Bart – The Plan
It wasn't often, over the years, that we'd gotten to do somethin' special for Pappy's birthday. First of all, by the time his birthday came around (August sixteenth) we were usually out of money. Second, we couldn't agree on just what it was we had in mind, and by the time we decided on something we didn't have enough time left to pull it off. Then, when we got old enough to solve those problems, one or the other of us was out of town at something we couldn't get out of. But this year we decided - we were gonna take Pappy to New Orleans for this very special birthday. Whether he wanted to go or not.
Now, don't get me wrong. Our father, Beauregard Jefferson Maverick, otherwise known far and wide as 'Pappy,' had been talking about going to New Orleans as long as either one of us could remember. It just seemed like Pappy had as many excuses for not getting there as we had for not taking him. So when we finally put our heads together with enough time and money to actually plan the trip, we were determined to pull it off.
Y'all should know us by this time . . . we're the Maverick Boys, Bret (the oldest by seventeen months) and Bart (definitely the best looking). By now you've figured out that I'm Bart, and that my brother is the one with the dimples to die for. At the moment we were sittin' at the kitchen table drinking coffee, workin' out the logistics of gettin' the three of us to New Orleans. We'd already made sure we had enough money and enough time, now all we had to do was determine when to leave and what was the best route to take. Uncle Ben, Beauregard's younger brother, was there with us, and he suggested the stagecoach to Houston and a riverboat from Houston to New Orleans. It sounded good to us; neither of us thinking about all the trouble one cantankerous old man could get into aboard a riverboat. Or the trouble he could manage to get us into. And just what we might have to do to get out of it.
Pappy seemed to be on his best behavior on the stagecoach leg of the journey, from Little Bend to Houston. Maybe he was excited to finally be going somewhere; it had been quite a while since he and Ben had ventured any further afield than our hometown. Now that I look back on it, he did seem to be in an awfully good mood once we told him about the trip. He spent days combing through his wardrobe and making sure he had enough 'New Orleans Dress-up Clothes' to take with him. "Can't afford to look like no country bumpkin . . . not in a city like New Orleans," he quoted to us on more than one occasion. Of course, he spent almost as much time nagging me and Bret about our clothes as he did checking his. It wouldn't do for him to look dapper and his two escorts to appear any less so.
The closer we got to our departure date, the more fidgety Pappy got. He spent countless hours checking and rechecking everything he intended to take with him, and Bret and me both knew we probably wouldn't get any decent sleep the night before. We were pleasantly surprised when that turned out to not be the case.
I was up earlier than Bret, and when I came downstairs I found Pappy already dressed, packed, and ready to leave. All I wanted was a cup of coffee, and thank God Lily Mae had that all ready for us. "What times the stage?" Pappy asked before I'd even had a chance to sit down.
"Ten o'clock," I told him, and three seconds passed before he asked the next question.
"When do we have to leave here?"
"Not before nine o'clock, just to be safe."
"When's your brother gonna be up?"
I shook my head. "I don't know, Pappy. What time is it now?"
"Six-thirty," Lily Mae answered.
"He won't sleep too long."
"Are you packed?"
That was the fourth time he'd asked me in four days. "Yes, sir, I am," I answered him for the fourth time.
"Can't be too sure these days," he murmured under his breath. "What about your brother?"
"I don't know, Pappy. I assume he is."
"You assume I am what?" Bret asked as he came down the stairs.
"Packed," I replied.
I saw the look in his eyes, and for a minute I thought he was gonna tell Pappy that he hadn't even started, but at the last minute he must have thought better of it. Instead, his top lip curled up in the beginnings of a smile, and he nodded. "I am packed. We won't miss the stage, Pappy."
By eight-thirty none of us could stand it anymore and Bret went out and hitched up the horses. Lily Mae was gonna drive us into town, and she was just as ready to go as we were – anything to stop Pappy from asking more questions. When we got to Little Bend we left our bags at the Wells Fargo office and went to the café to have breakfast; Lily Mae said her goodbyes and headed home. Food seemed to settle Pappy down some, and he was ready for a nap by the time the stage finally arrived. We were indeed fortunate; this morning we were the only ones going to Houston and there was plenty of room for Pappy to sleep, while Bret and me played our version of poker.
The trip to the riverboat in Houston was relatively peaceful . . . at one stop or another we'd pick up a spare passenger, but they'd depart in the next city. Eager as Pappy was to get to New Orleans, it was easy enough to keep him out of trouble as long as we were on the stage – there was merely no trouble to get into. All that was about to change, once we'd boarded the riverboat.
The Houston River Belle wasn't the most massive paddlewheel I'd ever been on, but it was definitely bigger than most of them. The route from Houston to New Orleans was one of the most profitable, and that might account for the mix-up in the rooms that they'd booked for the Mavericks. There were supposed to be two staterooms for us, with a single bedroom suite between the staterooms. Instead they'd booked us into one stateroom and one suite, which meant there were only enough beds reserved for two of us. Being the youngest of the group, I offered to bunk with Bret and sleep on one of the sofas so Pappy could have the suite to himself. I wasn't thrilled with the proffered arrangement, but we'd waited too long before doing this to let something as minor as who slept where to interfere with our plans.
The three of us decided to have supper together, then each went his separate way to relax and get ready for such. I know that Bret got cleaned up and shaved; I took a bath. We were both ready around the same time and went next door to pick up Pappy. He was waiting in the hall for us, nervously pacing back and forth and talking to himself. "Is there a problem, Pa?" Bret asked as we exited the room.
"Nope, nope," Pappy answered, "Just a might hungry, I expect."
"Let's go have supper, then," I suggested, and we set off to find the dining salon. The food was excellent, and there was plenty of it. I didn't know that you could cook plain old potatoes so many different ways. And as we neared the end of supper our thoughts turned to other things. Mine went straight to poker, and I assumed that Bret's and Pappy's did, too. As was our usual method of operation, we split up and each of us went looking for a game that appealed to us. Bret found one right off; he was about three tables north of where I sat. I didn't notice where Pappy found a game, but I was sure to hear it later.
I smoked a cigar or two and got up once or twice to stretch my legs. I noticed Bret did the same thing, but I never saw Pappy so much as even twitch until well after three o'clock in the morning. By that time I'd already considered going to bed once or twice, but we were havin' such a good time at the table, and I was playin' so well that I decided to ride it out. Wasn't too long after that when I heard Pappy's voice, loud and clear. It was as cold and elegant sounding as could be.
"You always play like that, sir?"
And it was well-matched. "Are you insinuatin' somethin,' sir?"
"No, sir, I'm not insinuatin' a dang thing. I'm sayin' it right out loud. You are a card cheat."
In a matter of seconds, the entire gambling salon got deathly quiet. You could hear the rapid breathing of the card cheat; Pappy wasn't making a sound. The man pushed back his chair and rose to his feet . . . he was about the same height as Beauregard but outweighed him by at least twenty pounds. And was a full ten years younger. "Sit down, sir. We've nowhere to go to settle this like gentlemen."
The man continued to stand. "You will rescind that accusation, sir."
Pappy laughed. "I will do no such thing."
"Then be prepared to defend yourself, sir."
Now it was Pappy's turn to stand. As a matter of fact, he wasn't the only Maverick that stood and waited to see what happened. Bret and me were both on our feet. "Isn't that gonna damage the little contraption where you hide your cards?" Never one of faint heart, Pappy was ready and waiting when the card sharp attempted to throw what looked to be a right hook. Pappy took one step backward and countered with a left hook that hit its mark and left the aggressor sliding sideways off the poker table. Punches were thrown indiscriminately for three or four minutes; the cheater landed a right cross that staggered Pappy, but he came back quickly with an uppercut that left the man spread inelegantly across the floor. Before he could get up and try to throw another, both my brother and me had jumped into action. Bret tackled the charlatan, and I grabbed Pappy and kept him on his feet. "Let go of me, Bartley," Pappy more or less growled at me and, since my brother had the other combatant well in hand, I did as requested. The salon manager was there only seconds after we were.
"Here now, what's all this about?" he demanded.
"You have a card sharp in your midst. Check his right shirt sleeve, I believe you'll find the Queen of Spades nestled there quite comfortably. And if that isn't enough for you, you'll find the deck missing the Ace of Hearts."
The manager fished around for a few seconds as instructed and extracted the aforementioned Queen. From the look on his face, he needed no further proof. "I believe your poker playing is finished, Mr. Singer. Please do not attempt to return to the salon." Then he turned to Pappy. "I sincerely apologize, Mr. Maverick. That kind has usually been spotted and asked to leave before he can do much damage. I don't know how he slipped through. If it weren't for your diligence . . . "
Pappy gave me a wink and a smile. "I despise cheaters, sir. To me, they are the lowest of the low. Why I remember a time . . . "
"Psst, Pappy, that's enough. Let's pick up this roadshow and head back to the rooms," I whispered in his ear. "I think you've done enough damage for one night."
"I have to agree," Bret interjected. "I think you've acquitted yourself quite well for one night of poker. Tomorrow is another day."
"Maybe you're right." A yawn interrupted Pappy's thought. "It is awfully late."
"Too late to go home now?" I leaned over and asked Bret.
"I'm afraid so," came my brother's reply.
Bosh. We should have gotten off the boat and caught the next coach back to Houston. We'd have all been better off.
