Butler's Wager

“Boys I sent?” Peacock asked. “You picked them out, Al!”

“You sent them after him.”

Peacock and Updegraff stared at each other, then both looked upstairs, where Jim Masterson’s room was. If he’d heard them he would have come out by now.

“Keep your damned voice down,” Peacock said. “Look, you find three or four boys who can do the job, understand? Tinhorn gambler or no. And let me know when you get them.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Updegraff reached for another bottle and Peacock said—still keeping his voice down—“and stop drinkin’ my whiskey!”

Butler took a turn around Dodge City, taking in everything, including the not yet open Long Branch Saloon, and the fairly dead red-light district. Nothing in the district opened until late in the day.

Along the way he picked up a copy of the Dodge City Times. It was obvious that Mike Deaver’s old man was going to find out what had happened to his son in the Alhambra the night before, because it was in the newspaper. There must have been a reporter in the Lady Gay, observing everything, because the story was very accurate. So accurate, in fact, that it mentioned everyone at the table—including him.

He folded the paper and shook his head. This wasn’t good, but then who back East read the Dodge City Times? And it wasn’t as if they weren’t going to find him again. They were. They would always find him and try him. He supposed that one day he’d get tired of it and return to the East, but this wasn’t that day.

He stood on the corner of Front and 2nd Avenue. It was nearing lunchtime and the town had come to life long ago. Wagons and horses moving up and down Front Street, men and women passing him on the street, some bidding him good morning or good day, others nodding, still others ignoring. He was wearing a dark suit, boiled white shirt, and string tie, along with his good boots. It was the way he usually dressed, and pretty much branded him a gambler, but he liked the way he looked when he dressed this way. And he never tried to hide his profession from anyone.

He’d spotted a small cafe during his walk, and decided it was a likely place for lunch. He’d sniffed the aromas coming from inside, recognized the smell of baking. He was in the mood for coffee and pie.

CHAPTER 16

The cafe was small and filled with delicious smells. Even after the full breakfast he’d had, his mouth started to water when he walked in. There were only a few tables—mismatched, and they looked handmade, as did the chairs—and none of them were taken, at the moment. He looked around, waited and when no one appeared, he seated himself. After a few moments he called out, “Anybody home?”

Abruptly, a man stuck his head in from what Butler assumed was a curtained doorway to the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, “didn’t hear you come in.” He came out the door, cleaning his hands on the once white apron he wore around his ample waist. “Fact, is, hardly nobody ever comes in here.”

“I don’t see why not?” Butler asked. “There sure are good smells coming from here.”

“Obliged to you for that, Mister,” the man said. “You must be a stranger in town. See, most local folks eat over to the Delmonico, or in one of the hotels. I keep stuff on the stove just in case, but most of the time me and my family ends up eatin’ it ourselves.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to deprive your family of anything—” Butler started to say.

“No, hey,” the man said, “I’m in business, after all. What’s your pleasure? I got some real good beef stew on the stove.”

His intention had been to only have some pie, but now he felt he needed to order something more.

“Sounds good,” Butler said. “I’ll try a bowl of that, and follow it with some pie.”

“Somethin’ ta drink for ya?”

“Coffee.”

“Comin’ up,” the man said, turning toward the kitchen. He stopped before entering, though, turned back. “You are gonna be here when I come back out, right?”

“I’m going to be right here waiting for that beef stew,” Butler said.

The man smiled and went through the curtain. Butler wondered how many folks had come in, ordered something and left before he came out. And why?

After he’d eaten two bowls of beef stew, a piece of apple pie, and drank a pot of coffee, Butler was even more confused about why someone would leave the cafe before eating.

The cook—who was also the owner and the waiter, a fellow named Hank—came out and asked him if he wanted anything else.

“I can’t eat another thing,” Butler said. He was glad he hadn’t put on a vest today. He’d have popped the buttons by now. “That was a fine meal, Hank.”

“Well, thank ya. I appreciate that…hell, I didn’t even ask you your name. I got the manners of a goat.”

“My name’s Butler, Ty Butler.” The gambler stood up to shake the cook’s hand.

“Well, hey—you’re the fella saved Jim Masterson’s bacon last night in the Lady Gay.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“And busted young Mike Deaver out of a poker game.”

Butler would’ve said word got around fast, but he still had that copy of the Times with the story in it. He knew he couldn’t have been the only one who read it.

“Looks like I made quite a name for myself my first day in town,” Butler said. “And I usually try to keep a low profile.”

“Well, I’m just pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Butler,” Hank said. “Any friend of the Mastersons is a friend of mine, yes sir. Real damn glad to meet ya.”

“You know all of them?” Butler asked, retrieving his hand before the man could crush it.

“Fact is, I got a passin’ acquaintance with Jim,” Hank said, “but I respect him as a lawman. He was a good one for years, here. I don’t know Bat, but I knew Ed before he got killed. That goes back a ways, when I was still a blacksmith.”

“Wait, wait…you went from being a blacksmith to a cook?” That explained the size of the man, who must’ve stood six two with a belly like a boulder.

“Sounds funny, I know, but I always preferred cooking. I saved up enough money to open this place. Only been here a few months. Tell ya the truth, don’t know how much longer I can last, but it’s sure gratifying to know you liked my cooking.”

“I think that was the best meal I’ve had in a while,” Butler said, “and I had a steak at the Delmonico last night.”

“Well, then, I am much obliged to ya,” Hank said.

“I’ll spread the word, Hank,” Butler said. “Maybe I can send some business your way.”

“I’d sure appreciate that, Mr. Butler,” Hank said. “I sure would.”

Butler nodded and worked his way to the door. He wanted to get out before Hank decided to shake hands again.

CHAPTER 17

Butler had not meant to become so infamous in Dodge City. His intention had been to simply come there and play poker. It’s all he ever wanted to do when he came to a town. Fact of the matter was most of his trouble—that