Brother's Keeper by Robert J. Thomas Page A

Creek.”
Hanley’s curiosity got the best of him when Sloan had mentioned ten thousand dollars. “Ten thousand dollars? What in the hell would Dick Carter want you to do that he would pay you ten thousand dollars for?”
Sloan sneered at Hanley. “Well, I guess if he had wanted you to know that, he would have let you read the letter.”
Hanley nodded, not wanting to pry any further. He had done what he had been assigned to do and as far as he was concerned, his part in this matter was over with. He did, however, still wonder what the hell his boss had said in the letter, but it was not his business. Hanley walked over to another table where Sheriff Mathers was sitting, eating what looked like a pretty tasty steak and a large helping of potatoes. “Looks mighty good, Sheriff, mind if I join you?”
“Grab yourself a chair and sit down. The food is real good and I’m sure they have another steak in the back there.”
Hanley ate his supper and chatted with the sheriff for about an hour and then the sheriff left to make his rounds for the evening. Hanley thanked the sheriff and told the sheriff that he would pay for his meal. After all, he had just earned five hundred dollars. The sheriff thanked him and walked out of the saloon. It was dark outside now and a little chill was creeping into the saloon. The bartender put some more wood in the stove and it didn’t take long for Hanley to feel the warmth. Hanley decided to sit at the table and order a bottle of good whiskey. He had nothing else to do and he wasn’t ready to turn in yet. Sloan had gone back to his card game and was winning quite repeatedly, which was evident by the remarks from the other players. Hanley hadn’t asked what was in the letter to Sloan and he didn’t ask what the ten thousand dollars was for, mostly because it just wasn’t his business. He had done his job and was paid very well for doing it. He wondered how everything was going back in Black Creek. He figured that Jess Williams was probably dead by now, already gunned down by Carter and his hired guns.
His thoughts were interrupted by some commotion over at the card game. One of the players was getting louder about his complaints about Sloan’s uncanny luck. The man who was getting upset was Cobb White. He was in his mid-thirties and had maybe a little too much to drink, which is what gave him the courage to start complaining about Sloan’s gambling skills.
“I’m telling you no one is that lucky! You can’t win that many hands without cheating somehow,” hollered White.
“Now settle down, Cobb. I can’t help that you keep losing your money. Maybe you should just take what you have left and go on home. Maybe your luck will change tomorrow,” Sloan replied, staying calm but obviously not feeling too bad about taking Cobb’s money.
“I ain’t got any damn money left! I started this game with two hundred and now all I have is twenty dollars left.”
“Well, that’s why they call it gambling,” said Sloan, smiling sarcastically.
“I’ve about had it with your smart-ass remarks too!” hollered White.
“Now, I already told you to take your money and go home. I think that’s the best thing you could do right now, before you get yourself into something you can’t get out of.”
“You kiss my ass, kid, I ain’t scared a you!” “Maybe you should be.”
“Maybe you should show us the cards you got stuck up your sleeve,” White said, as he stood up, shoving his chair backwards. Sloan remained unusually calm and placed his cards on the table. Then he slowly pushed his chair back and stood up, glaring at White. Hanley noticed that Sloan had already removed his hammer strap from his pistol. You could sense that White had a momentary lapse of courage, which is normal for a man to have just before an impending gunfight. A sober man with common sense usually backed down about this time. However when you’ve had one too many whiskeys, common sense seems to take a holiday. Pile that