BTW, the Harvey House is or was a real hotel in Granada. I'm not sure exactly when it was built. "Brag" is the predecessor of poker. I capitalized game names other than poker just because I mentioned several and wanted to make things less confusing.
Doc had fond memories of his first trip to Granada and he wasn't about to let Wyatt and his brother discourage him from a fine evening of gambling.
"You won't find as much action for cards this early in the day," Wyatt pointed out. "You might as well get settled into the hotel. Are you going to insist on paying for your own room again?" He started toward the livery stable, and James directed the wagon after him.
"I don't see why not," Doc answered, frowning at the lack of enthusiasm for gambling.
"It's bound to be a little more expensive than in Lakin," said James. "We don't mind if you go in with us."
Doc shook his head. "Thank you, but I must refuse. I don't want to intrude. And besides, I may want to stay out a little later than you two. I'd hate to wake you." Not to mention my coughing...
"You'd better not stay out too late," Wyatt said sternly. "I need you rested tomorrow."
How dare you still be concerned with my health? "Yes, Papa."
"I'm not being your papa; I'm guarding my investment," Wyatt said, sounding a little impatient.
"Gambling is an investment, too."
"All right. Go find yourself a game now. Maybe that way you won't be out late."
"That's very sensible," Doc said, smiling. He started to get up.
"Wait a minute," James said. "We're not taking your things to the hotel for you. Don't get out yet."
Doc sat back down, muttering "A fine thing for a man's friends to discourage his havin' a good time" too low for the others to hear.
They took care of things at the livery and headed to the Harvey House hotel. Wyatt seemed to have misgivings about the room numbers.
"Which is the single?" asked Doc.
"Two-thirteen," the clerk answered.
Deuce and King. Doc smiled. "Thirteen's my number. We'll take it."
"If you say so," said Wyatt. They signed the register and received their keys.
Doc changed into his nicer waistcoat for the evening and made sure everything was set for him to slither into bed easily. There was no telling how late he would be out.
He knocked on the adjoining door and entered the other room when Wyatt called to him.
"James is going to ask around for the best eatery," Wyatt informed him.
"Sounds good," Doc replied. "I'll most likely be at the Chuck-a-Luck when you're ready."
"We'll find you," said James. He put on his jacket and went to the door. "See you later."
When he had gone, Wyatt said, "Did you try your bed?"
"Not yet." Doc sat on James's bed. It seemed comfortable. "Not bad."
"I told James I'd just stay here a while."
"Can't blame you." Doc lay back on James's pillow and stared up at the ceiling. "I believe this hotel was just being finished when I was here before," he recalled.
"How long were you here?"
"Oh... several weeks, I guess. I was just passing through, but I liked it enough to stay a while. The gambling was good." He coughed and cleared his throat. No more coughing, damn it.
"Remember to avoid any fights. We need to be able to leave tomorrow with no legal hangups." Wyatt rolled onto his side.
"No legal hangups," Doc repeated. "You're getting awfully strict."
Wyatt snorted. "I'll ease up on you once we've collected the reward."
Doc gave him a salute and then put his hand behind his neck.
After a beat, Wyatt chuckled.
Why does that sound so good? Doc rolled over and propped his head up, mirroring Wyatt's pose. "Sure you won't come with me?" He might be able to hear more of that quiet laughter if Wyatt accompanied him.
"No... I'll be along a little later. You said the Chuck-a-Luck?"
"Yes. It's an establishment on the other side of the post office."
"All right. I'll look for you there first."
Doc got up and straightened the bedclothes so James wouldn't be annoyed. Then he went back to the door between their rooms. "See you later then, Wyatt. Get plenty of rest."
Wyatt waved him off.
The Chuck-a-Luck was quiet in the late afternoon. There was just one hostess sitting in a high chair. Doc removed his hat as he entered and gave her a smile as he went to the bar to surrender his revolver. He could tell that the rules were rather relaxed - the man leaning on the far end of the bar was openly still carrying his gun - but the atmosphere was also relaxed. He ordered a bottle of whiskey.
"I don't usually sell liquor before sunset," the bartender said, sounding friendly but looking nervous.
"Well, you see, I just got into town, and it's been a long journey," Doc said with a disarming smile. "Don't you worry - I'll make it last."
The bartender relaxed a bit. "All right." He made the sale.
"Thank you kindly, sir."
Doc went to the only table currently accommodating two men playing cards. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. Looks like you're playing Brag. Care to add a third hand?"
One man looked at the other. "How 'bout it, Will?"
The one called Will nodded. "I don't mind, but suppose we change to poker?"
Doc pulled out a chair with his foot and settled into it, putting his whiskey bottle on the table. "That suits me fine. If you have a taste for whiskey, you may help yourself to drink as well. I brought extra cards, so if you'll let me deal yours, you may deal mine. Is that agreeable?"
"Sure," said Will. "I'm Will Dougherty and this is my neighbor, Rod Keaton."
Doc deigned to shake Will's hand (he was nicely dressed) but didn't reach across the table to shake Rod's. "I'm glad to know you gentlemen. I'm John Holliday."
"Doc Holliday?" Rod asked.
"That's right. I was here some time ago."
"Think I remember you," Will said. "Rumor said you'd been killed in Texas or someplace."
"A slight exaggeration," Doc said with a wink.
Rod made a "heh" sound and Will smiled.
Gameplay began on a good note. Doc felt at ease here. He had no enemies in Granada, and he was determined not to make any. He didn't want to disappoint Wyatt. Still, he could feel the little derringer nestled against his ribs when he breathed. It was warm from his absorbed body heat, solid, and comforting. If only it weren't so stuffy in the saloon, conditions would be perfect.
November, 1870
John could tell he wasn't wanted. Tension had been building for weeks, and tonight when he found a few of his classmates in a local establishment enjoying food and a game of cards, they had all gone suddenly stiff and quiet. John used all of the charm his mother had instilled in him to try to win them over, even resorting to wording things in such a way that it would be rude for them to turn him away. They allowed him to join their table, but the atmosphere was almost unbearable.
"What's that you're playing?" he asked, hoping it was a safe topic.
"It's poker," one of the young men, Gerald, answered. He was one of the few who spoke to John as if he were something more familiar than a carrion bird. "It's like Brag."
John had heard of the game at least, some recollection that it came from French settlers in New Orleans. "I see." He wanted to ask about gameplay, but thought it best to keep his mouth shut and learn by watching. He had never gone in for card games much, only occasionally watching his father play with his uncles. Although, when Mattie's family stayed with them, he had participated in more than a few Bridge games. Thank God he could shuffle, at least.
Little by little, he picked things up. Two pairs beats one pair. But apparently, three of a kind is better than two pairs. I wonder why... it must be a slimmer chance of drawing it. Three of a kind plus a pair is called a "full house." He began to think that he shouldn't devote so much of his memory to these things when he had material to learn for class, but if he didn't do something, he was going to remain the outcast for the duration of his stay in Philidelphia. That would be intolerable.
All of his classmates were older than him, putting him at another social disadvantage. He barely said a word while the others played for half an hour or so.
"John, are you keeping up?" Gerald asked.
John blinked, surprised at being spoken to at last. "I think so," he said humbly. "Would you deal me a hand next time?"
There were mixed reactions around the table: a snort, a laugh, icy silence...
"There's a fifty-cent ante," Michael said in his stiff way. He hadn't made eye contact with John since the latter announced himself in their presence.
It seemed frivolous, but John was desperate enough to produce the money. "That isn't a problem," he said.
The tone of the game changed. Everyone seemed eager to get John to fold, and he felt intimidated enough to do just that. But he had a pair of twos and a pair of kings. It seemed like a decent hand from what he had seen so far.
After the first round of betting, John traded in his odd card and received another King in return. Alarmingly, he felt his heartrate increase. He looked from one face to another. I have a... what was it called? A full house. That's good. He swallowed.
Gerald folded, as did another player. Fred raised his bet by ten cents, and John matched it, feeling relieved that he had followed the play correctly.
"I see that and raise another twenty-five cents," Michael declared. His expression was unreadable.
He seems confident. Maybe he has four of a kind, or a flush, or what was that other thing? John's heart pounded harder than ever.
"I see that," Fred said coolly, tossing a quarter into the middle of the table. He looked at John expectantly.
The urge to fold was strong. But at least he was fairly sure that this was the final bet. He didn't have to worry about what the others could read on his face now. "I'll meet that."
"You call," Gerald put in.
John swallowed again. His tongue felt thick. "I call," he said in a husky voice.
"Lay 'em down," Michael said in a commanding tone as he laid out his cards. "Full house. Tens over jacks." He had three tens and two jacks.
"That beats me." Fred laid his cards face-down.
With a deep breath, John set down his cards. "I have a full house, too."
More than one student gasped, and more than one cursed.
"How the hell did you do that?"
Michael met his gaze for the first time since John had sat down. "You cheated."
John felt heat creeping up his collar. "I've never played this game before," he reminded his accuser. "How could I begin to know how to cheat?"
"How do we know you never played?" asked Fred. "Maybe you were playing dumb."
The heat was spreading. John wished he could disappear. "I'm sure it was just beginner's luck," he said meekly. "If you don't think it was fair, I won't take your money."
"Oh, no," Michael said, his voice sounding like a judge passing sentence. "You'll take your winnings and get out."
John struggled to keep his temper. "I haven't done anything wrong, Michael."
"Don't use my name, Johnny reb. Take your money and go."
John's chest rose and fell rather rapidly. He was furious, but he knew it would be idiotic to raise a hand to Michael when he was so outnumbered. He pushed his chair back and stood slowly. With great deliberation, he picked up the money and filled his waistcoat pockets. Then he turned back to Michael. "You've called me a liar and a cheat. You name the time and place and I'll fight you. The choice of weapons is yours."
After a moment of stunned silence, Fred said, "You can't have a duel..."
John held Michael's gaze.
Another moment and Michael gave a scornful laugh. "God, you're such a savage. Get out of here. Go on!"
"You'd better go, John," Gerald said.
John looked at Gerald, who looked a little sympathetic, but also worried. He continued to look at Gerald as he said, "Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen."
What a contrast between those two poker games! It's no wonder Doc takes comfort in being armed.
Poor little teenaged Doc trying to play poker! That Michael is a mean SOB.
Grown-up Doc is trying to be a good boy for Wyatt. xD