Gambler Don't Come Cheap
Chapter 12 – The Long WalkNobody thinks about breathing. It's just something you do naturally, without any attention or effort – until you don't. When every single breath you take is painful and difficult, it suddenly becomes something very much on your mind. And, in Bart Maverick's case, in your immediate consciousness.
He felt better when he woke later that afternoon, but breathing, or rather his inability to do so painlessly, was on his mind. So was everything else that couldn't be accomplished without help – like bathing, getting cleaned up and getting dressed. True, he had help in the form of Millie Ridgeway, but there was only so much that a woman could help you do. Unless she was your wife, and Bart hadn't had one of those in a long time.
After several false starts and two or three failed attempts at anything that could be handled in the presence of a lady, most of what could be done was done. Arthur came by in time to go to the dining room and order supper for the three of them; and when food finally arrived Bart was actually seated at the dining table in the suite. By the time the meal was concluded he felt rather like a small boy again being taken care of by his momma; it was all he could do to feed himself. Not only were his ribs sore from the original assault; the constant coughing and sitting upright for hours on end had aggravated everything. Whenever he thought that the worst of the pain was over, he was forced to breathe and the assault on his tolerance began again.
Jasper Finley returned later and the three men put their heads together and tried to figure a way out of this, or at least around the obvious problem. Before Millie left for the night Bart asked for her input, but she had nothing to offer beyond the observation that the ultimate choice had to be his and not her father's.
That's the way the decision to continue playing or not was resolved – it had to be the gambler's choice – he was the one that had been beaten up and threatened with death. Arthur Ridgeway had come to like and trust this newcomer in his life and hoped that Bart would make the right choice for them all.
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Seth Johnson was angry but couldn't prove a thing. The 'urgent matter that needed his immediate attention' turned out to be nothing more than a wild goose chase, but he couldn't prove who had set it in motion. All he knew was that this one-day delay had given his opponent an extra day's rest, and anything that helped Bart Maverick hurt him.
Which was the reason he called Raymond into his office on Thursday morning, once he'd gotten back to Cheyenne. The bodyguard entered the boss's domain, not sure of his latest assignment. Seth did not look like a happy man, and Raymond wanted nothing more in life than to keep him happy. "Raymond, have a seat." The words struck fear into his heart; in all the time he'd worked for Johnson he'd never been told to 'sit down.'
"Do you understand what it is I'm trying to accomplish, Raymond?"
"Sure, boss, beat Maverick at poker."
"On the right track, Raymond, but not the whole journey. I'm trying to keep Wyoming a territory so that we can continue to make money and live the good life. I can't do that unless Maverick loses this poker game. Got it?"
Raymond shook his head, willing to do almost anything to make the boss happy again. "Sure, boss."
"So far he's not losing."
"What do you want me to do about it, boss?"
"I want you to take care of it for me, Raymond. Use your imagination. Stop the man from playing poker tonight. Do whatever it takes, but don't kill him. That'll just force Ridgeway to get another gambler to front for him. Take him out to the old Miller place and leave him there. I don't care. Just get rid of him. Understand?"
He really didn't, but he wasn't about to tell the boss that. "Yes sir, boss man. Will do."
'Take him out to the old Miller place and leave him there' stuck in Raymond's head, so that's just what he decided to do. Of course he didn't count on Millie Ridgeway getting in his way, so when he showed up at Bart Maverick's hotel room door and Millie answered, he improvised.
"Come on, Miss Ridgeway, get him up," was the first thing he told her after walking into the room, guns drawn.
She didn't say a word to him, just went over and gently shook the gambler until he opened his eyes and looked at her. "What time is it?" he asked sleepily.
Raymond answered him. "Time for all good little gamblers to get up."
Bart groaned at the sound of the bodyguard's voice. "Really?" he asked Millie as she helped him sit up.
"I'm sorry, Bart, I thought it was my father," she replied. With a considerable amount of effort she got him on his feet and he turned his bruised and battered face to Raymond.
"Haven't you done enough damage for one week?" The tone was disgusted and sarcastic; he glared at Raymond.
"Let's go, funny boy," the bodyguard ordered. "You too, Miss," as he pointed one of the guns in Millie's direction.
"You don't have to take her, Raymond," the gambler told him. "Leave her be."
"No, I can't do that. She'll tell them where we went."
"She can't tell them if she doesn't know," Bart tried reasoning with him. It was useless.
"Put on your coat and hat, Maverick," Raymond ordered. "And don't try any funny stuff with the pea shooter. Hand it over."
Bart reluctantly removed the derringer from his vest and handed it to Raymond. The simple act of taking something from his pocket and stretching his arm made him wince in pain. When the man with the guns shoved him forward he stumbled and groaned; only Millie grabbing his arm saved him from collapse. She led the way out the door and Bart walked behind her, deliberately putting himself between her and the firearms. Progress down the stairs was slow and his breathing suffered; Millie was made to take the reins on the wagon and Raymond forced Bart into the back with him. "Make a wrong move and the lady gets the bullet," was the threat used to keep him quiet.
They drove out of town and down the road, about ten miles out to the old abandoned Miller homestead. It reminded Bart of the Peters ranch outside of Denver, the one where he and Donnie Monroe had done their dance to the death. Fortunately it was Monroe's death and not Bart's. "Stay put," Bart was told, and he sat inside the wagon while Raymond got Millie down from the front, all the while holding the gun on her lest Maverick get any ideas.
"Your turn," he was told, and he did his best to get out and stay on his feet. When he didn't move fast enough to suit Raymond he was grabbed by the coat and yanked to the ground, where he landed with a distinct 'thud' and had the wind knocked out of him.
Millie rushed to help him up but Raymond grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Bart couldn't breathe and collapsed back against the wheel of the wagon; he did his best to remain upright. "Cut it out, gamblin' man."
"He can't breathe – can't you see that? What did you do to him?" It's was Millie's turn to protect Bart, and she did just that, stepping in front of him just as Raymond raised his gun to hit him. The bodyguard stopped just in time and Millie turned to face Bart and threw her arms around him, once again helping to hold him up.
"Walk that away," and the gun pointed at the old dilapidated barn. Millie placed Bart's arm around her shoulders and helped him make his way to the structure. It was cold and damp and dark; once or twice Raymond pushed Bart forward, since the gambler wasn't moving fast enough to suit the gunman. As soon as they got inside Millie tried to help Bart lean against the bales of hay piled up; as he turned his back Raymond raised the gun butt and brought it down across the back of his head. Bart dropped as if shot and Raymond laughed. Millie was terrified of what else he might do, but he'd succeeded in causing enough damage for one afternoon and simply walked leisurely back to the wagon and left them there.
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Arthur and Jasper arrived at the hotel and found – an empty suite. No Bart, no Millie, and no clue. "What do we do now?" Jasper asked.
"I'm going to find Millie and Bart. You go to the poker game and see what you can do about getting this put off."
Jasper Finley hurried up to room 346 as Arthur Ridgeway went back downstairs to see the front desk clerk.
"Yes sir, I saw Miss Millie and Mr. Maverick leave with Mr. Johnson's Raymond about three hours ago. None of 'em looked too happy."
"Did you see where they went?"
"Yes sir, they all got in a wagon and headed out of town – south, I believe. Haven't seen 'em since."
Arthur scrambled into his buggy and took off down the street, south. The only thing out that way, besides the road to Fort Collins and Greeley, was the old Miller farm. Why would Raymond take them out there, if not to kill them? Fear rose up in Arthur Ridgeway's throat and threatened to strangle him. He couldn't lose Millie too, not after Arthur Junior's death years earlier. And what about the gambler? Bart's only sin had been trying to help him hold on to his dream. He touched the horse with the buggy whip and took off south as fast as they could go.
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Jasper was surprised to find Morgan Edwards in suite 346, as well as Seth Johnson. He explained the situation and Seth quietly stroked his chin. "I don't see there's much we can do, Jasper," Seth drawled. "If Maverick's not here on time he forfeits. We already stated that in the rules we all agreed to when we were setting this thing up."
Jasper's face fell; that was the main idea, he assumed, the forfeiture by Arthur's proxy. Just then Morgan spoke up. "Hold on there, Seth, we agreed to vote if there was a questionable action to take. I should think this situation requires that vote. Do we want to delay the game one more night in order to locate the missing player?"
"There's only three of us here to vote. We know how this goes," Johnson stated.
"Do we?" Morgan asked. "Let's vote."
"Alright, Morgan, all those in favor of delaying the next round of the poker game twenty-four hours raise their hands."
Jasper's hand went up, but to Seth Johnson's surprise so did Morgan Edwards's. "Morgan, what are you doing?" Jasper had to ask the younger man.
"What I should have done a while ago," Morgan answered.
Seth glared at the pair of them. "Fine," he spit out. "We are delayed for twenty-four hours. Game to resume tomorrow at five p.m." He threw the deck of cards he'd been playing with down on the poker table and stalked out.
Jasper turned to Morgan. "Watch your back, son. You just released the snake."
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Millie knew he was alive; the first thing he did when she rolled him over onto his back was groan. "Bart, are you alright?" Another groan and a hand reached up to rub his head.
"Raymond?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Raymond," she answered. "How's your head?"
"Hurts." He was getting tired of saying that word.
"Can you get up?"
His first inclination was to say 'sure' but he wasn't certain about that. "With your help."
Millie knew she didn't have enough strength to pull him up, so she got down to the floor and draped his arm around her shoulders, then helped him to stand up with her. He leaned on her heavily and groaned again, then shook his head in disbelief. "How do I get into these things?" he wondered out loud.
"This isn't the first time, is it?" She assumed it not to be, from his reactions.
"No, but you're a lot better looking than the last person I was in a barn with."
"What do we do now?"
"Now, Miss Ridgeway, we walk."
