The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole by Eric Pierpoint Read Free Book Online

stillness, like the gunpowder smell of a shot fired. Quickly, Mountain Man grabbed Irishman in his huge fist. The other cowboys edged carefully away from the poker table. Caleb looked over to see Henderson slowly pull his Colt revolver and hold it at the ready under his table.
    â€œWhat did you say?” Mountain Man held Irishman in his grip.
    â€œI had three nines!” said Irishman in protest.
    Blacktooth dropped Red like a sack of potatoes and walked slowly to the table and checked out the cards. “Well now, Mr. Englishman, my brother Davey here’s got a full house. In these United States of America that beats three of a kind.”
    â€œNews to you, I’m Irish. He had two fives, everybody saw!” squealed Irishman. “He cheated and drew twice!”
    â€œEverybody?” Blacktooth asked in a deadly voice. “Who here seen that?” Rat Face and Snake grabbed the handles of their Colts and stared down the room, itching for a fight. No one spoke. Mountain Man hung onto the sputtering Irishman like a bear playing with a fish.
    Blacktooth snatched Caleb’s bottle away and drank, smacking his lips from the bite of the whiskey. Then he shoved it back into Caleb’s shaking hands and roughly brushed him aside, sending Caleb crashing into the wall just feet away from Henderson’s table. Wiping the burning whiskey from his lips with the back of his hand, Blacktooth took a murderous stroll around the saloon, looking for a victim. None dared meet his gaze. Cowboys shifted on their feet nervously. No one wanted any part of him. Finally, his eyes rested on Henderson and he leveled his deadly stare at him. Caleb’s breath caught, knowing at any second things could explode like a violent storm.
    â€œYou seen that?” hissed Blacktooth to Henderson. Henderson, hat over his eyes, sat calmly with his hidden Colt pointed under the table at Blacktooth. Furious that Henderson ignored him, Blacktooth demanded again. “I’m talkin’ to you, mister!”
    â€œI heard you,” replied Henderson quietly.
    â€œI asked you if you seen that.” Blacktooth moved his hand to his Colt. Caleb’s eyes widened as Henderson tilted his hat up and stared back at Blacktooth. The other cowboys in the saloon cleared the area around Henderson’s table. Caleb held his breath as the two men faced each other down. The saloon was as quiet as a church, yet crackled like a lit fuse.
    â€œWell, I can’t see much of anything from here, now can I?” Henderson was dangerously calm. “But if you ask me if three nines beats two fives, I’d have to say it does. I heard a man say he had three nines, so I guess he wins.”
    â€œHear that? I win, he says!” choked Irishman, struggling in Mountain Man’s grasp.
    â€œYou callin’ my brother a cheat?” challenged Blacktooth, his mouth breaking into an ugly black snarl. “Get up!”
    Caleb could almost sense Henderson pulling back the hammer of his Colt. His mind raced, his heart pounded, for there he stood against the wall, clutching the whiskey bottle, standing between a murdering thief and the Killer of Quick Creek. At any moment, the bullets would fly and his own blood could splatter the walls of the Dobytown Saloon. Thinking fast, he slowly crossed over to Henderson’s table. The old clock quietly ticked as the two gunfighters continued to stare each other down. Carefully, he poured whiskey into Henderson’s empty glass, trying to keep the bottle from clinking against it. He brought his other hand up to keep it steady.
    â€œCan’t forget our manners,” said Caleb in a shaky voice as he filled Henderson’s glass. Blacktooth, his hand on his Colt, stood poised to unleash a barrage of lead. But then, a flicker of amusement appeared across Blacktooth’s face.
    â€œManners!” Blacktooth roared. “Bottle Boy says we can’t forget our manners!”
    Caleb looked