“Suit yourself.” Updegraff had considered kicking Butler out, but decided against it.
“You the bartender?”
“That’s me,” Updegraff said. “Bartender, and swamper.”
“Let me ask you. What do you think the chances are of me getting up an afternoon poker game?”
Updegraff stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom handle, holding it in both hands.
“Pretty damned good, I’d say,” he answered. “The town’s full of gamblers. Not good ones, but gamblers.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Seems I saw you in here before,” Updegraff said, pretending not to recognize Butler.
“That’s because I’ve been in here before.”
“Last night,” the barkeep said, “you were playing poker with Ben Thompson.”
“So I was.”
Updegraff used his broom to get himself close to the door. He peered out the window and saw Sandland across the street with Dave and Willy. This was good. They had Butler spotted. Updegraff decided to do what he could to keep Butler there, until the three men decided their plan.
“Got some coffee on,” he told Butler. “Wanna cup?”
“Sure,” Butler said, “thanks.”
“I just got to go back to the kitchen,” Updegraff said. “I’ll be right back.”
Butler nodded, watched the man go behind the bar and disappear through a doorway, broom and all.
“What do we do?” Willy asked.
“The Lady Gay is closed,” Dave said. “We gotta wait.”
“We don’t gotta wait,” Sandland said. “The front door’s open, there ain’t nobody in there but Al Updegraff.”
“How do you know that?” Willy asked.
“I seen him sweepin’.”
“So what do we do?” Willy asked.
“We go in,” Sandland said. “We go in and we take him.”
“Now?” Dave asked.
“Right now,” Sandland said. “Check your guns. We don’t want no mistakes.”
As they checked their loads they didn’t notice the man watching them. He had come down the street, spotted them, and stopped to watch. Now, as they were checking their weapons, he knew just what they had in mind.
From the kitchen Updegraff looked outside to see what Sandland and the others were doing. When he saw them all draw their guns and check them, he knew they were ready. He poured a cup of coffee and went back into the saloon.
Butler watched the bartender walk toward him with a cup of steaming coffee.
“There ya go,” Updegraff said, setting it in front of him.
“Much obliged.”
As Updegraff wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing, he saw the batwing doors swing inward quietly. Red Sandland appeared, gun in hand. Behind him came his two partners. Updegraff had to get out of the line of fire, and fast.
“I gotta get back to work,” he said to Butler, and scurried to get to the safety of the bar.
At that moment Butler saw the three men who had entered, recognized the one in the center. They were fanned out in front of the door, facing him. If not for the bartender, he might have noticed them sooner. The bartender had suddenly ducked down behind the bar…
“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” Butler said. “Brought some friends, I see.”
“Mister,” Sandland said, “we ain’t here to talk.”
“Well, if you’re here to bushwhack me you’re out of luck. I never sit with my back to the door. It’s a bad habit. You should’ve come in a window, or a back door.”
“It don’t matter,” the middle man, Sandland, said. “We got you three to one.”
“Fair odds, do you think?”
“Mister,” Red Sandland said, “fair ain’t got nothin’ to do with nothin’.”
“You’re right about that,” Butler said. He picked up the cup of coffee with his left hand and sipped it. He could see that the nonchalant move unnerved the men.
Undoubtedly, they were wondering why he wasn’t more worried, or scared.
It wouldn’t do to have them know he was both.
CHAPTER 31
Butler didn’t waste any more time. He put the coffee cup down, slid his hand beneath the table and then up ended it. He came to his feet, drew his gun, and fired. It didn’t matter who fired the first shot. The three men were there to kill him, of that he had no doubt. Giving them the first shot would have just been foolish.
Sandland, seeing the table start to tip over, hurriedly drew his gun and shouted, “Get him!”
Their initial volley of shots struck the table, gouging out chunks of it. Butler’s first shot was a hurried one, as much to scatter the men as hit one. It worked on both counts. The bullet nicked Willy’s arm as the three men dove for cover. Dave took cover at the far end of the bar while both Willy and Sandland found their own tables to overturn.
Butler fired two more times, blindly, from behind his table, and then suddenly the saloon grew quiet. The sound of empty shells hitting the floor filed the room as all the parties reloaded. Butler knew if they charged him they could kill him, but he’d get at least one, and he was betting that none of the three of them wanted to be that one.
“Come on, boys,” he invited. “Charge me all at once. Let’s see what happens.”
Outside on the street, people heard the shots from inside the Lady Gay, but only one man moved toward the saloon. As he crossed the street Kevin Ryerson was drawing his gun. While other folks backed away or ran for cover, they couldn’t help but wonder who this man was heading toward the trouble, and not away from it.
Jim Masterson heard the initial shots and fell out of bed in his haste to reach for his gun. When he heard the shots continue he realized nobody was shooting at him. It took a moment for him to wake up enough to realize it was coming from downstairs. Hastily, he reached for his pants…
Butler fired more blind shots and then suddenly a fourth man was coming through the front door. He wasted no time in joining the fray. He turned and shot Dave, who was hiding at the end of the bar. The bullet took him in the neck, and then a second took his life.
Butler stood just as both Willy and Red Sandland did the same. Sandland saw him, tried to bring his gun to bear, but Butler shot him in the chest. Both Butler and Ryerson pointed their guns as Willy but it was Jim Masterson who shot him from the second floor, one clean shot right through the heart.
Butler first looked up at Masterson, who was leaning on the railing, then over at Ryerson, who he didn’t know.
“What the hell—” Masterson said, from upstairs.
“You might as well take the time to get dressed,” Butler called to him. “I don’t think there are any more.”
“I’ll be right down.” He turned and went back into his room.
Now Butler looked at Ryerson and said, “I’m much obliged, Mister…”
“Ryerson,” the man said, “Kevin Ryerson. I was just passin’ by, thought I might could help.”
“You thought right.”
“What did these three jaspers have against you?”
“Can’t say I know,” Butler replied. “I don’t know any of the three of them.”
Ryerson ejected the spent shells from his gun, reloaded and holstered it. Butler could see the callus on the
