Previously in novel: Farm boy Harley Sadler made good on his promise to his in-laws to make Billie the star of his traveling tent show. Along the way he also helped out farmers stung by the Depression and was approached by politicians to run for the Texas Legislature. At the same time Billie began to sink into alcoholism.

Harley pulled his little Chevy coupe into a downtown alley leading to the back door of the First State Bank. It was dark, far away from the lamppost-lit main street, which, at this hour of the early morning, was deserted. No one wanted to take any chances that prying eyes could spy a prosperous businessman entering the bank for a game of poker.
Sam and Harley sat in the inky black shadows of the alley waiting for a second floor shutter to blink at them. They flashed their headlights, and the blinds unperceptively shook, a final signal all was clear. They sneaked from their car, slipped through the recently unlocked back door and felt their way up the dark back stairwell.
Once they were on the second floor, Harley and Sam noticed one door down the hall was ajar, letting a dim light seep out. As they walked closer, Harley could detect a low grumbling of raspy male voices. When he opened the door a low chorus of greetings barely ruffled the silent conspiracy of illegal gambling. A pall of cigarette smoke provided the final layer of impropriety.
“Well, it’s about time. We was about to give up on you.” The speaker wore an impressive suede leather jacket and blue serge slacks. Any casual observer would have taken him as one of the local bankers. But his burnt tan line across the middle of his forehead revealed him as a prosperous rancher, equally wealthy to any lawyer or banker.
“Never write me off,” Harley said with an impish grin as he sat next to the suede coat rancher. “Wherever there’s a poke game Harley Sadler’s sure to be in it!”
Patiently waiting to be dealt in, Harley explained, “No, the reason I was late was because I was approached to run for the legislature.”
“Toby in the Ledge!” the rancher guffawed as he examined his cards. On his right hand, he sported a pinky ring of white gold and a diamond large enough to turn any new bride pea-green with envy.
“Enough about the Ledge, gentlemen,” Sam announced. “Let’s play some poker. I’ve been waiting for this all evening.”
The dealer was the only man at the table except for Harley and Sam who was not a rancher. He was a banker. They were in his building. And if anyone needed quick money to continue in the game he was the man who supplied the loan at an interest rate as illegal as the game itself.
“So you think that’s what folks would think?” Harley asked as he studied his cards. “It was Toby running for the legislature?”
“You can’t blame them,” another rancher at the table piped up. “All they know about you is that you’re Toby.”
“Aww, don’t pay attention to him,” the banker said. “Of course, they’d know it was Harley. Harley and Toby, that is.”
***
Across town in the hotel room, Billie stretched out on a bed, and Sue collapsed in an easy chair, pouring each of them a shot of whiskey.
“Well, Billie, here’s to your cold.”
She reached over to take the glass. “Thanks.” As she gurgled it she tried to say, “It’s getting worse every minute.” Billie swallowed hard and paused to consider her thoughts. “I don’t really mind if Harley plays poker.”
“Who said you did?” Sue asked. “The man knows how to win, and—more important—when to quit.”
“No,” Billie replied, furrowing her brow. “I mean I don’t mind being left alone like this when he plays poker. I know he does it to raise money for the show.”
“And we’ll need lots of it for that show in Dallas.” She shook her head and muttered, “A serious drama about the Alamo.”
“We’ve never done anything like it.” Billie’s tone betrayed her feelings about the financially risky venture.
“I hope Harley knows what he’s doing,” Sue replied.
“Harley always knows what he’s doing.”
“Like running for the legislature?” Sue was beginning to sound like a state district attorney.
“Oh. That.” Billie extended her glass. “I want more.”
“Sure.” Sue filled it. After pouring herself more, she leaned back to study her glass. “I’ve always wanted to ask you something.”
“What’s that?”
“What do you think about Harley giving away all your money?” Her voice was soft and serious.
“Not all of it.”
“Close enough.”
“Well.” She paused for another sip of whiskey. “The way I look at it, it wouldn’t be Harley if he didn’t help folks out. I love him just the way he is.”