"I have business with Dr. Chimbarazo," he explained.
"What sort?"
"It's private."
"Doc's busy," explained the Negro.
"I wanted to buy some of his medicine."
From behind the door he heard the crookback's familiar squeaky voice. "I will be at my wagon tomorrow during regular business hours."
"It's an emergency."
"Show him in," the crookback said.
The scar-faced Negro opened the door and allowed him to enter. Cain found himself in a dimly lit, smoky room where half a dozen men were seated around a table playing cards. They were all black, save one, a ruddy-faced man with a dark, broad-brimmed hat. They turned as a group and stared guardedly at Cain when he entered. Through the haze of cigar smoke he spotted the man called Dr. Chimbarazo on the far side of the table, looking like a child in a grown-up's seat. He had a pile of coins and bills sitting in front of him, a pile larger than that of all the others combined.
Cain made eye contact with the small man. If he recognized Cain, he didn't let on.
"Now what's the nature of this emergency," the small man asked.
"I'm here for my horse," Cain said.
"Your horse?" the small man repeated, frowning.
"Yes, you have him."
"Do you know anything about this feller, Doc?" said the ruddy- faced man, who was seated to his left. He had a big Army dragoon in a holster on his hip, the only person so armed. He seemed to be on familiar terms with the crookback.
"Never saw him before in my life," Dr. Chimbarazo replied. Cain couldn't tell if he was lying or actually believed they'd never met.
"I think you need to turn around and leave, mister," said the white man, who had flat, undertaker eyes. When Cain didn't make a move, he added, "That'd be right now."
"He has my horse and I've come to get him back," Cain said.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, sir," the crookback replied.
"No, I'm not. You have him. A chestnut stallion with a blaze. I saw him over at the livery."
"Nonsense. I paid cash for that animal," the small man said. "Bought it fair and square."
"Where's your bill of sale then?" Cain asked.
"I'm not under the slightest compunction to show you anything."
"It's my horse. If I have to, I'll go to the law," he threatened.
The crookback smiled, showing his too-white ivory teeth, and glanced over at the red-faced man.
"I'm the law here," he said, pulling back his coat to expose a badge. "Sheriff Huneycutt. You got any proof that the horse in question is yours?"
"I'm telling you it's my horse. It was stolen from me."
"Are you accusing this gentleman of common thievery?" the sheriff asked, barely keeping a straight face. The other men snickered at this.
"Ask him if he knows the horse's name?"
The other men looked at Dr. Chimbarazo, waiting. Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his frock coat and pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to the sheriff, who opened and read it silently.
"Says here he bought and paid for the horse, mister."
"That piece of paper doesn't mean a damn thing," Cain said.
"Looks fine to me," the sheriff replied. "What's your name, mister?"
"Cain."
"You have a bill of sale says any different, Mr. Cain?"
Of course, he had no such thing.
"He got that from the men who stole it from me," he explained to the sheriff.
"Who'all was supposed to have stole it from you?"
"Four men back east. They robbed and shot me, took my horse. Left me for dead. Blackbirders. They stole a runaway I was bringing back."
The crookback stared at him hard, as if trying to puzzle out where he'd seen Cain before.
"Got word t'other day they found some men dead over near Gaithersburg," the sheriff said. "By the looks of it, somebody robbed and killed them. Stole one of their horses. You wouldn't know anything about that?"
"No," Cain replied.
"What sort of mount you riding?"
"Like I said, they stole my horse. I'm on foot," he lied.
"Looks like you got the wrong sow by the ear, mister," said the sheriff. "If I was you, I'd head on out of this town before you run into trouble."
"All right, I'll buy him from you," Cain said. "I'll give you fifty dollars."
"He's not for sale," said the little man.
"A hundred." The man shook his head. "A hundred and fifty then."
"I told you he is not for sale."
Having used up his patience, Cain took an angry step toward the little man. He wanted to throttle him. But the large Negro with the scar put a hand on his shoulder. "Friend, you oughta listen to the sheriff and get on outa here 'fore you find yourself in a whole heap o' trouble."
Cain figured he could go back over to the livery that night and take what was his. But as if reading his thoughts, the sheriff said, "Doc's horse turns up missing, I know who to come after. We don't take kindly to horse thieves around these parts."
Cain leveled his gaze at the crookback, then turned to leave.
"Hold on a moment," said the small man. Cain turned and found the man staring closely at him. Slowly, a smile of recognition creased his dark features. "Ah, yes. Now I remember you. You have changed a good deal but you're the man I met on the road. The one with the lovely runaway." The man's face then turned suddenly hard and his eyes flashed with anger. "You pistol-whipped me, you villain."
"You had it coming," Cain said. "You pulled a gun on me. I should have killed you outright."
"Do you still have the girl?" Dr. Chimbarazo asked.
"That's no concern of yours."
"Where are your friends?"
Cain didn't want to admit he was alone, in case the crookback and some of his cronies followed him later and tried to get even.
"They're camped outside of town. They're expecting me."
Once more Cain turned to leave, and once again he was stopped.
"I've an idea," the small man said. "You want your horse back? How about if we play for him?"
Cain paused, turned around once more.
"Play for him?" he asked.
"Yes. Just you and me in a game of poker."
"If I win, I get the horse?" Cain asked.
"How much money do you have to wager?" Dr. Chimbarazo asked.
Cain paused for a moment, wary of confiding to a gambling opponent exactly how much he had available. "Enough."
"I figure my horse is easily worth four hundred. A truly exquisite animal," the man said with a straight face.
"I know his worth," Cain snapped.
"Do you have four hundred to put up?"
Cain shook his head.
"Let him play a few hands then," said one of the other gamblers, a thin, yellow-faced Negro wearing a stovepipe hat. "Give him a chance to win some of that cash you already took from us, Doc."
"Yea, yea," the other men taunted. The crookback stared across at Cain and smiled in a curious sort of way.
"Very well then. I shall give you a chance to win a few hands, and if you reach that amount I'd be willing to put up my horse. Are the terms agreeable to you, sir?" he asked.
"Fine by me," replied Cain, who sat down and took off his coat.
"I'll have your sidearm, mister," the sheriff commanded, reaching for Cain's weapon in his holster. Cain grabbed hold of the man's wrist.
"Nobody takes my gun," Cain said.
"I be givin' it to him, friend," said the scar-faced man. When Cain looked up, he saw that the scar-faced Negro was pointing a large- caliber double-barreled derringer at his face. He let go of the sheriff's wrist and the other removed his weapon.
"A Walker," the sheriff said, admiringly. "They ain't but a few hundred of these made. Were you down in Mexico, son?"
Cain nodded.
"So was I. Where'd you fight?"
Cain told him Monterrey, Resaca de la Palma, Buena Vista. Immediately, the sheriff's attitude changed. He started calling him "son."
"Is that where you got that limp, son?"
The crookback stroked his Van Dyke and looked across at Cain. "Check his person, Sheriff. He may be in possession of another pistol."
"I have to search you, son," he said. When he hit the wound in his side Cain flinched visibly. "Sorry," he said. Eventually he discovered the Tranter in his boot.
"I'll have to take that, too," the sheriff told him.
Cain took a seat and the yellow-faced Negro poured a glass of whiskey and slid it across the table to him.
"Here you go," he said.
"You gotta watch the doc," explained another Negro, a stout, coal black man who sat to Cain's left. He wore spectacles and smoked a stogy. "He'll honeyfuggle you five ways to Sunday."
The other men laughed.
Chapter 19.
T
hey played seven-card stud with a twenty-dollar betting limit to start. The yellow Negro acted as dealer. He had quick, unctuous hands, which Cain watched closely to make sure he was dealing from the top of the deck. The other men sat looking on, drinking and laughing, occasionally making comments. When Cain won the first couple of hands easily, they teased the crookback.
"He's gonna skunk you, Doc," the sheriff said.
"How's it feel to lose?" added the bespectacled Negro.
Dr. Chimbarazo merely looked across at Cain. "Deal the cards, Mr. Sprague," he said stonily to the dealer.
Of the next three hands, Cain took two more. In the last he'd had three kings, one in the hole and two faceup. The crookback had two pairs showing, jacks and sixes, and he boldly raised Cain each round, upping the pot to well over one hundred dollars. Wanting to nurse what cash he had, Cain could ill afford to lose that much in a single hand, and his opponent was obviously aware of that and trying to convince him he was holding the jack or six of a full house. Cain would normally have played it safe, gone with the odds and folded. But he'd had a feeling the small man was bluffing, and against his better judgment, he stayed in and matched him raise for raise. As it turned out, he was right. The small man's two pairs were all he had. Cain's opponent was a clever gambler, the sort who gave away nothing in his demeanor, not in his gestures nor his eyes, not in the way he surveyed his hole cards or threw in a gold eagle to raise. With each hand, he remained impassive, giving off neither the smug gleam of anticipated victory nor the faint tang of fear that some gamblers exuded like the musk of a wounded animal. And not once did he suck on his lower lip, as he had when playing with the Strofes and Preacher. He won and lost with perfect equanimity, and Cain knew he would have to be careful.