Montana Abbott 4 by Al Cody

Author:Al Cody
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cowboys, gunfighters, sheriffs, western ebooks, piccadilly publishing, old west outlaws, montana 1800s, al cody, montana ranches
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Eleven

TO A GAMBLER, the benefits of a poker face are many, and Tiller-Parsons not only understood but made use of them, though he thought sardonically that the debits more often than not outweighed the benefits.

There were such disadvantages as losing a fortune, virtually on the turn of a card, and betraying no emotion, not even by the quiver of an eyelash. To take such luck impassively was the mark both of an experienced card player and a sportsman. The bad part was that it had a way, when coupled with a losing tendency, to get a man in over his head, often to the point of desperation.

Since adding Parsons to his name and adopting the character which went with the new appellation, this ability had proved profitable, bringing him to his present position through contacts with men of money and prestige. That had been equally true of the ladies.

But the losses had a way of not merely offsetting, but of outrunning the gains. And in such a stratum of society, if a man was to maintain his standing, he must pay his losses, most especially those at cards.

In other words, he reflected grimly, the higher you climbed, the farther you fell. It tempted a man to go back to the more direct, simpler ways of straight banditry.

At this stage of his career he should be rich, instead of teetering constantly on the brink of disaster. Three separate times when he was threatened with ruin, women had come, however unwittingly, to his rescue. Yet even with such windfalls, and other deals such as the cut he would receive from the sale of the beef herd, he was far from being in the winner’s circle.

Now he pondered, considering a few remarks that he had chanced to overhear. The chance had been brought about by carefully putting himself in a position to eavesdrop, which occasioned him embarrassment only in what it disclosed. Timothy O’Donnell had been speaking to Rose, his voice restrained but insistent.

“The Indians call this the harvest moon, and it used to be my favorite time of the year,” he observed. “But these mornings, there’s a smell in the air. The stench of polecat comes and goes, but this is worse, and it lingers. Tell me true now, girl. Do you believe a word of that tale regarding a twin brother who masquerades under his name?”

As Tiller-Parsons had suspected, they were discussing him. There had been no uncertainty in Rose’s reply, though it was touched by hopelessness and despair.

“Not a word,” she admitted. “I know him now for the bar he is—but what can I do? He got away with all my inheritance. It was as much from necessity as anything that I hunted him down when I happened to learn about this ranch and that he was the manager. And of course there’s Alicia now. At first I was inclined to resent her, but she is just as much a victim as I am. And she’s sweet. I don’t want to hurt her.

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