Double Mountain Crossing by Chris Scott Wilson

had left only the prospector and the pistolero facing each other until even the slowest witted of the cowhands eventually realized both men had an edge over them when it came to really playing poker. They had dropped out as they were cleaned out, and when the last one had folded and sat back, the cowhands’ money looked to be evenly distributed between the two remaining players.
    They had played alone for an hour now, money passing back and forth across the table, neither gaining significantly. Morgan watched intently each time Alison handled the cards and could not detect him cheating. Sharp-eyes had a good poker face, not once smiling, but there was an eagerness smouldering beneath the facade. There was no doubt he was playing to win, even if it took all night. Yet if he was not cheating he was playing well.
    Morgan held his cards closed and gently tested the edges of the king with his fingertips. There were no telltale thumbnail nicks. All clean.
    â€œWell?” Alison asked , touching a flame to a thin cheroot clenched between his teeth.
    â€œ$20.”
    â€œI’ll go along with that. How many?”
    â€œTwo,” Morgan replied, tossing the king and the ten face down on the tabletop. Alison dealt him two cards, discarded three of his own, taking three fresh ones.
    Morgan fanned his cards again. He had got the fourth deuce. Expressionless, he closed his hand and lay the cards on the table. He reached for his tobacco and began to build a cigarette. Around the table, the circle of faces carefully watched both men.
    Alison jerked his head.
    Morgan acknowledged by pushing another $20 into the pot. By the time his cigarette was ready, Alison called and raised $10. That made it $30 a raise, a cowboy’s monthly wages. Morgan inhaled deeply, drawing down the smoke to fill his lungs while he tried to figure out his opponent’s hand. During the last few deals there’d been jacks, queens, and his own discard had included a king, so none of the pictures were in the running. He’d lost a ten too, and his fifth card was a seven, so they were all out. Sharp eyes had bluffed some, and Morgan was willing to bet he held two pairs, or at best three of a kind and a pair.
    â€œAnother $30.”
    â€œCall.” No hesitation. The lack of it bothered Morgan. He either held a very good hand or…
    He examined his cards briefly again. He couldn’t let him bluff him out when he held four deuces.
    â€œ$30 and another $10.”
    Alison counted out the $40. “Call.”
    $230 on the table. Another raise and he would have laid out all his winnings and the remainder of his stake. He stabbed out the cigarette butt and sipped his whiskey. Alison was almost broke too. There looked to be about $40 or $50 in his stack. Morgan figured there was no choice, he had to roll with it. He fingered his own stack. $53. What the hell, there was always the money deposited at the bank.
    He glanced across at Alison. Sharp eyes had been watching him make his calculations and had already made his own. He shrugged. “You’ll have to pay to see them. I can raise more money if need be.”
    Morgan counted off the coins and tossed them one by one onto the heap of silver in the centre. “I’ll see them.”
    Alison’s lips twitched and Morgan thought for a moment the man was actually going to smile, but he was disappointed. Alison slowly turned his cards over and spread them, almost arrogantly. One-Two-Three-Four nines, neatly in a row. His eyes flickered to the pile of silver coins, then he checked himself and examined Morgan’s face.
    â€œYou beat four nines?”
    The tension drained from Morgan’s body and he leaned back from the table, reaching an arm to push his own cards still face down into the middle. “You can take it.”
    While he downed the dregs of his whiskey and stood up Alison was already raking in his winnings. Morgan glanced down at him for a second, then pushed