(All characters recognizable as being from the TV series' "Maverick", "Young Maverick" and "Bret Maverick", or the motion picture "Maverick", are not mine, and to the best of my knowledge are the property of Roy Huggins and Warner Bros.)
"BIRDS OF A FEATHER"
by David A. Bartlett
Tombstone, Arizona Territory, October 1909
Tom Slater was used to curious folks wandering into Tombstone to have a look. Mostly easterners who had read books about the "Wild West" when they were youngsters, and who made this town a stop on their way to the more civilized environs of California. He was used to them staring in awe at the boarded up doors and windows, imagining the streets teeming with cowboys and desperadoes. And he was used to being among the few people left in "The Town Too Tough to Die." After the mines had flooded in the late 1880's, there had been a mass exodus from Tombstone. And he had grown used to living in a ghost town.
What he was not used to was being roused from a sound sleep after sundown by somebody rapping on his door. What few people remained in the vicinity of Tombstone either went to sleep or went to the one remaining saloon after the sun went down. They didn't go visiting. Tom mumbled angrily to himself as he went to the door. Who in the world was knocking on his door after dark?
He opened the door a crack and peered out. "Can I help you, Mister?"
The man on the other side of the door was taller than Tom Slater. Beneath a low-crowned Stetson the face was friendly, but the eyes displayed cunning and intelligence, crows feet and all. The hair was silver at the temples, but still mostly dark. From the man's vest and split-tail coat, Tom took him to be a dandy. Folks didn't really dress that way much anymore. Tom decided the man looked like a tinhorn gambler.
"Are you Tom Slater?" the man asked in a pleasant voice. "My apologies for waking you up, but I think this telegram will explain everything."
Tom took the telegram from the stranger, put on his spectacles and read carefully. In addition to guiding tours for the easterners when they came through, Tom was also the caretaker of the buildings in town. The owners, most of who were in California, still held legal title to the structures and land, and they entrusted to Tom the task of watching after them. As Tom read the telegram, it became clear that the stranger standing at his door was an old friend of one of the property owners, and that he was to be given access to one of the buildings in town. The building in question was The Bird Cage Theatre. And the secret password was included in the telegram, so Tom knew it wasn't a fake.
"Why in tarnation would you want to go to The Bird Cage?" he asked his visitor. "That place hasn't seen the light of day in years."
"Having a little get-together over there," replied the stranger. "And the place holds sentimental value for me."
Tom shook his head, indicating that he thought the tinhorn was loco. "Just let me get my coat and we'll go over to the theatre, Mister…."
"Maverick," replied the stranger. "Bret Maverick."
Tom's eyes opened wider. "Maverick? The gambler?" He whistled low. "That's a name I haven't heard in a while. I though you was dead."
Maverick smiled. "No, not dead. Just married and settled down."
Tom let out a cackling laugh. "Is there a difference?" He let out another chuckle, grabbed his coat, and the two men moved out into the night. Tom's shack stood in the shadow of the Cochise County courthouse. He stepped into a little shed to retrieve a lantern and a pry bar. Then Bret took the reins of his nearby horse and the two men walked up a slight rise into the town of Tombstone itself.
Out of reflex, Tom slipped into tour guide mode, telling Bret all the historical happenings of the town. And for his part, Bret didn't have the heart to tell the caretaker that the Maverick family had visited Tombstone many, many times during her heyday. Tom was obviously in his element, and Bret found that he enjoyed reliving those bygone days as well.
"Down between these buildings is an alley that leads over to Fremont Street. And that's where you'll find the famous OK Corral, site of the legendary gun battle between the noble and brave Earp faction and the notorious outlaws of the Clanton Gang."
In the dark, Tom did not notice Bret's raised eyebrow. While Bret himself had not been present during the famous gunfight, Brother Bart had been. Bart had always maintained that there was nothing noble about it. It had been a power struggle for control of Tombstone, pure and simple. The Mavericks had known the Earps and John Henry Holiday. "Doc" had been the only noble one of the bunch, as far as the Mavericks were concerned. He had been in the fight out of loyalty…and the possibility of catching a bullet and ending his battle with consumption. The others were there to protect their power base.
As the two men continued up Allen Street toward The Bird Cage, they passed the town's only operating saloon, The Iron Horse. In the town's glory days before the mines flooded, the noise from this establishment and the other saloons up and down the street would have wakened the dead. Now there was just enough noise from within to let you know that humans still existed in Tombstone. From the batwing doors of The Iron Horse, a pair of eyes watched Tom and Maverick make their way up the street. The glow from Tom's lantern let Jericho Stiles see plainly that one man was Tom Slater. But all he could tell about the other man was that he was dressed fancy and carried himself with confidence. Not many strangers came here anymore. And this one looked like he might have a little money on him.
Stiles gestured to his compadre, Mort Vining, who walked up beside him. "Look there, Mort. Stranger in town. Tom seems to be takin' him somewhere." He grinned. "This might be opportunity knockin'. Follow them and see where they go. Try to find out what they're doin' without getting' noticed." His friend nodded silently and slipped out the door and followed in the wake of Tom and Maverick.
Meanwhile, unaware that they had picked up a shadow, the two men continued up the street. Tom was pointing out Campbell and Hatch's Saloon. "This is where Morgan Earp met his end. Poor guy was shot in the back while playing billiards."
Maverick nodded. "Yeah. My brother, Bart, was here that night playing in the game with Morgan. He hasn't played since."
They continued up Allen Street a short distance and stopped in front of The Bird Cage Theatre. In its present condition, all boarded up and dark, it was hard to imagine that this place had once been the epicenter of nightlife in Tombstone. It was named with typical frontier humor. The Bird Cage was so named due to the boxes suspended from the ceiling, where prostitutes (or "soiled doves") plied their trade. It was even the inspiration of a popular song, "I'm Just a Bird in a Gilded Cage."
Tom Slater set to work with his pry bar, and in short order the boards covering the main entrance were removed and they stepped inside. Tom's lantern cast an eerie glow over the once bustling lobby and bar area of the theatre. The bar and all its glassware were covered with a light sheen of dust. Bottles with varying colors of liquors stood mute on shelves, waiting for the mug or shot glass that would never arrive. Bret moved his hand across the bar top, noting the cloud of dust that was raised.
"You really should talk to your cleaning lady. She's been laying down on the job."
"Nobody's been in here in about twenty years," replied Tom. "After the mines flooded, she was boarded up just like a lot of the buildings in town."
Maverick had been here several times during his younger days, though never to visit the "birds." He looked at the bar and the rich drapes hanging from the walls, some showing the ill effects of hungry moths. As lantern light played over the room, he noticed the famous portrait of the exotic dancer, Fatima, still hanging in its place. She had the same inviting smile on her face, her voluptuous curves and breasts bared for the world to see. Maverick suspected some damage to the roof, as part of the portrait showed signs of water damage.
Tom and Maverick moved around a partition and entered the auditorium area of the theatre. It was nothing short of ghostly. The light from the lantern created moving shadows that danced on the walls. The "bird cage" booths looked dark and ominous in the poor light, resembling miniature caverns where anything in human imagination might be hiding. Maverick's eyes took in the room detail by detail. All the benches used for seating still faced the stage; all in perfect rows except for one near the front that was turned over. Across the room were several gaming tables, one with a Faro layout still on it. Bret had played poker here many times. His eyes came to rest on the rosewood piano near the front of the stage, its keys not touched by human hands in two decades.
Bret turned to Tom and pointed to a doorway to the right of the piano. "That's the place I'm the most interested in." They trudged across the floor, their steps echoing hollowly on the boards. As they passed the piano, Bret could not resist the temptation, and he pressed down on one of the lower keys. The one low note held in the air for what seemed an eternity, as if waiting for another note to follow it into the dank night air. Tom shivered silently and Maverick had to admit he felt a few goose bumps himself. He smiled wanly at Tom. "Can you believe I never had a lesson?" Tom grimaced and continued toward their destination.
The door in question led down a narrow set of stairs to the underside of the stage. The men carefully made their way down, testing each step as they went. The wood was good and sturdy, and they made their way to a small landing and looked into the room below. A smile of sweet remembrance crossed Maverick's face.
The room was not large, but its legend was huge. It was a card room. It had its own bar, and several rooms off to one side. These rooms had been "cribs," areas where prostitutes had tried to earn additional income off of those who had been lucky at the room's gaming tables. This card room had been the scene of the longest non-stop poker game in the history of the world. Even as Maverick thought about it, he could hear Tom once again giving a history lesson.
"This here room saw the longest poker game ever. It lasted eight years, five months and three days…without ever stopping once. The dealer and players changed constantly, but the game never stopped. The buy-in was one thousand dollars. And the waiting list was as long as your arm."
Maverick nodded. "Yep. My old pappy was one of the men who started it." Tom whistled in appreciation and smiled. Bret smiled back and continued. "He played in it several times. I got to play twice. But only after waiting a couple of weeks each time for my name to move up on the waiting list." They made their way down to the floor and Maverick took a closer look at everything. The gaming tables were just as they had been left on the day the main tunnels of Tombstone's silver mines had flooded. Cards and chips were scattered about. One chair was tipped forward to rest against one of the tables, just as the player had left it when he had exited the game. Maverick was tempted to reach out and turn over the cards to see what hands those last players had been holding, but something deep down inside of him said it would be wrong. He could just hear Pappy's voice saying, "You didn't pay to seem 'em, so keep your paws off of those cards!" He smiled bitterly to himself.
Turning to Tom, Maverick said, "This place will be perfect. We'll place a thick blanket over the largest gaming table so these cards and chips won't be disturbed." He gestured to the bar. "We'll need a few bottles of whiskey. And if any of the restaurants in town are still operating, we'll need some grub. The barware and the rooms off here to the side will need a good cleaning." He reached into his coat and pulled out a wallet that contained a healthy amount of money. He handed Tom a generous sum. "If you could have somebody see to the cleaning, I'd sure appreciate it. But just these lower rooms. We won't be using the area upstairs. We also need this exit door down here pried open so we can go in and out, and to let some air in." Tom nodded his understanding. "I'm expecting my guests to start arriving tomorrow evening. Will that be enough time?"
"Sure will, Mr. Maverick. How many others are you expecting?"
Maverick went through a little mental calculation. "Three others. Maybe four. You never can tell."
As the men discussed a few other arrangements, they failed to notice a dark figure creeping up the stairs holding its boots in its hands so as not to make any noise. The silhouette that was Mort Vining made his way out of The Bird Cage Theatre and returned to The Iron Horse Saloon.
Jericho listened to Mort's report with rapt interest. "So that was Bret Maverick, was it? Haven't heard that name in years. Thought all those Maverick boys had died out."
Mort reported on the wad of cash Bret had been carrying and repeated the part about others arriving tomorrow evening. The wheels in Jericho's mind turned slowly, but they turned nonetheless. "If these guests he's expectin' have anywhere near the cash on them that he does, this could be quite a payday for us. Yes sir, quite a payday." He licked his lips greedily. "Mort, old sport, this may be our last best chance of getting' out of this ghost town for good. But we're gonna play it smart. Take our time. And make our move when the time is perfect."
He then outlined a simple but effective plan for lifting a nice bankroll off of Maverick and his companions.
The next morning dawned clear and cool. October in the desert area of southern Arizona could be quite bracing. Maverick stood on the balcony of the Crystal Palace Hotel and took in the town in the growing light of day. What had looked mysterious by night now just looked sad. As far as the eye could see were boarded up windows and doors, with just one or two exceptions. He sipped his morning coffee and remembered walking up and down these same streets when he had been a much younger man. He shook his head. "All that glitters will tarnish with age, so pawn it before it does," Pappy had said. This town was a perfect example of something that had tarnished. But the memories were still gold.
He noticed a bustle of activity near the front door of The Bird Cage. A couple of women could be seen going in and out with buckets, towels and linens. A man carrying a box that Bret felt sure was whiskey arrived a short time later. Maverick ate a quick breakfast and went down Allen Street to supervise activities himself. Work continued at a steady pace, and by mid-afternoon the card room under the stage of the theatre looked like it had never closed. The bar had been cleaned and polished. The largest gaming table had been covered with a round piece of thin wood, which had in turn been upholstered with green fabric, thus protecting the cards and chips left there so many years ago. The side rooms had been thoroughly scrubbed and fresh sheets placed on the aired out mattresses. Bret tipped the workers generously, helped himself to a fresh brisket sandwich from the town's one remaining restaurant, and settled in to wait.
The sun was just starting to set in the west, painting distant mountains various shades of pink and gold, when the first "guest" arrived. Bret had been looking at the sunset from the door leading to the outside of the card room when he heard the sound of halting footsteps crossing the floor up in the auditorium. Steps followed by the thump of a cane as the newcomer made progress toward the card room door. A few seconds went by, and then the visitor appeared on the landing. He was as tall as Bret, but his hair showed gold among the silver. He had a deep tan and when he spoke, a distinct English accent could be detected.
"Why, Cousin, if I had known there was a back door, I would not have bothered with these wretched stairs." He smiled broadly at Bret, and the years melted away.
"Pappy always said back doors were for late entrances and early exits. Your arrival is right on time." The two men met at the bottom of the stairs and gave each other a huge bear hug. "It's been a long time, Cousin Beau."
The two men stood regarding each other, taking note of the signs of age and the remains of youthful appearance. Beau chuckled slightly. "Married life seems to agree with you. You don't even limp from the presence of the ball and chain."
Bret gave his cousin a sardonic grin. "You're one to talk. How is Samantha?"
"Still winning every argument and thinking circles around me. She reads me like a book." Beau gave a wink. "I throw her off by slipping in some extra pages every now and then." They both laughed. "I can always tell when she's really upset with me. When she's had enough of me, she always reminds me that she could have married Bart instead of me."
A new voice piped in from the outside door to the card room. "I don't think my wife would care that much for the idea." Bret and Beau turned to greet the newcomer with the tan Stetson and fleur-de-lis vest under his coat. He was just slightly shorter and thinner than Bret, but the family resemblance was unmistakable.
"Brother Bart!" bellowed Bret, and a fresh round of bear hugs began. "How long has it been?"
Bart rubbed his chin and thought. "It was either yours and Annabelle's fifth wedding anniversary, or shortly after Beau and I helped Pappy pawn some salted "oil field" land off on Randolph St. Cloud. Can't remember exactly. Too long at any rate."
The three men sat down at the designated gaming table. Bart noticed that there were six chairs, one tilted in with its top resting on the table edge, indicating that the intended player would not be attending.
The Mavericks quickly caught up with each other and inquired about each other's spouses. Bret had married Annabelle Bransford after a courtship of cat and mouse across the west, and they lived in Sweetwater, Arizona, at The Lazy Ace ranch. She was there now, attempting to ride herd on their two teenage sons. Though Samantha Crawford had set her sites on almost all of the Maverick males, she had eventually decided that she truly loved Beau. They had only one child, their son Ben, named for his grandfather, Bentley Maverick, brother of old Beauregard "Pappy" Maverick, for whom Beau had been named. Lastly, Bart had married Modesty Blaine, a move that had shocked and surprised everyone, not the least of which had been Bart! After a number of ups and downs, they had settled down in San Francisco, where they resided with their two children, a son and a daughter.
After catching up on the present, the men naturally wandered into the past, swapping stories about growing up with two of the most wily and tricky men to fleece the west, and also throwing in remembrances of their own exploits. Bret recalled that Pappy and Uncle Bentley had once conned a notorious poker cheat by playing with a deck of blank playing cards and convincing the cheat that he was going blind. Bart remembered the first time he and Bret had won a card game as children. Bret had been eleven, Bart nine. They had won a teepee off an Indian, and then had to explain to Pappy how it ended up in their front yard. Pappy had never been prouder of the boys! Beau chose to explain again how he had accidentally won a medal for valor during the War Between the States, and how it had infuriated Uncle Beau! No Maverick was supposed to put their neck on the line to win a medal! This "good deed" had gotten him banished to England, and only Bart's pleadings on his behalf had made Pappy relent and allow Beau back into America.
The men roared with laughter. As the merriment subsided, a voice spoke from the landing. "Is this a private joke, or can anyone join in?" The three men at the table stood and regarded the latest arrival. He was a good deal younger than they were, but still pushing middle age rather hard. His face still retained all of its youthful vigor, and his resemblance to Beau could not be mistaken. Ben Maverick had arrived. He shook the hands of his cousins, and embraced his father warmly.
"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it," Beau said, his eyes twinkling.
Ben Shrugged. "It's a long haul from Idaho to here. But I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
"And how are Nell and the kids?" asked Bret.
Ben smiled wolfishly. "Nell has her hands full. Those boys are Mavericks through and through. They won a candy store in a poker game two months ago!" They all roared with laughter. "And they're only twelve!"
"Twins," muttered Bart. "That means double trouble. Heaven help us when all of the rest of the youngsters in this family reach adulthood."
Bret nodded his agreement. "Heaven help everyone!" He rubbed his hands together and beamed at his family. "What say we play some cards?"
They each took a seat at the table. Everyone noted the tipped up chair, and the one vacant chair, but not a single word was said about them. Bret opened a bottle of whiskey and poured a shot for all of them. He raised his glass in a toast. "To Beauregard Maverick." His voice choked a little. "My Pappy. His like will not pass this way again. He is in a better place. And probably dealing stud to the angels just outside the pearly gates." The others intoned a response to the toast. Beau offered a toast to his late father, Bentley, and then mused that it was ironic to offer a whiskey toast to a man who had drank him self to death.
Then the cards were dealt, and the card game of the century began. What a pity it was that nobody was there to see it. The Mavericks were a family practically born with a deck of cards in their hands. At the age of three, any Maverick child could tell you which hand beat which hand. At the age of seven they could tell when you were bluffing by your body language and your facial expressions. And by the age of thirteen they were picking you clean. And here were the four most able Mavericks of all time taking each other on in a battle of cards never to be equaled anywhere at any time.
The games were dealer's choice. They mostly rotated between five-card draw, five-card stud and seven-card stud. The buy-in was one that had deep meaning to the men of the Maverick clan: it was the $1000 bill each of them kept pinned inside their jackets or vests, a coming of age present to each boy from Pappy. This bought a healthy amount of chips. The only problem was that since they WERE the greatest poker players on the planet, they were almost too evenly matched. They all seemed to win the same number of pots that contained the same amounts of money. But in truth, the games weren't about the money or the winning. It was a chance for the family to come together for the first time in ages. With the passing of Beauregard Maverick, there was a need to make a connection and strengthen the Maverick family bond. And what better way to do so than the game they all loved so dearly?
For the next couple of days, they alternated between playing poker, napping, dining together and swapping all the stories they could think of. The card room under the stage of The Bird Cage Theatre rang with laughter and memory.
On the evening of the second day, Ben's curiosity could take it no more. He knew the tipped up chair was for Uncle Beauregard, God rest his soul. And he thought he knew whom the empty chair was for, but to mention that person's name in Bret's presence had always been a bad idea. But he could not resist asking. He cleared his throat and began. "Uh, Bret, not to touch on a sore spot, but-"
His train of thought was stopped in its tracks by the outside door being kicked in. Jericho Stiles and Mort Vining ran into the room. Mort circled around to the far side of the table, opposite Jericho. The Mavericks were completely covered by the revolvers the two intruders held. Jericho smiled, but no humor touched his eyes. "This here is a stick-up," he proclaimed. "Just hand over the money, and nobody gets hurt."
"Do people still use that cliché during robberies?" asked Bart.
"Quiet!" thundered Jericho.
"Mister, this is a waste of time," chimed in Bret. "Why, we're not even playing for real money. We're just using these chips and playing for fun."
Jericho smirked. "Nice try. But no Maverick ever played just for fun. Yeah, we know who all of you are. And we also know there's a whole lot of money in your wallets. So make with the cash or we start blastin'!"
The Mavericks exchanged uncertain glances and began to slowly reach for their wallets. The barrels of the guns pointed at them did not invite much argument. The two robbers watched with greedy eyes as the wallets appeared out of vest and jacket pockets.
Without warning, a gunshot bellowed in the silence. Everyone froze. Everyone except Mort Vining, who dropped his gun and put his hand over a bleeding crease on his forearm. Jericho whirled in the direction from which the shot had come.
"Wouldn't try it, friend," said a mellow voice from the stair landing. A tall man stood there, dressed in the black frock coat and low crowned hat that used to serve as a gambler's uniform. A Colt .44 was held in a rock-steady hand. Then a disturbing sound reached Jericho's ears. It was the sound of cloth rustling and the cocking back of gun hammers. While his attention had been drawn to the man on the stairs, the men seated at the table, as one being, had gestured with their right arms, and now they each had a two-shot Derringer pointed at Jericho's head.
"We carry these up our sleeves for just such emergencies," said Beau. "Never can tell when you might have to shoot one form of vermin or another."
Jericho licked his lips and looked from the man on the stairs, to the seated Mavericks, to his bleeding partner and back again. The man on the stairs extended his gun hand, moving the Colt closer to its target. "You're thinking about trying it, mister, but I'd do the math again if I were you. I have five bullets. Each of these gentlemen has two. That makes our thirteen bullets against your six. The odds are not in your favor."
Ben snorted. "Maybe he could count the bullets as they come toward him."
Jericho dropped his gun to the floor. At that moment, Tom Slater and a couple of townsmen thundered in through the outside door. They had been attracted by the sound of the gunshot, and they had their guns at the ready. The impromptu posse seemed surprised that the Mavericks had the situation in hand. Tom frowned at Jericho and Mort. "Dadburn it, you saddle bums! You're going to give this town a bad name." The Mavericks couldn't help but grin at Tom's indignation.
It turned out that in addition to being caretaker of most of the buildings in Tombstone, Tom was also a deputy sheriff for Cochise County. He and the other citizens marched the bandits off to the courthouse, where Jericho and Mort would wait for the circuit judge to come around. After all of them had left, the Mavericks eyed the newcomer who had broken up the robbery. Bart, Beau and Ben smiled warmly at him. Only Bret did not smile. Everyone else seemed to notice the tension that had developed in the room, and quickly found excuses to exit the card room, leaving Bret and the recent arrival alone. The two men regarded each other for what seemed an eternity. Then Bret broke the silence.
"Brother Brent."
Brent Maverick's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Don't think I've ever heard you refer to me that way before."
Bret gestured to the chair that had been empty this whole time, and Brent sat down. Bret took his seat across from him, and silence once again descended on the room. After a while they both started to speak at the same time, and then stopped. They grinned at each other like schoolboys, and it was then that any stranger who might have happened upon them would have seen the family resemblance. They were the same height, the same build and looked for all the world like two peas from the same pod.
"I get to go first, since I'm the oldest," Bret said. He looked down at the table for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Brent. I've treated you like dirt your whole life, and I am so very sorry. I always went around claiming I only had one brother, and that wasn't fair to you. It took losing Pappy to drive home to me how stupid and selfish I've been." He looked his younger brother in the eye. "I hope you'll forgive me. I should never have blamed you for Mama's death. It's just that when she died, I was a kid who needed somebody to blame. And since she never seemed the same after you were born, you were the most likely candidate. You were only three when she passed on, but I still blamed you." A tear formed in his eye. "I am truly sorry. Please forgive me."
Brent removed his hat and sat quietly for some time. He reached across the table and took his brother by the arm. "I forgave you years ago." Bret stared at him in stunned surprise. "It's true. Pappy and I used to talk after I was full-grown. He told me to give you some time, and you'd come around. It took a couple of decades longer than I thought it would, but you did come around."
Bret looked guiltily at the table. "But look at all I took from you. It was because of me that Pappy sent you to live with Mama's people, the Suttons. He knew how I felt and he sent you away."
His brother shook his head. "No. He told me what happened. He didn't know what to do with me. Mother was gone, and he didn't know how to raise such a young child. By that time, you were nine and Bart was seven, so you could pretty much fend for yourselves. But Pappy knew he didn't know anything about raising an infant. So he sent me off to Grandma and Grandpa Sutton. You had nothing to do with it."
"That's true."
They turned to see Bart standing in the doorway. He strode to his seat and sat down. "Remember the time we tricked the St. Cloud's into thinking Pappy was dead by having you pose as him?" Bret nodded. "We kidded him about marrying a young girl like Josephine St. Cloud, and Pappy said then that he had already raised two sons and didn't think he had it in him to raise another child. Technically he told the truth. He had three sons, but he only raised two." He smiled at Brent. "Besides, Brent didn't grow up alone. Beau and I would spend part of our summers with him at Grandpa Suttons's place, and Pappy would visit him frequently. And then there were all those Sutton cousins."
"So you can see that I didn't exactly want for family. But…it is good to sit here with my two big brothers. At last."
The three brothers stood and embraced each other for the first time since they had all been small children. They were interrupted by Beau's voice. "Just look at this, Ben. Public displays of affection. What is this family coming to?" This we met by laughter from everyone, and soon there was a flurry of embraces, handshakes and smiles. Finally Beau gestured to the table. "I say we give Brent the honor of dealing, and while we play he can fill us in on what he's been up to."
Brent turned up the bottom of his vest and undid the safety pin that held his $1000 dollar bill in place. "I believe I have the buy-in right here."
For the next several hours he regaled them with stories of how he had settled down in Sunburst, Kansas, after years as a wandering gambler. He had two lovely children, a son and a daughter, and actually ran a hardware store. With a mischievous grin he also described the high stakes poker games that took place in the store's back room every other Saturday. His brothers and cousins assured him they would be turning up for this game in the near future.
There followed another two days of poker, laughter and remembrances. But the time finally came when they had to get back to their respective lives and wives. On a chilly October morning, they stood in front of The Bird Cage Theatre, their horses and packs standing at the ready. A crew hired by Tom Slater was already putting the boards back over the entrances to the building…boards that would not be removed for nearly another thirty years.
They shook hands, exchanged hugs all around and then climbed into their saddles. Ben looked around. "This was something I'm glad I didn't miss. I'm going to ride with Dad and Cousin Bart to Tucson. They can catch a train to California, and I can catch one to Idaho."
Bret looked north. "I can cut cross country and be back in Sweetwater in a couple of days."
"I'm stopping off in Santa Fe to see some friends," said Brent. "Then heading back to Sunburst."
Beau snapped the cover on his pocket watch closed. "Remember that we all agreed. Thanksgiving 1910. My place in Las Angeles. Have your branches of the family there, or I will come looking for you."
"Wouldn't miss it," said Bret. With that, he waved to them all and spurred his horse northward. His kin split to the east and west, and the Maverick family left Tombstone behind, the sound of hammer on wood accompanying them to the town limits.
END