CHAPTER 26
Red Sandland, Willy, and Dave came out of the Red Dog Saloon, staggering. They’d stayed longer than they’d intended, and they were all close to falling down drunk.
“I say we just find ’im and kill ’im,” Dave slurred.
“Find ’im and kill ’im?” Willy asked. “You can’t even stand up straight.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Sandland said. “We ain’t in no shape to kill anybody, ’cept maybe ourselves. We best stay out of this gambler’s way tonight.”
“So where we goin’?” Willy asked.
“Where else?” Sandland asked. “Back to the district.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dave said, “we can’t possibly get killed there…”
Hank locked the front door and they sat and talked over a pot of coffee.
“Not that anyone will try to come in,” he said after locking it.
“I don’t understand,” Butler said, when they were seated. “If you don’t want people around you, why would you open a restaurant—and in Dodge City, of all places?”
“Dodge ain’t what it used to be,” Hank said. “People are leavin’ here. I thought it was better to start here than someplace like Tombstone, which is growing, or Denver, which has just too damn many people.”
“Is your face that recognizable?” Butler, himself, had left home ten years before, but had only been in the West for six or seven, and did not know all of the “legends” on sight.
“No,” Hank said, “I don’t think so. My name, though, if anyone heard it, would ring a bell.”
“Hank?”
“No,” Hank said, “that’s not my real name.”
“You know what?” Butler said. “I don’t need to know your real name. I don’t need to know the man who’s in that trunk in the kitchen. You’re the man I’ve met, and it’s only you I have to know.”
Hank smiled and extended his hand.
“Henry Pryor, at your service.”
Butler took his hand, shook it and said, “Happy to meet you.”
Butler didn’t leave then. Hank produced a bottle of whiskey, which they used to lace their coffee. Butler did not want to end up drunk. He still had a full night of poker ahead of him.
They did not discuss their pasts, only their present and a little bit of their futures. Hank lived upstairs, so when Butler was ready to leave Hank unlocked the door and let him out.
“I hope I confided in the right person,” he said, “and this story won’t end up all over town.”
“The only story that’s going to get spread all over town is one you tell yourself, Hank,” Butler said. “This is all just between you and me.”
“Thanks, Butler.”
As they shook hands Butler asked, “Do you want me to tell M.J. that you’re not interested in being written about?”
“No, that’s okay,” Hank said. “I’ll talk to her and tell her myself.”
“Good night, then.”
Hank closed and locked the door behind Butler and blew out the lamps. Butler headed back to Front Street.
Butler decided to try the Long Branch for his poker tonight. Maybe later he’d check out the Alhambra and see if Ben Thompson was there. As soon as he entered the Long Branch, though, he saw that it wouldn’t be necessary. Ben Thompson was seated at a table in the center of the room with five other men, deeply engrossed in playing five-card stud.
“It’s a stud table,” Bill Harris said, coming up next to Butler. “No other games.”
“I see.”
“Interested? I could probably start another table.”
“I think I’ll have a beer first,” Butler said, “but thanks.”
He didn’t like having Bill Harris come right up to him when he entered. If the man continued to do it, he’d mark the Long Branch off his list and do his gambling elsewhere.
He bellied up to the bar and ordered a beer, then turned with it in hand to observe the place for a while.
Butler never rushed into a game. He preferred to watch and assess both the venue, and the table. From his vantage point he was able to watch Thompson and his opponents as they did battle. Off to the right was a second table, which seemed to be dealer’s choice. He watched that one, as well. Around him there was also a faro game going, a roulette wheel, a red dog table and couple of tables featuring blackjack, a game he hated.
He was content for the moment to sip his beer and watch.
During the next hour two girls approached him. They were pretty but he wasn’t interested in a girl, at the moment. He suspected that Bill Harris had sent them.
He finished his beer and set the empty mug down on the bar. He was not tempted to have a second. He was feeling the effects of the first one, combined with the whiskey he’d drunk with Hank. He decided to take a walk around the room before deciding which table to sit in on.
He wondered as he made a circuit of the room if any of the men in that place knew who he was, and were laying for him? He had not seen the man from the hotel hallway anywhere, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some friends representing him. Probably the smartest thing for him to do was leave Dodge City in the morning, but wherever he went they’d probably track him. Better to face them in Dodge and get it over with. Maybe after back- to-back tries—Wichita and Dodge—he’d have a breather. During his walk around the room, Butler momentarily gave in to curiosity and speculated about Hank Pryor, and what his real identity might be; but he immediately set it aside. After all, he preferred not to talk about his own past, although he was not running away from a misspent part of his life, as Hank might have been.
Butler watched a bit of roulette and red dog, and just enough of blackjack to know that he had not changed his mind about the game. He found the faro layout interesting and wondered who the dealer was, but wasn’t curious enough to ask on the spot. And so he ended up back by the two poker tables. At the stud table Ben Thompson was still holding court. He noticed Butler watching and inclined his head in a slight nod of welcome. The table was using chips, and Thompson had twice as much in front of him as anyone else. He was having a good night, and it was better to avoid a gambler who was riding a wave of good luck.
At the other table, where the game was dealer’s choice, the chips seemed equally divided among four players as a fifth man busted out of the game and left. Butler moved quickly to take the vacated spot. The stakes were not very high at this point, so he bought two hundred dollars worth of chips and settled in to see how the night’s luck was going to run.
CHAPTER 27
As it turned out his luck was running fair, and he easily outclassed all the other players at the table. At one point during the evening he noticed Ben Thompson looking his way. The man nodded slightly toward the bar, which Butler took to mean he wanted to meet there. Both men excused themselves from the table with a muttered, “Deal me out a couple of hands,” and went to the bar. By the time Butler arrived Thompson had two beers waiting.
“How are you doin’ tonight?” Thompson asked.
“I’m doing well,” Butler said. “The cards are running hot and cold, but I don’t have much competition at the table.”
“Same here,” Thompson said. “You want to sit at the same table?”
“I see the mountain of chips you got in front of you, Ben,” Butler said. “I think your cards are running a little better than you say. Why do I get the feeling you’re just trying to lure me over to your table?”
