A Time For Hanging by Bill Crider Read Free Book Online

cards -- the aces, a few of the faces -- to give Moran all the advantage he needed.   The nick was so small as to be undetectable to any cursory examination, or even to a fairly careful one, but it was easily recognized by Moran's talented fingers.
    It was not the kind of trick that would go unnoticed for very long by any sophisticated gambler, not the kind of thing that Moran could get away with for very long in a town of any size, but it worked like a charm as long as he limited himself to small-stakes games in small towns, or it had except for the one incident that Moran would just as soon have forgotten.
    How the Mex had ever figured out that the cards were nicked was something Moran had been able to guess.   The Mex's hands had been work-hardened and calloused, the kind of hands Moran liked to see in a game, and it just didn't seem possible that he had been able to feel the slight cuts in the cards.
    He didn't regret killing the man; he had been forced into it.   But he did regret the fact that his activites had been limited for a good while afterward.   Word got out, and people were suspicious.
    All that was behind him now, though, and he was having an easy time of it, taking money from folks in backwaters like Sharpsville and drifting along as he pleased.
    He had just about worn out his welcome there, he reckoned as he dealt the hand.   Time to move on down the road, maybe pay another call on Dry Springs.   Probably there was hardly anyone there who even remembered his last visit.
    First he had to get though this hand, however.   The two men held their cards close, looking them over.
    One of them, a farmer by the look of him, glowered at Moran over the rim of the cards.   His flat-topped straw hat with its broad black band sat squarely on the middle of his square head, and his jaw jutted out defiantly.
    The other, the town dandy Moran guessed, wore a tie and a gray suit.   He had sweated through his shirt, and Moran was sure that he had lost more than he could afford.   So had the farmer, for that matter.   Otherwise they would have quit long ago instead of trying to win it back.
    Neither of the men had a very good hand as far as Moran could tell.   No more than one face card each.   He, on the other hand, was holding a couple of aces and a king.
    The farmer bet two dollars, and the dandy matched him.   Moran tossed in two as well.
    "Three cards," the farmer said sullenly.   Moran slid them across the table with a smile.
    "Three for me, too," the dandy said, and Moran cheerfully supplied them, especially since his educated thumb told him that an ace was the next card.
    He decided to take only two cards, and getting the second king along with the ace was pure luck.   He appreciated that, being an admirer of luck in any form.
    "Five dollars," the farmer said.   It was all he had left.
    The dandy went along reluctantly.
    "Since that seems to be about all you gentlemen have on you tonight, I'll call," Moran said.
    The farmer put down three eights, the dandy had two pair.   Moran's full house beat them easily.
    The farmer's face turned brick red.   "You sonofabitch cheater," he said.
    The dandy reached out and put a hand on his friend's tensed arm.   "Now, Joe, we don't know --"
    "Don't you tell me 'bout what I know.   That sonofabitch is cheatin', and I'm gonna make him give me my money back."
    Moran retained his smile.   Under cover of the table, his hand slipped to the smooth butt of the .44.   "I don't return money that I've won fair and square, gentlemen."
    The farmer was not satisfied.   "Fair and square, my ass.   I don't know how you done it, but you done it.   That's for sure."
    Moran shoved the table against the farmer's chest, making it difficult for the man to get out of the chair with any speed.   "I'm sorry that you feel that way," he said.   "Maybe you'd better go on home now."
    "He's right," the dandy said.   We'd better go on home."
    The farmer shook off his friend's hand.