The Cat in the Black Hat Comes Back
By Brate
"I heard already," snarled the gunslinger and stormed away, leaving a very shocked townsperson in the street.
Larabee had only been back in town for twenty minutes and this was the third time someone tried to tell him how JD had outsmarted Vin. Chris was furious. Not only had that 'child' accomplished what he had not, Chris hadn't been there to bear witness to it. The dark clad man was the one being humiliated by that damn cowboy left and right, yet the youngest of the group had been able to take the tracker to task. This wasn't something that Larabee could let go.
He marched into the Saloon, passing by Ezra at the gaming table, and continued on to the back, sitting next to Vin. "Lot of hoopla, Pard," commented the gunslinger.
"Yep," the tracker agreed. "Damn kid got me."
"And I missed it."
They both turned at the sound of the gambler's curse. Chris smiled. "Sounds like Ezra's luck is failing."
"Yep."
The blond downed his whiskey in one swig. "Well, I'm going to my room, sleep in a real bed."
"I'm heading to the bathhouse."
"That time of year already?"
"Fuck you, Larabee."
~~OO~~OO~~OO~~
Ezra Standish watched his fellow regulators leave the Saloon, and turned back to his hand, containing a groan at the cards it contained. Losing five straight rounds to such witless fellows was entirely unforgivable. He could in no way understand why the outcomes were against him.
Until he looked closer at his cards.
He realized they were marked. That part was not entirely surprising. It was the fact that they were marked incorrectly. He'd been handing out the wrong cards all day! Who could have changed his deck?
Ezra looked at each of the men he was challenging and knew immediately that those cretins combined, would barely have enough intelligence to order a drink, let alone re-mark his cards.
~~OO~~OO~~OO~~
Vin Tanner tipped his hat at the man in black and walked over to the bathhouse. He'd been meaning to get cleaned up, but something always seemed to get in his way. It's not as if he were filthy, just a mite dusty. There was no one else in the house, so he stripped down and got into the tub furthest from the door. He leaned his head back and then sank under the water to get rid of some grime in his hair.
The tracker surfaced and shook out his head, spraying water on the floor, and reached for the soap. In the next instant he stopped dead and looked around. Standing around the bathhouse were four of the saloon girls.
"May I help y'all?" asked the tracker trying his best not to stutter.
"Don't worry 'bout a thing, Sugar," said Blossom. "We just need to get ourselves cleaned up." And with that, the woman started to undress and motioned for the others to do the same.
"Why... ahem... why don't I git outta here and you kin have the place to yerselves?" reasoned the blushing gentleman, trying his utmost to keep his eyes fixed on his own area.
Rosita answered, "That would be awfully nice of you, Mr. Tanner. Thank you."
Vin nodded. "Okay, if you ladies would leave for a moment, I'll git dressed and git gone."
"Now that's just plain ridiculous." Blossom around looked at her associates. "It's not like you have anything we haven't seen before, has he, girls?"
Headshakes and negative confirmations were given as the women continued to watch the now red-faced tracker. Vin saw no way out of this fiasco. As he stood up and dressed as quickly as humanly possible, he wondered who could have set him up.
~~OO~~OO~~OO~~
Larabee nodded to his friend when they parted ways. The gunfighter watched Vin go into the bathhouse and then headed up to his room in the boarding house. Although his shack was becoming livable, it wasn't quite there yet. He definitely needed to get a better bed out there. He figured since staying in this town he'd become used to sleeping in a fairly comfortable bed: the gunslinger was going soft. He chuckled at the thought of what his fellow lawmen's reactions to that idea would be.
Chris reached his room and stepped inside, eyeing the bed. Then the blond scanned the room and saw a pack of his cheroots on the dresser. He'd run out yesterday and forgotten his other pack here, so he was in the mood for a smoke before resting. He opened the cover and tapped one out. Placing it between his lips he lit it and inhaled deeply.
On his third inhalation, it exploded.
~~OO~~OO~~OO~~
That night at the Saloon, the seven regulators sat in silence. The only noise heard from the table was the clatter of silverware scraping against the plates, and the clink of glasses. The glares were potent and plentiful as they shot back and forth across the table.
Finally the ladies' man broke the silence. "What the hell is that smell? JD, cain't ya take a bath once in awhile?"
"Like you don't know, Buck," the young sheriff shot back. No one noticed the startled look or the blush emanating from the tracker.
"How should I know why you smell like my horse?"
"I'm sure you're not the one that put manure in my bowler today," JD accused.
"I did no such thing. And I'm sure it wasn't you that had all my pants shortened by a foot! I had to borrow a pair from Yosemite until I could get 'em fixed."
The men started to chuckle at the image of this tall man with his pants resting over his boots. Josiah spoke up, "Turns out someone decided that the good book wasn't good enough."
"What do you mean?" asked Nathan.
"All my bibles were replaced with copies of that dime novel by Jock Steele."
"Seems like I'm not immune to the mad prankster either," stated the healer. "My medicine was dumped out and replaced with whiskey."
"Hell, Nathan. That's not a prank, it's a blessin'!" chuckled the sharpshooter, who usually referred to the medicine as 'horse piss'. "What 'bout you, Ezra?"
The gambler knew he couldn't admit to having his cards marked wrong, unless he admitted they were marked in the first place. "I believe my misfortune to be my own business. What about you, Mr. Tanner?"
"Same here," said the tracker too quickly, ducking his head down.
JD turned to their leader. "Anything happen to you, Chris?"
"Gunpowder in my cheroot," was the growled answer, as if daring them to laugh. No one did.
"Gentlemen, it seems that one of us has been busy. Any takers?" No one came forward with a confession. The glares were scathing, and each man felt the burn while secure in their own innocence.
Then Mary Travis entered the establishment. The men stared as she swept through the crowd and stopped at their table. "Now what did we do?" whispered JD at her approach.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
"Ma'am."
"Mrs. Travis."
"I would hope that today taught you a well-deserved lesson," she said looking around at the regulators.
"To what are you referring?" the gambler asked.
"I have the feeling that lately you have forgotten you were hired to protect the town, not to play tricks on each other." The newspaperwoman chuckled at the dazed expressions on the faces of the 'bad element.' She told the healer, "Nathan, I have your medicine and will return it tomorrow. Goodness knows you will need it shortly if your luck holds, gentlemen. And I will have Billy bring your bibles by, Josiah."
Mary smiled as the men realized just who had managed to pull a prank on every one of them. "No hard feelings, gentlemen?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Travis," Chris assured smoothly. "We all know how to take a joke."
Mary smiled, nodded and turned to walk out of the Saloon. When she passed through the swinging doors, the leader continued his thought. "And the best way to take it is with a little revenge."
