“With a rifle, yeah,” Dutch said, “but you got it all over me with a handgun, Ben.”
“Then why’d you make me take a shot with a rifle?”
“Because I wanted you to herd him down here, to his hotel,” Dutch explained. “This is where we’re gonna take ’im.”
“But now he’s warned.”
“No,” Dutch said, “he’ll think that kid poker player took a shot and missed. He’ll write it off as a drunk sore loser, and he’ll go to his room. He’ll be there waitin’ for us.”
“But if he’s waitin’—”
“I didn’t really mean he’d be waitin’ on us,” Dutch said quickly. “He’ll just be waitin’ there for us to kill.”
He could tell from Ben’s face that the man was totally confused.
“It don’t matter,” Dutch said. “You do just like I say and we’ll earn our bounty tonight.”
“Good,” Ben said. “I need me some money—Look, that him? Here he comes.”
“Just relax,” Dutch said. “We got to give him time to get settled.”
The one thing Butler wasn’t going to do tonight was get settled.
His guess was someone was in the saloon watching him, saw what happened with the banker’s son, decided to take a shot at him thinking he’d figure it was the young sore loser. Butler had gotten real good at guessing the intentions of these assassins, and judging solely by the fact that he was still alive, his instincts had yet to fail him.
He finally made his way to the front door of his hotel without further incident and entered carefully. The desk clerk looked up at him curiously as he approached the desk.
“Has anyone been looking for me, today or tonight?” he asked the young man.
“No, sir, Mr. Butler,” the man said. “I ain’t seen nobody, all day or all night.”
“All right,” Butler said. “Thanks.”
The clerk looked down at the gun, which Butler had forgotten he was holding in his hand.
“Is there some problem, sir?”
“No,” Butler said, holstering the weapon. “No problem. At least, not one with the hotel. I’ll be checking out come morning.”
“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”
Butler went up to his room, hoping that whoever the assassins were they’d come for him soon. He needed to get some sleep if he was going to get an early start.
CHAPTER 4
Dutch and Ben approached the front desk, and as the clerk looked up they stuck both their guns in his face.
“Room number for the gambler, Butler,” Dutch said.
“Sir, I cannot—” the clerk started, but Dutch clubbed him with the barrel of his gun, not letting him finish. Even before he hit the ground Dutch had the register book turned around and open.
“Six,” he said to Ben. “Let’s go.”
They crept up the stairs, which creaked audibly beneath their combined weight. Once they reached the top of the stairs they moved single file down the hall toward room six, guns at the ready. When they reached room six, Butler’s, they stepped each to one side of the door, then Dutch signaled Ben to kick it in. They’d done this many times before. The best time to catch somebody off guard was when they were in bed, alone or with someone.
Ben stepped back, kicked the door in, and leaped into the room. Dutch came in behind him. They swept the room with their guns ready, but nobody was there.
“What the—” Dutch said.
“Where is the cocksucker?” Ben demanded.
The door to room seven, across the hall, opened, and Butler stepped out, gun in hand.
“You boys looking for me?”
Dutch turned and gave Butler no choice. The gambler pulled the trigger as Dutch was bringing his gun around. The bullet punched the man in the chest, dead center. Shoot for the largest part of the body, Butler had been taught years ago, especially when you have no time to aim.
Ben saw Dutch stagger back and land on the bed, blood blossoming on his chest. He turned and looked at Butler, who said, “Don’t,” but to no avail. Ben tried to bring his gun around, but he was too slow. The gambler drilled him through the heart, and Ben fell dead on the floor at the foot of the bed, virtually at his partner’s feet.
Butler heard footsteps in the hall and turned in time to see Three-Eyed Jack appear in the doorway, gun in hand. He tensed, but realized the man wasn’t there to kill him.
Jack surveyed the scene and lowered his gun.
“Looks like I got here too late to help,” he said, holstering his weapon.
“I appreciate the gesture.”
Jack stepped into the room, checked the two men, found them good and dead.
“Know who these two jaspers are?”
“Not a clue. What tipped you off?”
“I heard a shot in the street. That you?”
“One of them, I guess,” Butler said. “Took a shot and missed.”
Three-Eyed Jack turned and looked at the door to room seven, which was wide open.
“Looks like you were ready for ’em.”
“After that first shot, I’d of been a fool not to be.” Butler ejected the spent shells from his gun, replaced them, and holstered it. “Guess the sheriff should be here soon.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Jack said. “That’ll depend on whether or not he’s awake.”
“The clerk?”
“They knocked him out, but he’s alive.”
“Good. We might as well go across to my room, have a drink and wait to see if the law shows up.”
“This ain’t your room?”
“No.”
“Guess they had it wrong.”
“I guess so.”
They went across to room seven and left the door open. Butler retrieved a bottle of whiskey from a chest of drawers and two glasses. He poured two fingers into each glass and handed Jack one.
“This happened to you before?” Jack asked.
“Once or twice.”
“Always strangers?”
“Usually.”
Jack took a sip and said, “Why do I get the feeling you got hell on your trail?”
CHAPTER 5
Sheriff Pat Hadley first listened to Butler’s story, then heard what Three-Eyed Jack had to say.
“It was self-defense, Sheriff,” Jack finished. “Ain’t no doubt about that at all.”
“Well,” Hadley said, scratching his balding head, “I reckon if you say so, Jack.”
