Sympathy for the Devil - By Tim Pratt Page 0,63

stayed alive believing those.

Right now, his eyes and his head told him what was going on here was past all understanding. If a man couldn’t understand the rules of the game, it was best he leave the table.

Bill pulled himself to his feet and left the whiskey and the saloon as fast as he could. Outside the door, he chucked the piece of silver ore into a patch of weeds. Then he made tracks for the Royale.

He found Ned in one of the bare rooms on the second floor, getting in a few sociable hands before Jamie Raeburn’s big game. McGregor waited impatiently for the hand to play itself out before he sidled up to Ned, who was raking in the pot.

“I’d like a word with you in private, Ned, if I may,” he said into his friend’s ear.

“Keep my seat for me, Gentlemen,” said Ned instantly. He got up and followed McGregor out onto the porch.

“What’s the matter Bill?”

McGregor faced him. A fresh sweat that had nothing to do with the heat of the day prickled under his collar. “Ned, I’ve had word there’s going to be trouble tonight.”

“What kind of trouble?” Ned hitched up his eyebrows.

McGregor’s memory showed him the Devil’s black eyes and the sweat broke under his hat brim as well. “Just trust me on this one, Ned. We need to get back east, fast.”

Ned searched his face for a long moment. “OK, Bill, but I’ll need to work up some cash.”

“Me too. What do you say we meet out here at five sharp? We can get horses and gear from the blacksmith and get out while there’s still some light.”

Ned consulted his pocket watch. “Not much time, but,” he grinned, “there’s a couple of boys in there, fresh out of the mines. Five it is.”

The two gamblers parted ways at the door. Ned stalked over to the poker table and Bill to the faro games.

McGregor always played to win, but there were a few times, like now, when he played to win quickly. Years of practice let him set everything aside but the game. Part of his mind ticked off the cards as they were played. Part of it calculated the possible order of the ones remaining in the spring-loaded box. He split his bets between cards. He bet which cards would lose as well as which would win. Carefully, he bet on the order of the last three cards to be drawn from the box and won at four-to-one odds.

By the time the railroad clock chimed the hour of five, McGregor had taken in enough to make the dealer sweat, but not quite enough to break the bank. He took up his gold and script and met Ned outside.

Ned patted his money belt. “Got enough here that we can head back east in style.” He glanced around at the mud and bare-board town. “Soon as we get some place that knows what style is.”

McGregor shared his laugh half-heartedly. “Ned, you get down to the forge. I’ll settle up at the Summner House, settle up and meet you there.”

“All right, Silky.” Ned started up the street.

“At the forge,” repeated McGregor.

Ned frowned. “I heard you, Bill.”

McGregor left him reluctantly and made tracks for the Summner House.

Ned, like McGregor, travelled light. Once in their room, it didn’t take him long to load both of their belongings into their cases.

He snapped the latch closed on Ned’s grip and hoisted their bags off the bed. He turned, only to find old Fallen Star sitting cross-legged in the doorway.

The bags thudded to the floor. “How the hell’d you get in here!”

“I walked.” He took a puff from the pipe he carried.

“They’d never let a Red in here!” McGregor took a step back, hand reaching for his revolver.

“No one saw me.” Fallen Star blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling.

“Then how’d you get across the lobby?”

“I walked.”

McGregor set his jaw. “Then you can walk on out of here. You’re in my way.”

“McGregor.”

For the second time that day, the sound of his own name paralysed him. “Running away will do you no good,” the old man said. “You must fight your Devil or he will plague you forever.”

“He’s not my Devil!” snapped Bill.

“Then whose is he?” Unbending one joint at a time, Fallen Star stood. “Gambler, you want to save your friend. I want to save my son, Standing-in-the-West. You call your Devil here and work against him with the White Man’s understanding. I will strengthen you with the Red Man’s

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