Disclaimer: I don’t own the Cartwrights or Bonanza. No copyright infringement is intended. Original plot and characters are property of the author. This story is for entertainment and no money was made from it.<\/span><\/p>\n Reviews from the Old Library are on the last page.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Dead Man’s Hand<\/strong><\/p>\n The arrows, missiles of death launched from wooden bows wielded by the horde of angry Indians swarming the little shack as if they were a cloud of enraged bees repelling a honey thief, embedded themselves deep within the wooden structure with loud thunks as the defenders trapped inside conserved their ammunition by firing sparingly since their attention was far more focused on whose turn it was to raise or fold as the money in the pot that would go to the winner was a sum greater than six months\u2019 wages, presuming that the man with the best hand lived to claim it. Willy, a hand for the Bar V ranch near Placerville, placed five dollars in the pot as he shifted his hand-rolled cigarette to the other side of his mouth. He casually drew his pistol and fired a shot through the broken window just to let the Indians know that he could concentrate on two tasks at the same time.<\/p>\n Bertie, a mild-mannered miner from Cornwall who\u2019d decided to give up sweating in miserable heat underground for perspiring buckets in the hot sun aboveground as a cowpuncher, looked over his hand, a mix of number and face cards. He didn\u2019t stand a chance at winning anything but his life, provided the Indians kept missing and no one accused him of cheating. Perhaps if he didn\u2019t look at his fellow players in a shifty-eyed manner they\u2019d never realize that he was bluffing as that was his only chance for winning the pot. After adding his money to the pile, he reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a wad of well-worn dollars, counting out an additional seven to add to the mound of paper in the middle of the table.<\/p>\n Newt, a bronc buster turned wrangler, spit a long stream of brown tobacco juice at a plucky Indian who\u2019d been courageous enough to attempt a sneak attack on the men in the shack, convinced that their lack of steady gunfire meant they were cowards. The brave, screaming in agony and clawing at his eye, stumbled into the path of an oncoming arrow that surely would\u2019ve struck down the white man if it hadn\u2019t had an obstacle in its way. Shifting his cards from lowest to highest, Newt matched the amount the previous player had added to the heap and then shifted the wad of tobacco from left to right before spitting directly onto the floor.<\/p>\n Joe Cartwright beat at the dust that covered the arms of his jacket and looked over his cards again. He squinted in what he hoped his opponents would think was contemplation as he pondered how he\u2019d ended up with five of a kind, just the sort of hand that could get a man killed.<\/p>\n How had these four men ended up playing poker in a little shack surrounded by howling Indians?<\/p>\n Joe, who\u2019d been minding his own business until he came across the irresistible sight of five Indian maidens splashing in a lake, their long black locks braided and pinned on top of their heads to avoid the water, couldn\u2019t resist the siren song of their laughter and suddenly found himself standing at the edge of the lake, admiring the beautiful nymphs. He reached into his saddlebag, pulled forth several strings of blue beads, and held them up as a token of his appreciation for the opportunity to admire so much magnificence in its natural state. Seeing they were being spied upon, the maidens\u2019 screeching alerted the sentries to the invasion of their commune with nature. One of the sentries sent a smoke signal to the village, alerting the warriors of the presence of a trespasser. Within minutes of leaping upon his own painted pony, Joe was being chased by a pack of howling Indians intent on seeking revenge because he\u2019d broken a tribal taboo by offering the beads to the maidens (how was he to know that blue was an unlucky color for the tribe\u2019s chief who\u2019d lost six wives in succession all because of a blue dress stolen from the trunk of a slain member of a passing wagon train?). He\u2019d ridden low over his horse\u2019s neck until what he thought was a mirage turned out to actually be a shack standing in the middle of nowhere. When he burst into the building, intent on finding a place to take cover, he\u2019d been surprised to see three men on the floor playing a game of marbles. After introductions had been made over the noise of the shrieking Indians, the men overturned the furniture, drew their guns, and shot a noisy fusillade from pistols and rifles, which only caused the warriors to kick their mounts into a faster speed in order to avoid colliding with bullets.<\/p>\n As they waved their hands to thin out the smoke, as dense as the San Francisco fog yet smellier than a herd of cattle fresh out of a sulfur dip, Bertie said, \u201cI sure wish we had some cards. Nothin\u2019 passes the time like a good game of poker.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe pulled his green jacket aside, reached his fingers into a hidden pocket that would\u2019ve been perfect for squirreling away large sums of money, and withdrew a fresh deck of cards. Turned out he never left the Ponderosa without one.<\/p>\n The table and chairs were set upright and each man chose his spot, making sure he had a good view out a window at the blur created by the circling Indians. Willy finished rolling a cigarette and placed it to his lips seconds before the lethal tip of a passing arrow lit it; he was grateful for not having to waste a match, which they might need later in case they required a signal fire to attract would-be rescuers.<\/p>\n When the men initially sat down to the business of a serious game of poker, they agreed that deuces would be wild, wilder than the Indians racing around the shack. All four concurred that the ante would be two dollars as there was no point in being extravagant without alcohol to drink or pretty saloon gals to offer encouragement. Newt offered up a coin to flip to determine who had the first turn at dealing but an arrow flew through the window and out the other, taking the coin along with it. Each man agreed to think of a number between one and ten, scratch it onto the seat of his chair, and then line them up to see who had the lowest figure. Turns out Joe won the first deal, which he thought was fair since the cards belonged to him.<\/p>\n Money changed hands back and forth as the men played hand after hand. The Indians took a short break to give their ponies a breather and to eat a snack of deer jerky while they discussed their strategy for wreaking vengeance on the white man who\u2019d invaded their territory. Afterwards, they resumed their circling, but in the opposite direction.<\/p>\n An arrow soared through the window, removing Newt\u2019s hat without disturbing his hair. \u201cNever liked that hat anyway,\u201d the wrangler grumbled as he picked up his cards.<\/p>\n They\u2019d been playing steadily for two hours, money changing hands without any of them becoming richer. \u201cHow about playing for real money?\u201d Willy asked, slapping at an arrow meant for him, bouncing it harmlessly against the stone fireplace, which rendered it useless by separating the stone point from the wooden shaft.<\/p>\n \u201cThis\u00a0is<\/em>\u00a0real money,\u201d Bertie said, pointing to the bills in front of him.<\/p>\n \u201cI mean playing for everything we got,\u201d Willy said.<\/p>\n The four men gave the suggestion a brief thought and then agreed that it sounded like a good idea. Chances were pretty good that one of them would make it out of the shack alive, presuming the Indians didn\u2019t give up any time soon. Whether or not that man held the winning hand was another matter entirely. In the meantime, their focus was on the game itself, working a strategy to outlast the other players.<\/p>\n Joe reached into his jacket pocket and pulled forth his last thirteen dollars. Thirteen might be an unlucky number but it had to be better than holding five of a kind. He wished they\u2019d declared some other card to be wild instead of deuces as four of a kind, while a winner, was much safer, especially since he didn\u2019t know if five aces trumped a royal flush. Well, there wasn\u2019t a chance that one of the other players could have a royal since he held all of the aces. His Adam\u2019s apple suddenly bobbed as if he was trying to swallow a large lump of congealed oatmeal as he realized his opponents would assume he\u2019d marked the cards, accuse him of cheating, toss him to the Indians, and keep his money. Maybe he could find a way to sneak an ace out of his hand and draw another card from the deck without the others noticing. All he needed was a distraction.<\/p>\n Newt felt a crawling itch on the back of his head and picked up his pistol to scratch at it with the barrel. Just for good measure, he fired a shot over his shoulder, which knocked a brave from his speeding horse. The Indian bounced like a sack of potatoes into the path of several other ponies, resulting in a collision that downed man and horse alike. One of the braves staggered to his feet and then belly-crawled to the shack so the white men wouldn\u2019t be aware of his presence. He hopped up onto a barrel and pulled himself onto the roof of the structure. Knowing patience was on his side, he drew a monocle taken during a wagon train raid from a pouch at his waist and adjusted the thick glass until the sun\u2019s rays were focused on one wooden shingle.<\/p>\n The men continued to raise and bluff as they waited until every last dollar was in the middle of the table. None of them were in a hurry to place all of their money in the growing stack since the Indians were still on the warpath.<\/p>\n \u201cIs that smoke?\u201d asked Bertie as he wrinkled up his nose to get another sniff as he leaned to the left to avoid an oncoming arrow.<\/p>\n Willy pulled his cigarette from between his teeth, took in a deep whiff, and then smelled his cigarette for comparison. \u201cIt ain\u2019t me,\u201d he finally said.<\/p>\n Joe looked at the ceiling, realizing he finally had the much-needed distraction. He hoped a windstorm would suddenly rush across the open land, sparking what might be a few flames into a conflagration.<\/p>\n An unexpected animal-like yowling got the men\u2019s attention and they saw a flaming Indian fall from the roof and run for his fellow tribesmen. Two braves came to a sudden stop and doused their companion from their shiny metal canteens, stolen from an Army detachment. The smoldering Indian slowly rolled to his knees, accepted a helping hand, and then climbed aboard one of the horses to begin circling the shack again. With the spectacle over, the men again concentrated on the game.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, Boys, this is the last of it,\u201d announced Willy as he counted his coins before adding them to the pot.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m all in,\u201d said Bertie, adding his final wrinkled dollars to the pile on the table.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s all I got,\u201d declared Newt.<\/p>\n \u201cSame here,\u201d said Joe as he placed his final thirteen dollars with the rest of the money.<\/p>\n \u201cTime to show \u2018em,\u201d declared Bertie.<\/p>\n A flaming arrow flew into the room and lodged itself in the window frame on the opposite side. Before it could even singe the wood, Newt spat tobacco juice on it, putting the fire out.<\/p>\n Joe said a small prayer for deliverance and waited his turn to show his cards. Willy laid down a hand of tens over fours\u2014a full house. Turned out Bertie had absolutely nothing that could even be confused for a good hand and was now flat broke.<\/p>\n Newt chuckled as he laid down a hand consisting of three sevens and two deuces. \u201cFive of a kind,\u201d he said smugly.<\/p>\n \u201cThere ain\u2019t no such thing as five of a kind,\u201d Willy said in protest.<\/p>\n \u201cWhaddya call that?\u201d asked Newt, pointing to his cards.<\/p>\n \u201cA full house?\u201d suggested Joe.<\/p>\n \u201cTwo pair?\u201d asked Bertie.<\/p>\n \u201cI say it\u2019s five of a kind,\u201d said Newt picking up his pistol from the table to make his point.<\/p>\n Before Newt could reach for the pot, Joe laid his cards down and said, \u201cThis is what five of a kind looks like.\u201d Three sets of eyes looked at the cards, narrowed in suspicion, and then looked into a pair of green eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cThis here\u2019s your deck,\u201d said Newt menacingly as he waved his pistol through the air.<\/p>\n \u201cYou were the dealer this hand,\u201d reminded Joe as his fingers connected with the barrel of his gun.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy you\u2026\u201d was all Newt got out before smoke began pouring from the fireplace, filling the room and making the men cough. The whoops and hollers of the Indians seemed to die away.<\/p>\n Joe heard a rather distant bang and assumed he\u2019d been shot even though he didn\u2019t feel any pain. It was hard to breathe, though, so he was sure the bullet had hit his chest. A sudden pressure confirmed his suspicion as he gasped for one final breath.<\/p>\n A hand slapped his cheek and a voice called his name, but he figured it was just one of the fellahs, hoping he had a few extra dollars on his person; maybe it was Bertie needing a match to light a cigarette. Either way, they could have had the decency to wait until his body was cold rather than scavenging while he was losing his grip on his mortal coil.<\/p>\n He suddenly felt cold and very wet. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was in a water trough. His jacket had been removed so no wonder he felt chilled.<\/p>\n \u201cGlad to see you\u2019re back with us,\u201d said Ben, concern reflected in his dark eyes.<\/p>\n Joe looked around and saw both of his brothers standing nearby; Hoss held a green jacket that had seen better days in one hand and Adam held the remains of what might have been a book. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d Joe finally asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNear as we can tell, you fell asleep with an almost empty pot of stew over the fire. I suppose it finally got hot enough to start smoking but ended up filling the lineshack because of a big ol\u2019 squirrel nest in the chimney,\u201d said Hoss. \u201cA few sparks must\u2019ve gotten loose and landed on the blanket that was on the bed. Good thing we were coming out here anyway to drop off some coffee and flour.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe looked around in confusion and asked, \u201cWhat about the Indians?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat Indians?\u201d asked Ben.<\/p>\n \u201cThere were Indians. They chased me, shot arrows at me and the fellahs, and then set the place on fire.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat \u2018fellahs\u2019?\u201d asked Ben.<\/p>\n \u201cThe ones who were here. We were playing poker. I had five of a kind.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s no such thing as five of a kind,\u201d said Adam.<\/p>\n Ben shook his head and extended a hand to help his youngest from the water trough. \u201cBetter climb out of there before you catch pneumonia. It\u2019s too busy a time of year for any of you boys to be laid up sick.\u201d He looked Joe over and, other than the smudges of soot on his cheeks and forehead, he looked to be fine. Placing a hand on the back of his son\u2019s neck, he gently massaged the tension away. Feeling a shiver, he told Adam, \u201cGive your coat to Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n Adam complied with his father\u2019s request even though he wasn\u2019t pleased with the idea of having a soggy coat once Joe was through with it. He did have to agree that the warmth would help his brother dry out a bit quicker.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, let\u2019s get this place cleaned up,\u201d said Ben with a squeeze to Joe\u2019s shoulder before heading inside the shack, followed closely by Hoss.<\/p>\n Heading for the doorway, Adam handed a book cover to Joe with a drawing that, though burned, showed four men holding cards at a table piled high with money and an Indian climbing through a window. In bold lettering was:\u00a0Jake Wheelwright Bet Everything, Even His Life, In A Game Of Poker<\/em>.<\/p>\n Confusion flickered on Joe\u2019s face\u2014the game and the whooping Indians had all seemed so real, not a dream. \u201cI never even got to finish this one,\u201d he finally said wistfully.<\/p>\n Adam said, \u201cDead Man\u2019s Hand<\/em>, quite a tale. Shame about the money, though.\u201d He gave Joe a wink before going inside.<\/p>\n \u201cWhaddya mean? Adam? What happened to the money?\u201d<\/p>\n The End \u00a0Author’s Note:\u00a0Lisa began a “bad first line” thread over at another site and one of my contributions sparked this story; thank you, Girlfriend!.\u00a0 A big thanks to southplains for beta-reading and offering suggestions and encouragement.<\/em><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nJuly 2010<\/p>\n
\nDate:\u00a0<\/span>26 May 2012 01:03 pm\u00a0Title:\u00a0<\/span>Dead Man’s Hand\u00a0LOL! \u00a0I’m glad you provided info about the “bad first line” prompt as I was really wondering about that. \u00a0Loved the visuals during the poker game, the arrow lighting the match, the random shooting that scored unintentionally . . . right down to the ending. \u00a0All of it delightful!*<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\nDate:\u00a0<\/span>23 Dec 2010 08:03 am\u00a0Title:\u00a0<\/span>Dead Man’s Hand\u00a0Great story Patina!Author’s Response:<\/i><\/i>Thank you, jojay.*<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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