Butler's Wager

CHAPTER 39

Butler told Hank his story.

“My father had political affiliations in Philadelphia that got him and the rest of my family killed. He saved me by sending me west. He told me that no matter what happened, I should never come back.”

“And you haven’t?”

Butler shook his head.

“How long?”

“Almost ten years.”

“And is Butler your real name?”

“Yes.”

“But…why not change it, if you’re on the run and hidin’ out?” Hank asked.

“Because I’m not hiding out,” Butler said. “I won’t give up my name. If they want to try to collect a price on my head, let them come.”

“So, whoever killed your family…” Hank said

“A man,” Butler said, “a political faction or party?…I’m still really not sure.”

“They still have a price on your head?”

“Apparently. The last time I know for sure they tried was Wichita—a couple of weeks ago. And then this morning, at the Lady Gay, somebody tried…”

“Somebody?”

“Yeah,” Butler said, “we’re not sure if they were after me for me, or because I helped Jim Masterson the other night.”

“When you do somethin’ like that,” Hank said, “you’re definitely takin’ sides.”

“That’s what the marshal just told me today.”

“A couple of weeks ago the Masterson side might have been the right side, but since the election…”

“Yeah, I get that, too.”

“So you gonna move on?”

“No,” Butler said. “I came here to do some gambling and that’s what I’m going to do. What are you going to do?”

“About Ryerson?” Hank shrugged. “I don’t know. I definitely don’t want to go on the move again. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see if he recognized me. The fact that I’m supposed to be dead might put him off some.”

“And then what?”

“Well…to tell you the truth I’ll face him, but only because of the story you just told me.”

“My story? Why?”

“I admire that you won’t give up your name,” Hank said. “Mine…well, if I told you, you might not come and eat here no more, so I’ll still keep that to myself, but if Ryerson comes after me, I’ll just have to make a stand.”

“I think that’s a good plan,” Butler said.

“Well, I wish I could say the same for yours. If I was you, I’d saddle up and get the hell out of Dodge.”

“I appreciate the advice, Hank,” Butler said, “but I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”

“Well, you want somethin’ to eat while you’re waitin’?” the man offered. “On the house.”

“Can’t turn that down, can I?”

“Steak?”

“With all the fixin’s?”

“Comin’ up,” Hank said, and went back to the kitchen.

While he was gone Butler wondered about this man who was believed dead. He wondered how he was supposed to have been killed, but didn’t want to ask. There were things they had both held back about their stories and wouldn’t want to be asked about. Maybe, when Hank was good and ready, he’d tell Butler the rest of the story. As for Butler, he’d just keep the rest of his own story to himself a while longer.