“This is an emergency,” Johnny cried. “Open up.”
“Won’t,” was the reply. “Go ’way.”
Sam Cragg picked up a rock and poised it in his hand. “Open up or I’ll heave this through the window!” he threatened.
That produced results. The man inside switched on a light in the filling station and came to the door. He opened it — and thrust out a revolver about fourteen inches long.
“You’ll do what, Mister?” he asked coolly.
Johnny and Sam moved back three feet as if struck by lightning. Johnny grinned sickishly. “Take it easy!”
The man with the gun — a real ancient — showed a few blackened teeth. “A couple of tough hombres, eh?”
“Uh-uh, not me,” said Sam Cragg, eying the big gun. “I was only joking.”
“This place is all glass,” said the old man. “I don’t like people who throw stones — not with me living in a glass house. Catch on?”
“Sure,” said Johnny. “But we’re in trouble. Something’s wrong with our car—”
“I own this place,” said the old man. “But my mechanic does the work — and he quits at nine o’clock.”
“Then we’re stuck,” said Johnny. “How far is it to the next town?”
“Plenty.”
Johnny groaned. “Guess we’ll have to take a chance.” Sam nodded gloomily and they climbed back into the car. The old man came to the door and watched them.
Johnny stepped on the starter. Nothing happened. He tried again. There was still no response.
“Well,” said Johnny, “that settles if. We sleep in the car.”
“You can come inside,” the old man offered, surprisingly enough.
Johnny and Sam climbed out of the car and followed the old man into the filling station. A lean man with walrus mustaches came out of the back room.
“Somethin’ wrong with their car, Lafe,” the old filling station proprietor said. “You can look at it in the morning.”
Johnny exclaimed, “Is he your mechanic?”
“Yeah, sure,” replied the old man.
“Then why can’t he look at the car now?”
“ ’Cause it’s after his working hours, that’s why.”
Lafe nodded agreement. “You probably need your valves ground, that’s all.”
Johnny gritted his teeth. “Look, folks, it’s twelve o’clock at night; we’re stuck here in the middle of the desert; I understand there isn’t a town in miles—”
“Twenty-eight,” said Lafe, laconically.
“All right,” said Johnny, “twenty-eight miles. It’s after working hours. So we’ll pay you extra.”
Lafe shook his head. “A man can only work so many hours a day. I’ll grind your valves in the morning.”
“They don’t need grinding,” exclaimed Johnny. “There’s something broken — the motor won’t start.”
“Valves,” insisted Lafe, “cost you thirty-two bucks.”
“That’s a holdup!” burst out Sam.
Lafe shrugged. The old man smacked his leg with the barrel of his long gun. “Why don’t you try somewhere else?”
“Because the car won’t start!” snapped Johnny. Then he sighed in sudden surrender. “All right — thirty-two bucks.”
“In the morning,” said Lafe. “Grinding valves is a big job.”
“Maybe it isn’t the valves. It could be something just wrong with the starter.”
Lafe shook his head. Then he grinned. “It’s the valves... on account of it’s twenty-eight miles to the next town.”
“Might as well come in and set,” invited the oldster.
He went into the room behind the station. The others followed. Johnny noted that the place was fitted up as a combination kitchen and bedroom; at least it contained two bunks, a stove and a table. Scattered on the table was a pack of cards.
The old man gestured to the cards. “Me and Lafe was just finishing a rubber.”
“A rubber?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, we’re playin’ some newfangled game. Don’t know much about it.”
He seated himself at the table and Lafe went to the other side. He picked up the cards and dealt. Johnny looked at Sam, then shrugged and pulled up a chair to kibitz.
Lafe dealt clumsily. He played even worse and after eight or ten draws the old man went down with ten and caught Lafe with twenty-two points.
“That finishes the game,” the oldster exulted. He began figuring the score. “You owe me eight forty-five,” he said, after awhile.
Lafe grunted and produced the money. Johnny’s eyes narrowed.
“What’re you playing for?”
“Two cents a point.” The old man shook his head. “First time I’ve won in a week. Lafe doubles his pay.”
“Mmm,” said Johnny. “...I saw some fellows playing this game a few weeks ago. Looked interesting...”
“Like to try a rubber?”
Johnny, looking at Sam, saw the latter wince. “For two cents a point? I’m not much of a gambler...”
“By the way,” said the old man, “my name’s Johnson — Luke Johnson... Tell you what I’ll do. Your bill’ll be thirty-two dollars tomorrow. I’ll play you a rubber, double or nothing...”
Johnny pretended to hesitate, then finally nodded. “That’s a bet.”
Luke Johnson picked up the cards, squared them. “Low man deals.”
He cut a deuce and Johnny a king.
Johnson dealt, even more clumsily than had Lafe awhile ago. Johnny picked up his hand, discovered that he had a pair of jacks and nothing else.
“Double for blitz, of course,” said Johnson. “If you blitz me you get the work done for nothing and I give you thirty-two dollars, in addition.”
“And if I lose?”
“Then you pay one twenty-eight.”
Johnny swallowed hard and looked again at his hand. “All right,” he said.
“I’ve got nine points,” said Johnson, putting down his hand.
Johnny cried out in consternation. “I didn’t even get a chance to draw.”
Johnson shrugged. “All luck, this game. Sheer luck... Let’s see, you got forty, forty-eight, fifty-six, sixty-one points.” He grinned wickedly. “Thirty-nine points more and I’m out.”
“What?” cried Johnny. “We’re playing three games across.”
“Uh-uh. A game’s a hundred points...”
“Each game,” protested Johnny. “But we’re playing three games — everybody plays three games.”
“Never heard of it. A single game’s all we ever play. Look—” he scooped up the score between himself and Lafe. “See?”
Johnny looked and didn’t like it. Another lucky hand... and he would lose one hundred and twenty-eight dollars... more money than he and Sam had between them.
Lafe hitched up his chair beside Johnny. “This is gonna be good,” he said, breathing down Johnny’s neck.
Sam pulled up a chair beside old Johnson. He caught Johnny’s eye and nodded significantly. The old man dealt the cards, spilling them once while shuffling. Johnny sorted out his hand: three treys, two fives, two kings, two queens and a ten. Not a bad hand if he connected.
He drew a jack and discarded it. Johnson picked it up and threw a five. Johnny scooped it up and discarded a ten.
“Gin,” said Johnson.
“No!” howled Johnny.
“Yes,” chuckled the old boy. He looked at the cards that Johnny dropped. “Forty points — and twenty for gin. That’s sixty and a blitz. You owe me one twenty-eight...”
“For two hands...”
“Okay, Johnny,” said Sam Cragg. His hand brushed against Luke Johnson’s hip, grabbed the old Frontier model in the belt and whipped it out.
Johnson kicked back his chair and sprang to his feet. Sam slipped sidewards and waved the gun at first Johnson, then Lafe. “A thieves’ den!” he cried.
“That gun ain’t loaded,” said Johnson calmly. He went to a wall telephone and took down the receiver.