The piano tinkled in the far corner of the smoke-filled drinking room – the downstairs of the only worthwhile saloon in Crow, Nevada, Population: 182. A lazy sort of Sunday afternoon mood hung in the air. None of the men here had been to the parish service that morning; the women here never went. The barkeep ran a damp rag over the worn but polished countertop, while the town drunk sat in the middle of the staircase, tapping his class to a tune no one else heard.
Near the center of the room, a round card table focused most of drowsy attention. On one side sat Isaiah Standish – gunslinger, privateer – squarely positioned in his chair, rearranging the cards in his hands. Ace, King, King, Two, Four – four Clubs and a heart. A husky-voiced brunette hung around his shoulders, giving him bad poker advice. More importantly, she distracted him from the heat and poured another two fingers from the whiskey bottle whenever his tumbler went dry. She would likely convince him to stay another night. There was a roundness about her that appealed to him, and she was the best company he’d had in several months. She leaned across him in a pleasant, bosomy sort of way and tapped the spare King. Ignoring her motion, he threw down the low cards in exchange for another set of low cards, both spades. She shrugged, not at all bothered that he dismissed her suggestion. He liked that about her.
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