Tallman: “Queen bets. The limit is sixty.”
O’Dell bet the limit again. Once again Gorman called.
A hundred and eighty dollars in the pot.
Third card: O’Dell, a seven of clubs. Gorman, a two of spades.
O’Dell had the lead with a pair of sevens. Gorman had a nine high. One card to go.
Gorman’s expression never changed as he stared over his glasses with his heavy-lidded eyes, glanced back at his card and stared back at O’Dell.
At this point, O’Dell’s open hand was a winner. The only way Gorman could win was if he paired his nine on the last card and O’Dell didn’t help his sevens. O’Dell sneaked a peek at his hole card. Gorman just stared at him, studying his expression, his eyes, any tics he might discern. O’Dell’s hole card could triple his sevens or pair either of his other three cards for two pair. The odds were strongly in O’Dell’s favor.
Tallman: “The limit is one-eighty.”
O’Dell shot the wad. Gorman folded and O’Dell pulled the bills and piled them loosely beside his left elbow. Gorman had lost ninety dollars on the first hand.
The game went on. Hennessey moved quietly, like a ghost, filling drinks.
The winning hands went back and forth. Brodie kept the opera glasses on Eli’s hand and watched with surprise when Eli folded a winning hand of five-card stud, folded again when his down card gave him a straight to O’Dell’s three of a kind. In one seven-card game, Eli had a well-hidden flush, O’Dell obviously had three of a kind. Eli called O’Dell with a large bet, then folded the winning hand.
Cigars and cigarettes glowed in the dark. Smoke curled upward, lured by the heat of the chandelier. The game went on. In a five-card draw hand, Eli drew one card to a four-card heart flush and caught the fifth heart. O’Dell drew two cards. He bet two hundred dollars and Eli called him. O’Dell had three kings.
“Beats,” Eli said, and threw away the winning flush.
Brodie was astounded. What kind of bluff was he playing?
When the pot was high, Eli was purposely losing every bluff he tried. Brodie was confused. What was the art of the bluff Mr. Eli had talked about—throwing away winning hands?
At 10:15, Eli called for a break.
“The old man must be gettin’ tired,” O’Dell whined in his high voice as he headed toward the bar with most of the gallery. Eli stood up and stretched and worked the kinks out of his shoulders and neck. Buck Tallman intertwined his fingers and snapped them, then shook them out.
“How do you feel?” Tallman asked.
“Just fine.”
“Maybe the cards’ll start falling a little better.”
“The cards are falling just fine,” Eli answered.
“The way I figure, you’re down about two thousand.”
“The night’s young.”
At 10:30, Tallman announced, “Let’s play cards.”
O’Dell strolled back to his seat. Eli was already seated.
“You got any objections to raising the ante to twenty bucks?” O’Dell said, looking at Tallman.
“Mr. Gorman?” he asked.
Eli shrugged and said, “Why not make it a hundred?”
There was an audible reaction from the gallery. Tallman tried to control his surprise. O’Dell snickered. “What’s the matter, Gorman, you so tired you wanna go home early?”
“Do I take that as a ‘yes’?” Tallman said.
“Hell, yeah,” O’Dell said and threw a hundred-dollar bill in the pot, which Gorman covered. Since Gorman had called for a new deck, it was O’Dell’s game.
“Mr. O’Dell, your call.”
“Draw poker.”
“The game is draw poker,” said Tallman, and dealt each man five cards down.
O’Dell picked up his hand, squeezed the five cards out. He had three eights, and a ten and six of mixed suits.
Eli watched his reaction while slowly shuffling his hand by slipping the top card under the bottom one. Then he looked. He had three kings, a five, and an ace of hearts.
“The limit is two hundred dollars,” said Tallman. “Cards?”
O’Dell bet the two hundred and Gorman called.
“The limit is six hundred. Cards, gentlemen?”
O’Dell took two cards.
So, thought Gorman, he, too, had triples or a pair and was holding an ace kicker. Gorman only took one. He held the kings and the ace, hoping O’Dell would figure him for two pair or four cards to a straight or flush.
“Goin’ for that inside straight again?” O’Dell bit. He chided, “Don’tcha ever learn?”
He looked at his two new cards. He had not helped. His best hand was triple eights.
Gorman watched him closely, looking for anything, a tic, a flinch, a hint of a smile. O’Dell licked his lips, took a sip of whiskey.
“Mr. O’Dell, the limit is six hundred,” said Tallman.
O’Dell thought: Got him. Didn’t help his two pair or fill his straight or flush.
“Bet a hundred,” said O’Dell.
“The limit is seven hundred.”
“Two hundred back at you,” said Eli.
It caught O’Dell flat-footed. He sat for a moment. Gorman figures me for the opening pair. He probably had two pair going in so he figures even if I paired my openers he’s got me beat.
“The pot is nine hundred dollars.”
Gorman had tried bluffing too many times before.
“Call,” O’Dell said.
Gorman laid his hand down and spread out three kings.
O’Dell’s eyes narrowed and his face reddened, but he said nothing. His three eights were beat. He threw in his hand.
“Three kings wins a thousand dollars,” said Tallman.
Now Eli had O’Dell’s holdings down to sixty-nine hundred; Gorman had sixty-seven hundred. A mere two hundred dollars separated them.
“I’d like a new deck,” Eli said again.
Tallman held the old deck between two hands and tore it in half, dropping the pieces in the saddlebags. He opened a new deck, mixed and shuffled them.
“The game returns to Mr. O’Dell,” he said.
With the right hand and the right timing, Eli could take O’Dell. O’Dell, playing arrogantly, had not counted his money. It lay in a loose pile by his elbow. But Eli knew. He had been counting both his money and O’Dell’s. Now Eli had to play cautiously. The stakes were getting so high, if either of them made a mistake it could cost them the game, the stakes, and the valley.
O’Dell called seven-card stud.
Tallman: “The game is seven-card stud.”
The players anted up a hundred apiece.
“The limit is two hundred. Cards to the players.”
He dealt two cards facedown to the players. O’Dell lifted the corners of his two cards. An ace of spades and a jack of hearts. Gorman peeked at his two cards, but Brodie could not see them well enough to read them.
Tallman dealt each a face card.
O’Dell: jack of spades.
Gorman: four of diamonds.
“Jack bets,” said Tallman.
O’Dell bet two hundred. Gorman called the bet.
Tallman: “The pot limit is now six hundred.”
He dealt the second cards up.
O’Dell: three of hearts. “Jack, three,” said Tallman.
Gorman: jack of clubs. Tallman: “Jack, four. Jack, four bets.”
Gorman studied the cards.
“Check,” he said.
O’Dell bet a hundred dollars. Gorman called the bet.
Tallman: “The limit is eight hundred.”
O’Dell: jack of hearts. “A pair of jacks and a club three,” Tallman said.
Gorman: three of hearts. “Heart jack, diamond four, a heart three. The pair bets.”
O’Dell’s tongue lashed at his lower lip. He started pulling hundreds from his pile.
“Eight hundred,” O’Dell snapped.
In the darkness, there was a sudden spate of whispered chatter.
“Quiet please, gentlemen,” Tallman admonished softly. “The bet is eight hundred. Pot limit is sixteen hundred dollars.”
Gorman studied his three face cards: jack, four of diamonds, three of hearts. He stared across the table at O’Dell, who was wearing what could pass for a smile.
“Call the sixteen hundred,” Gorman said.
Tallman sighed. “The limit is thirty-two hundred. Cards to the players.”
He dealt the last face card to O’Dell: an ace of spades. “A pair of jacks, three, and the ace of spades,” said Tallman.
Gorman caught a four of diamonds. “Two of diamonds, jack of hearts, three of hearts, four of diamonds. Three cards to a straight.” He looked at Gorman, who was expressionless.
“The pair still bets. The limit stands at twenty-four hundred,” Tallman said.
O’Dell said, “I’ll make it easy on you, old man.” He counted out twenty hundred-dollar bills and dropped them in the pot.
“The bet is two thousand,” Tallman said. He looked at Gorman, who was staring at O’Dell. “Two thousand buys you the last card. The pot stands at forty-four hundred.”
Gorman hesitated. Was this a sucker bet to keep him in? Why would O’Dell make a soft bet? He studied O’Dell’s hand. A pair of jacks, an ace, and an eight. Possibilities? Three jacks or three aces. He had the cased jack of clubs and a cased ace. Either a pair of eights or a hidden pair in the hole. Unless all three of his hole cards were eights, he could not have four of a kind. Odds for a straight or flush were zero. A full house was the best hand he could have. With a pair of jacks showing, Gorman figured O’Dell had either two pair, jacks and possibly aces, or a jack high full house.
Eli would know after the last down card was dealt. If he had a full house he would check, gambling that O’Dell would bet, and O’Dell could raise him out of the game.
At this point, a full house, four of a kind, or a straight flush could beat Gorman.
Gorman called the two-thousand-dollar bet.
“The pot limit is sixty-four hundred dollars.”
An audible gasp from the darkened gallery. Hennessey brought Tallman a fresh cup of coffee, his sixth of the night, and he took a breath and a sip.
The last card.
Gorman watched O’Dell take a quick, cursory look at his down card, which told Gorman that O’Dell had his full house, probably jacks and a pair of aces or eights.
Gorman bent his hole card up, looked at it, and let it snap back on the felt.
Brodie got a quick look at it. A three of diamonds.
A pair of threes! Brodie thought. What are his other two hole cards? Even if Eli had another three and a pair of jacks, O’Dell’s full house would beat Gorman’s. This was a hand Eli couldn’t bluff.
O’Dell did exactly as Gorman anticipated. He checked.
Either he had two pair and was hedging, or it was a sucker bet. He’d figure Gorman, with a straight, would bet. O’Dell would raise him and drive him out of the game.
O’Dell swept up his stash and counted the hundreds. Gorman’s expressionless eyes watched him. He had sixty-nine hundred dollars left.
He looked across the table at Gorman’s neatly stacked cash. Easy to count. Sixty-seven hundred dollars.
Gorman looked at him for a minute or more. O’Dell finally looked away, lit a cigarette.
Gorman bet a hundred dollars.
The bet reduced O’Dell’s stash to sixty-eight hundred, Gorman’s to sixty-six hundred.
The pot was sixty-six hundred, the maximum bet.
“Looks like you’re gonna get your beauty sleep early tonight, old man,” O’Dell sneered. “You think you can bluff me out with a little straight?” He counted out a fistful of hundreds and dropped them in the pot. “The limit: six thousand six hundred dollars.”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled.
Eli sat quietly for a moment. Then he counted out his last dollar and dropped sixty-six hundred dollars on top of O’Dell’s bet.
“I’ll just call,” Eli said. “If you’ve got that filly, let’s see it.”
O’Dell’s left eye twitched. He looked at Gorman but saw only the dead stare he had seen all night.
He turned his first two hole cards over. An ace and a jack.
“Jacks full,” he snarled. “Let’s see that little straight of yours.”
“Oh, I have the little straight,” Gorman said, and smiled for the first time during the evening.
Gorman turned his first two hole cards over.
An ace of diamonds, a five of diamonds.
O’Dell started to reach for the pot.
Gorman turned over his last card. A three of diamonds.
“But they’re all diamonds,” Gorman said. And he laughed. “A straight flush.”
O’Dell stopped and looked at the trey of diamonds with disbelief. He wiped his mouth with his hand. Beads of sweat gleamed from his forehead. He looked at Gorman with hate.
The gallery began to babble. Hennessey poured himself a double bourbon.
“You kike bastard,” he bellowed, grabbing his full house and throwing the cards at Eli. A couple hit Eli’s chest, the others fluttered to the floor.
Tallman slammed his hand on the table.
“This was a gentleman’s game. Act like one!” he ordered. “Ace-five straight flush is the winner.” He took O’Dell’s stack of deeds and placed them on top of Eli Gorman’s land titles. “Winner takes all.”
Eli stood up and raked nineteen thousand eight hundred dollars into his satchel.
O’Dell was left with two hundred dollars, only enough for an ante. He would be beat on the first up card. He was trembling with rage. The gallery was crowding around Gorman, slapping him on the back, congratulating him, thanking him for saving the valley.
O’Dell threw his suit jacket over his shoulder and propped his derby on the back of his head. He started toward the door and over his shoulder he yelled, “Hey, Gorman.”
Eli stared at him through the friends gathered around him.
“I just want you to know that I sold the six square blocks of Eureka to Arnie Riker this afternoon for a dollar. You got rid of me, I’m leaving tonight. But you’re gonna have Riker up your ass until the day you die.”
The celebrating was over, and Ben and Brodie had gone off to bed. Eli decided to have a final cigar and told Maddy he would be upstairs in a few minutes. He went out the back door, snipped the end off his stogie, and lit it. He heard Brodie’s voice down near the stable and followed it out to the paddock.
Brodie was feeding Cyclone an apple, telling the horse about the game.
“It was really somethin’ to see,” he said softly to the white horse.
The remark surprised Eli.
“Do you have something to tell me, Thomas?” he asked.
When Brodie didn’t answer, the old man went in. “I can read you like I can read a hand of cards. I can see it in your face.”
“See what?”
“A kind of admiration toward me I’ve never seen before.”
“Well, sure. You won the game.”
“Not just that.”
Brodie could not lie to Eli Gorman. He stuck his hands in his pockets and thought for a moment and said, “We was . . . were . . . there, Mr. Eli. Ben and me were hiding up in the loft.”
“What!” he snapped, his face clouding up.
“Ah, c’mon, sir, you think we could pass it up? We were behind you and we had the opera glasses. I saw every hand you played.” Brodie flashed his crooked smile. “You were really something, Mr. Eli.”
Eli glowered for a moment more, then the glower slowly turned to a smile. He nodded.
“I should have guessed,” he said. “Too good a show to miss, eh?”
“But I got one question,” Brodie said.
“What question is that?”
“On that last hand? Why did you only bet a hundred dollars?”
“Did you watch him? He’s a sloppy player. He never counted his money, he just
piled it up. I’m a numbers man, Thomas. I knew after every hand where we both stood.
“The pot was sixty-four hundred dollars. I knew O’Dell had his full house already, he barely looked at his last card. And I had my straight flush. O’Dell had sixty-nine hundred, I had sixty-seven hundred. By betting a hundred dollars, it limited the pot to sixty-six hundred, which is what I had, so there was no way he could bet me out of the game. When I beat him, he had two hundred dollars left, just enough for an ante and one bet, so he was beat. Had I bet the limit, he could have raised me four hundred, and with only two hundred left, I couldn’t call the bet and he would have won.”
“I saw you throw in four winning hands during the night.”
“Actually five. So he pegged me for a poor bluffer. On that last hand, he figured me for a small straight and thought I was trying to bluff him out with a small bet when he checked. There’s no way he wasn’t going to bump my hundred-dollar bet and run me out of the game.”
Brodie shook his head. “You didn’t have your winning hand until the last card.”
“That’s right. If I hadn’t drawn that three of diamonds when he checked I would have checked, too. He would have won the hand, but I still would have had sixty-seven hundred dollars.
Eli ground out his cigar, started for the house, then stopped and turned back around. “Did you learn anything tonight, Thomas?”
“Oh yes, sir. I learned two things.”
“And what were they?”
“The art of the bluff,” Brodie answered. “And the luck of the draw.”
Writing the letters was the hardest part. He had already packed all his belongings in two saddlebags, which were under his bed. His entire fortune—four hundred dollars, most of it paper money—was in a cigar box tied with twine in the bottom of one of them. He had twenty gold eagles in the pocket of his only suit, blue serge, a bit shiny at the elbows. He put the pocket watch Eli had given him once, as a Hanukkah present, in his jacket pocket.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and reread the letters he had written to Mr. and Mrs. Gorman and to Ben. He had struggled over the words for two days, writing and rewriting. He was no poet and he knew it. In the end, the letter to the Gormans was simple and to the point. A thank-you note for all they had done for him. It was time for him to leave the sanctuary they had provided, leave their care and affection. Time to find his own way in the world. They would understand.