EASY MARK
  By Dee Stuart 

  I open my eyes and sure enough, I'm laying in a berth with the sun climbing in 
  the window and them Kansas plains rushing away under me.
  "Floyd," I says to myself, "you're sure high-classing it for a old mule 
  dealer."
  This all come about when spring come along. When coons start mating and their 
  hide gets rubbed from scratching at old fur falling out; when coon hunting's 
  slow and mule trading falls off.
  I tell old Will Grigsby, a printer fella I do bidness with, "Man I'd sure like 
  to take me a little vacation. Sure gets tiresome living in the van and hauling 
  them mules along behind. I'd like to take me a ride on that fancy new Amtrack 
  train goes acrost the country and see the U. S. of A. Trouble is, I can't hack 
  it with no dollars coming in."
  Grigsby says, "I can see you can't afford to see the U. S. of A. in a fancy 
  train and not make no profit. But a smart fella like you oughta make it pay." 
  And then he tells me how I can make it pay. Next thing you know, I'm on this 
  train heading west.
  I get up, have me a big breakfast of ham, eggs, and a big plate of biscuits 
  and gravy in the dining car. Then I go lean back in one of them soft plushy 
  seats and watch the scenery fly by, feeling like a rich man. But after a 
  while, watching them plains and purple hills stretch on and on gets boresome. 
  I mosey on down the aisle through the next car. I see people looking at me 
  funny, smiling like they know me or something. Or maybe they were admiring my 
  new Stetson. I recollect how my friends josh me, how I look like that movie 
  guy Clint Eastwood. I laugh and say, "Shucks, I don't look nothing like him."
  I keep going till I come to the car where Will Grigsby said they was sociable 
  to strangers. Some of them is watching out them windows that curve clear up to 
  the top of the car. Two guys with briefcases, looking like big-shot 
  executives, are setting at a table shooting the bull. One's wearing a black 
  and white checked jacket and black pants. He's built chunky and smiles a lot. 
  The other guy in a turtleneck shirt is puffing on a stogie. He's bald and 
  looks tired. They look kind of well-heeled, like they could swing a mule or 
  two. I set down near them and soon we get to jawing. Right away I find out 
  they deal in stock too, only it ain't no livestock. It's oil.
  "What line of business you in?" Smiley asks.
  "Mules. Lots of rich folks been getting their kicks going coon hunting nights, 
  riding mules."
  Smiley cups his chin in his hands. "Doesn't sound like a high profit item."
  Stogie says, "Give me a horse any time."
  They was getting me riled up. "Well, hell," I says, "ever'body knows there 
  ain't no mule can't outdo a horse when it comes to night trail riding. Riding 
  down steep rocky ravines, acrost streams, through tangled woods and brush, 
  hopping barb wire fences, follering coon dogs trailing them coons. Besides 
  which, you can shoot a gun off a mule's back without him flicking a eyelash, 
  but most horses'll take out from under you, you fire a gun."
  Old Stogie sends up a ring of smoke. "Mule dealing make a pretty good living, 
  does it?"
  "I get three thou for one's green broke and up to six or seven thou for one's 
  been broke. Ain't nobody a better judge of mules than me."
  Just then some dude with a Texas drawl pulls up, says he's in real estate. 
  Puts me in mind of my hound dog Old Red. Big jowls, eyelids drooping under a 
  wrinkled forehead. We shake hands all around and after the jawing runs out, 
  Smiley says, "Whaddya say we have a friendly game of poker?"
  Well, hell, I played a hand or two in my time and I says, "Okay by me."
  "What's your game?" Tex says.
  "Five card draw, one-eyed jacks and jokers wild."
  Smiley's jaw kinda sags and Stogie squints his eyes and says, "I play 
  five-card draw, nothing wild, buck a chip, cash on the barrelhead."
  "That's my game too," says the Texas dude, his eyes glistening like Old Red's 
  when he's picked up a coon scent.
  "I'll go along," I say, figuring I'm outnumbered.
  Smiley snaps open his briefcase and hauls out a box of poker chips. I look at 
  him sharp. He better not try no used cards on me. Then he flags down a man in 
  a white jacket he called "Steward" and asks for a deck of cards.
  Steward says, "Sorry, sir, I thought I'd already brought you a deck out of 
  Dodge City."
  Smiley grins and forks over a coupla dollars. "It must have been two other 
  guys."
  Steward brings Smiley a pack of cards and I watch careful while he breaks it 
  open. We cut for deal and soon we're all sitting there playing five card draw.
  Sometime past La Junta, Colorado, they order drinks all around, but I get me a 
  coke. I learned way back that drinking makes my head feel funny.
  For awhile, things is kinda slow. We all stay about even till we're chugging 
  through the Raton Pass.
  "Well, looky there now," I say, admiring the view. "Have you ever seen 
  anything to beat them snow-top mountains?"
  "Yeah," says Smiley. "An oil well coming in."
  "Are we gonna jaw or play cards?" says Tex.
  I figure I better keep my mind on the game and soon I begin to win some dang 
  big pots. The guys is durn good sports about it. Smiley keeps smiling and 
  Stogie keeps puffing away and I can't hardly see Tex through the layers of 
  blue smoke. Ain't never seen nobody so happy to be losing. And that's what 
  puts me onto them. It just ain't natural.
  I begin to watch real hard when Smiley has the deal. Slick as a mole, his hand 
  slips under the table. I begin to wonder what become of the deck that Steward 
  give somebody out of Dodge. I begin to notice Stogie wiping his nose with a 
  knuckle every once in awhile like there was a fly on it or something. Well, 
  there weren't no flies in the car and there weren't no flies on me neither, so 
  it ain't no surprise when I begin to lose.
  I ain't used to losing and I ain't too good at it, 'specially when I know 
  there's some gol-durned cheating going on. Really gets my dandruff up. It was 
  guys like this that Will Grigsby told me to watch out for.
  I don't say nothing, just keep a poker face. I already learned patience with 
  my mules a long time ago, so I just bide my time. We play straight through 
  lunch and order sandwiches brought to the table.
  Now Smiley begins laughing right loud. Stogie, nipping the tip off a fresh, 
  two-buck cigar says, "I reckon I'll be buying a gross of these." And Tex is 
  looking at me, his eyes bright and glistening like Old Red when he's treed a 
  coon.
  "Poker's quicker than drilling for oil!" Smiley says.
  And lots easier too, I think to myself. I say, "Just keep playing."
  We play past buttes and mesas and the painted red desert northeast of 
  Albuquerque. They act like they don't hear the dinner gong and order more 
  sandwiches. We play on through Gallup and by now I know I've had it. Outside 
  it's dark as pitch, my friends is higher than a treed coon and I've lost 
  everything but my longhandles.
  About five minutes out of Flagstaff, I say, "I've had enough of letting you 
  boys take my money." I grin and push back from the table. They try to get me 
  to keep on playing, but I tell them I got to save a few dollars to get me back 
  home.
  "Okay," Smiley says, not too good a sport about it. "You're down exactly 
  two-hundred-and-fifty bucks."
  I slide my billfold outta my jeans and pull out a $500 bill. "Sorry, boys, 
  that's all I got. You got change?"
  "Sure have, smart-A" says Tex, whipping out his billfold. He thumbs through it 
  and passes me some bills across the table. I count out two-hundred-fifty skins 
  and shove them inside my pocket.
  "Enjoyed meetin' you boys and enjoyed the game," I say, getting to my feet and 
  shaking hands all around the table.
  "Not half as much as we did, cowboy," says Smiley, smiling.
  I tip my hat and mosey through a few cars back to my seat. As the train's 
  pulling into Flagstaff, I get this real strong hunch that now's a good time 
  and place to cut loose. I pick up my gear and jump down the steps onto the 
  platform. I watch the train roll out of the station, smiling to myself, 
  thinking how friendly folks is. Then I slip the two-hundred fifty bucks inside 
  my billfold, right between two more five-hundred-dollar bills Old Grigsby 
  printed up for me yesterday. He sure was right. A fella really can see the U. 
  S. of A. and make money at the same time.


  Dee is the author of three mystery suspense novels: CHRISTINA, BLOOD TIES and 
  DEADLY LEGACY. When not writing mayhem and murder, she writes for young 
  readers about armadillos, bats, motorcycles and WWII. She hangs out in Dallas 
  with her yellow lab, Star.