| He counted each bill as it hit his palm. The sheriff looked respectable enough, but one could never know for certain in the west. Men were bought and sold with a flick of the wrist. �Thank you, um, Mr. Undertaker,� the sheriff nervously sputtered, handing over the last of the money. The infamous Undertaker acknowledged the remark with a nod. He turned to face the open doorway, tucking the bounty into his pocket. Standing still for a moment longer, he tested the sheriff�s honor with his back. When nothing untoward happened, he bared his teeth in what resembled a smile but fell short, and stepped out of the cramped building. With the Howard's hunting him down, nothing could be taken for granted. He scrutinized the small town noting every alley, every man, missing nothing. Although he saw nothing that alerted him of his enemies, he stayed wary. It didn�t matter that he was hunted, so far he�d been a faster draw. Until he found her, nothing would matter. His parched throat led him to the single saloon in town. The half-doors creaked in protest as he pushed past, leaving them swinging in his wake. The smoke filled room resembled any other saloon in the west; tobacco juice littered the rough-hewn floor, half-dressed whores eyed new arrivals with hope of an easy dollar, and men involved with a game of cards. None seemed to take particular notice of him. Sauntering up to the bar, he ordered a double. The barkeep slapped the requested refreshment into his hand, spilling half the drink onto the dust-strewn bar but he barely noticed. His gaze had traveled around the length of the room, observing each patron, when one in particular froze his roaming eyes. He couldn�t believe his luck. The filthy rodent sitting at the card table matched the glimpse he�d caught of her husband. Could it be? Could fate smile on him that easily? Casually strolling to the table, he pulled a chair up and straddled it, crossing his arms over the back. The men already playing glanced around in irritation, but the face of the newcomer discouraged their objections. They averted their eyes and remained silent as the stranger was dealt in. |
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| He fell into the rhythm of the game, allowing himself to lose for several hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the man next to him, hoping for confirmation of his suspicions. It finally came, when another player spoke to the man. �Buck, them cards ain't treatin� ya well tonight, huh?� The man laughed at the scowl on Buck�s face, but the Undertaker merely ground his teeth in satisfaction. He had him. After all the years of searching, he had him. He began to win then, methodically divesting everyone of their earnings. Finally, all the men but Buck had folded and left the game. They sat close by to watch, their blue cigar smoke dancing in the flickering light. Buck didn�t lose graciously. His face was splotched red with anger. His nose flared with every hand laid on the table. More than once, Buck�s hand drifted to the rusty shotgun propped by his leg. |
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