Bret's Story:

It all started with a telegram. My name's Maverick. Bret Maverick. First born son of Beauregard Maverick, poker player extraordinaire, and one of the most stubborn, opinionated men in the state of Texas, but mostly a good poker player. It was a skill he made sure both me and my brother learned well, and I consider myself pretty fortunate to be able to say I earn my living at a card table. It beats sitting in an office all day or punching cattle. Even though me and Brother Bart did consider ranching at one time.

Anyway, I was in my room at the Denver Palace Hotel getting dressed for what I was hoping would be a profitable night of poker when I was interrupted by a knock on the door and heard a voice call out, "Telegram, Mr. Maverick."

I was still trying to tie my tie as I opened the door. A boy of about twelve or so was waiting and offered me an envelope. I took the telegram and passed the boy a coin. His eyes lit up.

"Thanks, Mr. Maverick."

Two bits was a pretty substantial tip for delivering a telegram, but it was all I had on me and I wasn't going to send the boy away with nothing. "Don't spend it all in one place," I told him with a wink.

The boy grinned back. "Yes, sir," he replied before darting off down the hall.

I closed the door and opened the telegram, wondering if it was from Bart. I'd been expecting to hear from him for a couple of days now. It was indeed from Bart and I smiled as I read the first part. If nothing happened Bart was expecting to be here in less than two days. It had been almost five months since we'd parted ways, and frankly I was missing him. I was a little worried about him too.

Dear Brother Bart will probably never admit to this, but he is about the most accident prone man I know, or at least trouble prone. It just seems to dog him wherever he goes. It always has, ever since we were kids, and I like him being close enough for me to keep an eye on. It's not a sentiment Bart always appreciates and I know, he talks about me being a mother hen, but really, he needs someone to look after him. Besides, I was told by both our mother and our father to watch out for him, and when Beauregard Maverick tells you to do something, it's usually in your best interest to do it. Okay, the last time I saw Pappy he told both of us to look out for each other, but I figure being a big brother is a job you never grow out of and I still feel pretty protective of Bart. But mother hen or not and all protectiveness aside, I was ready to ride with Bart again and looking forward to his arrival. Then I read the second half of the telegram.

Right on the heels of good news came bad news, tragic news as far as I was concerned. Jim with me. I read the thing twice just to make sure I'd seen it right. Unfortunately, I had. Dandy Jim Buckley was with Bart and coming to Denver. Sighing, I wadded the paper up and tossed it on the bed before I finished getting dressed. Bart may have been a little agitated the last time I'd seen him, but I didn't think he'd been mad. Certainly not mad enough to want to put me through having to put up with Buckley.

I will never understand why Bart likes Buckley. The man is shifty, underhanded, conniving, and untrustworthy. I've never been with him when he didn't try to talk me into some grand scheme, usually one that would leave me holding the bag while he rode away with the spoils. Thankfully, I can usually see through him like a pane glass window, and then he just acts innocent and indignant that I would even suggest he would try to con me. I've never considered my brother to be gullible, but I do tend to question his judgment just a bit where Buckley is concerned, and it's led to more than one disagreement between us. To be fair, Bart seems to get a slightly different version of Buckley than I do, and that's something I really don't understand. I'm not sure what I did the first time we met that made me worth trying to con or what Bart did that made Buckley pass him up. Nor do I know why Jim continues to try and make my life miserable.

Be nice. Why was Bart telling me to be nice? I've never stolen anything from Buckley, and he's never been arrested because of me. Well, there was the one time, but it was just a couple of days, he did deserve it, and that sheriff would have caught up to him without my help. Be nice. I snorted thinking about that; I've always been nice. Maybe Bart needed to tell Jim to play nice.

Taking a breath, I banished any thoughts of Dandy Jim from my mind. I didn't have to deal with him tonight, but what I did have to do was play poker, and I didn't need Buckley getting in the way of that. Slipping my jacket on, I pocketed my derringer and went down to see what kind of talk I could have with Lady Luck tonight.

XXXXXXX

As it turned out, my lovely lady was in a very good mood, and I ended up having a pleasant, profitable, and long night. It was after sunup before I left the tables and made my way back to the hotel for breakfast before I became reacquainted with my bed. There are two kinds of people in the world, those who get up at sunrise, and those that go to bed at sunrise. I'm happy to say I'm in the latter group and like to stay there as much as possible.

The hotel was obviously a popular spot for breakfast. The place was almost full when I arrived, but I got a small table in a corner and soon had a cupful of coffee in front of me while I waited for my food. Having nothing else to do while I waited, I casually looked around the room at the other diners. The Palace isn't exactly a cheap hotel, so most of the people appeared to be well off financially, and most were men. Business men I assumed who would soon be starting their day in whatever their business was. Then there was the man across the room from me.

He was also alone, one of the few who was, and he was looking at me when my eyes found him. He dropped his eyes back down to his food and continued to eat, but I was left with an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't shake the feeling that he had been watching me, even though I told myself I was being ridiculous. He was alone, odds were he'd simply been looking at folks the same way I had, but my gut told me I was wrong. I glanced back at him and found him eating, seemingly uninterested in me, but the feeling remained.

My food arrived and I kept an eye on him as I ate. He never once made a move that could be counted as suspicious, but there was still something about him I didn't like. I tried to get as good a look at him without staring, and from what I could tell, he wasn't familiar to me. He was a pretty nondescript man, however, at least as far as I could see.

The man finished before I did and I watched out of the side of my eye as he stood, put some money on the table, and walked out of the dining room. He came close to my table as he left, but didn't so much as glance my way. But I did realize I was right about him being nondescript. He was average in most every sense of the word, average height and weight, light brown hair that was thinning on top, and a well-trimmed mustache. He was dressed well but I was willing to bet he would have looked just as ordinary dressed as a cowboy or a store clerk. I've traveled a good bit around this country, and I've met a lot of people, but I don't remember the man across the room being one of them.

I shook my head slightly after he left. I was being ridiculous; the man hadn't paid me any mind. Sure, I'd seen him looking at me, but only because I'd been doing the same thing. I didn't know him and he'd done nothing to make me think he knew me. The only thing I had was an odd feeling that something wasn't right, and I was willing to attribute that to the knowledge I was about to be subjected to the company of Dandy Jim. Even that wasn't worth worrying about now. He wasn't here yet, and it was unlikely he would get too sneaky with Bart around.

Finishing my breakfast, I stood, stifling a yawn. Maybe I just needed some sleep. I paid for my meal and made my way back upstairs. Neither the stranger nor Dandy Jim was worth thinking about at the moment.