Outlaw Born

Outlaw Born-Chapter One

Ben knocked back his last shot of whiskey and pulled three cards from his set. He placed them face down next to the dealer. Too late did he realize he had given away one of his threes. The only pair he held, though it be a weak one, the same as his knees in that moment.

The dealer thumbed out his three replacements. Before Ben could pick them up and survey the damage, his opponent had an ego ruling moment of his own.

With a smirk at the corner of his handle-bar mustache, the man pushed all of the money he had taken from the young cattleman into the center of the table. "Winner takes all, rancher."

Ben pushed in the last of his wealth to join the pile of paper and coin. There was no reason to keep his concern hidden now. The gambler knew he had Ben in a tight spot.

His hand on the three cards, Ben exhaled and set them next to the others he held. He couldn't bear to look as the dealer called and bid them to show their cards.

A few of the saloon patrons had taken a leisurely interest in the game as players began to drop away from the high stakes table. Now the bystanders moved in closer for the reveal. Ben felt the heat of the room as his pulse beat in his ears.

The gambler laid out first, his cards fanned out as they left his fingers. The dealer examined them. "Pair of Queens."

Ben sighed sure his hand would have nothing of value after he fumbled and gave away half of his only pair. His eyes gazed at the gambler leaning back with a sated expression as he puffed on his spiced cigar. Ben had a moment of deep hate for the man as he placed his cards to the felt with much less flair.

The gambler's expression changed as he looked over. Ben turned his eyes down to the cards as the dealer spoke the verdict. "Two pair, Mr. Mason wins the pot."

Relief filled every cell in his body. Ben made a silent pact between him and God not to let 'o be joyful' get to his head like this again.

Luck had been at his side that night in his youth or his fate might have been different.

Since joining the war near the middle of 61', Ben had become more adept at the game. There wasn't much energy left the end of the day for more than a few hands of cards. It was a kind of escape for he and the men, a moment of normality amongst hours of bloodshed or tedious march.

Ben had joined some of his men after supper, earlier that night. He had been quite fortunate. His stack of matches had doubled from the night before. Just as he was about to offer a friendly jib about his card sharp skills, he looked down. Lady luck had seen fit to remind him of that one night long ago.

He felt his gut knot as his eyes gazed upon a king, two aces and two eights. The same hand as that one a decade ago, he took it as an omen. Omens were fickle. They would appear, but then wouldn't tell you what they meant or who for.

He sighed deeply and closed the cards to hide the dark ones behind the smiling king. "I fold, gentlemen. I owe my wife a long overdue letter."

Ben tossed the cards into the center of the table and quickly moved into his tent. Where he now sat at the small table with the photo in hand as he wrote. His eyes fell to the still discarded omen as it lay next to his pile of matches.

He admitted those cards unnerved him. With the morning looming closer, it felt as though a bill was about to be called due. Before battle, perhaps he should see the good Reverend for one of those blessings he was so fond of dispensing.

**

The wait. It was the worst part of war. Ben and his men had held their current position in the wood since well before dawn. A few more of these scrimmages and they would be in Nashville. The target within reach didn't make the wait any easier.