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own using money from their own pockets. Indeed, those side games were exactly why so many entrants had shown up so early. More often than not, the winners at those private games made out better than the winner of the tournament. Sizing up the others at his table, Clint doubted he’d get quite so lucky.
    Next to Wendell was an Irishman named Mack, who wore a dark blue suit and played the part of a professional card sharp. Mack either played the role better than he lived it or he was lying low, because his poker skills weren’t overly impressive.
    Sitting between Mack and Clint was a kid who had to be in his very early twenties. Just looking at his clothes, anyone might have mistaken him for a cowboy who’d wandered into Pace’s for a stiff drink and the company of a pretty girl. He was a nice enough fellow, but seemed even younger the moment he opened his mouth.
    â€œHolee smokes!” the cowboy exclaimed as he raked in a pot that sheer luck had given him. “I sure do like this game.”
    There was always a chance that the act was something being put on to make the cowboy seem like less of a threat, but Clint doubted that was the case. There simply wasn’t an easy way to fake such wide-eyed enthusiasm. If the cowboy wasn’t much of a gambler, he at least had some good jokes to help while away the time before the tournament began.
    More than once during those hands, the pot was built up well beyond what it might get to in the tournament’s early stages. While Mack pulled in enough to make it worth his while to get up and leave before the tournament even started, Clint pulled in enough to make up his entry fee. From then on, it would be just a good night of poker. Of course, he would be dashing some high hopes if he took the night so lightly.
    Delilah was at her faro table, doing her best to smile at her players while dealing her cards. All the while, she watched Clint carefully. He guessed she was also getting occasional reports about his progress, because her mood directly reflected his winning and losing streaks, despite the fact that they were nowhere near each other. Considering the circumstances of the way they’d met, Clint tried not to look at her too often.
    About a quarter to eight, the fifth player at Clint’s table took his seat between Clint and the young cowboy. Bull wore the same clothes as he had the night before, and had the same bland expression on his face.
    â€œEvenin’,” Bull said to each of the other players. If he recognized Clint or Wendell, he gave no indication.
    When Clint dealt the next hand, Bull was taken aback. “Tournament ain’t started yet,” Bull said.
    â€œSure,” Clint replied. “These are just friendly games.”
    â€œFriendly enough to make ol’ Mack rich as hell!” the cowboy chuckled.
    Bull looked at his cards and immediately folded. He did the same for every hand after that until the owner of Pace’s stepped up to announce the start of the tournament.

TEN
    At ten o’clock, the owner of Pace’s stepped up again. Clint still didn’t know the man’s name, but he dressed like a dandy, carried himself like a mayor, and talked like a carnival barker. While most of the men drifted toward the bar or outhouses, Clint glanced over to the faro tables. He may have felt a pull in that direction because Delilah was staring at him hard enough to burn holes through his hat.
    Pace’s Emporium was packed to the rafters. Apparently, the tournament was known far and wide throughout the area and attracted folks from the entire county. Delilah pointed toward one of the side doors and then said something to Carl, who sat in his usual seat beside her. Since he knew he couldn’t exactly get away from her, Clint followed Delilah’s direction and shoved his way through the crowd toward the side door.
    It was a cool night, but not as chilly as the night before. The side door Delilah had