on his face. It was at times like these that
Heyes understood why he trusted his friend so implicitly.

“Ready?” Kid asked calmly.

Heyes swallowed hard, wishing they had some whiskey to settle the fear in his stomach.
“As I’ll ever be.”

Their eyes met and Kid nodded his head and gave a soft smile of encouragement. Heyes
smiled back and turned to look at the ground he had to cover. It wasn’t that far but he’d
be out in the open for a good few seconds, but he’d have Kid covering his back and have
the element of surprise on his side. Even if he did make it across, Kid wouldn’t have the
same benefits. They’d be waiting for him and Heyes wasn’t such a good shot. He turned
to his partner and began to say, “You know, I’ve been thinking! Perhaps you ought to go
first …” but Kid stopped him with a stubborn look.

Heyes readied himself once more. As he made his move, the first deafening shot echoed
around the surrounding rocks. He focused on the path ahead of him and began to run as

11
fast as he could, feeling the motion of bullets as they whistled past him and ricochet off
the surrounding rocks. Heyes had been a gambler all his life but, for once, he wasn’t sure
they could beat the odds …

By Calico

“I’ll take…” Hannibal Heyes paused for a second, mused, “…I’ll take two.”

The dealer, with a slight – crooked – smile, flicked two cards across the table.

The next player also took a moment to study his cards. “I’ll take one,” came the deep
voice of the older man.

Flick. Another silent smile from the dealer.

Jed Curry frowned. This was an important hand. “I’ll take…” A firm chin was stroked,
thoughtfully. Still thinking.

The dealer’s tapered fingers lingered on the pack. An eyebrow was raised at the blond
gambler.

“I’ll take three,” came the decision.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

For a moment, a dark brown gaze watched the boyish features stay expressionless. Not
quite a ‘Heyes’ poker face – but pretty good. Then the blue eyes crinkled, ruefully. “I
got nothin’!” A handful of – nothing – was tossed in.

“And, dealer takes two.” A deft movement flicked out two cards.

The dealer’s face gave nothing away. Or…did it?

Dark eyes scanned it searchingly, from beneath discretely lowered lashes. Was that a
disappointed look? There! Before the lids dropped.
But… It could be a bluff.

And…
The intelligent gaze flicked to the older man on the right.
When he had fanned his hand after taking a single card…had there been a hint of
smugness? Just the smallest tightening of the corners of the mouth.
Maybe. Maybe not.

Hannibal Heyes had played against these particular opponents before.

12
He knew not to underestimate them.
Not to take any ‘tells’ at face value.

He took another look at his cards. Not that he needed to. He knew what they were. A
strong hand. But – was it strong enough? He was not sure. The glance went to the pot.
No doubts there! Whatever he thought about the odds – he sure liked the look of that pot!

From under a curly blond fringe, a hopeful gaze was thrown, first at his friend – always
better with the cards, then at that so tempting pot. A mute conversation was held. The
dark-eyed player understood. His partner was relying on him.

“I’m in for …three,” declared Hannibal Heyes, confidently.

“See you,” grunted the older man.

“I’ll see you and…” the dealer’s eyebrow rose, challengingly, “…raise you five!”

An audible intake of breath. Hannibal Heyes shot his partner an annoyed look. No need
to give anything away, even if you WERE out of the game.

“Too rich for me!” declared the older man, throwing in his hand.

“What about you?” smiled the dealer at the solitary, remaining adversary. “Is it …” the
smile broadened, “…too rich for you, too?”

The dark eyes checked the resources of the dealer against his own scanty stock. Still he
managed a nonchalant smile. “I’ll see you – and - raise you another three!”

“Fighting talk!” admired the older gambler on his right. “Especially the way the luck’s
been running. That…” he nodded to indicate the dealer, “…that wily card-sharp has been
beating the odds all evening!”

“I mean to keep it that way, too!” silked the dealer, eyes narrowed. “I’ll see your three.
What do you have?”

“Luck has to turn sometime!” declared Hannibal Heyes, stoutly. “Full house! Jacks over
sevens.”

Gratifyingly impressed sounds from his partner and the older player.

The shoulders of the dealer drooped. “You’re right…” resigned voice, “…The luck has
to turn sometime…”

A delighted grin dimpled a satisfied gambler’s face. Hands reached for the pot.

13
“Sometime! But not THIS evening!” went on the dealer, gently catching one of the eager
wrists. “…Queens over tens! Read ‘em and weep!” she crowed, laying down her hand.

“Mother!” whined Hannibal. Sheesh! Not again!

“Mrs. Heyes!” protested young Jed Curry. “…You pretended you’d lost!”

“You two never learn do you?” grinned Hannibal’s father, standing up from his place at
the kitchen table and stretching.

Both small boys watched the pot being swept back into the button box. The two extra big
and extra shiny ‘staying up late’ brass buttons were flourished, gloatingly, before them –
and then dropped in with the others. That meant – a resigned glance was exchanged –
bedtime now. No more arguing.

“…When you sit down to cards with HER…” went on Mister Heyes, with a rueful shake
of the head at his wife, “…you count yourself…” He raised his eyebrows, encouragingly,
at his young son to complete the oft-heard family quotation.

Hannibal watched his mother split and restack the pack one handed, before putting it
away. Would he EVER be able to do that QUITE as neatly? “You count yourself lucky
to keep a shirt on your back…” he sighed, “…let alone a button to fasten it with!”

By CD Roberts

Goober Lewis elbowed his neighbor roughly, spilling beer over the side of his glass.
“Looky that, Elmer, that Smith fella, he’s upped his bet. Cain’t wait t’ see how Dwight
handles that.”

“Yep,” answered Elmer, “this sure is one excitin’ game. I cain’t remember that we’ve had
such knowin’ poker players in town as that there Smith and his friend Jones. It’s a real
pleasure t’ watch ‘em.”

The man Goober pointed to as Dwight, rubbed one hand across a grizzly chin, and then
tentatively touched the edges of the cards he held. He pulled back his hand in indecision.
Sweat dripped down from his balding pate, and his broad flat face showed little emotion.
He scratched the side of his head, clearly puzzled.

Next to him, his brother Deke, belched in boredom. Dwayne, another brother,(the family
resemblance being too strong to permit an observer to think of them mistakenly as other
than brothers), snickered.

14
Kid Curry breathed deeply. He was a patient man and could wait. He had already folded,
as had the other players, and was simply waiting for the round to end, and for Heyes to
win the hand. He drank some beer, and then gazed around the room with satisfaction. It
was a quiet room, the men at his table intent on their game. The men who watched the
game whispered their comments in hushed tones of admiration.

“He’s gonna,” began Goober, “oh wait, no he ain’t.”

Dwight had not yet come to a decision.

Curry’s gaze lingered on the broken player piano, which leaned at an ungainly tilt, the
result of a leg broken in half, as Deke began another belching session. Drew, yet another
brother, wriggled in his chair. “C’mon Dwight,” he muttered impatiently.

Dwight again touched the edges of his cards, and his mouth curved slightly downward
into what was meant to be a frown.

The group of men watching leaned forward in anticipation. Drew, Deke and Dwayne
leaned forward as well. Drew’s broken suspender, his pants were held up by one
suspender, hit the table.

Dwight pulled his hand back, and the watchers straightened themselves. Drew threw his
broken suspender over his shoulder.

Heyes moved to pick up his glass of beer, which caused his chair to rock. It also had a
broken leg. He sat back to balance his chair.

Dwayne turned to spit, and missed the cuspidor. Heyes placed his right hand on his cheek
with four fingers barely spread apart, indicating the number of times Dwayne had spit,
and the number of times he had missed the cuspidor.

Curry smiled inwardly. He looked around the room again. His chair wobbled. It was
broken too. In fact, he observed, a lot of the furniture was broken. Funny that,
considering this was a boom town, that hadn’t even made it to a map yet. The building
they were in was only about a month old; it even smelled fresh, but the wooden walls
were severely scratched in several places.

The chairs were new, and newly beat up. Curry made a mental note to himself to make
certain he and Heyes were absent from the saloon on Saturday night. He sized up the men
in the room. Goober, Elmer, the bartender, Weasel McSnade, Acorn, Dripping Dan,
Dwight and his brothers, and all the others, didn’t look so tough, but looks weren’t
everything.

The wait continued. Dwight simply couldn’t make up his mind. Heyes wasn’t all that
certain Dwight had that much of a mind to make up. His face was still expressionless, but

15
after five hands, Heyes decided that was more from lack of thought then it was a poker
face.

Drew yawned and scratched one underarm, displaying two large damp spots. Dwayne
yawned in turn, and scratched his belly beneath a large stain on his Henley. Deke
yawned, and scratched the bald spot on the top of his head. Dwight fixed his small beady
eyes on his brothers. He might have been glaring at them in anger, but you couldn’t bet
on that, Heyes thought.

The men in the room became fidgety, but not from the amount of time Dwight was taking
to meet Heyes’ bet or fold. They were enjoying the game. The Kid knew that. Heck, it
was probably the only entertainment in town. No, it was something else. The Kid could
sense it. An undercurrent of anticipation spread.

“Ah,” finally Dwight spoke. Everyone in the room leaned forward. He stopped. His
mouth was dry. He drank some beer, and as he spoke some dribbled down his face.

“I’ll see you.” Dwight pushed his chips into the pot.

“Aces over jacks,” Heyes said, smiling.

Without warning, Dwight burst up, and tipped the table over.

“Hey,” protested Heyes, “what’s your problem?”

“I lost five times. I’m tired of losing,” Dwight yelled lifting his chair and bringing it
down in the general direction of Heyes. Heyes sidestepped it easily.

“Look, Dwight, I don’t want to fight.”

Dwight responded by aiming a gangly blow at Heyes. Heyes ducked it. He looked at the
Kid, who looked back, and they raised their eyebrows at each other. Before either man
said a word, Drew threw himself towards the Kid, missed him and slid across the player
piano.

Something of a general melee broke out as Drew hit the floor. All four brothers were
attempting to attack Heyes and the Kid. They picked up chairs and threw them randomly.
They broke glasses, some of them on each other. They used their fists, but so ineptly, they
didn’t manage to hit their targets. The brothers were slow and cumbersome, and fought
like grizzlies wading in molasses.

The other men in the room backed away leaving the brothers to Heyes and the Kid. They
weren’t afraid of the brothers, not directly at any rate; they apparently were simply sort of
worried that one of the brothers might hit one of them by accident. After all, they were
just bystanders enjoying a good fight.

16
They whistled, yelped, and otherwise encouraged the action while it lasted, which wasn’t
for too long. Heyes, and the Kid handled the hulky brothers easily, and in no time at all,
Dwight, Dwayne, Deke, and Drew were flat out cold.

The Kid had his hands on his knees and was panting slightly. “Well, I guess that explains
why all the furniture in here is broken.”

Heyes nodded.

“Thanks, boys,” said Goober, “that sure was some fun.”

Heyes glanced at his partner, and shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

“Whelp, looks like you two has beat the odds.”

“The odds?” asked the Kid. He and Heyes exchanged puzzled glances. Heyes smiled
wryly. The Kid continued, “I mean, I know it was four to two but those boys don’t seem
so hard to beat to me.”

“What my partner is saying is that they don’t exactly seem to have much upstairs. Brawn
isn’t everything in a fight.”

There was general laughter at this.

“Oh lordy,” said Elmo. “We know that. These boys play poker, fight and lose, about twice
a week. It would have been beating the odds iffn’ they had won fer a change, if you mean
it that way. ‘Cept, Goober don’t mean it that way. He means you’ve beat the odds.
Dwight, Dwayne, Deke and Drew Odds. The Odds Brothers.

“Ah,” replied Heyes. He bent down to pick up his winnings.

17