Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 2 – A High Price to Pay

Cheyenne couldn't come quick enough. Sleeping on the stage was only one step above sleeping on the ground, and a small step at that. So he was more than happy when the stage pulled into town and he was able to check into the hotel. Dandy Jim had said a room was reserved for him – he didn't say a 'suite'. He tipped the bellboy and took off his coat, hanging it carefully across a chair. Just as he was about to lay down on the bed, there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Maverick? Message for you."

By virtue of habit he opened the door with his gun drawn. The poor clerk took one look at the revolver and stepped back, almost dropping the written message in his hand. "Sorry, habit," Bart explained as he took the note from the man. 'Now, let's try this again,' he thought as he unbuttoned his vest and untied his tie, then laid down on the bed before opening the piece of paper. Inside he found the following: 'Mr. Maverick – I understand you are the man here to fulfill the contract between James David Buckley and my father, Arthur Ridgeway. If this is correct, please meet me in the hotel dining room at 3 p.m. today. I must speak to you on a matter most urgent. I will be wearing a blue flowered dress. If you are not the correct man, I beg your indulgence. Thank you, Millie Ridgeway.'

So Buckley's contract was with Arthur Ridgeway, the biggest railroad man left in Wyoming. There was more to this than just a poker game. And if he met Millie Ridgeway at three o'clock he might be able to find out. He pulled his pocket watch out of his vest and looked at it. Almost one o'clock. So much for going to sleep.

He got back up off the bed and unpacked, then washed up and shaved. After that he changed into fresh clothes and wandered down to the hotel lobby. The place was busy for the middle of the afternoon and he picked up a copy of the 'Cheyenne Gazette' and found a seat. By the time he finished reading the paper it was almost time to meet Millie Ridgeway. He'd also discovered that her father was the head of the committee to explore statehood for the Wyoming Territory and sat on the board of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association. Quite a busy man, it seemed. What could his daughter possibly want with a contracted gambler?

Putting down the paper, he wandered into the dining room and spotted his note writer almost immediately. She was certainly a beauty. Light brown hair with golden streaks through it, big violet eyes set off by the blue dress, she saw him and didn't hesitate to stand and offer her hand. She was warm and friendly and her eyes lit up when she looked at you. Her hands were soft and her voice almost melodic. He was enchanted.

"Mr. Maverick, I presume? I'm Millie Ridgeway, Arthur Ridgeway's daughter. You've assumed Mr. Buckley's contract to represent my father in this poker game, I believe?"

"I have, Miss Ridgeway, and please call me Bart. If you don't mind my asking, what's a man of your father's reputation doing 'hiring' a poker player for a card game?"

"All in good time, Bart, and please, I'm Millie. Would you like something to drink?" She signaled the waiter over and Bart told him "coffee, please," before turning his attention back to the girl.

"You could have something stronger, Bart. The dining room stocks a full bar."

He smiled at her. "I don't drink, Millie."

She looked surprised. "I thought all gamblers . . . . . . " she trailed off and didn't finish her sentence.

"That's the quandary, Millie. I'm not a gambler."

Now she looked positively confused. "I don't understand. I thought you were here in Mr. Buckley's place."

He raised an eyebrow. "That I am."

"But then – "

"Unlike Dandy Jim Buckley, I don't gamble. My pap – father – taught us to play the sweet science known as poker. It's not gambling when performed correctly. It takes skill, and nerve, and determination. And a keen sense of observation. And you retain none of those when you drink. Thus, no drinking."

"I see," she observed. "Then it would seem Mr. Buckley has sent the right man in his stead."

"Again, I must ask, why hire a poker player?"

"Because the man that thinks he owns the town of Cheyenne is determined to drive my father out of Wyoming at all costs, and he's quite a gambler with a lot of money."

"I take it this game is a lot more than just a game?" It didn't take much to determine that.

"Yes. The loser has agreed to leave Cheyenne."

"Permanently?"

"Yes. That's why it's so important that you win."

"By whatever means necessary?" If that's what Ridgeway expected than Bart was having none of it, no matter how much it was worth. He wasn't that kind of man and Buckley knew it.

"No, Bart. My father expects an honest game. He's hoping that the man Jim Buckley sent in his place is good enough to know if it's not."

He was silent for a moment, drinking coffee to give him sufficient time to think this whole thing over. There had to be something he didn't yet see. The question remained – if this was just a straight forward poker game, why did Buckley avoid such easy money?

"Who's playing?"

Millie Ridgeway still hadn't revealed the reason for this meeting, other than to pass along insight. "Seth Johnson. He's my father's nemesis. Brilliant, ruthless man. Wants no part of anything that doesn't involve cattle. He thinks Wyoming should remain a territory because the laws aren't as stringent as federal statutes would be. He believes Cheyenne is his to control and is the main opposition to my father."

She took a breath, in anticipation of the information yet to be revealed. "Then there's Andrew Watson. Johnson's chief ally in the disagreement. He's a follower rather than a leader, and he's picked the wrong man to follow."

"None on your father's side?" Bart asked.

"I'm getting there. Jasper Finley. His parents were farmers. He made his money selling their land to the Union Pacific Railroad, but he wants the territory to remain open to everyone. That includes the Indians. Jasper has known my father since I was a little girl and supports him unequivocally – he wanted into this poker game desperately just so Dad would have backing. The last man is Morgan Edwards. He's the man who supports whichever side is winning. Right now he's on no one's side. Whichever way the wind blows, that's where Morgan Edwards is. I have no idea how good a poker player he is."

"You still haven't given me a reason for Buckley's participation," Bart reminded her.

She laughed slightly and blushed. "It's my fault, I'm afraid. I'm the poker player in the family, not my father. When this game was first proposed, I had every intention of playing for his interests. Of course, the gentlemen in the group wouldn't allow a woman to participate. So he persuaded them to allow proxy play. Dandy Jim's name came up because he was in Denver at the time, and he was willing to play for the Ridgeways. For a monetary consideration, of course."

Bart thought about Buckley. "Of course. Pretty sweet deal your father got talked into. For Dandy, that is."

"Daddy had to make it worthwhile or there was no deal. Five thousand dollars is a pittance of what could be made in this game."

"And your father gave Buckley the option of finding an acceptable substitute?"

She nodded. "That was the only condition he attached to the agreement."

Bart had been suspicious of Dandy's reasons for offering the lucrative opportunity to him to begin with; now he was even more wary. So far he hadn't seen the downside, and there had to be one or Buckley would be here himself.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Millie?"

"Just this, Bart. My father's spent half his life trying to open up the Wyoming territory to everyone, and gain statehood in the process. Without winning in this poker game he has nothing left. If you lose it will kill him."