He managed to avoid the broken men or those who preyed on the weak as much as he could. Trapper studied people and saw few he wanted to remember.
As the sun set, he tied Midnight to the hitching post in front of the saloon. Be ready to ride had always been his motto. The town might be an important inland port, but Trapper feared trouble could be coming toward him just beyond the bend. A fast horse and lightning action had kept him alive many times.
A wreath of evergreen branches hung in the bar window looked out of place. Three weeks away from Christmas, he thought, and the saloon boiled with unrest. In a few hours the place would be packed with men, angry and drunk. Like most, Trapper didn’t care about the holiday. It was just another night.
He took a seat at a corner table near the kitchen. When he signed up for the War Between the States, he soon learned that one meal a day was a luxury. He always saved that one meal until sundown.
The thin cook, looking more kid than woman, brought him a plate of the nightly special. Trapper didn’t look up.
“You want anything else?” The shy girl barely raised her head, and the worn hat she wore hid both her hair and her eyes.
“No, I’m good.” He never talked to the women in the saloon more than needed, not even the kitchen help. He knew that as soon as this one filled out, she’d double, maybe triple her pay by climbing the stairs a few times a night. One night he’d see her in a fancy, low-cut dress, and not the rags she wore now. She’d be billed as a virgin for a few months, then the new girl for a while, and finally her rate would drop a bit and she’d simply be one of the doves. Her fancy dress would become ragged and her eyes dull from whiskey.
When the kitchen girl came back for his empty plate, he tipped her. She whispered a thank-you and moved away as a few men joined Trapper, ready to play cards.
Here among down-on-their-luck cowboys, outlaws, and river rats, the game was far more than poker. Trapper had to be able to read men. Sore losers, cheats, men looking for a fight, and even a few looking for a way to die.
But until he found work, it was his only way of making money. He could have just lived off the land, but he liked his bath in a bathhouse and he liked his one meal on a plate.
Trapper played his cards close. He never bragged when he won or complained when he lost. Tonight the game was casual, slow moving. It seemed the men at the table were simply drinking and playing to pass the time.
Trapper was about to call it a night when a barrel-chested teamster sat down at the table. He played with coins for a while, then offered his next hauling job as his ante.
“It’s a three-week haul and pays five hundred dollars. Best part is I don’t have to come back to Jefferson with the wagon. It’s a one-way trip that pays ten times the normal rate. That should be worth money.”
The drunks at the table laughed. “Yeah, all you have to do is stay alive between here and Dallas. Outlaws, raiders, storms, and who knows what. I heard this morning that one guy is already thinking about ambushing your wagon thanks to all your bragging. Must be something special if they pay so much.”
Another man added in a mumble, “You shouldn’t have been crowing so loud, mister. You just may have signed your own death certificate. There are men in this town willing to do anything for money.”
The teamster smiled at the men. “But if you win this pot, and make it to Dallas, you’ll have more than you made last year in your pocket. All you have to do is transport one wagon full of something priceless.”
The big man patted his chest. “I may have got a bit drunk and said too much, but when I win this pot and take all your money, I’ll be able to hire help. If one of you wins the pot, the trip will no longer be my problem.”
Every man was in on the hand. A year’s salary for a few dollars bet would be worth the chance.
Trapper didn’t even smile; he simply played his cards.
Ten minutes later all were out but the teamster and Trapper. The pot was worth more than any since Trapper had been in Texas. If he won, he’d have money and a free ride to Dallas.
The teamster called. Trapper showed his hand. A pair of jacks.
The teamster smiled and laid down a pair of eights. “Looks like you win, stranger.”
Trapper raised an eyebrow. The man looked too happy to have just lost.
The teamster leaned closer and whispered, “One thing I need to tell you. The cargo is five little girls. Spoiled and pampered rich kids. You’ll need a lady’s maid, a few men to ride shotgun, and probably a cannon to get them to Dallas. Every outlaw within a hundred miles has probably heard of the girls coming home and plans to ransom them after they leave you for the buzzards.”
The teamster shook his head. “I might still have tried the trip except for one thing. The little girls’ daddy has sworn to kill me if his daughters arrive with even a scratch. I figured out tonight that I’d be double dead if I took this job.”
Trapper looked in the man’s eyes and saw true fear. “Why don’t the parents come to meet them?”
“Word is there’s a big range war north of Dallas. If he leaves, he stands to lose all the land he’s fought for. Some say he tried writing to the school to keep them over the holiday, but the girls were already on their way.”
The teamster shrugged. “You’ll spend all your money hiring guards and still not have enough.” He stood. “Well, I’m heading home fifty dollars richer thanks to the advance they gave me. I’ll keep the money left after I bought the wagon and supplies. You can collect the rest if you make it to Dallas. If . . .” He walked away whistling.
Trapper didn’t argue. It was too late. He’d won the pot. “Where do I find them?” he yelled at the teamster’s back.
The man turned around. “They’ll be arriving before noon tomorrow by paddleboat. The nurse with them will turn them over to you and return as soon as the boat is reloaded. A wagon will be waiting for you by the dock. It ain’t big, but it’s got a cover. I stocked it with enough food and water to last the trip.”