Trapper thought there must be good people in the world—settlers, farmers, traders—but the men he saw at the gaming tables often had dead eyes. They’d given up on life even though they still walked the earth. Others had become hunters looking for their next prey, be it animal or man. But here, in the Lone Star State, he’d found dreamers. And dreamers will always take a chance on the turn of the cards.

He managed to avoid the broken men or those who preyed on the weak as much as he could. Trapper studied people and saw few he wanted to remember.

As the sun set, he tied Midnight to the hitching post in front of the saloon. Be ready to ride had always been his motto. The town might be an important inland port, but Trapper feared trouble could be coming toward him just beyond the bend. A fast horse and lightning action had kept him alive many times.

A wreath of evergreen branches hanging in the bar window looked out of place. Three weeks away from Christmas, he thought, and the saloon boiled with unrest. In a few hours the place would be packed with men, angry and drunk. Like most, Trapper didn’t care about the holiday. It was just another night.

He took a seat at a corner table near the kitchen. When he signed up for the War Between the States, he soon learned that one meal a day was a luxury. He always saved that one meal until sundown.

The thin cook, looking more kid than woman, brought him a plate of the nightly special. Trapper didn’t look up.

“You want anything else?” The shy girl barely raised her head, and the worn hat she wore hid both her hair and her eyes.

“No, I’m good.” He never talked to the women in the saloon more than needed, not even the kitchen help. He knew that as soon as this one filled out, she’d double, maybe triple her pay by climbing the stairs a few times a night. One night he’d see her in a fancy, low-cut dress, and not the rags she wore now. She’d be billed as a virgin for a few months, then the new girl for a while, and finally her rate would drop a bit and she’d simply be one of the doves. Her fancy dress would become ragged and her eyes dull from whiskey.

When the kitchen girl came back for his empty plate, he tipped her. She whispered a thank-you and moved away as a few men joined Trapper, ready to play cards.

Here among down-on-their-luck cowboys, outlaws, and river rats, the game was far more than poker. Trapper had to be able to read men. Sore losers, cheats, men looking for a fight, and even a few looking for a way to die.