It was Kevin Ryerson.
Butler only hesitated a second, then walked over to the man, who was smiling.
“I thought that was you,” he said. “You want a beer?”
“Sure.”
Ryerson leaned in and shouted at the bartender. A moment later he leaned out and handed Butler a frothy, cold beer.
“I was wondering where you disappeared to this morning,” Butler said. “I don’t know that I thanked you properly for helping me.”
“I had to get some sleep,” Ryerson said. “I rode pretty hard for two days to get here.”
“Some reason you had to get here in a hurry?” Butler asked.
Ryerson sipped his own beer and nodded.
“Business.”
“What kind of business is that?”
Ryerson’s eyebrows went up.
“You don’t know? I thought for sure you’d know by now. Figured you’d check me out.”
“There’s not much to check,” Butler said. “Apparently, you keep a pretty low profile.”
“Well, in my business—you know what business I’m in, right?” he asked.
“Bounty hunter.”
“Right. In my business I think too many of my colleagues make a point of gettin’ their names out there. They make their reputations as important as the money.”
“And you don’t do that.”
“Hell, no,” Ryerson said. “To me it’s all about the money. That’s the only reason I do it. I don’t relish the hunt, or the kill if it comes to that. Just the money.”
“So the money is the only reason you do it.”
“I just said that—but no, wait. The reason I can make my money this way is that I’m good at it. So I guess I do it because I can’t see any other way to make the same money. Must be the same with you. You’re a gambler, right?”
“Right.”
“You know any other way you can make the same money?”
“No.”
“And you do it for the money, right?”
“I enjoy it,” Butler said. “I do get a thrill out of it.”
“Well,” Kevin Ryerson said, “it sounds to me like we got a lot in common.”
“Not the least of which is we’re both in Dodge City at the same time,” Butler said.
“Do you believe in coincidence?” Ryerson asked.
“I’ve seen too many of them not to.”
“I don’t,” Ryerson said. “I think everything happens for a reason. You, me, those men this morning, we were all there for a reason. Anyone know who they were, by the way? Or why they wanted to kill you?”
“Not why they wanted to kill me,” Butler said, “but somebody identified one of them as a fella named Red Sandland.”
“Red Sandland,” Ryerson repeated, frowning. “Can’t say I know him. If there was paper out on him I’m sure I’d remember. I have a memory for that kind of thing. Faces, too. I remember faces.”
Butler wondered if Ryerson had remembered Hank’s face yet.
“So, are you here on business?” Butler asked. “Or just passing through?”
Ryerson drank some beer before answering, regarded Butler over the rim of his glass. His eyes looked amused.
“I never talk about my business, Mr. Butler,” he said, lowering the glass. “Let’s say I was here looking for you. Well, word might get around, you’d hear about it, and then you’d run—or try to shoot me in the back. Not that I’m sayin’ you’d do that, but some folks might try to bushwhack me rather than run. My point is—”
“You don’t talk about your business,” Butler finished for him. “I got it.”
“Good. No offense?”
“No offense.”
“So are you here to gamble? Poker, is it? Or something else?”
“Poker, usually,” Butler said, “but it looks real busy in here tonight. I might try over at the Long Branch.”
“Hey, I wanted to take a look over there, too. Mind if I walk over with you?”
Butler eyed the man. Was he just trying to get him outside, on the street?
“I don’t mind,” he said, “but I’m not ready to leave just yet. Why don’t you go over—”
“Hey, I’ll wait,” Ryerson said. “Still got to finish my beer. And you owe me one, right?”
“Right,” Butler said. “I’ll return the favor at the Long Branch.”
“No problem,” Ryerson said. “Just give me a sign when you’re ready and we’ll mosey over.”
“Right,” Butler said. “I’ll do that.”
Ryerson nodded, still looking amused at something—or was his smile more mocking than amused?
Butler took his beer with him and moved away from the bar.
CHAPTER 43
Butler moved through the crowded saloon until he came to a setup of three poker tables, all completely filled. Off to one side he noticed Dog Kelley, but rather than watching the game the man looked like he was just staring off into space. Butler sidled up next to the man and waited to be noticed.
“Oh, Mr. Butler,” Kelley said finally. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I was…somewhere else.”
“I’ve been there, Mr. Kelley,” Butler said. “Sometimes it’s a better place.”
“And sometimes not,” Kelley said. “And I thought I asked you to call me Dog.”
“Dog, it is. Have you seen Ben Thompson tonight?”
“I haven’t,” Kelley said. “I was thinkin’ he might have left town.”
“Really? I had breakfast with him and he didn’t say a word about that.”
“Maybe I got it wrong, then,” Kelley said. “He’s probably gambling over at the Lady Gay, or the Long Branch tonight.”
“I was at the Lady Gay and he wasn’t there. I’ll give the Long Branch a try.”
Kelley turned his body so that he faced Butler.
“If you’re lookin’ for a game, I can set up a table for you. I’m sure we can get some more players.”
Butler looked at the men who were manning the three tables and said, “No, I don’t think so.”
“Believe me,” Kelley added, “I can make sure you have a level of competition you’re comfortable with.”
“I appreciate that,” Butler said, “and I might take you up on it later, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine,” Kelley said. “I’ll accommodate you any time. I’ve also beefed up my security here, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry about a repeat of what happened this morning.”
“That’s good to know,” Butler said.
He was tempted to ask Kelley if there was a back way out he could use, but decided against it. If Ryerson was in Dodge looking for him, he’d have to face it, soon enough.
“Well, I better be going. Oh, Neal Brown asked me to tell you that he and Jim Masterson would be over a little later on.”
“Good,” Kelley said. “I haven’t seen either of them all day. Obliged for the message.”
Butler made his way back through the crowd and found Ryerson waiting by the batwing doors.
“Didn’t think you’d be much longer.”
The man seemed good-natured as they came, but Butler suspected it was an act. They were about the same age, but Ryerson was clearly a man of the West. His clothes were clean, but they wore trail clothes, and his gun
