Brother's Keeper by Robert J. Thomas Page B

onto the fact that most men are more afraid to back out of a gunfight than to continue in it, is the reason that Cobb White stood his ground, even when he knew he shouldn’t.
Sloan slowly unbuttoned his sleeves one at a time and rolled each one of them up for everyone to see. There were no cards. The truth was that Sloan was cheating but he didn’t need to hide cards in his sleeves to do it. He would just palm whatever cards he needed from the deck. Sometimes it didn’t work, but more often than not it did and he won the majority of hands. His father had always told him that you never want to win every hand and you never want to be caught with cards up your sleeves or in your pockets. Walking away with a smaller profit after a night’s work is better than lying dead under a large pile of money. It was good advice and he had heeded it; most of the time.
Tim Sloan’s father, Eddie Sloan, had only taught him to do a few things in life very well. How to gamble, lie and cheat were some of those things. More importantly though, he had taught Tim how to draw a pistol, and he had taught him very well. Sloan was an accomplished poker player by the age of eight and an expert gunslinger by the time he was twelve years old. Both professions went together perfectly, and it was times like this that proved it. Sloan’s father had bought Tim a beautiful pistol and holster for his tenth birthday. The pistol was a beautifully engraved, silver plated Colt .45 Peacemaker and a black left-handed holster that was made in Mexico by a man who was an artist with leather. The holster was cut lower in the front and the barrel of the .45 was slightly shorter than most, with the front site removed, which allowed it to clear the holster quicker.
“Well now, Cobb. Did you see any cards up my sleeves?”
Cobb looked at the other four men at the table, looking for any help or encouragement. He found none. “I didn’t see any, but you were cheating just the same. Maybe I can’t figure out how you did it, but I know that you did.”
“So, what do you want to do now?” asked Sloan, the sarcastic tone turning more serious now.
“I want my damn money back. I’ll go play it in a fair game.”
“Listen, Cobb. I ain’t giving you your money back. Like I told you, take what you have left and go on home. If you don’t, you might be making a bad mistake.”
“Just give me my money back and I’ll leave.”
“You don’t seem to be listening and I’m getting tired of talking. Now what’s it going to be?”
Cobb White had a few beads of sweat on his forehead now. He had looked at the other four men, who were still sitting at the table, chairs pushed back. He knew that he wasn’t going to get any help from any of them. None of them had uttered a word since the argument had begun between the two. Cobb knew that he should take what he had left and go home but he just couldn’t make himself do what he knew he should do. He couldn’t bring himself to back down now. Then, he made a fatal error. He drew on Sloan.
Cobb went for his gun but he never had the slightest chance. He had only gotten a grip on the butt of his pistol when Sloan’s gun seemingly flashed out of its holster and blew a hole in Cobb’s heart. Cobb stumbled backwards tripping over his chair and collapsed on the floor, never to complain about a card game again. Sloan whirled his gun around with his left hand and slipped it back in its holster as slick as silk. Then, he simply sat back down in his chair and picked his cards back up as if nothing had happened. The other four men looked stunned but slid their chairs back in and continued the game. They didn’t care if they went home broke; they simply wanted to make it home alive. Hanley watched all of this from his table. He had watched many gunfights before and none of them were what you could call nice. Men would kill each other over the smallest of things, things certainly not worth dying for, at least, in Hanley’s mind. He was,