Butler's Wager

CHAPTER 38

Butler decided he needed a quiet place to think, maybe over a cup of coffee. He knew the perfect place—which, he realized, still didn’t have a proper name.

When he got there it was empty, as usual, though as he entered he smelled something cooking in the kitchen. Despite the fact he’d had a big breakfast, he suddenly became very hungry. Might have had something to do with the fact that he’d already downed whiskey and beer before lunch.

“Hank?” he called.

When there was no answer he decided to go ahead and stick his head into the kitchen. He saw Hank sitting on the trunk that held his gun belt, and who knew what other remnants of a past life.

“Hey, Hank.”

The man started, looked up at him without really seeing him for a moment, then seemed to come to.

“Oh, hey, Butler.”

“What’s wrong?” Butler asked, coming into the kitchen. “You don’t look so good.”

“I, uh, I had a customer this mornin’.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Butler asked. “I mean, kinda good.”

“You know,” Hank went on, “I thought having a small café I’d be able to cook, feed some people, and nobody would recognize me. It worked pretty good for a while.”

“And?”

“This mornin’ a man came in, sat down and had a meal.”

“And he recognized you?”

“No,” Hank said, “that’s just it. He didn’t recognize me. I recognized him.”

“Oh,” Butler said. “Well, was it someone you think might recognize you later on and come back?”

“I’m not sure,” Hank said. “I mean he might come back, and if he does he might want to try me.”

“And then you’d either have to put your gun on again or let him kill you.”

“Right.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Hank said. “I been sittin’ here thinkin’ about it.”

“Is this somebody I’d recognize if you told me his name?” Butler asked.

“I ain’t sure,” Hank said. “You ever hear of a man named Kevin Ryerson?”

“You saw what?” Peacock asked.

“I saw the marshal taking Butler into his office.”

“So?”

Updegraff stared at his brother-in-law, who was seated at his desk in the back office of the Lady Gay. There was a second desk in the room that belonged to Jim Masterson but—up to now—had rarely been used.

“So I thought it would be important.”

Peacock sat back in his chair.

“Al,” he said, “I’ll tell you what’s important and what’s not. What the hell happened this mornin’?”

“That Gambler came over lookin’ for an early game and Sandland and his partners made a try for him.”

“They tried to kill him?”

“Well…yeah.”

“Did you tell them to do that?”

“Anthony,” Updegraff said, “you said you wanted me to get rid of him so he couldn’t help Masterson.”

Peacock covered his face with one hand.

“I didn’t tell you to have him killed,” he said. “I wanted you to get rid of him! Get him out of town.”

“Well,” Updegraff said, defensively, “I thought when you said get rid of him—”

“Never mind,” Peacock said. “Look, Jim is lookin’ for you, so’s Neal Brown.”

“What for?”

“They want to see what you know about this mornin’,” Peacock said.

“So what do I do?”

“Stay out of sight for a few hours. Come into work later as if nothin’ happened. And if they ask what you know, just play dumb.” Peacock hesitated, then added coldly, “That should be real easy for you.”

Butler and Hank sat down with a huge pot of coffee.

“He’s a bounty hunter,” Hank complained, “but a real low-key one, you know? Keeps to himself. His reputation is only with those people who know him.”

“Well, I never heard of him,” Butler said. “I’ve got the newspaper editor here trying to find something out about him.”

“She won’t,” Hank said. “He don’t get ever written up in newspapers.”

“So where do you know him from?”

“I saw him twice,” Hank said. “Both times I thought he was after me, but he wasn’t.”

Hank had just told Butler that he was not only hiding from his own reputation, but that there was a price on his head as well.

“I watched him work, those two times. Brought both men in dead. He give them a choice. They drew and he killed ’em.”

“Faster than you?”

“I never said I was fast.”

“Any man cares for his gun the way you do, even after you’ve put it down, wasn’t slow.”

“Okay,” Hank said, “so I was fast, but faster than Ryerson? I never wanted to test it.”

“Where’s he from?”

“Who knows,” Hank said. “I only know a couple of places where he’s been. I seen him in Montana, and once in New Mexico.”

“He gets around.”

“He goes where the money is,” Hank said. “If the price is high enough, he goes for it.”

So the price on Hank was high enough that, on two occasions, he thought Ryerson was after him.

“So do you think he’s after you now? After you’ve put your gun away all this time?”

“Who knows?” Hank asked. “Could be a lot of men in Dodge City he’s after.”

“I wonder if he’ll check in with the marshal?”

“He’s a legitimate bounty hunter,” Hank said. “My guess is he would. He’d want to make sure the man had the funds to pay him.”

“Unless he expects to be paid on the other end.”

Hank paused for a moment, thinking. Butler assumed he was wondering if the bounty hunter could kill him here, or if he’d have to take him back to wherever it was they put the price on his head.

Butler believed in second chances. Hank—whoever Hank was—had hung up his gun and started over. He didn’t think he should have to worry about a bounty hunter collecting a price that had been set years before.

And then, of course, there was the possibility that Ryerson was there for Tyrone Butler.