Ace in the Hole (10 page)

Clint was impressed with the spread owned by John Deal. They knew exactly when they were on his land, because they were approached by three armed riders, all wearing trail clothes, all in their midthirties to late thirties.

“Hold up, there,” one of them shouted.

“Rein in,” Clint said to Morgan. As the riders approached, Clint said, “You do the talking, since you're the one who was invited.”

“Right.”

“What are you gents doin' on Mr. Deal's land?” the man asked. “This is Double-D property.”

“My name is Arliss Morgan,” the banker said. “I've been invited by Mr. Deal.”

“And him?” the man asked, jerking a thumb at Clint.

“He's been invited by me.”

“What's his name?”

“Why don't you ask him?” Morgan said.

“What about it, friend?” the man asked. “You got a name?”

“Clint Adams.”

“What?” the man asked, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard right the first time.

“My name is Clint Adams.”

The three men exchanged glances, and then the leader looked at Arliss Morgan again.

“You got a gun, sir?”

“I do.”

“I'll have to ask you for it.”

Morgan looked at Clint, who nodded. The rider came up close to the buggy. Morgan took the gun from his shoulder rig and handed it over. Then the rider looked at Clint.

“Don't even think about asking for my gun,” Clint said, cutting the man off at the pass.

Again the men exchanged glances.

“We're supposed to ask for everyone's gun, Mr. Adams,” the leader said.

“Not mine.”

“Well…okay,” the man said. “I'll probably lose my job, but we'll take you in.”

“I'll see that you don't lose your job, son,” Morgan said.

“I'd be obliged for that, sir,” the man admitted.

“This way.”

The three riders rode up ahead and Clint and Morgan fell in behind them.

“That went well,” Morgan said.

“Are you going to introduce me when we get into the house, or just have me introduce myself?”

“I thought I'd introduce you.”

“Then why didn't you do that just now?” Clint asked. “Why'd you have me do it myself? To impress them?”

“Well, these were men with guns,” Morgan said. “I thought—Did I do something wrong? Offend you?”

“I asked you to do the talking,” Clint said. “That was all.”

“All right,” the banker said, “when we get inside I'll introduce you. You won't have to say a word.”

“Cat's out of the bag now,” Clint said. “Those men will pass the word, and I'm sure our host will hear it before we can even get to the front door.”

“I'm sorry,” Morgan said. “I thought I was making our way easier.”

“It never pays to give away too much too soon,” Clint said. “That's all I'm saying.”

“I'll remember.”

Too damn late now, Clint thought.

The three men all dismounted when they reached the house, a three-story structure painted all white. One of them took the buggy, the other took Eclipse to the livery. The leader said, “Wait here,” and went into the house. He came back with a white-haired, fit-looking man in tow.

“My name is John Deal,” he said with a British accent. “You are Arliss Morgan?”

Morgan stepped forward and said, “That's right.”

Deal stuck out his hand.

“Happy to meet you. You and your companion are actually the first ones to arrive.”

“We're not early—”

“No, no, merely prompt,” Deal said. “And your friend, Mr….”

“Adams,” Arliss Morgan said, “Clint Adams.”

“Yes, that was what my man told me,” Deal said. “I was…puzzled as to why you would feel the need to bring…well, is he a, um, bodyguard?”

“Not at all,” Morgan said. “Mr. Adams is going to play in my place.”

“Oh, I see,” John Deal said. “Well, Mr. Adams, welcome to my home.” He put his hand out again and Clint shook it. “I'm sure your presence will add some excitement and—shall we say spice?—to the game.”

Clint studied Deal as they shook hands. As far as he could see, the man was who he said he was. Clint wasn't seeing anyone else beneath the white hair. John Deal seemed to be simply who he said he was, and no more.

“Please, follow me and I'll show you to your quarters.”

They followed him up the stairs and into the house, Clint carrying his saddlebags and Morgan a small carpetbag.

From the man's ramrod-straight stature and his use of the word “quarters,” Clint assumed that he had been in the military at some time.

They followed him through the front door and found themselves in a large entry hall. Clint wondered if Deal had built the house, or if he had bought it.

A middle-aged woman with brown hair worn in a bun was standing in the entry hall. She was solidly built, wearing a simple housedress.

“This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Pyatt,” Deal said. “She runs my house and will see to all your needs. Mrs. Pyatt, will you show these gentlemen to their rooms? I believe you have one chosen for Mr. Morgan from Virginia City. Simply find Mr. Adams a room that suits him, please.”

“Yes, sir. This way, gentlemen.”

As they followed her up the stairs, her scent wafted down to them. Clint found it refreshing and wondered if it was just soap. Watching her from behind was not unpleasant. Although she was somewhat solidly built, Clint found her not unattractive. He thought if she tried, she could be very attractive.

They trailed behind her as she went down the second-floor hallway.

“Mr. Morgan, this will be your room.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pyatt.”

“Please tell me if it is not satisfactory.”

Morgan took a step inside, a quick look, and pronounced it very satisfying.

“Considering I had to sleep on the ground last night,” he added, “it's marvelous.”

“Thank you, sir. Mr. Adams?”

“I'll see you when I see you, Arliss,” Clint said.

“That will probably be at dinnertime,” Arliss said.

“Dinner, then,” Clint said, and followed Mrs. Pyatt.

She took him to the end of the hall and another staircase.

“Since your arrival was not…anticipated,” she told him, “I will have to give you a nook on the third floor.”

“That's fine, Mrs. Pyatt.”

“Follow me, then.”

Once again he followed her solid, swaying behind up a flight of stairs. Here the scent was even more powerful. He thought about asking her what it was, but did not want to seem too forward with her.

“Here is your room,” she said as they walked down the third-floor hall. “It is actually almost directly above Mr. Morgan's.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pyatt.”

“Please let me know—”

Without stepping into the room, he said, “I'm sure this will be fine.”

She appeared taken aback that he had cut her off, but she regained her composure very quickly.

“Dinner will be served promptly at six,” she said, “in the dining room.”

“Thank you.”

She looked him up and down and sniffed. “If you would like a bath, it can be arranged.”

“Actually,” Clint said, “that sounds good.”

“I'll have a girl come up and prepare your bath.”

“That won't be—”

This time she cut him off.

“It is the way we do things, sir,” she said.

“Well, then, Mrs. Pyatt,” Clint said, “I'll…anticipate her arrival.”

If she thought he was making fun of her, she gave no sign of it.

“Until dinner, then.”

He watched her walk down the hall to the front stairs and then descend. When she was gone, he went into his room. It was easily larger and more luxurious then most hotels he had been in, but he was sure that it was not the same caliber as the room Arliss Morgan was standing in.

After all, his arrival had been anticipated.

Fresh from a hot bath, Clint decided to come down before dinner was served, thereby probably risking the wrath of Mrs. Pyatt. He decided to take a walk around outside for two reasons. One, he'd never been there before and he always liked to familiarize himself with new surroundings. And two, for the purposes of security for the game. He didn't know yet what part of the house the game would take place in, but he decided to walk around the entire house, and then check the grounds as well.

When he had circled the house completely, he walked over to the barn and entered. Inside he found a man unsaddling two horses, which had obviously just been ridden.

“More guests?” he asked.

The man turned quickly, saw Clint and relaxed. He was one of the three men who had ridden in with Clint and Arliss Morgan.

“Sorry,” Clint said. “Didn't mean to startle you.”

“I'm glad I recognized you,” the man said. “If I'd gone for my gun…”

Neither of them wanted to think about what might have happened.

“Yeah, two more players got here a little while ago,” the man said.

He went back to unsaddling the horse he'd been working on. The other mount stood by impatiently.

“Let me help you with that other one.”

“Much obliged,” the man said. “I ain't supposed to be handlin' horses.”

“You know my name,” Clint said. “What's yours?”

“Andy,” the man said, “Andy Blevins.”

“What's your job supposed to be, Andy?”

“Security.”

“Inside and outside?”

The man shook his head.

“Outside, like we done with you.”

“Do you know the names of the men who arrived after we did?” Clint asked.

“Naw,” the other man said. “I don't get told no names if I ain't around when the question's asked.”

“Like with me.”

“Yeah.”

“How many men are there working outside security?”

“Don't rightly know,” the man said. “I heard a dozen, but I ain't never seen more than five or six at one time, myself. There's also ranch hands. I don't know what the whole payroll looks like.”

“I met Mrs. Pyatt,” Clint said. “She seems to rule the house with an iron hand.”

“Ya gotta watch out for her,” Andy said.

“Why's that?”

“Just watch out for her,” he said. “Don't get caught alone with her. I don't wanna say no more.”

Andy removed the saddle and blanket and began to rub the horse down. Clint was only seconds behind him.

“Okay,” Clint said, deciding not to push it. Except for one question. “How long has she worked for Mr. Deal?”

“Longer than the rest of us,” he said. “She came here with him when he bought the place.”

“Bought it?” Clint asked. “I thought maybe he'd built it.”

“Nope,” Andy replied. “He bought it off of Mr. Stevenson last year.”

“And did you work for Mr. Stevenson?”

“No,” Andy said. “Mr. Deal cleaned house when he bought it. Let everybody go, hired his own people.”

“That when you got your job?”

“Nope,” Andy said. “I got hired specially for this—whatever this gatherin' is. Don't rightly know. Heard it was a poker game, but don't know for sure.” He stopped and looked at Clint. “What kind of poker game needs all this security?”

“A big one,” Clint said.

“You here for that?”

“I am.”

“You know how many players?”

“Half a dozen or so, I hear,” Clint said.

“That ain't such a big game.”

Andy went back to rubbing the horse down. Clint didn't bother telling him that in this case the word “big” had nothing to do with the number of players involved. He finished the second horse, then told Andy he'd see him around.

“Obliged for the help,” Andy said. “Us security types gotta stick together.”

Apparently, Andy assumed Clint had been hired for inside security. Clint hesitated, then decided not to disabuse the man of that notion.