Butler's Wager

CHAPTER 46

Butler stepped through the batwing doors and stood in front of the Long Branch Saloon. Corbin was gone, Ryerson was gone, Ben Thompson was gone. It was quiet on the street—too quiet to suit him. Dodge City should never be this quiet.

The only time towns like this were this quiet was when everybody knew that something was about to happen. Of course, this late at night there wouldn’t be many people on the street, anyway. It was just late, the saloons would close soon, and people had gone home.

He had an itch in the center of his back, like somebody had a gun trained on him.

Ryerson annoyed him. If the man was there for him, why didn’t he just get it over with? And if he was after him, why did he help him against Sandland and the other two? Was it the money that was on his head? Hell, he could have collected it, anyway.

And Corbin, his entire attitude had changed when he found out that Ryerson was a bounty hunter. Did he have a price on his head? Was he thinking Ryerson might have been in Dodge looking for him?

Butler turned and started walking in the direction of the Dodge House. He decided to have it out with Ryerson tomorrow. If the man wanted to play a game of nerves, Butler didn’t have the time to indulge him. He couldn’t concentrate on poker and Ryerson at the same time. He’d managed it tonight, but Ben Thompson had been right. As skillfully as he played, he’d had a good run of luck the past couple of days. But most of the time he depended on his skill, and for it to work for him he had to give the game all his attention.

But what would he do—what should he do—if he found out that the bounty hunter was in Dodge for Hank? Warn him, sure, but back his play? He hadn’t known the man very long, but long enough for Hank to confide in him—sort of. And long enough for him to tell Hank his own story.

No, there was no way he could just throw Hank to Ryerson.

And there was still Jim Masterson and Neal Brown. They had probably been watching each other’s backs for years. Did they really need him? Well, the other night they had. If not for him at least one of them would probably be dead.

But Butler’s game was poker, not gunplay. His skill with cards led him to believe he was not really gambling. Gambling meant there was a chance you could lose. At the poker table he might come up short one night, but in the long run he always won.

When it came to guns, though, that was Butler’s gamble. So far he’d been able to handle himself every time, but when would his luck run out? When would they finally send enough men after him that he wouldn’t be able to handle?

Halfway to the Dodge House he stopped short and listened. If somebody wanted to take him, now would be the easiest of times. In the dark. He’d never seen it coming. He waited, muscles tensed in case he had to move. Maybe the first shot would miss, and he’d be able to react. It had happened before.

When he was sure it wasn’t going to happen he continued on, and eventually he made it to the safety of the still lit lobby of the Dodge House Hotel.

Kevin Ryerson watched from the darkness as Butler walked to his hotel. He’d enjoyed the game he’d play that evening with Butler, but tomorrow the games would be over. He’d have to do what he came to Dodge City to do.

Once Butler entered the Dodge House, Ryerson turned and did what he’d told Butler he was going to do. He headed for his own hotel for the night. As he walked, though, he replayed the scene where the other gambler walked by him in the Long Branch. He’d heard him called Corbin by someone, but that name didn’t fit the face, not in his mind. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew him. The question was, did he know him because there was a price on him? Ryerson was always up for a little extra work if it meant a lot of extra money.

Tomorrow, he thought, he’d work it out tomorrow.

When Corbin got back to his room he poured himself a whiskey from a bottle he kept in his saddlebags. He didn’t know Kevin Ryerson, had never seen him before, but he new the type of man he was. The type who had gunned his older brother down years ago because of a two hundred dollar bounty. Bounty hunters always brought those memories back for him, and he knew it’d be in his dreams that night, too. But in the safety of his room, maybe enough whiskey would keep him from dreaming.

Butler locked his door, removed his jacket and his gun belt. He sat on the bed and took a deep breath. All he wanted was to be left alone to play poker. Why couldn’t he have that? He’d almost convinced himself that he would never go back to Philadelphia. There was nothing he could do to bring his family back, and he still didn’t know who had killed them, or had them killed. Not directly. He knew it had to do with his father’s politics, though.

On a couple of occasions he’d managed to keep alive one of the men who tried to kill him for the money. He asked them who sent them, but they never knew. All they knew was that there was a lot of money waiting for the man who killed him. He’d let one of those men go, and he had come back at him a second time, almost succeeding. He killed him, and after that he learned his lesson and killed them all.

Maybe one day somebody would get the message, and it would all stop. Until that time he lived as well as he could on jacks and queens and stayed alert.