A Horse and a Deck of Cards

Doyle Williams and his brother, Red, were real cowboys. They owned the Skyline Ranch along Baseline Road in South Phoenix. It was a beautiful ranch with trees that produced artificial oranges, great desert landscape with those red rock formations that made John Ford's movies so famous and even palm trees that Doyle had imported from Palm Springs, CA.

The Skyline was famous for three things: the cute rodeo girls who would gather there on weekends to practice barrel racing in an arena the brothers had set up for them, the Saturday bull riding where Doyle and his son, Eddie, would teach students how to ride Brahma Bulls and the horses the Brunsons would take on consignment to sell to willing buyers.

As a general assignment reporter on the staff of the Phoenix Gazette, a daily newspaper, I spent a lot of my leisure hours at the Skyline. Even the drive there in my Impala Convertible along Central Avenue, across the nearly dry Salt River, and into the region known as South Mountain Park was special. As you neared Baseline Road, the dry Arizona air would suddenly come alive with the aroma of flowers.

During World War 2, Arizona built some internment camps for Japanese families. After peace was declared, several of the families decided they liked Phoenix and relocated there permanently as U.S. citizens. They opened up flower gardens along Baseline all the way from Phoenix to Casa Grande 40 miles away. They sold and shipped flowers, served tea and hot coffee, and even had restaurants that catered to the public.

While Doyle and Red were real cowboys, I was the cowboy in a Continental suit. I liked horseback riding, wore snakeskin boots, and covered my head with a black Stetson that made the girls smile. At least some of them.

One day my phone at the newspaper rang. It was Doyle.

'What are you doing this afternoon?,' he said casually. 'Cause if you ain't busy, I got a horse for you to ride. You've never been on a horse like Rincon.'

At 5 p.m., I left the newspaper office on Van Buren Street and made the 20-minute drive to the Skyline Ranch. Doyle, Red and Rincon were waiting for me.

The horse was a beauty. A red roan with a lighter colored mane. Finely shaped head. Prancing like a parade pony, tail fluffed out, Rincon looked like he could win the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness.

'That is some animal,' I said, whistling. 'Tell me his story.'

Red interjected. 'Two weeks ago, this horse was worth $2,500 as a claimer at Turf Paradise. Fastest son-of-a-buck you ever mounted. Then an exercise boy lost control working the horse on a turn. Rincon ran into a wall, lost eyesight in his right eye and the owner wants to sell him.'

'Six hundred,' said Doyle. 'And he's worth twice that. Maybe more. If you want him, he's yours.'

'Let's take him for a test ride first,' I said. 'I don't have that kind of cash available, but if I like the way he rides, we'll see.'

Doyle mounted his favorite buckskin, Red hopped onto a black horse that had been a roper, and I swung into Rincon's saddle. The horse immediately woke up and broke into a smooth brisk trot.

'He's a race horse,' said Doyle approvingly. 'You got the lead. Open him up a little. We'll never catch you, that's for sure.'

I loosened the reins. That was all the red roan needed. Rincon didn't run. He flew.

Now I have done a lot of riding over the years. I have been on some fast horses, but none of them could even come close to Rincon's speed. The earth and hills shot past me in a blur. Red and Doyle fell far behind me as the thoroughbred rocketed down a dirt road into the desert terrain that formed South Mountain Park.

It was incredible. All I did was aim Rincon toward where I wanted to go and the horse did the rest.

Just before the sun set behind Camelback Mountain, I rode up to the brothers.

'Incredible,' I said. 'This is the horse I want. If I had the money, I'd make you an offer right now.'

Doyle said thoughtfully, 'How much cash do you have?'

'Three hundred,' I said. 'Payday isn't until next Friday.' Then I came up with an idea.

'I could go to Las Vegas and try my luck at Blackjack,' I said. 'I just read a book by a guy named Ed Thorpe. 'Beat The Dealer.' It's a system for winning at 21 or Blackjack. I've been practicing it. I'll bet I could run my three hundred into enough money to buy this horse.'

'I can't hold him for you,' Doyle said. 'The owner needs his money. If somebody comes along over the weekend and makes me an offer, I'll have to sell him.'

I made up my mind on the spot.

'Doyle,' I said firmly, 'I really want this horse.' It was Thursday afternoon. 'I am driving to Las Vegas tomorrow to win the six hundred I need. I'll be back Monday morning to buy Rincon. Deal?'

Doyle grinned. 'I like your positive attitude,' he said. 'It's a deal -- provided I still have the horse.'

That night, I re-read Prof. Ed Thorpe's book 'Beat The Dealer.' He used a basic strategy and a card-counting system to increase his bets when the deck was rich in aces and face cards, including 10s. Friday after work, I climbed into the Impala, drove to Las Vegas and checked in at Sam's Town on Boulder Highway.

I found a table with one player and a bored dealer. She shuffled the cards and dealt me in.

After several hands, the deck suddenly became 'ace-rich and 10-value rich,' as Thorpe explained it in his best seller. I had been betting $5 per wager. I slid four more $5 chips onto the table.

Pam smiled. 'Feel lucky, huh?' She was a pretty redhead with a long pony tail. 'Good luck.'

She dealt me a pair of eights and gave herself a five for her up card -- a perfect bust hand . I split the eights. One of the cards was another eight, which I also split. She threw me a three.

'Can I go down for double on 11?' I said. 'I feel lucky. I'm going to use this money to buy a horse.'

'Sure, Hon. It's your money.' She tossed me a king -- 21! When she busted, I won all the bets and was $125 ahead on just one hand.

That weekend I bucked the tiger at blackjack and poker. I lswam in the Olympic-sized heated swimming pool, listened to Waylon Jennings and the Waylors in the lounge, and drank Coors beer. I danced with attractive cowgirls and secretaries into the night. But most importantly, I kept putting money away for Rincon.

Sam's Town treated me well. I left Las Vegas just before Sunset Sunday with nearly $700 in my jeans. Smiling and thinking of the horse I was going to buy, I put the top down on the convertible, set the cruise control on 70 and headed down the Boulder Highway.

I pulled into the parking lot at my apartment complex around midnight. I had Doyle's number at the ranch and called him. I could tell by his tone that he had been asleep.

'Doyle,' I said excitedly. 'I did it. I'll be over in the morning to claim my horse.'

Silence filled the line. 'Sorry, Son,' he said. 'Today just before closing, a man came in and bought the horse. He trucked him away to his ranch in Prescott. I held Rincon for you as long as I could. I'm really sorry. He's a big fellow - around 280. He'll ruin a fine thoroughbred like that horse, but there was nothing I could do about it.' He hesitated. 'I know this isn't much of a consolation, but there will be another horse. We'll find one for you.'

'Maybe there will be another horse, Doyle,' I said before hanging up the receiver 'but there will never be another Rincon.'

Author: Geno Lawrenzi Jr.