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 The main problem, said Windy to himself, is a lack
of variety. He got up from his kitchen table and poured a fourth cup
of coffee. The weather outside was terrible, he didn’t have any work
to do today, Ramses was healthy and asleep over next to the heater.
Not bad, said the old cowboy philosopher and camp cook.
I could do a lot worse, he thought. But still, there was that darn
lack of variety. And it was this problem that took him back to the
table and made him shuffle the cards once again. When he was a young
cowboy and learning to lose at the non-stop poker game in the
bunkhouse, it was different. The card playing itself was fun, but
losing money wasn’t. Oh, it wasn’t much money … cowboy wages being
what they were then … and still are. It was just the laughing and
the storytelling, really, and waiting to see if Lady Luck actually
recognized you sitting there waiting for her.
Windy Wilson also remembered the preacher staring into the
congregation looking for a sinner or two and declaring playing cards
to be one-way tickets to perdition. Well, that sermon had a profound
effect on young Windy, so he stopped going to church. [to top of second
column] |
But this solitaire game. You
just deal them out face down and start to turn them over slowly. Red
on black. Black on red. Then, about three rows up, he hit a red
roadblock, with no black cards. Well, maybe just this once I could
use a red card to sorta get me started again.
Cheating? Maybe. But Ramses won’t tell. Not my fault, thought Windy.
The cards are only in red and black. Had a winter shirt those colors
once. This solitaire is not my fault. It’s just that darned lack of
variety.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by Ol’ Max Evans, the First Thousand Years. Life
story of the western literary legend. Available at UNMpress.com
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