Page 8 of Native Hawk
Chapter 3
Drew Hawk lowered his gaze discreetly to the pretty lady in red. Beside her were her three sisters. Though he was much obliged to see them, he kept his feelings to himself. He wouldn’t let his face betray a thing.
He glanced up at the three men sitting around the poker table in the Winsome Saloon.
He was pretty sure Harvey, the one twirling his mustache, would fold.
The eyes of the bearded fellow next to him, Jim, widened the slightest bit. He might have a decent hand.
Billy, the bare-faced third gent, was working his lips, like he was getting ready to spit. He probably didn’t have shit.
It had been a good night for Drew. After two hours, most of the money had moseyed its way over to his side of the table.
He’d have to leave Shasta in the morning. Being a gambler was a bit like selling snake oil. Once you drained a town dry of its wealth, you were smart to skedaddle to the next.
Harvey stopped twirling his mustache long enough to recklessly plunk his last two silver dollars in front of him.
Jim wiped at his beard in indecision. Finally he let out a sigh. “Aw, hell.” He tossed out two dollars of his own, which left him two.
Billy picked up his shot glass and slugged it back with a vengeance. “I’m in,” he snarled in reckless defiance, shoving two dollars forward. “Call.”
Drew calmly spread the four lovely queens on the table, kicking the unnecessary jack aside with his little finger.
“Criminy,” Harvey muttered, tossing his useless cards in front of him.
Jim showed his hand—three tens, a seven, and a five. “Damn it.”
The young firebrand Billy slapped his cards face-down onto the table. “You’re a cheat!” He looked for confirmation from the other players. “That damn half-breed cheated! That’s the only way he could have won so much!”
It wasn’t the first time Drew had been accused of cheating by a sore loser. Nor was it the first time his mixed blood had been used as a slur. Under the table, his hand moved to hover over his holster as the firebrand staggered to his feet.
“Now, simmer down, little brother,” Jim said.
Little brother? Hell, were the two of them related? Just as a precaution, Drew soundlessly slipped his Colt out of its holster.
“I reckon he’s right, Jim,” Harvey snarled. “I ain’t never seen a man win so much in one night.”
“Yeah!” Billy said, weaving on his feet. “He was cheatin’. And you know what we do to cheaters.” He sloppily pulled out a Remington derringer.
Drew ran his thumb over the hammer of the Colt, cocking it silently. In the condition young Billy was in, he probably couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. But Drew didn’t like to take chances.
“Whoa, little brother!” Harvey warned, scraping his chair back as he stood. “You don’t want to be doin’ that.”
Shit, were theyallrelated? If Drew had known that, he wouldn’t have let the game go on so long. It was one thing to take a man’s money. It was another to impoverish a whole family.
“Easy, Billy,” Jim told his little brother. “Put the gun away. Let’s settle this fair and square.”
With a touch as light as a feather, Drew caressed the trigger with his fingertip. He wanted to be ready, but he didn’t want to jump the gun. Usually these things worked themselves out with no shots being fired.
“Look, boys,” Drew said calmly, “I don’t want to make trouble. I swear I wasn’t cheatin’. Sometimes it’s just the luck o’ the draw. How about I buy us a round o’ drinks and we call it a night?”
Drew saw Jim’s gaze narrow in suspicion. No doubt he’d noticed that only one of Drew’s hands was on top of the table. And he could probably guess where the other hand was.
“Billy,” Jim said, rubbing at his beard, “put the gun down. He’s right. We can settle this peaceful-like.”
Billy chewed on that for a little while. Finally, with a curse of disappointment, he reluctantly shoved his Remington back into his holster. It took him three tries.
Drew eased the hammer on the Colt quietly back into place, holstered his weapon, and waved the saloon girl over. Walking out of town without a bullet hole in his gut was well worth the price of four whiskeys.
