gambler during his tenure in Dodge City. Most of the fellows he played against in Dodge City were very good players, many of them professionals. Jon found the pickings pretty good in the camp, playing against a bunch of amateurs. Many of them had walked right off the plow to the camps and had little if any experience with the fine art of five card stud. Jon had been making almost as much playing poker as he was hunting buffalo. Ed did some gambling also, but only occasionally. One evening Jon preformed the usual ritual, politely asked his partner to go with him to the saloon.
“I swear Partner, you’re going to read your life away! Why don’t you put that book away and have some fun for a change?” Jon said as he straightened his brown felt hat and prepared to leave.
“Well, you know what Jon, I might just do that tonight. I haven’t played poker for awhile. I’m getting a little rusty. A night of five card stud and black jack might do me some good,” Ed answered as he closed his book.
“Hey, that’s great. We’ll have a good time. You need to enjoy some of that money you been making anyway,” Jon said as the two young men left their camp and headed for the card game.
The saloon tent was the largest in the camp and was right in the middle of all the chaos. It was a favorite hangout for the runners after a long day of hunting or working around their campsites. It was a makeshift setup with several poker tables, three faro tables, and a roulette wheel. The largest edifice in the tent was a long, old oak bar that was a castoff from the Oriental Saloon in Dodge, a little beat up, but it looked fine. The men were just glad to have a place to drink and play cards, and maybe get lucky with one of the girls brought in from Dodge. The owners found out early on that a few whores in the bar could really improve business.
The patrons sounded particularly boisterous on this sultry July evening. Maybe it’s the heat, Jon thought as the two young runners entered the tent. He greeted several of the regulars lined up at the bar. They were a motley crew, all dressed up and looking for a good time.
“How you fellas doin tonight?”
“Pretty darn good Jon. I suppose you’re here to take our money again?”one of the boys shouted from the end of the bar.
“I sure hope so.” Jon laughed.
“Who’s that handsome fella with you?” one of the hookers asked as she smiled at Ed.
“Oh that’s my partner, Ed,” Jon replied as he introduced Ed to the hooker and several of the boys at the bar. Ed seemed embarrassed by it all and looked for a table to start playing some poker. Jon spotted an open chair at his regular table and sat down for an evening of beer and poker. Ed found a game at a nearby table. As Ed pulled his chair out to sit down, he looked over and nodded at Jon. He looked nervous and a little unsure of himself.
The cards weren’t going Jon’s way. It seemed like every time he had a shot at a big pot, he would take a bad hit and go bust. He was still way ahead for the season, so a bad night now and then was no big deal. On the other hand, every time he looked over at Ed, he appeared to be raking in another big one. He had eight or ten good size stacks of chips sitting in front of him. More power to him, Jon thought. If he was getting shut out, there was nobody he would rather see doing well than his friend Ed.
Jon had noticed a rather large, bearded man at the bar when he and Ed first came in. He knew most of the guys who frequented the saloon, but he didn’t know this fella. He was being very loud and obnoxious and seemed to want to be the center of attention. Probably a wolfer, Jon thought at the time. Wolfers were the scum of the earth and Jon had little use for them. They were the men who came in after a kill and poisoned the buffalo meat left behind by the runners. When the wolves and coyotes would come in for dinner, they were greeted by a big pile of meat full of strychnine. After they had their dinner, they rolled around on the ground for a few hours and died a horrible death. The wolfers would then move in and start skinning them right where they fell. Then they would then leave the poisoned carcasses of the wolves and coyotes behind for the other smaller animals and birds to eat and also die a slow, painful death. They would later sell the skins and move on to the next harvest area and create the same ugly scenario all over again. This line of work attracted the very worst the West had to offer; it took a real bad person to want to become a wolfer. The wolfers usually stayed away from the runners, skinners, and other men in the camp. While the others tolerated the lowly scallywags, they didn’t want to associate with them. It was an unwritten rule that the wolfers were not welcome in camp, except during the day to pick up some supplies. Occasionally, a bold or stupid one would venture into camp after dark to spend some time in the saloon. The large man at the bar looked big enough to hunt bears with a stick. If he was a wolfer, he probably wasn’t too worried about what the runners thought about him being in the camp after dark.
It wasn’t long before the big man had joined Ed’s game. This was not a good sign; Jon didn’t like it. Ed, on the other hand, didn’t think a thing about the big man joining in. He always thought the best of everyone and had a difficult time separating a good man from a bad man. Jon could see trouble coming from a mile away and this guy spelled trouble.
“Is that big loud fella over there at the next table a wolfer?” Jon inquired of one of his playing partners, attempting to verify his intuition about the big lout.
“Sure enough is,” was the answer. “He’s from the Black Hills area over ‘round Deadwood. I hear he’s one mean varmint. Someone said he beat a man to death in Deadwood with his bare hands over a two dollar bet.”
“You don’t say,” Jon replied. “Sounds like a real fine fella.”
“Yea, he’s a bad one. He shouldn’t be in here anyway, being a wolfer and everything. I guess he’s so big he doesn’t give a damn,” the other man said quietly, not wanting the big man to hear him.
“I guess not,” Jon said as he threw his hand in. “I fold.”
Worried about Ed and what was going on at his table, Jon was not able to concentrate on his cards any longer. It didn’t take too long before his concerns about Ed were proven right; things were starting to get ugly over at Ed’s game. The conversation between the players had become very animated. The big bearded man was arguing with Ed about a pot Ed had just won. Jon listened as he accused Ed of cheating. Jon knew better than that; Ed Morgan was as honest as the day is long. Jon excused himself, gathered up his chips and quickly moved over to the end of the bar, right next to Ed’s table for a better vantage point.
Suddenly, without warning, the big wolfer suckered punched Ed. Overcome with rage, Jon interceded and violently beat the huge man senseless. The savageness of the beating was unnerving to the patrons in the saloon. Even in the rough and tumble buffalo camps, a beating of this brutality was rarely seen. At the sound of Ed’s voice, Jon backed off and let the battered man fall to the ground. There was a sigh of relief throughout the saloon. Jon apologized to the stunned crowd as the two tough young runners headed back to their camp, pride intact.
Soon the trouble in the saloon was a distant memory as the two boys continued to do well with their hunting. But even though things were going well, Jon was starting to get a little bored with the routine and was finding it more and more difficult to get up for the hunt. Ed could have kept at it a little longer but he also was growing tired of the long days on the range and the dirt and dust also. So they both agreed that enough was enough and decided to sell their outfit and move on down the road. Only trouble was, it would be two separate roads.
Ed was looking to find a wife, buy a nice piece of land somewhere, settle down and raise a family. Jon was looking to see a little more of the world. He wanted more adventure and excitement and a chance to use his poker playing skills in a few more of the many frontier towns that dotted the western landscape.
