Denver Draw by Robert J. Randisi Read Free Book Online

my game. Anybody can sit in. Pull up a chair.”
    “Thanks.”
    Doc sat down, put his drink down at his elbow, and took out his money. There was already money on the table along with the chips so he assumed that his money would play.
    “What’s the game?” he asked.
    “Dealer’s choice,” Butler said.
    “Suits me, I guess.”
    “What is usually your game, sir?” Butler asked.
    “Five-card stud is a preference,” Doc said, “but I’ll play anything. Butler your only name?”
    “Tyrone’s my first name,” Butler said, “but I usually answer to Butler. And yours?”
    “Holliday,” he said, “John Holliday.”
    “Holliday?” This came from Andy Jason, the first man who had spoken. “Like in…Doc Holliday?”
    “That’s what some folks call me,” Doc said.
    “Go on,” a young man standing within earshot said. “You ain’t.”
    Doc turned his head to look at the boy, who had large jug-handle ears and was holding a mug of beer.
    “I’m afraid I am, boy.”
    “Well. I’ll be damned,” the boy said.
    “’Fraid, so will I be, boy,” Doc added. “So who’s dealin’?”
     
    Butler tried not to look too impressed with Doc Holliday. After all, he already knew Bat Masterson and he had played poker with the likes of Ben Thompson, but Holliday…well, he had a reputation as just about as cold a killer as you could get.
    He was a slight man, though, slender and not tall, with small hands and blond hair falling from beneath his hat. Not at all what you would have expected of Doc Holliday.
    After he misread a couple of hands because he was watching Doc, Butler decided to get his head back into the game. He took the next two hands in a row and got himself back on track.
     
    “Where’s Virgil?” Bat asked as Wyatt entered the marshal’s office.
    “He’s restin’,” Wyatt said. “Ridin’ the trail takes a lot out of him since he got shot.”
    “I heard about that,” Bat said, “and I’m sorry about Morg. I wish I’d been there to help.”
    “Sounds like you had your hands full in Dodge,” Wyatt said. “At least you managed to keep your brother from getting shot.”
    “You ain’t sayin’ that Morg and Virg getting shot was your fault, are you?” Bat asked.
    “Relocatin’ to Tombstone was my idea.”
    “They coulda said no.”
    “I s’pose. You got anyplace around here to get a good steak?” Wyatt Earp was obviously uncomfortable talking about his family matters. Bat decided he had to respect that.
    “Yeah, we can get you a good steak,” Bat said. “Come on, we got a lot of catchin’ up to do.”
    As they stepped outside Bat asked. “Where’s Doc?”
    “He went to play poker.”
    “Where?”
    “I don’t know,” Wyatt said. “You got saloons, don’t ya? With poker games in ’em? He probably found one of those.”
    Bat couldn’t help wondering if Doc Holliday had found his way to the Bonanza, and Butler’s poker game?
    “Is there a problem?” Wyatt asked.
    “No,” Bat said, “there’s no problem.”
    “Good,” Wyatt said, “because I’m just about hungry enough to chew off your leg.”

CHAPTER 15
    After just a few hands Butler was impressed with Doc Holliday’s play. He appeared unflappable at the table but he would later find out that this was simply Doc’s total disregard for everything. The man didn’t care whether he won or lost, he was just marking time. He kept a kerchief handy and coughed into it every so often, coughs that became fits and made other players and people around him uncomfortable. He would come out of one with his face pale and his eyes watery and he’d say, “Excuse me,” and people would look away. He would then continue on and play steady, almost deadly poker.
    Most people had things eating at them from the inside, but with Doc it was literally eating him away.
    On Doc’s part, he found Butler to be almost unreadable. He liked that, because he prided himself on being able to read other players. They cared more than he did