Chapter 8

I was absolutely flumboozeled! Here, I had just saved this guy from three bullies, and he sits on the ground bawling his eyes out. "Hey, Mister! I thought that you would be happy that I just shot these galoots. Why are you crying?"

"I'm crying because I'm so relieved! They said that ifen I didn't pay them the money I owed, they would come by my house tonight an' rape my wife. And they would do it every night until I paid in full. Ya jus' saved us from that, an' I wuz so relieved that I jus' broke down."

"How much did ya owe these galoots?"

"I had borrowed $22 last month to pay the tax on my farm, an' I paid that off last Friday, with $10 interest. But they said that I still owed $90 in interest, an' they were gonna collect it one way or the other. I don't understand it at all. I signed a paper with Anders Financial Company fer the $22 and the $10 interest fer a 5-week loan. There wasn't nothin' there about $90 more interest; I couldn't of paid it, anyway. As it was, I had ta sell my best mule ta git the $32 I did pay."

"Say, don't this town have a marshal. It's been 15 minutes since I plugged these varmints, so where the hell is he?"

"Jimsen ain't had a marshal in about 4 months. Not since these bastards shot 'im. Everybody's been too scared ta even think 'bout taking the job. Ifen ya want it, I know that ya could git appointed."

"Nah, I don't want that job, I got one of my own. Look, I'm Jake Esposito. Ifen anybody else bothers ya about that loan interest, tell 'em that ya're under my protection, an' I said fer them ta fuck off. Ifen that don't work, send word ta me in Willow Run, an' I'll ride down here ta look inta the situation. What's yer name, soz I'll know who I'm tryin' ta he'p?"

"I'm John Harper, and I shore do appreciate yer he'p, Mr. Esposito."

"Call me Jake. Don't worry 'bout it, I was glad ta do it. I think I'll pay a little social call on Anders Financial Co. Where kin I find them?"

"Their office is in the middle of the block, jus' up the street on the left. Ya can't miss it."

I mounted and rode up the street to a hitching rail in front of a store-front with a label in the window saying "Anders Financial Company." I went in and found a pretty conventional office with an elderly man sitting behind a desk. He looked up as I entered and said, "Good day, Sir. How may Anders Financial Co. help you?"

He pointed to a chair, and I sat down. I said, "Are you Mr. Anders?"

"Oh, no," he said, "I'm Joseph Smith. Mr. Anders lives on the other side of the county. I'm just the clerk for this office. How can we help you?"

"Suppose I needed to borrow $25 for this year's taxes. How much would it cost me?"

"Just a moment while I get out the chart. Yes, here it is. The interest would be $10 fer the first month. However, there is a penalty clause ifen ya don't pay back the principal and interest in the first month."

"What's the penalty amount ta?"

"Well, it's pretty steep. It comes ta 400% of the principal. But that's the deal. It's a "take it or leave it" offer."

"Shit, That's $100 in penalty fer a $25 loan at 40% interest. So, ifen I went two months without payin', I'd owe $145. Ain't no way I'll do that ifen I kin find the money any other way. By the way, where is this Mr. Anders from; I'll bet it ain't from around here."

"Well, Mr. Anders is from Boston an' has only been in the county fer 'bout 5 months. Why do ya ask?"

"I jus' figured that yer Mr. Anders had ta be a damyankee to gouge folks like that. Well, thanks for yer time. I jus' can't afford ta do business with y'all just now. Good bye."

I didn't hang around talking any more with Joseph Smith, because something didn't seem right to me. I couldn't put my finger on the problem, but I couldn't help the feeling that there was something screwy going on. I'd have to think about the situation and go from there. Meanwhile, I needed a beer.

There was a saloon across the street, and I headed for that. As I crossed the street, I noticed that the 3 bodies had been removed. Well, at least the trash removal system still worked!

I noticed that there were quite a few people in the saloon, enough so that there were 2 different poker games going on. Now, I had gotten so that I just couldn't pass up a poker game, so I decided to sit in on the one with the professional gambler. Why did I do that? I have no idea, but I had a feeling that it would be more fun. I found a seat with my back to a wall and dropped $35 on the table. I figured to play as long as that lasted.

I won a few, and I lost a few, but I had fun. This pro appeared to be honest, at least I didn't catch him doing something wrong. He won more than he lost, but not by much; I wondered how he could make a living as a gambler if his present winning rate was his normal. I figured that it wouldn't be polite to ask, so I kept my mouth shut.

We played for about an hour, and then I found the pro's secret. He said, "Gentlemen, so far we've been playing good old standard draw poker, but I'd like to introduce a new game called 'stud poker'." He then outlined the rules. Everybody was willing to give it a go, so we anted up and the pro began the deal. The first few pots were kept low and everybody won at least one deal. This game was a little bit easier for me, because I could see most of the cards the other players had. I was good at estimating the odds, so that either the pro or I was the usual winner after the pots got big. There was a lot of laughter and joking around among the players as good and bad cards showed up, so that we started to draw a crowd of onlookers.

After we had drawn a big crowd, the pro turned to me as said, "Perhaps some of these other gentlemen would like ta have some fun with stud poker. Ya seem ta have a good grasp of the game, so I'll leave this table in yer hands an' start another game with some new players." That sounded fine to me, so I agreed, and he moved to another table. It wasn't long before the saloon had two tables of draw and two tables of stud poker going at one time. It wasn't unusual to have this much poker being played in one place, but it was unusual for it to be happening during the daylight hours. The bartender was frantic with work as he sold mugs of beer to players and onlookers. If he had any more customers show up, he was going to have to hire a second bartender!

Then it dawned on me. The pro gambler was being paid by the bartender/owner of the saloon to bring in customers. That was how he made a living. He was probably getting a percentage of the profits from the beer sales; that, coupled with his meager winnings, was enough to give him a decent living. He didn't have to cheat; he had found an honest way to milk the Western male's love of gambling. I was getting hungry, so I dropped out of the game and went looking for some supper. I tipped my hat to the pro as I left the saloon. The beer sales were still going strong!

The sun was going down, but there was a bright moon, so it was easy to see. I was walking toward the "best" restaurant in town when a shot rang out and I felt a terrible pain in my scalp. My hat went flying one way and I dove the other way. I hit the sidewalk and rolled into the recessed doorway of a general store. I drew my LeMat and peered around the edge of the recess to see who was shooting at me. Meanwhile, blood was flowing pretty freely from my scalp wound.

The only piece of reasonably clean cloth I had was my white handkerchief. I had to use it to staunch the blood, but it was a bright flag showing the location of my head. I didn't have any real choice, I did need to stop the blood flow. Oh, well, when necessity calls, we all must answer. But I was going to switch to dark cloth for my handkerchiefs from now on.