Chapter 4 – Death Wish

He played poker and drank; drank and played poker. By midnight he was down to his last two hundred dollars and he still didn't understand what he was doing wrong. The cards weren't falling for him, he was overbidding the losing hands and underbidding the winning ones, and no matter how much mescal he drank or how many cigars he smoked Caroline's face seemed to be the only thing he could see clearly. Finally, in desperation, he palmed a card and won the hand. After that he kept telling himself, 'Just one more hand and I'll quit this', but it got easier and easier to win when he played dishonestly. By dawn he'd won back all the money he'd lost and was ahead by over five-hundred dollars.

One by one the men at the table quit and went home or to bed or to work, and Bart once again ordered breakfast and another bottle. The same attractive Señorita served his food, and although it was different than what he'd had before it was every bit as good. This time when he was finished he actually paid for his meal and drink and left the cantina, taking his bottle with him.

It was either getting easier going up the stairs or he was getting used to being drunk. It didn't matter which, as long as he got back to his room. He did, and this time he undressed and removed his boots before getting in to bed. He kept the bottle on the side table, just to be close, and fell into a deep sleep within minutes. For once his dreams didn't involve Caroline; instead they were all about Pappy and the poker lessons that he'd given Bart and his brother Bret as they were growing up and learning the game.

"You can't cheat," Pappy told them time and time again. "But you have to know how it's done, so you can spot it when it's used against you. Then you need to know how to get back at the cheater. As long as you play an honest game of cards you can hold your head up and look any man in the eye. Remember, no cheatin'. It's an unfair advantage, and you're better poker players than that."

The sound of a gunshot woke him, and it took him a few minutes to realize the gun was fired in his dreams and not in the real world. He finally went back to sleep, but Pappy's words rang in his ears - "You can't cheat."

Now his sleep was restless and fitful, and full of bizarre dreams. This time when he woke it was almost dark out, and he looked at his watch to see what time it was. The next thing he reached for was the bottle, which was nearly empty. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to have to get up and go get more liquor. If he was going to do that he might as well go back to the cantina and play poker again. One more night, his mind told him. Then he'd stop and return to playing the game he loved the way he'd learned it.

Once he got to the cantina and had more of the liquid that had become his life's blood he tried playing without any subterfuge and poker began to go south again. His inability to win at the game by being honest completely escaped him, and he reverted to the method that worked. No one seemed to catch on to anything he did and his winning ways returned with the extra boost he provided. By dawn he'd doubled his funds and gotten restless, all in the same night.

He skipped eating and took three bottles with him back to the hotel. Before going to his room he paid two weeks rent and informed the desk clerk he would be gone for a few days. The room was nothing special but it was comfortable and he liked the location and view. He wanted to make sure he came back to the same spot.

He threw some clothes into his war bag, leaving his suitcase in the room, and packed two of the three bottles into his saddlebags. In just a few minutes he'd collected his horse from the poor excuse for a livery and headed out of town, east and slightly north. He rode for over a day, stopping as little as possible until he found a tiny town purely by accident. Its name was Pesqueria, and in addition to the small cantina right down the street from the general store it had what looked like a poker room four buildings past that. No place to sleep, but there was always a way around that.

He tied his horse outside the cantina and walked in. Something that smelled delicious drifted over to him and he sat and ordered a bottle and a serving of whatever was wafting on the air. He hadn't paid any attention to food since leaving Magdalena and didn't realize how hungry he was until he began to eat. The mescal here had a slightly different flavor but the same effect. There were three different poker games going and by the time he was done eating he had his pick of them.

An hour later he was in the middle of a game when his poker muse deserted him once more and he started double dealing. Nobody seemed to catch on to what he was doing and he resumed winning. It bothered him, knowing that he had to cheat to win; but not enough to prevent it. Pappy kept repeating in his head 'No cheatin', son', and he kept drinking until the sound of the words faded into nothingness.

He played all night until there were no more men left to play with, then had one more glass of mescal before he got to his feet and stumbled his way outside. His horse was just where he'd left her and she whinnied plaintively. He untied her and walked her down to the little shack that served as a livery, where he made arrangements to have her fed and watered. The price of a stall gave him a place to sleep until the poker room opened later in the day, and he spread his bedroll right next to the mare. He sighed and never gave a second thought to sleeping with his horse; he simply took another drink from his bottle and lay down on the hay. His eyes closed and he was asleep quickly, dreaming once again of the awful morning Caroline died. This one was a little different, though.

Lon Tenley fixed his gaze steadily on Bart, standing on the staircase. "I ain't tellin' you again. Get down here."

Bart took a step down, then another, and the man with the guns relaxed slightly. At that moment, the front door swung open and Caroline stood clearly in the sunlight. Tenley whirled around and fired. Bart let out a long yell "NO!" and grabbed for his gun as Caroline dropped to the floor. He hit Tenley with the first two bullets and missed with the third. Before the gunmen went down, he got off a shot that hit Bart square in the chest. Just as he reached the bottom of the staircase, Bart shot once more and Tenley dropped, dead.

Bart staggered to Caroline's side, mortally wounded himself. He picked her up in his arms, gently. She smiled with her eyes closed and whispered "Get him?"

"Yep." Bart could scarcely get the word out. He kissed Caroline tenderly on the lips and rocked her soundlessly. She was dying and he knew it. He suddenly realized that he was, too. "Bart." Her voice was barely a whisper. He had to lean close to her mouth to hear her. "I love you." She lay still in his arms.

He put his lips next to her ear. It was too late for her to hear him, but he didn't care. "I love you too." With a great sigh and one last breath, he slumped across her body and joined her in death.

Slowly he opened his eyes. For just a few moments he felt peaceful and content, knowing that on this day he'd united with his beloved in the hereafter. Then his mare whinnied, and he knew it was just a dream. And he wept bitter tears at the realization that he was still alive.