The Magic Quirt by L. Ron Hubbard

Author:L. Ron Hubbard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
ISBN: 9781592125845
Publisher: Galaxy Press
Published: 2012-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Stacked Bullets

Stacked Bullets

THE whole town of Stud Hoss was worried stiff about the game going on in the Long Chance Saloon.

There is a certain system called veintiuna, a Spanish game of ill repute which demands that a man double his bets for each loss. The theory behind this is that one cannot lose forever. And if given unlimited resources the optimistic individual conceives that he can break any bank. However, there is a limit to any fortune, which, if coupled with a certain unwillingness of Lady Luck to smile, can lead only to the impoverishing of the most courageous optimist who ever got himself born, even if that one be Charley Montgomery.

In the dismal dusty interior of the Long Chance Saloon Charley Montgomery was competing, and disastrously, nine hours in the dark shadow of Lady Luck’s back side. The game had started at one o’clock of a brilliant Arizona afternoon and while the solemn Joshua trees had fried about the little town of Stud Hoss, Charley Montgomery’s smile had melted. The lines in his face had deepened. A brilliantly glorious sunset had blazed unnoticed. Darkness had fallen and soft moonlight had come to spread its deceptive glow upon the spotty grazing land of the Frying Pan Basin. But the three men in the Long Chance had no time for artistic appreciation of the glories of nature. They chose instead to rivet their gazes upon the glass-stained deal table, dingy and dirty below the smoky flame of the kerosene lamp.

Out of politeness the other worried denizens of Stud Hoss had steered wide. Discretion was the better part of their curiosity, for one did not intrude lightly upon the monomaniac pastime of Tate Coll, sheriff; Con Price, owner of the inner range; or Charley Montgomery. And so, much to the disgust of the half-breed bartender, the Long Chance had remained deserted. The violently intent trio formed an island of light within the fly-specked shadows of the rickety, sun-baked “Palace of Beverage and Fortune.”

The three of them flicked the cards, bet, raked in winnings, shoved out losings and now and then grimly glared at one another. So deadly was this silent play that one of Con Price’s riders passing by told the huddle before the harness shop down the street:

“By cripes, I never seed nothin’ like it. That ain’t no game, that’s a duel. If I ain’t missin’ my guess one of them bunghole buddies is goin’ to part from there as a corpse.”

“Who’s winnin’?” the harness-maker asked.

“Tate and Con,” the rider told them. “There ain’t enough chips in front of Charley Montgomery to buy a murder in Mexicali.”

“That’s irresponsible,” said the harness-maker, setting down the tequila. “To my own perfect and complete knowledge Charley had nigh unto ninety thousand dollars at noon today. He might a hid his stake.”

“Ninety thousand!” said the general storekeeper, coming up. “What the hell did he do, stick up the Reno stage?”

“Nope,” said the harness-maker, authoritatively, “Charley is done sold out.”

“The upper part of the blamed Fryin’ Pan Basin,” said a rider, “stock, barrel and longhorn, includin’ the Chinese cook.

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