Killer Poker

Chapter 19





It took only a short while to discover where Arturo had been taken. When Conrad arrived at the hospital he learned the bullet wound in Arturo’s arm had been cleaned and dressed, and thick rolls of bandages were wrapped around the arm, making it hard for him to move it. Of course, he didn’t need to be moving it anyway, the doctor said. He also had a bandage around his head where he had an ugly gash from the blow of the gun butt that had knocked him out.

The shock of being shot had caused him to pass out, and the loss of blood had kept him unconscious for awhile. Once his senses returned Conrad was able to talk to him, although the doctor cautioned him to make it short and not tire the patient too much.

Arturo explained how he followed Rose to the grimy little restaurant called Luigi’s and eavesdropped on her conversation with the two hired gunmen. His story agreed with what Conrad had been told by the derby-wearing killer.

“I’m sorry, Conrad. I thought I was being so sly and resourceful by following Miss Sullivan. Instead I walked right into a trap that could have wound up getting both of us killed.”

“You got hurt a lot worse than I did,” Conrad pointed out. “And yet you still tried to warn me.”

“When I regained consciousness in the carriage, I realized it was still moving, so I thought they probably hadn’t carried out their plan yet. I stayed absolutely still and didn’t let them see that I was awake. Then when we stopped and Miss Sullivan got out, I was sure they hadn’t struck yet. I waited until I heard her voice again, and that’s when I made my move, as they say.”

Conrad had to grin at that. “I heard that fella in the carriage—Riley, his name was—let out a howl. What’d you do, bite him?”

“Actually, yes,” Arturo replied with a solemn expression on his face. “When I tried to get out the door, he grabbed me, and one of his hands was within reach. I hated to do something so unsanitary, but it seemed like the best course of action at the time.”

“Maybe you won’t catch hydrophobia from him, even though he was a skunk, sure enough.” Conrad chuckled.

“He yelled and let me go,” Arturo went on, “and I made it out the door and called to you. Then I heard a shot, and that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up here.”

“I thought he’d killed you. It was a big relief when I found out he hadn’t.”

“For me as well,” Arturo said in all seriousness. “I owe you an apology, though, sir.”

Conrad frowned. “How do you figure that?”

“I allowed myself to be captured so that I could be used against you. Not only that, but now Miss Sullivan has escaped.”

“It’s not your fault she got away, and at least now we know for sure that she’s been plotting against me.”

“But wouldn’t it have been better if she wasn’t aware you were on to her schemes?”

Conrad shrugged. “Who knows? This way there’s no chance of her fooling any of us again. The one who really lost out is Ellery Hudson. He’ll have to find somebody to take her place.”

A nurse came into the room and insisted that Conrad leave. Arturo needed his rest. Conrad agreed, and returned to the Palace, hoping Masterson hadn’t been forced to delay the start of the tournament’s second round because of him.

Stifling a yawn as he went into the building, he pulled out his watch. It was after midnight. He’d had only a couple hours sleep in the past forty-eight hours, and was starting to wear down. Despite that, he had to press on and do whatever was necessary.

One of the hostesses was coming down the stairs as he was going up. She recognized him and said, “Oh, Mr. Browning, Mr. Masterson said that when you came in, he wanted to see you right away.”

Conrad nodded. “Thanks. I was just on my way to look for him. Do you know if the second round of the tournament is ready to get underway?”

The woman shook her head. “We’re still waiting for the winner to be determined at one of the tables.”

That news made Conrad feel a little better. He hadn’t held things up. After checking in with Bat and making sure nothing else had come up, he might still have time to get a little sleep.

He found Masterson in the big room where the tournament was taking place. As the hostess had said, only one game was still going on, with two men each doggedly trying to clean out the other. Some of the players were sitting around drinking, eating, or dozing. Masterson was talking to several of them, but he broke off the conversation and came over as soon as he spotted Conrad. “How’s Arturo?”

“Doing as well as can be expected,” Conrad replied. “He has a headache from being pistol-whipped, and that wounded arm will keep him in the hospital for several days. But it looks like he’s going to be all right.”

Masterson smiled. “That’s good news. How about you?”

“Other than being a little tired, I’m fine,” Conrad shrugged. That wasn’t strictly true. He was more than a little tired.

“We can do something about that. The room you used before is empty. I made sure of that. Go get some sleep. It’ll be a while before the next round of games gets underway.”

“I don’t want any special favors, Bat.”

“And I’m not offering you any. You’re one of the winners. I want you to be rested and at the top of your game when play resumes.” Masterson paused. “Anyway, don’t be so damned stiff-necked. If somebody offers you a little help—which I’m not—there’s nothing wrong with accepting it. Your father’s the same way, always determined to go it alone.”

Conrad smiled. “All right. Thanks. I am tired.”

“Go turn in. I’ll see to it that you’re awake in plenty of time for the next round.”

Grateful for the respite, Conrad went along the hall to the room and stretched out on the bed as soon as he had kicked off his boots and taken off his coat. Despite everything on his mind that he thought might keep him awake, he was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.





A soft rapping on the door woke him later. He sat up, yawned, and swung his legs off the bed. He went to the door and opened it, finding one of the pretty hostesses standing there. She smiled at him. “Mr. Masterson wanted to let you know the next round of the tournament will begin in about an hour, Mr. Browning.”

“Thank you,” Conrad said, covering up another yawn as he did so. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Almost six o’clock, sir.”

Conrad frowned. “In the morning?” That would mean he hadn’t gotten much sleep at all.

“No, sir. Six o’clock in the evening.”

“Oh.” That made more sense. His deep, dreamless sleep had lasted more than twelve hours. A sudden growl from his belly confirmed that. He was ravenously hungry. “Thank you. Could I get a basin of hot water?”

“Certainly, sir.”

After he had shaved and cleaned up, Conrad slapped as many of the wrinkles out of his clothes as he could and went to join the others in the tournament room. He found a sense of anticipation in the air. Even though only eight players would be continuing the game, many of the men who had taken part planned to stay and watch.

Bat Masterson was standing beside the table of food and drink. Conrad went over to join him and began filling a plate. One of the hostesses poured a cup of coffee for him.

“Feeling better?” Masterson asked.

“Almost human again,” Conrad replied, smiling.

“You were worn out, and I can’t say as I blame you. By the way, I paid a visit to the hospital earlier to check on Arturo.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Trying to tell the doctors and the nurses how they can run things better.” Masterson chuckled. “That fella’s got opinions on just about everything, doesn’t he?”

“And he doesn’t mind expressing them. I’m glad to hear it. It sounds like he’s getting back to normal in a hurry.”

Masterson grew more serious as he went on, “I took the liberty of hiring some men to sit outside his room and keep an eye on him.”

“Guards, you mean?”

“That’s right. I don’t think that woman would try to hurt him while he’s in the hospital, but you never know.”

Conrad thought about it and nodded slowly. “You’re right. That was smart of you, Bat, and I appreciate it. Arturo can testify that she was trying to have me killed. Of course, so can the man who was arrested, not to mention you and me.”

“She can’t get to him in jail or to us,” Masterson pointed out. “Arturo was out there defenseless. Not anymore, though.”

The food and coffee made Conrad feel better, not to mention what Masterson had told him about Arturo. He looked around the room, searching for Rance McKinney, but didn’t see him. With a slight feeling of alarm, he asked where the rancher was.

“One of his men showed up a few hours ago with a message from his foreman,” Masterson explained. “Some sort of trouble at the ranch, I expect. Rance said he’d have to go and take care of it but insisted he’d be back in time to take part in the next round.” The former lawman frowned. “Come to think of it, he should have been here by now. I warned him if he wasn’t here when we were ready, he might have to forfeit his place in the tournament.”

Conrad’s worry grew. “You can’t do that, Bat.”

“I know why you want him to be here, Conrad, but there are other players who put up a lot of money to take part in this. I have a responsibility to them, too.”

“I know that. I’d just hate to think that it’s all been for nothing.”

“You might wind up winning a lot of money,” Masterson pointed out. “But that doesn’t really mean a lot to you, does it?”

Conrad didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

A few minutes later, his worry eased as Rance McKinney came into the room. The rancher still wore his black outfit and the black-and-white cowhide vest. Obviously he hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to get some fresh clothes. Conrad supposed he had been busy with whatever had taken him away from the Palace in the first place.

He didn’t really care what that might be. The important thing was that McKinney was back.

Bat Masterson called for everyone’s attention and had the eight big winners from the first round come forward. Conrad didn’t know any of them except McKinney. One of the hostesses brought out the same big white hat they had used for drawing lots a couple days earlier.

“As per the rules of the tournament established before it began, in this round there will be two tables with four players at each one. Step up, gentlemen, and draw for your table assignments.”

Conrad wished that Masterson could just put him at the same table as McKinney, but that would go against the rules everyone else had accepted, and it would look suspicious, as well. Even so, he had to suppress a groan of disappointment as he drew a chip marked with a numeral 1 and McKinney drew one putting him at the second table.

“Take your seats, gentlemen,” Masterson said, “and best of luck to you all!”