Butler's Wager

CHAPTER 2

The crowd dispersed, some leaving, some finding their way to tables or the bar. Three-Eyed Jack and Butler claimed two places at the bar and each ordered a beer.

“That was close,” Jack said, lifting his mug. “I thought one of us was gonna have to kill him.”

“It would have been a shame,” Butler said, hefting his own beer. “He’s young, and he has time to learn.”

“Well, if he don’t learn soon,” Jack said, “he’s not gonna live much longer. A Ben Thompson or Luke Short might not have our patience.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t find his way into a game with them.”

“Where’s tomorrow gonna find you, Butler?” Jack asked. “You ain’t gonna stay around here.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” Jack said, “for one thing there ain’t room for both of us. And for another, you’re too young and this town is dyin’. I figure you to move on to someplace with more life in it.”

“I was giving Tombstone some thought,” Butler said, “but from what I hear the Earps have moved in there and are having some problems.”

“Well,” Jack said, “it would certainly have more life than this place.”

“I’m going to hit Dodge City first,” Butler said, “on my way west.”

“Another dyin’ town,” Jack said, “but it has more life than this place. I understand Jim Masterson is a lawman there.”

“Maybe I’ll get to meet Bat, then.”

“The way I hear it, Jim and Bat ain’t exactly on speakin’ terms,” Jack said. “Besides, Bat’s already in Tombstone with the Earps.”

“Well then, maybe I will head there,” Butler said, “but right now I think I’ll head to bed.”

“So early?”

“Gonna get an early start in the morning,” Butler said. He drained his beer and set the empty mug down on the bar. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Thanks for the game,” Jack said. “You made it more interestin’ than usual. Less profitable, but more interestin’.”

“Why don’t you leave Wichita, Jack?” Butler asked.

“Naw, not me,” Jack said. “I’m close to fifty now. Time for me to stay in one place.”

Butler was surprised. Three-Eyed Jack did not look fifty to him.

“Fifty ain’t so old.”

“My bones feel older,” Jack said. “They won’t let me get on a horse for any period of time. Nah, Wichita’s good enough for me, right now.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Butler said.

“Good luck headin’ west,” Jack said. “You got some big games ahead of you. I can see it.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Butler said, “and good night.”

Butler hit the dark, quiet street and headed for his hotel. He left the lights and sounds of the Main Street saloons behind him. When the shot rang out it was as if he’d anticipated it. He was already rolling in the street when the bullet struck the dirt where he’d been standing. Fact was, Butler was always expecting a shot, and his reflexes had saved his life more than once.

He came to a stop on one knee, Colt in hand. He was waiting for a second shot so the muzzle flash would give him a target, but it didn’t come. Nobody came out to see what was happening, either. One shot on the streets of Wichita did not rate investigation. He remained stock-still, watching the doorways and alleys for movement, or shadows.

His hotel was two blocks away. In his experience a man willing to fire one shot is more than willing to fire a few more. He didn’t think he was going to make the two blocks without another try.

He knew the shooter was not young Sam Troy. For one thing Jack had his gun, and though Troy could have gotten himself another one, Butler was pretty sure they’d convinced him of the error of his ways, at least for tonight.

He didn’t holster his gun. If the shooter was who he thought it was, he was going to need it. Not that he knew the exact identity of the shooter. It would be just another in a long line of men trying to collect on a bounty. This was no law-appointed bounty, but one that had followed him from back East. It had been years since his family had been killed in Philadelphia, and as the only one left, Ty Butler still had a price on his head, put there by…somebody.

His father, a wealthy investor from Philadelphia, had sent him west to keep him safe. He had only been gone a month or so when word reached him that his father, uncles, and other family members had all been murdered. Luckily, his mother had died of natural causes years before, and so escaped the slaughter.

Eager to return home to seek vengeance, his father’s lawyer and long-time friend had convinced him to remain in the West.

“You’ll be dead before you get both feet off the train,” the man told him in a letter. “Just keep heading west. They will come after you, and one day you’ll take one of them alive. Don’t come back here, Ty, unless you are armed with information.”

So whoever it was out there in the dark, gunning for him, his goal was to take him alive and squeeze the information out of him about who had hired him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to defend himself. He’d already dispatched nine such assassins over the years, not one had allowed themselves to be taken alive.

Sometimes, when months would go by without an attempt, he’d think that maybe they’d given up. Maybe the price had been taken off his head. But allowing himself to be lulled into a false sense of security would have cost him his life, because, eventually, there was always another attempt.

Like tonight.