"I'm impressed," Bart told Phil Gordon once they'd finished touring the ranch. "The way you set things up . . . it's efficient and well thought out. There's only one change I'd make. I'd put the breeding barn up front and move the full barn further back. But that's just personal preference."
Bart and Phil Gordon were leaning on the fence rail outside the corral that encircled the barn. They'd spent most of the afternoon looking over the grounds and all the buildings at the Old Bar G, and that didn't count the time spent inspecting the livestock. Bart was indeed mesmerized with the way the entire ranch was laid out. Now that he'd toured the complex, he was more inspired than he'd been before.
The layout of the ranch required quite a bit of acreage, and Bart knew the perfect spot for it – Uncle Ben's land. Beau had been trying to persuade his father to come live with him, Dani and the twins in Baton Rouge, and if Ben decided to go his ranch was the perfect spot. IF he was willing to sell it to Bart and Bret. If he wasn't, Bart would have to find another place, which might not be as easy as it sounded.
"You seem pretty amazed with the way everything's set up. But if you look at it from a different angle, it all runs in a big circle, with a smaller, horseshoe-shaped complex in the northeast corner. It's really not as complicated as it first appears. And the stallion at stud – it took me two or three breeding seasons just to find the right man for the job." Both men laughed. Watching the big Arabian herd his mares around, it was obvious Phil had found exactly what was needed.
"I can't tell you how glad I am that we ended up at the same poker table. You've saved me a lot of planning and agonizing over where everything should go."
"How long have you been thinkin' about this, anyway?"
Bart chuckled slightly. "Oh, just since I was nineteen or so and in the army. Except then it was cattle, not horses."
"And now it's horses and not steers. Why?"
"Gentler. Smarter. Less likely to try and kill me. And I think that's where the market is gonna go in the future. I been on too many cattle drives. I don't need to go on no more."
"You're bright, you'll do well with our friends out here. But they are more frustrating than a game of poker. Speaking of which, were you serious about not playin' anymore?"
A shake of the head from the younger man. "I didn't say I wouldn't play any more cards. I just said I'd stay outta poker rooms."
Gordon laughed and slapped Bart on the back. "Excellent answer. How do you feel about a big, juicy steak, followed by a saloon and a poker game?"
"The only thing I'm gonna agree to right now is the steak. But I'll take the rest under advisement."
"Good enough. Let's go see what we can do about the steak."
XXXXXXXX
Claytonville had a steakhouse at the south end of town named The Tender Steer, and that's where Phil and Bart went for supper. By the time their meal was over it was past nine o'clock, and there was a saloon right next door. Dirty Nellie's wasn't the biggest or best place in town, but it had several lively games in progress and one more thing going for it . . . it wasn't a poker room. Bart had worded his promise to Lou Manning very carefully . . . only guaranteeing to stay out of poker rooms. He said nothing about not playing the game.
It was a peaceful night until about three o'clock in the morning, when both Red Saunders and Swifty Jones wandered into the saloon. Red took a seat at the game Phil was involved with, and Swifty ended up at Bart's table. He played for about two hours, badly as it were, before he got up and left not only the game but the saloon.
Just after sunrise both Bart and Phil were ready to call it a night. Breakfast was the next thing on the menu, with Maverick then catching a couple hours sleep and heading for Little Bend. He'd enjoyed the poker and had done better than he expected, but he was most grateful for meeting Phil Gordon. He'd met someone with the potential to become a friend, and a long dormant interest had been revived.
They'd just walked out of Dirty Nellie's and Bart was in the process of lighting a cigar when he saw someone coming down the street . . . and groaned. It was the sheriff. "What do you suppose he wants now?" Phil asked.
"Probably to berate me some more."
When Manning got about ten feet away from the two men, he stopped in his tracks. "Mr. Maverick."
"That's me," Bart replied sheepishly.
"You gave me your word. And you broke it."
"I told you l'd stay out of poker rooms, Sheriff Manning. And I did just that." Bart took a long draw on the cigar and blew smoke out. "I did not break my word."
"I've had another complaint of cheating."
"At Dirty Nellie's, of course."
"That's right."
"Sheriff, Mr. Gordon and me are goin' to breakfast at Mollie Jane's. Then I'm goin' back to my hotel and sleep for a couple hours. Then I'm leavin' town. If you have any objections, you can find me at one of those places."
"No, you're not. You're comin' back to the jail with me. Until I can get this mess straightened out."
Before Bart could object, the sheriff had managed to slap a handcuff on the gambler's left wrist. It was a natural reaction, a right cross to the sheriff's jaw, and so was Manning's – a colt in Bart's ribs.
"You're under arrest, Maverick," the sheriff declared, and Bart cursed himself for being so dumb.
"Look, Manning, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."
"And I didn't mean to arrest you, either," Lou replied. "But we're goin' to jail anyway."
"Sheriff . . . "
Manning slipped the second handcuff on Bart's right wrist. "Walk," he commanded, and pushed the gambler forward.
"Phil, can you send a telegram for me?" Bart called over his shoulder as Manning kept the gun in his ribs.
"Sure. I'm right behind you." The three men walked the rest of the way to the jail silently. When they got inside Manning deposited Bart in a cell, took off the handcuffs, and locked the cell door.
"Don't tell her I got arrested, please. Just tell her I'm fine but got delayed and won't be home tonight."
"You ain't gonna be home for a while, gambler," the sheriff stated emphatically. "You been cheatin' at cards for the last forty-eight hours, and I got people that will file a complaint against you for it."
"And I slugged a sheriff," Bart added guiltily.
"And you assaulted a peace-officer."
Bart gave Phil the information for Doralice. Before he left, Gordon posed a question to the sheriff. "Who complained about cheatin' at cards? Jones and Saunders?"
Manning shook his head. "I can't tell you that, Mr. Gordon."
"The only cheatin' goin' on at those tables was done by those two. And if you'd been sheriff for more than five minutes you'd know that."
"Look, Mr. Gordon, I'm just tryin' to do my job. You bring me proof of that or get them to back off on their complaints and I'll drop the charges against Maverick. Until then, he stays right where he is."
Phil Gordon left, and Lou Manning sat down at his desk. "Hey, Manning, how about some coffee? I haven't had anything since supper last night."
Coffee sounded like a good idea, and Lou poured two cups. "Can I trust you with this?" he asked the gambler as he passed the coffee cup through the bars.
Bart took the coffee gratefully. "Look, sheriff, I'm sorry I hit you. It was just instinct. You slapped that handcuff on me without warning, and I reacted. Over-reacted, I guess. But I still don't cheat at cards, and I wasn't cheatin' last night or the night before."
"Can you prove that?"
Manning wasn't giving up, was he? "Can you prove it was me and not Jones and Saunders?"
The sheriff started to say something and then thought better of it. Maverick might have a point, after all. What if it wasn't him that was doin' the cheating? "How much did you win altogether, Maverick?"
The gambler pulled his wallet out of his coat and counted the money. "About twelve hundred dollars. "
Twelve hundred dollars. Was that all? It sure didn't sound like much, considering the amount of money supposedly floating around in the games Bart was playing in. "Are you sure?"
Maverick stuck his wallet out through the bars. "You wanna count it yourself?" The sheriff nodded and took the wallet. When he was done counting, he handed it back through the bars. "You expected there to be more?"
"Yeah. They made it sound like thousands of dollars."
"Jones and Saunders, you mean?"
"Yep." It took the sheriff a minute to realize that he'd admitted it was Jones and Saunders that filed the cheating complaints. Maybe Maverick had been telling the truth all along. Maybe he wasn't cheating. Just how was he supposed to find out? "Maverick? If I let you out of here, do you think you could catch 'em? Cheatin', I mean?"
"Probably. You got a plan?"
"I do. You willin' to give it a try?"
Bart nodded. "If you're willin' to drop the assault charge."
Manning grinned. "Maybe we can make this come out right after all."