Kid Barlow's Ace in the Hole

Chapter 7: Tournament Play

The next morning Kid beat the sun up. He tip-toed down to the basement to the bathing barrel area of boarding house. The basement seemed small, but had four wooden half-barrels for bathing. Each had a clean towel and wash cloth draped over the rim. A back brush hung on a nail in each barrel. A glass dish held a large bar of homemade lye soap.

A fire place occupied the east end of the basement with a chimney going out an above ground window. The opposite end of the basement held three large water storage barrels. And smaller metal buckets stacked nearby held water as it heated up.

Golly, I never seen such a purty sight as this. I guess people just all bathe together like we used to do at the river. Kid got two pails of water on the fire to hear while he shucked down to the skin. I ain’t never had a proper bath before. Boy, Pa, can you see me now?

Before too long had passed, Kid luxuriated in a nice warm barrel bath. He picked up the soap and smelled it. He immediately sneezed twice. Powerful stuff! He began to lather himself up and loved the smell and feel of the whole experience. When I win this tournament and return all the money I borrowed from the bank, I’m going to Texas and build me a house with a bathing room in it.

“Mr. Barlow, you down there?” Mrs. Britton, sister of Sam Murray, hollered down the stairs.

Kid reflexively slid down in the water. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“You can eat breakfast in thirty minutes. Just wanted you to know. Oh, and just leave your water. Mr. Britton will come down soon to clean up.”

“Thank you.” Kid sped up his bathing, and wrapped the dingy thread-worn towel around his waist. He took his old clothes and threw them in the trash can before returning to his room.

Once in his room, Kid lay out all his new clothes on the bed to admire. Then, he slowly put each piece on as he enjoyed the feel of newness next to his clean skin. Each time a new piece went on, he’d go to the bureau across the room to admire himself. For perhaps the first time in his life, he began to like himself. Kid stood in the mirror to admire all the finery once he finished dressing. He couldn’t decide which he liked best: the real cowboy boots, the two crisp red bandannas, or his light gray cowboy hat. He removed the hat and took a deep bow at the waist as if to usher a fine young lady across the street. Thoughts of a good breakfast beckoned to him. Just a few hours stood between Kid claiming his seat in the 1888 Memphis Winner-Take-All-Poker Tournament and some kind of varmint began turning somersaults in his stomach.

Kid just picked at his breakfast. He wanted to eat but the harder he tried to conjure up some hunger pains, the more his stomach turned over at the sight of food.

“Most my roomers slept in this morning,” said Mrs. Britton sitting down to drink a cup of tea while Kid ate. “You know that tournament doesn’t shut down for the night until midnight. Then, it’ll start up at 9:00 sharp the next day.”

“How many days does it last about?”

“Oh, that’s hard to tell. The shortest one I remember lasted three days. The longest drug on for nearly a month. ‘Course it contained more gun-play than usual and lots of brawling. Some years seem just rowdier than others.”

“I guess from looking at your plate, I believe you must have a seat in that tournament. I never did see a contestant that could eat before play started.” She laughed and flicked imaginary crumbs off the table. “Mr. Britton took it on himself to enter one year. He arrived back home in four hours and never mentioned entering another poker game again. I guess I’m lucky in that respect. But, it does increase our revenues each year. Praise the Lord for that.”

Kid sure wasn’t hungry after hearing of all them smelly bodies. He scooted his chair back. “Miz Britton. Much obliged for the breakfast and the interesting’ talk. I gotta go git me a hair cut and check on my horse before going to the tournament. Please excuse me.” He bowed not know the exact proper way to leave a lady and her table.
“Why certainly, Mr. Barlow. Breakfast hit’s the table at seven in the mornings, and I brew fresh coffee from midnight until one for my roomers. You enjoy your day. Oh, will you need us to wake you up in the morning?”

“I doubt I’ll sleep too late, but if I’m not up by 7:30, I’d like a shout out.” Kid went to his room, got his old saddle bag out, put his pa’s gun in his right boot, and left to find a barber. “I’m gonna buy me a real haircut. I ain’t never had a real one before. Ma didn’t know how to cut hair too good.”

Heck, I ain’t never felt like a real man before. Amazing what new clothes and a haircut and proper bath can do for a body. Somebody done waved a wand and made me a man! Kid walked the grimy, crowded street to the Red Slipper Saloon. He registered, put on his poker face, and settled in to play at table #19. The game soon began. A general din of hushed voices filled the smoke infested room and all players put forth their best efforts.

Ever so often a fight broke out and play stopped to watch the sideshow attraction. Most on-lookers attributed the fights to the gut rot served in the saloon rather than bad cards. But, Kid figured any excuse worked when you owned it. Deputies hauled those unlucky enough to die to the mortuary where they stayed until the tournament ended. No burying occurred during the big Winner-Take-All tournament in session.

At midnight each night, the tournament stopped for all to get a bit of shut eye, and began again at nine sharp the next day.

Kid made his way each night to the boarding house and turned in. He rarely got a good night’s sleep. He talked over Pa’s rules and lessons with himself and showed up early every morning.

Throughout each day, saloon sweeties delivered drinks, gave kisses for good luck and kept the ash trays empty. House rules disqualified anyone putting smoking butts on the floor. During breaks to stretch weary legs, the girls entertained with song and flirty comments.