Butler's Wager

CHAPTER 48

With the telegraph message sent, Butler decided to go back to his chair in front of the hotel. This seemed preferable to trying to find something to do while waiting for the saloons to open and the poker games to get underway.

Of course, he could always take Bill Harris up on his offers to arrange a game for him, but he found that he didn’t care for the man and did not want to be indebted to him. He was satisfied with the games he’d been playing, even if they were not particularly challenging to him. So far Ben Thompson had been the only real competition, and, thanks to his run of luck, he had taken the man’s measure. His real competition, he felt, would come when he finally made his way to Portsmouth Square, in San Francisco.

He took out another three-for-a-nickel cigar and lit it, enjoying both the smell and the crackle of the cheap tobacco. He nodded to men who entered the lobby, tipped his hat to the women with them, and tried his best to relax. So far the gambling had been going well—and when you really looked at it, the gunplay had gone well, too. He was alive, he was ahead of the game.

“Got another one of those?”

He looked up at Ben Thompson and said, “Three-for-a-nickel cheroots don’t seem to be your style, Ben.”

“Or yours.”

“I’m going cheap.”

“I’ll go along with you,” Thompson said. “Just let me get myself a chair.”

He went into the lobby, came out with a rather nice-looking armchair that belonged in the lobby, not out on the walk. Of course, no one was going to stop Ben Thompson from taking whatever chair he liked. It could even have been the lobby divan.

He sat next to Butler, accepted the cigar and a light, then drew deeply.

“Jesus, you’re right,” he said, “this is cheap.”

“If it’s any consolation, I paid a kid a quarter to fetch them for me,” Butler explained.

“Ah, three for thirty cents. That does sound better.”

“I notice you had company last night.”

“Saw her leavin’ this morning’, did you?”

“Just by coincidence.”

“She’s a fine woman,” Thompson said. “Very talented.”

Butler didn’t respond.

“No, I mean, she’s talented with a deck of cards.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s what you were thinkin’.”

“Now you read minds?”

“If you can’t read minds sometimes,” Thompson responded, “you shouldn’t be playin’ poker. You read minds very well at the table. That’s how you know when to call and when to fold.”

Butler didn’t think of it as mind reading. He thought of it as having good instincts and being able to read people.

When he didn’t respond to Thompson’s word, the other man changed the subject.

“There’s somethin’ goin’ on in this town,” he said.

“Like what?”

“I thought you’d know that better than I do. All I know is, I can feel the tension.”

“Well,” Butler said, “I can tell you what I know, but there’s a whole hell of a lot I don’t know.”

“I can start with what you know.”

Butler told him…

“I got a question,” Thompson said when Butler finished.

“What?”

“Why would you get involved?”

“I reacted to the moment,” Butler said. “I saw two men obviously casing the Lady Gay from outside. I saw them check their weapons. I figured they were up to something and it wasn’t good. What would you have done?”

“I just got to town like you did?” Thompson asked. “I would have gone to my room and got some rest.”

“And just let whatever was going to happen play out?”

“You betcha.”

“Okay,” Butler said, “say you were inside, at the bar, and you saw these two jaspers going for their guns.”

“Not my business,” Thompson said. “I’ve never understood why some people want to get involved in something that just ain’t their business. You’d be havin’ a lot less trouble right now if you’d kept to yourself, wouldn’t you?”

“Probably.”

“Unless…”

Butler didn’t rise to the bait.

“Unless,” Thompson continued, “those three fellas the other mornin’ were after you for another reason.”

Butler remained silent.

“Maybe the same reason that fella Ryerson’s in town?”

Butler let Thompson continue uninterrupted.

“But then why would Ryerson take a hand to help you?” the other man asked. “To save his bounty? But if you were dead he could probably have collected it himself.”

Thompson fell silent for a moment, puffed on his cheroot.

“But you’ve asked yourself these questions already,” he said, finally. “I’m just repeatin’ them. Is this helpin’ you figure anything out?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well,” Thompson said, regarding the glowing tip of his cheap cigar, “I guess I can do what I can to help keep you alive.”

“Why would you?” Butler asked. “That wouldn’t be mindin’ your own business.”

“You’ve got some of my money,” Ben Thompson said, turning to look at Butler. “I can’t win it back if you’re dead. That makes it my business.”

“Yeah, right,” Butler said.

“You sayin’ you don’t want my help?”

“No, no,” Butler said, “I’ll take it. Doesn’t matter to me how you justify it.”

“So, you want to go and ask that bounty hunter what he’s doin’ in town?” Thompson asked.

“I was thinking about it,” Butler said. “But there’s more.”

“How much more?”

More than he was going to say. He wasn’t going to give Hank up, but he did mention how disturbed Corbin seemed to be to find out that Ryerson was a bounty man.

“So, he explained that,” Thompson said. “He told you he hated bounty hunters.”

“That Corbin has a price on his head and that’s why he was bothered?”

Butler shrugged.

“Okay, so maybe Ryerson recognized him,” Thompson said. “Or maybe he’s the reason Ryerson is here, and you got nothin’ to worry about.”

“Why’s he hanging around me, then?”

Thompson smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Maybe he likes you.”

Butler ignored him.

“He’s too damn pleased with himself about something,” he said. “Thinks he’s got something over me.”

“Like what?”

“I guess I should find out,” Butler said.

“Push him into makin’ a move?”

“If he’s got a move to make,” Butler said.