When the gambler made his way towards the hotel, he did so with a purpose, with a score to settle.

One that was over a year in the making.

You see, his brother had been killed, murdered, to hear some tell it, by a man of the law.

And the gambler, usually not the vocal type, uncharacteristically let it be known that he intended to kill his brother's assassin on site, badge or no badge.

So, when the two men finally came face to face there in Trinidad, tensions were high, to say the

least. The gambler, however, did not immediately draw his revolver. Guess he figured he'd size his

opponent up first, maybe get a handle on what kind of cards he was holding. And believe it or not, the two

men actually sat down together there at the Armijo Bordenhouse for the better part of two hours.

The exact details as to what was discussed, we can only speculate, but the story goes that when the

duo emerged, they shook hands and simply went their separate ways. The gambler, when later pressed, would explain that he now had a better understanding of

what had happened with his brother and that the matter was closed.

And that's about all he had to say about that.

You see, the gambler wasn't predisposed to idle chatter, nor was he inclined to making

friends.

Hell, the only real friends he'd ever had or his brother and his mama,

and they was both dead and gone.

So, as soon as he could, he drifted.

Colorado, backed down to New Mexico, places like Las Vegas and Silver City,

over Arizona away to Tombstone, further east El Paso,

never staying too long in one place, never putting down roots.

And as I alluded to, the gambler wasn't much given to loose talk, so when he did speak, his words

had weight to him. Like the time, he prevented the lynching of a fellow card chart by the name

...