Chapter 9

Merle Bonner began to grumble on the third day, and Frank warned me it meant money was low. “He gets like this,” Frank added.

“Meaning?”

“Dangerous.”

Sure enough, we were in the Evergreen Saloon, Bonner at cards, when he called a fellow out on cheating. By the time I looked over, a pistol was in hand, but the offending party cared little on this.

“You play cards like an old woman,” he told Bonner. “No need to cheat you.”

“You son-of-a-bitch,” growled Bonner. “Stand up.”

The fellow began dealing a new hand. “You in or out?” he asked Bonner, and I had to admire what was either bravery or foolishness.

Bonner, not drunk enough to shoot willy-nilly, issued some profanity, then turned tail and went out.

We followed and I thought that was it, but when I said this to Frank, he replied, “Don’t think so.”

“Why’s that?”

“Merle won’t be bested.”