Chapter Fourteen
Casper, Wyoming, April 1892
Tex Beckett twirled the gold coin back and forth between his fingers, its shiny surface catching the lamplight in the saloon. “Much obliged, Quincy,” he said with a grin.
The barrel-chested cattle rustler visibly swallowed and inclined his head in somber acquiescence. His skin more closely matched the gray of his trimmed beard now that their poker game had come to an end.
Scooting the rest of his winnings toward himself, Tex picked up the weathered piece of parchment lying on top. “So this map shows the whereabouts of more gold coins like this one?”
One of Kip Quincy’s partners piped up. “Not just gold but silver ones too.” Tex blew out a whistle of appreciation at the potential wealth.
“Shut up, Lester,” Quincy ground out, clearly sore over losing the treasure map after only having it in his possession a few weeks.
“When were you planning to head to Texas to search for the loot?” Tex asked.
Quincy’s thunderous look flicked from Lester to Tex. “Planned to head south this week. What I hadn’t planned on was losing tonight.”
In all honesty, Tex hadn’t really planned on winning; he’d never gambled before. And he wasn’t entirely sure what had compelled him to accept Quincy’s invitation this evening.
Maybe it was the loneliness that had been eating at his gut the last six months. Or maybe it was because he was closer to his home state of Idaho than he’d been in eight years. Or maybe it was staying this past week on the ranch of a family friendly to outlaws and rustlers that had him missing the company of would-be friends. Even the continued company of Quincy and his three henchmen, who’d also sought refuge at the ranch during Tex’s time there, seemed a better substitute for friends than no friends at all. Spending the evening around the card table with them had seemed like a better prospect than spending it in his hotel room, alone.
Whatever the reason, Tex hadn’t lost the game and he was grateful. Maybe he had his father’s touch. Though more times than Tex could count, that “touch” had been as elusive to his father as rain in a drought. His jaw tightened just thinking of how he, his mother and his twin brother, Tate, had been forced to eek by for years, barely scraping together enough to live on, after his father had finally chosen the gambling life over a family life.
And that’s why this would be his one and only game of poker.
“Thanks again for playing, boys,” he said, scraping back his chair. The other four men did the same. Tex leaned forward to pocket his winnings, but Quincy reached out and clapped a hand onto a corner of the map.
“I’m thinking you don’t need this old paper after all,” the older man said, his expression no longer full of disbelief but anger.
Tex set his hand on the map as well, his other rising to the gun in his holster. “Now, Quincy,” he crooned as if talking to a child. “You threw that map into the pile of your own volition and I won it fair and square.” No one in the saloon would contest that.
Quincy’s scowl deepened, but he lifted his hand and backed away from the table. “Should’ve known not to play poker with the Texas Titan.” He hissed the words, though to Tex they sounded as loud as a train whistle. “How much did you tell us that Wanted poster said you were worth? Dead or alive.”
Arranging his face so as not to show his alarm, Tex didn’t answer. Instead he made a show of slowly pocketing the gold coin, the pile of cash in the center of the table and the map.
He’d known his acquaintance with Quincy came with the risk of having the man reveal Tex’s outlaw identity. Prior to this, Tex had been enjoying going unrecognized, since folks this far north hadn’t seemed to have heard of his heists. But they certainly would if Quincy started flapping his jaw about it. And it only took one person wanting to collect on the reward to send a telegram...or maybe Quincy was intending to double-cross him and turn Tex in himself.
That was the way with thieves, Tex supposed. They couldn’t be trusted.
“As I said it’s been a pleasure, gentlemen.” He hardened his look as he gazed at Quincy. “Sounds a lot more polite and civil than calling you cattle rustlers, don’t it?” Quincy’s eyes narrowed, but Tex could tell the man understood the message. If Quincy ratted him out as an outlaw, he’d do the same, naming the man and his partners as cattle thieves.
Tipping his hat to the men, he exited the saloon. A brisk wind followed him up the twilight-lit street to the hotel where “Mr. Chancy” was greeted by the desk clerk on his way to his room. Once inside Tex locked his door and set his gun on the nearby table. He wouldn’t put it past Quincy to try to get back the map. The man was that stubborn, but then again, so was Tex.
After slipping into bed, fully dressed, he linked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Where did he want to go next? He’d been working the last eight years in Texas and most recently in Utah Territory. Maybe he’d keep heading north to Buffalo or into Montana. But the thought of a new place, a new robbery didn’t fill him with the usual rush of excitement.
Tex slid his hand into his vest pocket and pulled out the earrings he always kept there. They had been his mother’s, the only memento he and Tate had been able to hold on to of hers after her death.
They weren’t just a keepsake to Tex though. They were a symbol, a reminder, of why he’d left his brother and the farm behind, nearly a decade ago.
His plan had been to sell the earrings, but when it had come time to do so, Tex couldn’t part with them. He kept seeing Tate’s face, twisted with outrage and hurt, when he’d caught Tex preparing to leave. The realization that Tex intended to sell the earrings had led to a blazing row. How could he get rid of something their mother had so diligently cherished and hidden time and again from their gambler father?
In the end, the fight had turned violent. Tex had struck his brother, hard enough to knock him out, and then left him behind—sneaking away like the thief he hadn’t yet been...but would soon become.
He and Tate hadn’t spoken since. No visits. No letters. Nothing to remember his brother by except the earrings they’d fought over.
Each time he pulled them out, he was reminded of his mother, of his brother’s cutting words that fateful night, and what Tex had been forced to do to survive
