Rain From Below, part 1

The air was more stale and dry than anyone expected for a late summer day after a rain. When it had rained the day before the earth had drunk it up through cracks and crevices. Some farmers declared it an answer to prayer. Some bishops declared it a miracle. Children said it was the only bath they needed. All agreed that there was something about the rain that was different than most rain storms, its provenance was something beyond anything to be expected in this valley. At Jacob Alt’s Saloon, the regular crowd filtered in and out from lunch to dinner and into the dark hours where they were officially “closed”. The late night crowd didn’t bring in the most money, but they brought something more important- company, protection, and news from throughout the valley.

Afton Cleary checked his hand again. In spite of the night bringing a slight bit of cooling, beads of sweat built up on his nose. He grabbed a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off. Some men at the table were convinced it was a tell, others were convinced it was intended to look like a tell. The men at this table were mostly ranchers and shop owners, one a bank teller, one tailored clothes. The newest one from California- Lou Corby- had been a miner and handled all sorts of odd jobs. Afton Cleary had been a steamship officer, running up and down the Mississippi. At least, that was what people had heard about him- no one quite knew what he was up to out in the desert now, aside from playing poker and drinking whiskey. This particular poker game was nearing its end- as another man lost his last bit of playing money only Afton and Lou were left. The pot stood at close to a thousand dollars, unusual in its size, but it had just been payday and so pockets burned a little hotter.

The last card was dealt and Afton checked his cards- he had pulled a 7 high,straight flush of diamonds. He opened with a small bet to see how Lou responded. The California transplant was a fair player, but Afton was betting he wouldn’t keep up. He dabbed his nose again and was shocked when Lou raised him by twenty dollars. He counted it out and stared blankly at Afton. The man’s face was damn hard to read. Sitting on a straight flush, Afton Cleary decided to raise him twenty, seeing if he could shake loose a weak hand. Lou looked at his hand, looked at the pot, then up to Afton. He took the rest of his stack- some seventy five dollars in small bills, and withdrew a sheet of paper out of his vest pocket. He read it over and tossed it in the pot.

“What’s that?” asked one of the other men at the table- the bank teller.

“Deed to a bit of land just south of here. Worth another two hundred or so. I’m tapped though- this is all I got.” Lou sat back in his chair and finished his drink.

Afton took the deed and checked it out. He didn’t know where the land was but it was good as money. Afton looked at his stack- he could match the bet. He tossed in the cash and the tension at the table turned up. This was one of the larger pots that had ever been on the table, and Afton and Lou were the newest and oldest members of this game. Corby flipped his hand- a pair of nines and three kings. Afton smiled, revealing his straight flush. Both men moved to pull the pot to themselves.

“Huh? What’s up” said Corby with a strange expression on his face. “Hands off that pot!”

“What the devil do you mean? I won this hand, game’s over.” Afton’s sweat sprayed off his nose as his face got redder.

“Since when does a flush beat a full house?” demanded Corby.

“A flush don’t, but this thing of mine is a straight flush, which is good enough to beat a mass of fours” said the former ship engineer. “Take your California hands off that coin.”

“Straight flushed be damned!” Corby huffed, and grabbed at Afton’s collar. That turned out to be a mistake, as Afton was a larger and stronger man than Lou was. Afton also had a gun and soon had Lou’s collar in his hand and torso at his gun.

“Now listen here Lou. I know you’re new so I’m willing to offer you a bit of peace. How about I take the pot, but you keep your deed. I have no need for some land to handle, and the time it’d take me to sell it isn’t worth it for me.” He wiggled the pistol into the skin at Lou’s navel. “Option B is that I walk away with the whole pot, and you… well you don’t walk away.” Lou gulped, making a sound like a wounded animal and nodded. Afton let go of the man and then re-holstered his revolver. The rest of the table who had been still as they observed the conflict let out a collective breath and finished their drinks. Afton handed Lou the deed and sent him on his way. He finished the whiskey left in his glass and closed his tab, leaving a generous tip. He tucked his rather sizable winnings into his leather pack and nodded at the rest of the table, getting up to make his way home. He left boot tracks in the dry dirt, prints that spanned mud cracks, marks of a less-than-sober homeward waltz.

*Note: this account is based on a real poker fight I read about in a newspaper from 1901 or somewhere thereabout.