Jane's Gamble

Jane’s Gamble

Challenge: Something Is Beginning, I Think

“I won’t be long,” Jane assured Stardust, her mustang companion, while securing him to the hitching post. After a quick pat of his neck, she walked towards the tavern entrance, greeted by the stink of old cigarette smoke and stale beer before she even reached the steps of Boone‘s Saloon.

Out of her pocket, she drew her old, worn-out wooden die before stepping through the swinging doors. A hush drifted across the crowded tavern as eyes lingered upon her just enough to show their disinterest, only to return to whatever occupied them before. Like many saloons she’d visited, its long bar, situated at the rear, held countless bottles on the mirrored back wall’s shelves. To its left, stairs led to a second-floor balcony, fronting a row of doors Jane imagined was where the real magic happened.

Tables packed the barroom, with a few loose chairs gathered around the hearth, its fire casting an orange, flickering glow through the building. A piano pressed into the right corner lingered untouched, denying Jane some music after a long day’s ride to this backwater hole of a town.

A few tables had men playing cards, and one in particular caught her attention. The piles of gold and paper money called for a new home, and Jane would not deny them. Three men, each uniquely ugly, laughed, hollered, drank and slammed cards down. On the floor, lying defeated, was the fourth and empty chair on its back.

Only a sore loser who’d lost his last coin would be so rude. That no one else joined them brought a grin to her face. Jane weaved her die between the fingers of her left hand and walked towards the table of three. Waiting for the men to notice her, she crouched and picked up the fallen chair, flipped back her long coat, sat, then placed her die on the table with the single dot pointing up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the middle one, wearing a narrow face with crooked teeth, asked.

“Looks like you need a fourth,” Jane answered from underneath her Stetson.

“You sat at the wrong table, little lady,” said the one on her left. Sweat covered the man’s forehead, and his thick black moustache probably hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

“Yeah!” the skinny, rat-like man to her right agreed.

A few extra sets of eyes from beyond the table landed on her, including a very well-dressed lady of the house who wore a mischievous smile clearly directed at her. Unflustered, Jane tipped her hat back with her forefinger, shifted her gaze between the three men, flipped her die so the two dots were at the top, then reached beneath her coat. Crooked-Teeth brought up his six-shooter and placed it on the table, pointing menacingly at Jane while his hand lay over it.

“Be real smart here,” he said.

Jane put up her free hand as she brought out her leather pouch, tossing it on the table with a loud enough thud, bringing questioning looks between Moustache and Crooked-Teeth.

“You sure ‘bout that?” Moustache asked.

“Yeah, are you sure you want to be the one to…” Skinny-Rat said, leaning in, trying to sound menacing.

“Shut up, Lem,” Crooked-Teeth interrupted, giving the obvious fool of the trio his backhand.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Jane reached over and rotated her die to its three-dotted side. “And since we don’t know each other, how about a neutral dealer?” She nodded to the lady of the house and motioned for her to join them. Without hesitation, the lady pulled up her heavy skirts from the floor and hustled to the table.

“I’ll have no whore…”

“Now now. No need to be rude.”

The saloon’s ambiance fell into a whispering hush as all eyes were on their table. A few patrons crept closer while others took a step back. Did these boys have a reputation? Jane’s fingertips tingled; she’d picked the perfect place for a quick score.

The lady sat between her and Lem, her red lips smiling wide. Maybe Jane would find a reason to stay in town for a touch longer.

“Five-card draw?” the lady of the house asked, reaching for the cards.

Crooked-Teeth slammed his hand on the deck and picked up his gun, cocked it and pointed it at Jane. “What’s your game here?”

Jane’s lip curled up as she stared at the barrel of the .45. With a steady hand, Moustache lowered his friend’s revolver. After exchanging glances, Crooked-Teeth eased the hammer. The die’s face with four corner dots now pointed up.

“Fine,” Crooked-Teeth said through his clenched jaw, “Lorraine can deal.”

After a quick shuffle, cards were delt around the table. Observing the men greedily pick up each card as they received it, Jane allowed her own to pile up. Once every card delt, she placed her wooden die with the five dots pointing up, atop her cards.

“I’ll take four,” Lem exclaimed, which earned him another backhand.

“We wager,” Crooked-Teeth said. His eyes met Jane’s. “You first!”

All waited on her to act; however, Jane took a moment to glance at Lorraine and gave her a quick wink before pushing her pouch to the middle of the table.

“I’ll bet the lot.”

Crooked-Teeth threw his fist on the table and barked, “You can’t do that!”

Moustache grunted and wiped his brow with the back of his hand as his focus jittered between the two.

“I think I just did.”

“You didn’t even look at your cards.”

“Yeah!” Skinny-Rat chimed in.

“Shut up, Lem.” A finger from across the table pointed at her. “Look at your cards.”

“More fun if I don’t.”

“What’s your game?”

“Leave it, Clyde,” Moustache said. “It’s our deck, anyway.”

“Fine.”

“You boys staying in, or letting me buy the ante?”

Moustache pushed his own pile in the middle without saying a word. Crooked-Teeth Clyde did the same while staring Jane down. Lem, for his part, turned out to be the smart one.

“I, uh, I think I’ll sit this one out,” he mumbled.

“Figures,” Clyde replied, throwing him a frown that made Lem flinch backward.

“How many?” Lorraine asked Jane in a sweet, sultry voice.

“None for me.”

“What’s your…” Clyde started, only to be interrupted by Moustache putting up his hand.

“I’ll have one, Lorraine.” One card back to the dealer, and the top card back to Moustache.

“Two.” Cards were exchanged. “Nothing more to bet. Show ‘em.”

Jane picked up her die, twirled it, listened to the murmurs throughout the room, then placed it beside her unknown poker hand with the six-dotted side face up. One by one, Jane flipped her cards on the table in front of her.

Seven of Hearts.

Eight of Hearts.

Nine of Hearts.

Ten of Hearts.

Jack of Hearts.