Butler's Wager

CHAPTER 31

Butler didn’t waste any more time. He put the coffee cup down, slid his hand beneath the table and then up ended it. He came to his feet, drew his gun, and fired. It didn’t matter who fired the first shot. The three men were there to kill him, of that he had no doubt. Giving them the first shot would have just been foolish.

Sandland, seeing the table start to tip over, hurriedly drew his gun and shouted, “Get him!”

Their initial volley of shots struck the table, gouging out chunks of it. Butler’s first shot was a hurried one, as much to scatter the men as hit one. It worked on both counts. The bullet nicked Willy’s arm as the three men dove for cover. Dave took cover at the far end of the bar while both Willy and Sandland found their own tables to overturn.

Butler fired two more times, blindly, from behind his table, and then suddenly the saloon grew quiet. The sound of empty shells hitting the floor filed the room as all the parties reloaded. Butler knew if they charged him they could kill him, but he’d get at least one, and he was betting that none of the three of them wanted to be that one.

“Come on, boys,” he invited. “Charge me all at once. Let’s see what happens.”

Outside on the street, people heard the shots from inside the Lady Gay, but only one man moved toward the saloon. As he crossed the street Kevin Ryerson was drawing his gun. While other folks backed away or ran for cover, they couldn’t help but wonder who this man was heading toward the trouble, and not away from it.

Jim Masterson heard the initial shots and fell out of bed in his haste to reach for his gun. When he heard the shots continue he realized nobody was shooting at him. It took a moment for him to wake up enough to realize it was coming from downstairs. Hastily, he reached for his pants…

Butler fired more blind shots and then suddenly a fourth man was coming through the front door. He wasted no time in joining the fray. He turned and shot Dave, who was hiding at the end of the bar. The bullet took him in the neck, and then a second took his life.

Butler stood just as both Willy and Red Sandland did the same. Sandland saw him, tried to bring his gun to bear, but Butler shot him in the chest. Both Butler and Ryerson pointed their guns as Willy but it was Jim Masterson who shot him from the second floor, one clean shot right through the heart.

Butler first looked up at Masterson, who was leaning on the railing, then over at Ryerson, who he didn’t know.

“What the hell—” Masterson said, from upstairs.

“You might as well take the time to get dressed,” Butler called to him. “I don’t think there are any more.”

“I’ll be right down.” He turned and went back into his room.

Now Butler looked at Ryerson and said, “I’m much obliged, Mister…”

“Ryerson,” the man said, “Kevin Ryerson. I was just passin’ by, thought I might could help.”

“You thought right.”

“What did these three jaspers have against you?”

“Can’t say I know,” Butler replied. “I don’t know any of the three of them.”

Ryerson ejected the spent shells from his gun, reloaded and holstered it. Butler could see the callus on the thumb of his right hand. He was a man who used his gun a lot, probably even practiced with it.

Butler did the same, made sure his gun was fully loaded before he holstered his as well.

“Well, I think I owe you a drink, Mr. Ryerson, but we better get it before the law arrives.”

“Suits me.”

“Bartender!”

Al Updegraff peered up over the bar, saw that Butler was still alive and inwardly cursed.

“Yes, sir?”

“Whiskey for me and my friend.”

“We’re, uh, closed, Mister.”

“Well, open up,” Butler said. “We deserve a drink.”

“I can’t just open—”

“Do it, Al,” Jim Masterson said, coming down the stairs, “and pour me one, too.”

Updegraff looked at Masterson, then shrugged and said, “It’s your whiskey.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

Masterson reached the bar at the same time Butler and Ryerson did. Updegraff poured three whiskeys and they all picked them up.

“Jim Masterson,” Butler said, “meet Kevin Ryerson.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jim said.

“Same here,” Ryerson commented.

The three men clinked glasses and downed their drinks. For Jim Masterson it was a harsh breakfast.

Fire burning in his stomach, Masterson said, “Now does somebody want to tell me what the hell is goin’ on here?”