“You know Pasadena, oui, Calhoun? That is where you met our Adelia—on a supply trip for Mr. ’oundstooth, was it not? A decade ago, oui?”

“I don’t wanna talk about Adelia,” Cal slurred. “I miss Adelia so—” He hiccupped. “—so much, and I don’t wanna talk about her. She won’—she won’ even talk to me about the baby, Regina. After what I did for her? She came back to me and then, and then she left, an’—I don’t wanna talk about her, no, no thank you.”

“Ah, of course, of course—” Cal interrupted Archie before she could finish agreeing not to talk about Adelia.

“I met ’er in Pasadena, you know,” he said, having already apparently forgotten that Archie had said just that a few moments before. “I met ’er there and I loved—I loved her right away. I was so nice to her, but she just wouldn’t even lookuhme.” He slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “Wouldn’t go home with a ranch hand, no sir. Too good for that!” His too-loud voice suddenly wobbled. “Too good for me. But I showed her, I did everything he asked me to do and then some—”

Other patrons of the Sturgess Queen’s bar were starting to stare. Archie put a hand on Cal’s elbow. “Perhaps we should get you to bed, non? It would appear that you are winning. Best to quit while you are ahead, is it not?”

Cal shook his finger at her, squinting. “Not yet,” he said in a stage whisper. “Not yet. I’m not done yet.” He turned back to the dealer, who had observed this exchange with the removed patience of experience, and slapped the felt hard enough that one of his stacks of cash fell over. He left his hand where it lay, and his gaze swam up to meet the dealer’s eyes. “Himme.”

The dealer did as he was told, and Archie saw at once that she should not have allowed Cal to touch the table.

“Twenty-one. Again. Excellent, Mr. Hotchkiss.” The dealer smiled at Cal, but his smile did not extend to his eyes. He moved his hand as though to shift more cash to Cal’s side of the table, but at the last moment, he seized Cal’s wrist instead.

Archie sprang from her stool, her hand going automatically to her empty holster, as the dealer gripped Cal’s wrist and waved his other hand in a signal. Mr. Travers appeared as though from thin air, his hands clasped soberly behind his back.

“Well now, Mr. Hotchkiss. What have you been up to?”

The dealer lifted Cal’s hand, revealing a single card underneath it.

“This is the fourth card he’s swapped, Mr. Travers, sir. I wasn’t sure at first, but, well.” The dealer smiled at the small army of empty highball glasses that littered the table. “He got sloppy.”