Chapter Five
There was twenty dollars in the pot and he'd lost ten in the last hand to the Mexican sitting across from him. This, Ezra reflected, was one of the reasons why he had preferred to avoid honest games. For once though, the tension that he felt had nothing to do with the cards in his hand or the money on the table. He was more than confident of the pair of Queens he held, and even if Lady Luck chose not to smile upon him at this particular moment, he could not blame her for turning her favors upon the Vaquero, Juan Carillo.
Though not a die-hard regular of the saloon, the Mexican dropped in every now and then with one trail drive or another, and Ezra had come to know a little something of the small dark man who occasionally sat in at his table. Carillo was a widower, fortyish, quiet and hard working, with a young daughter he'd left in Mexico to be raised by his sister. Unlike most of the poor souls who found their way to his table, he had found the Mexican to be a shrewd player, and he had come to enjoy the challenge of an honest game of cards with the man. So much so in fact, that he felt no sting of regret at the sums of money the Vaquero occasionally won from him.
"Hey gringo, are you going to play or what?" Carillo's voice interrupted his musings and Ezra quickly returned his attention to the game at hand, somewhat irritated with himself for allowing the distraction.
"My apologies," Ezra said drolly laying his cards down upon the table. "I did not realize you were in such a hurry to return to your bawling beasts. He considered the pot for a moment. "I believe the bet was two dollars?"
Carillo nodded.
"Very well," Ezra said pitching a chip into the pot and adding another. "I'll see it, and call."
"Jacks and sevens," Carillo said, laying down the pair in his hand beside the row of cards dealt face up on the table.
Ezra shook his head and sighed. "I am sorry, amigo, but it appears my two ladies here have won the day." He laid the Queens in his hand down upon the table top and pulled the third Queen and pair of sevens to his side of the table. "Full House," he said mildly.
Carillo shoved the cards and chips away from him, muttering a small Spanish epithet under his breath.
Ezra consulted the small tally book he kept in his breast pocket. "Cheer up, Juan. It could be worse. At least this time you'll be leaving my table no poorer than you came."
"Actually, it will be twenty pesos poorer," Carillo corrected wryly.
Ezra smiled, flashing a glimpse of his gold tooth. "Not if you buy me a drink," he said. Raising his head he waved a hand to catch Inez's attention.
Winding her way through the tables, she approached the landing where he kept his private table. "Si?"
"Whiskey, Inez, and two glasses if you please," he selected two small silver coins out of the pot and pushed them towards her. "Señor Carillo is buying."
She nodded brusquely and moved off again, but Ezra had noticed her taut expression and his gaze narrowed upon her as she wound her way through the crowded tables to the bar. No, he had not imagined the air of tension that had descended over the room.
He quickly scanned the crowded taproom, his eyes settling on a table in the center of the room, near the door. It had been vacant a few moments before, but now a small group of soldiers were seated at it. Their expressions were dark and antagonizing. Ezra slowly gathered his cards, his mind spinning furiously as he assessed the situation. No one had come to collect the prisoners as yet, but Chris and Vin had returned from the camp, so it was more than likely that news of last night's events had spread through the ranks. Collecting the poker chips, he began stacking them in neat methodical ranks. Just as Lady Luck had not favored Juan Carillo, it appeared she was not going to smile upon him, either. He counted five of the troopers, and no sign of Vin or Nathan or anyone else upon whom he could count for back up.
As if that were anything new…
"Trouble?" The word was spoken so softly that Ezra did not immediately register it, but when he did he found himself looking into the surprisingly intent face of the Mexican cowboy.
"Undoubtedly," he said, keeping his voice equally soft and his eyes fixed upon the soldiers.
Carillo spared a small glance over his shoulder following Ezra's gaze to the table of uniformed men. "Ah," he said, a note of comprehension entering his voice. "Los soldados. I have seen them about. I have heard they cannot spend their red paper?"
"Not here, certainly," Ezra agreed. "And apparently not anywhere else they desire to do business." He shot a meaningful glance across the street to the bath house, and Maggie Devane's tastefully shuttered establishment.
Carillo chuckled. It was a soft dry sound of genuine amusement. "And to think I feared this town was in danger of being tamed."
"You need not worry on that account," Ezra drawled as he watched Inez wind her way back through the crowd with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on a tray. "I am quite confident that we can remain suitably uncivilized for the foreseeable future."
The vaquero grinned, flashing a gap-toothed smile. "Good," he said. "I would hate to be bored."
Inez climbed the short flight of steps to their table and set the bottle of whiskey and the glasses between them. This time, Ezra could clearly see the uneasiness in her eyes and he nodded towards the soldiers seated at the table below.
"I see you have more customers," he observed.
"Si," she lingered a moment, her fingers tightening on the tray, and he saw the reluctance and uncertainty welling up inside her. He realized, quite suddenly, that she was genuinely afraid, and that realization struck a cold angry blow in the pit of his stomach. He had seen Inez deal with some of the toughest, boldest customers this frontier town had to offer and she had always shrugged them off with a laugh and a saucy smile. He had rarely seen her frightened. Not like this. Not since Don Paulo Madera had come to town. Buck had handled things then, but Buck was not here. At the moment, no one was here…save for him.
With a calmness that belied his inner thoughts, he reached for the bottle and poured two fingers of whiskey into each glass. Inez remained rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave his table. He set down the bottle and picked up the glass. He'd always supposed the act of rescuing the distressed damsels was the sort of chivalrous nonsense to which only fools such as Buck were prone. It was far more disconcerting to discover he might be susceptible to such idiotic acts of selflessness as well. Upon reflection, he decided that it was becoming a rather disturbing tendency as of late. He was not at all sure he wanted to encourage it.
He took a scorching sip of the whiskey and was acutely aware of Inez, still standing at his elbow. He could practically feel the tension radiating off her in waves.
He set down the glass, his eyes still fixed upon the soldiers, knowing in that moment that he had already lost the battle with his pale shade of a conscience.
"Go, Inez," He said quietly. "It will be worse if they see that you are afraid."
His carefully chosen words had the desired effect. She was a proud woman, and she naturally bristled at his bald acknowledgement of her temporary weakness. Dark eyes flashing, she straightened her spine and shot him a withering glare as she marched away from the table. But he did not fail to notice that she held the tray closely to her chest, as if it were a shield.
Back straight, chin up and eyes forward she marched towards the table, her anger fueling her determination to prove his assessment wrong. She fixed the men with a cheerful smile that did not quite match her eyes.
"Is there something I can get for you Señores?"
The leader of the four, a grizzled looking veteran with faded Corporal's stripes upon his sleeve, grunted in response. "Yeah. Bring us a bottle of whiskey and five glasses."
"Of course," Inez said, somehow managing to keep her voice pleasant. "That will be two dollars."
The Corporal offered a challenging smile and laid two red paper bills down on the table.
To her credit, neither her smile nor voice wavered. "Two dollars in coin," she said firmly.
The men fixed her with unfriendly stares.
"What's the matter little Missy?" The Corporal growled, "Ain't our money good enough for you?"
"Maybe we got somethin' else she'll like better," one of the other men leered.
Inez's naturally dark complexion seemed to pale a bit, but she stood her ground. "Actually," she said calmly, "I would be glad to accept your money if it were up to me, but my employer strictly forbids it. Her rule is clear: gold or nothing."
"And just who is your employer?" A third trooper snarled, "Another uppity Mexican whore?"
"Mexican, no…." a coldly gentile voice broke in, "As to the other…" Ezra paused, seeming to consider the question. "Though my role as devoted progeny requires me to take exception to the slur, I have often found that it is best to let my mother speak for herself."
Fixing the soldiers with his most enterprising smile, Ezra shouldered between Inez and the table. "I see that there appears to be a problem. Perhaps I can be of service?"
"An' just who the hell are you?" The corporal growled.
"Why Gentlemen," he said slowly, flashing a bright golden tooth, "I may be the answer to your prayers."
Ezra spoke with his best air of nonchalance, but his mind was racing as he assessed the situation and the men before him. It had not been lost upon him that Juan Carillo had shifted slightly as he'd left their table, and he'd seen that the vaquero's hand now rested within easy reach of the large dragoon pistol strapped to his hip. He found himself somewhat surprised by the gesture. It had been a very long time since anyone, other than the six men he rode with had backed him in a situation. The part of his mind that was not swiftly calculating odds and approaches silently wondered if Carillo felt obliged due to their friendly encounters over the card table, or if it had more to do with defending a woman of his own kind. It was hard to tell in a place like this. One could rarely be certain of a man's motivations.
He could, however, be fairly confident of the motivations of the men before him. They wanted a drink, or a fight, or perhaps both. If they could not get one, they would most certainly seek out the other. At the most fundamental level however, they were simply bored and surly. What they really wanted was a distraction, and in that, he knew, he could most certainly oblige them.
It was then that he saw it. Had he been at all a religious man, he would have considered it an epiphany: a moment when the very heavens opened up and a ray of enlightened sunshine shown down upon him as a chorus of angels sang hallelujah and the idea was born. Oh, he was the answer to their prayers, all right. And they were the answer to his. There was money to be made here, he saw quickly. –Money, and an opportunity to avert this sticky situation with some careful persuasion.
"I am afraid Inez is quite correct. My mother is rather intransigent in her business transactions. If Inez were to accept payment in anything other than coin or Federal notes, she would not be long employed here. I, however, am bound by no such mercenary tendencies."
"I don't see how that helps us any," one of the troopers growled. "You don't own this place."
"No," Ezra said agreeably as he pulled a chair up to their table. "I do, however, own these…" he set the deck of cards in the middle of the table, "…and these." Reaching into his pocket he extracted the wad of greenbacks he had won from Carillo. Fanning them out with a deft flick of his fingers, he set them on the table before him.
He paused a long moment, letting the sight of the money sink in and smiled again, his gold tooth glinting in the sunlight that shown in from the open door.
"Might I interest you all in a game of chance?"