Tiff's Game (Perry County Frontier Series) Read online

  Shattos had always been around. Old Robbie Shatto with his gold banded peg foot had been dead only a few years. Chip Shatto, Rob's son, lived on a farm up in Pfoutz Valley. There were other Shattos around Shermansdale, but it was unsure how they were related. Tiff Shatto? Apparently a cousin or a nephew of Chip's. Came from out west, it was said.

  Why was Tiff Shatto challenging Mister Haycock with big money? It was first reported that they didn't like each other. Later, word spread that Shatto wanted Haycock's box fighter for himself. A few knew Tiny Doyle. They expected the giant could be a world's champion bare knuckler.

  The big money game was the stuff of mysteries. A stranger rides in and challenges the controversial big man for all he possesses. Tiff Shatto, the handbills guaranteed, intended to gamble, win or lose, a huge bag of double eagles. With a full ten hour day of labor bringing in only a dollar, even a single ten dollar eagle was serious money indeed. Mister Haycock, it was equally assured, would stack his own gold as high as Shatto's for all to see.

  The barge had been tied in a slip, with docks close on each side. Because the docks were narrow, planks had been laid across adjoining slips creating wide platforms where observers could gather. Just off the platforms, hogsheads were upturned, waiting for the barrelhead gamblers who would use them as temporary deal tables.

  As promised, lanterns were hung by the dozens. After dark, they would reasonably approach the advertised "daylight lighting."

  By noon, drummers were already in evidence. A peddler displayed his improved model horseshoes, said to better grip and be easier on an animal's hooves. Medicinal wagons and booths were in place, their products' dramatic healing properties demonstrated in graphic before and after paintings. A seller of surplus military harness and muskets drew lookers and, it appeared, a few buyers. Older men drilled with the dealer's long guns in a small catch-up company, recalling their glory days in the Great War between the states.

  The picnic, it appeared, would far surpass original intentions. Roads were in the best spring condition anyone could remember. Although they were cursed as potholed, rutted, uneven, narrow, rocky, and a hundred earthier terms, at least the roads were dry without the often knee deep clay and mud soup conditions common to most springs. Farmers automatically worried about enough moisture for crops, but weather was never quite right for farmers, anyway.

  A shooting match began and continued intermittently against a bank, and the surplus seller, who had probably instigated the contest, did traffic in a few more rifled muskets and minié-bulleted cartridges, also veterans of the Civil War.

  Men played horseshoes and women gathered in sewing and child-watching groups. Communal fires flared, preparing coals for evening cooking. Children tore about, their boundless energies churned by new sights and the excitement of staying up far beyond the usual hour.

  Harry Brown took it all in with studied satisfaction. Mister Haycock would arrive on the cars, and if Shatto was not yet present, they would pick up good money while waiting. The barrelhead gamblers were coming on the same train, along with a number of armed guards hired to protect the large amount of gold Mister Haycock would display.

  Brown did not think of their barge game as gambling. Mister Haycock's gold was in no more danger of being lost than it was when locked in a bank vault. He and Shelly had practiced their signals. Brown used his trusted team of toughs, having them occupy the chairs and play hours of blackjack, while he and Shelly relayed their signals to the player pretending to be Mister Haycock. In blackjack, some hands could not be beaten, but those few did not matter. Knowing the other's card total would make Mister Haycock a sure winner.

  As promised, the county sheriff was on hand. He wore his small pearl handled pistol in a vest pocket and went about shaking hands and politicking in general. Everything was set. All they needed was Tiff Shatto and, of course, his fat moneybag.

  Tiff and Chip Shatto, Captain Carter Roth, Tiny Doyle, and Lily rode down with four straight-shooting Pfoutz Valley men. All wore their weapons openly, and the valley men guarded with a pair well out ahead and two behind—where they would not be pinned down in the unlikely event of an ambush. None expected any interference, but the game had been advertised up and down the rivers and in Harrisburg and Carlisle. Who could be sure that some dangerous and desperate band would not be tempted? If they were, the ready rifles and spread out formation would turn them away.

  Both families had gone down early to enjoy the socializing. Lily chose to ride with Tiff, which surprised no one.

  Tiny Doyle straddled a huge plow horse whose unhurriable pace determined the party's progress. Doyle carried an eight gauge, single-barreled shotgun with a barrel long enough to intimidate a battalion. The gun was good for hitting high-flying geese or shooting into a rising flock. Because the eight gauge was Doyle's only gun, he was surprisingly good with it. Out to seventy yards or so, Tiny Doyle would cause severe injury.

  Despite Doyle's heavy footed mount, the party made good time. They reached the aqueduct and unsaddled and watered their mounts before tying them among other animals. The boys had come over to feed and water their horses and they recrossed the river together, the Pfoutz Valley riflemen choosing to walk their animals across the aqueduct and to tie them handier to the activities.

  Tiff had placed their gold in heavy leather military saddle pouches made originally for carrying maps and documents. George and the Roth boys made much of carrying the heavy load through the still assembling throng to their families' spot. In fact, it proved necessary that each youth suffer a face-grimacing turn during the passage, lest someone not recognize the enormous wealth and the carrier's importance to the endeavor.

  Chip observed the performance with open admiration. "Carter, those boys of yours may end up as play actors. Look at those agonized expressions. They get that from you all right."

  The Pfoutz Valley riflemen and Tiny Doyle stayed serious, taking positions around the grounded gold pouches with weapons in hand. Tiff doubted there was any chance of the money disappearing.

  Haycock's party arrived in a rushing swoop. They, too, had guards. Their preference was shotguns, but none approached the awesome length or bore of Tiny Doyle's goose fowler. Haycock's hired gamblers spread out, and their cards appeared. Players drifted over, and the hawkers of various wares increased their already strident appeals.

  Brown's finger pointed, and Haycock's eyes met Tiff's. No spark passed between. To Haycock, this was only business. Tiff did not allow his excitement to show. No hint of his intent to foil Haycock's crooked planning could be revealed. Tiff's features were those of a professional. They told nothing.

  Of course, that in itself was information for Haycock's mill. Tiff's outward calm demonstrated experience. No one unskilled at cards could possibly be unmoved at risking a fortune. Tiff Shatto, Haycock recognized, had played before.

  Haycock had expected nothing less. His gaze moved on to take in the crowd. Acquaintances waved or called out. Haycock nodded solemnly and shook a few proffered hands before disappearing within his barge's quarters.

  Tiff guessed they were to wait a while. He produced a card deck and amused a few boys who had come close to look with respect at the pouches containing a veritable treasure. Other youths came quickly, and Tiff made friends with coins or cards appearing and disappearing.

  Carter suggested anxiously, "He's going to wear himself out playing all them tricks."

  Chip exclaimed, "What do you want him to do, sit there sweating until Haycock is ready to play?"

  Lily touched them both. "Tiff is all right. He is relaxing and letting his mind run a little."

  "How are you feeling, Lily?" Chip recognized that Lily's calm and concentration would be as important as Tiff's.

  "Why I'm fine." Her eyes snapped. "For me, this is going to be fun. Tiff has to do the playing, I just help him see the cards." She laughed a little. "Even if I could know every card, I wouldn't know how to win. I can't think quickly enough to play like Tiff does."

  C
hip smiled at the girl's approval of his nephew. "You two are really stuck on each other, aren't you, Lily?"

  Her answer was earnest and pleased sounding. "We surely are, Mister Shatto. We haven't talked too much about it, but we will stay together all right."

  Chip said gently, "Tiff will go back to the west, Lily. You know that, I guess."

  She appeared slightly puzzled that it should make a difference. "Then I will go, too, Mister Shatto." She said again, as if to bury any doubts Chip might harbor. "Tiff and I will stay together."

  The small man who sweated heavily had gotten up from among his fellows and was making his way toward the galley. Brown stood atop the barge surveying the crowd. Tiff quickly said, "Don't look as though you were watching. We don't want them suspecting just yet."

  The galley doors closed and a moment later, Haycock appeared and entered the open sided gaming room. He stepped about, directing that a table of new cards be moved a little. He chose a seat and settled into it.

  Brown's eyes caught Tiff's and he nodded. Tiff rose, drew a final coin from an admiring boy's ear and said, "Let's go."

  George got to carry the gold pouches, doing so now with the strength of excitement. Tiny and the riflemen came along. Holding a thick roll of handouts, Chip positioned himself at the front of the crowd.

  Tiff helped Lily aboard, noting that the galley doors were again open and that a high cupboard door also hung ajar. The crowd buzzed excitedly at the unexpected presence of a woman, and Tiff could hear voices asking who she was. George handed over the gold pouches, and Tiff followed Lily aboard.

  Haycock rose. His bow to Lily was graceful if measured. He did not extend a hand for shaking, nor did Tiff offer his. Brown, who had also come in said only, "Mister Haycock, Mister Shatto."

  Tiff began unpacking his gold. He placed double eagle gold pieces in stacks until Haycock said quietly, "I can only match that amount, Mister Shatto."

  Tiff put the rest away and handed the pouches out to George, who even with the depleted bags, chose to stand safely close to his father.

  Chip whispered, "That's your money on the table, Roth. Mine's still in the bags."

  Carter was vehement. "Like hell it is!"

  Haycock's banker matched Tiff's stacked gold. He came up a half pile short, but Tiff waved him away. The gambler sat down to take stock and allow the excited buzz of the thickened crowd to die. A man's voice rose enthusiastically, "Get him, Mister Haycock." Other voices clamored in support or rejection.

  Haycock said coldly, "We do not usually wear pistols at this table, Mister Shatto."

  Tiff did not smile. "Does that include the derringer in your vest, Mister Haycock?"

  If Haycock was embarrassed by the disclosure, he did not reveal it. As if the pistol question had not been raised, the gambler signaled the card-stacked side table closer.

  Haycock selected a deck of cards and slid it forward for Tiff's examination. Tiff merely tapped the deck, indicating acceptance. With his man overhead, Haycock would not bother with marked cards, and once he understood Tiff's experience, he would not dare. Haycock unboxed the cards and prepared to discard the jokers and shuffle.

  Tiff said, "There is one more thing, Mister Haycock." Tiff accepted a pair of handbills from Lily and extended the first to the banker and the second to Haycock.

  The banker focused for a moment, then choked and visibly buckled. The paper shook in his hand, and Tiff feared he would faint.

  A muscle jumped along Haycock's jaw, and Tiff saw a fingertip whiten from pressure on the handbill. Tiff said nothing. The drawing of the barge with a figure lying in the false ceiling was clear. The explanation of the look-through glass and carried-in signals was only icing.

  Haycock's head nodded. His expression did not alter. Tiff could respect that kind of control.

  Haycock spoke to his banker. "Calm yourself, Charles. Mister Shatto has something to say or he would already have handed these out." Haycock carefully folded his handbill before letting his cold eyes meet Tiff's.

  Tiff thought, "The man is iron," and was pleased because a strong man would not crack and do something rash, perhaps fatal.

  Tiff told Haycock how it would be. He saw no outs, and doubted the gambler would try for any. "First, you will quietly remove your spy from the ceiling. I will put my man aboard to ensure that the attic remains empty." Tiff allowed a mouth comer to crook upward.

  "You will hand over Tiny Doyle's IOUs, and I will immediately tear them up. Then, I will give you all of our handouts." He nodded toward Chip, who enthusiastically waved his roll of papers.

  "After that, if you wish, we will play blackjack until one or the other's table stake is gone."

  The banker wheezed as if suffering asthma. Haycock's features remained frozen while he weighed options. The crowd had silenced, waiting, realizing something peculiar was going on, but unable to hear the discussion.

  Haycock found no options. The sketch was irrefutably clear. It would be clear even to those who could not read the words. Exposure had always been a risk because the ceiling with its betraying lenses existed as proof. Unlike marked cards, it could not easily disappear. For an instant, Haycock toyed with the idea of dumping kerosene and quickly burning the barge. Impractical at best—with a crowd of helpful hands heaving water from the canal, arson would be too slow, and with Shatto's handbills circulating, a deliberate burning would prove the accusation. Haycock recognized the checkmate.

  He said, "I Understand you to mean that no mention of our arrangement nor the circumstances involved will ever be passed on." Haycock emphasized the word, "ever," but his voice neither rose nor faltered.

  Tiff said only, "That is correct."

  With no reasonable alternative, Haycock accepted. He hesitated only an instant, holding Tiff's eyes, striving to bind the promise of silence between them.

  Haycock's finger flicked and Brown was at his side. The gambler said, "Get Shelly out of the ceiling. Mister Shatto will have a man in the galley while we play."

  Lily left Tiff's side to accept Chip's roll of handouts. She held them, waiting Haycock's move.

  Behind Tiff, the galley doors closed, and there was muted scuffling from overhead. Haycock sighed and held out his hand. The banker placed Doyle's IOUs in the hand.

  Haycock extended the IOUs, and Lily offered the roll of handouts. Tiff glanced at the scrawled signatures. Tiny Doyle could not read. He had signed what Haycock's banker had produced. The amounts were small, but their total was far more than a man like Tiny could ever accumulate. Tiff tore them twice across, and Lily tucked them away.

  Haycock had not deigned to examine the handbills, but his still trembly banker did. The gambler waited with patience through Tiff's tearing. Then, his voice glacier cold, as emotionless as if nothing had occurred, the gambler asked, "Shall we play now, Mister Shatto, or have you other business."

  Tiff gave not an inch. Lily's hand rested on his shoulder, and he felt the expected clearing of his thoughts. He wondered again how much money Haycock had taken from twisting players at this very table. Surely far more than he was about to lose. It was time Haycock handed some of it back. Tiff said only, "Cut for the deal."

  For the first time, a small smile touched Haycock's lips. It did not extend to the eyes. Perhaps the gambler felt satisfaction, believing he was going to gain a small fortune. More likely, the smile meant nothing. Tiff did not really care. Haycock was about to lose his shirt in a game rigged at least as lopsidedly as he had arranged, if not in exactly the same direction.

  Chapter 19

  Frederick Alfred Haycock had been a gambler all of his life, but he had never intended to remain one. The son of a small time gambler, Frederick Alfred had enjoyed the few ups and suffered through the many downs of his father's marginal profession. A thousand times the father had warned. "Don't try making a living with cards, boy. Get into landholding or own a business with other people doing the work. Gambling will eat your guts and leave you nothing." The father had died young—leaving the
expected nothing, but Frederick Haycock did better.

  A solid, if unimaginative card player, Haycock often won. His father's advice never forgotten, Frederick Alfred invested what he could. He grew steadily more prosperous, planning in time to leave the gaming tables to pursue the role of successful land and business owner.

  The gaming barge had both increased his fortune and delayed his departure. Turning his back on the steady and certain profit his spy in the attic guaranteed was difficult, but now, with the scam exposed, Haycock knew he would leave—once and for all.

  Despite Tiff Shatto's promise, word of the crooked game would leak. So, the false ceiling would have to be removed, and the game made relatively honest. The barge game would then deliver far less profit and hold scant appeal for Haycock.

  At the moment, Haycock faced a challenge he was sure would be difficult, but Shatto was barely a grown man. Haycock had twenty years of hard won experience. Haycock settled himself. The evening might prove long. Unless Shatto bet reckless amounts, a gold stack like his would take hours to whittle down. Haycock's small smile was his only betrayal of how much he was going to enjoy emptying the pockets of the man who had exposed him.

  For a few immeasurable moments Haycock wondered again who Tiff Shatto was. Little had come in. In accent and dress Tiff Shatto was obviously a man of the west. Had he struck gold out there? A man Shatto's age should still be struggling to get started.

  Haycock resolved not to take Tiff Shatto lightly. Somehow, the man had seen through the carefully rigged barge scheme, and Shatto did have those stacks of gold double eagles. The thought of losing did not cross Frederick Haycock's mind. He considered only how long it would require to win all that Tiff Shatto dared to show.

  Haycock won the deal and proceeded to deal himself a blackjack. He stacked his winnings with satisfaction.

  Shatto displayed no emotion. He seemed to barely glance at his own cards, concentrating on the deal and the gambler's hand.