“There isn’t,” Butler said. “Not in the legal sense, anyway. There’s…a price on my head, it’s been there a long time, but it’s got nothing to do with the law.”
“Wow,” Brown said, “that is personal, isn’t it? You got somebody mad enough at you to put a price on your head?”
“And rich enough to make it a high one.”
“So the other morning…”
“…might have been about that, it may not have been. Today was definitely about that.”
“Did he tell you who it was?” Brown asked. “I mean, who put up the money?”
“He said he didn’t know.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes, I’ve heard that from others.”
“Others,” Brown said. “How many others have there been?”
“Many,” Butler said. “Dozens. I’ve lost count.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Years…”
“Jesus,” Brown said. “That’s like bein’ on the run…and not knowin’ who you’re on the run from. At least wanted men know they’re wanted by the law. That can’t be an easy way to live.”
“It isn’t,” Butler said, “but I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Is Butler your real name?”
“Yes.”
Brown held up his hand.
“Okay, I don’t need that explanation,” he said. “I’m sure you’re keepin’ your name for a good reason.”
Butler was about to say so when Jim Masterson came down the stairs. He looked around at the three or four customers the Lady Gay had at that moment, then joined Butler and Neal Brown at the bar.
“I heard shots while I was getting’ dressed,” he said to them. “Anyone know what was goin’ on?”
“Why don’t you get a beer from your bartender,” Butler said, “and I’ll tell you a story.”
CHAPTER 51
Jim Masterson listened to Butler’s story—the same one he’d told Neal Brown, with no deviation. Masterson listened while quietly sipping his beer and when Butler was finished he said, “We sure are drinkin’ a lot of beer for breakfast since you came to town.”
“Really?” Butler asked. “I thought since you owned a saloon that would be kind of…common.”
“No,” Masterson said, “I’m more used to eggs.” He put his beer down, only half finished. “Probably time for you to leave town.”
“Why’s everybody telling me that?” Butler wondered.
“You’ve got enough problems of your own without getting’ involved in ours,” Masterson said.
“I can make my own decisions, Jim,” Butler said. “Besides, there’s still some money to be made, here.”
“The way I hear it you’re doin’ all right,” Brown said.
“I could do better.”
Masterson scratched his jaw.
“You had Thompson out there backin’ your play?” he asked.
“All he did was keep it fair.”
“But he’ll watch your back?” Brown asked.
“Surprisingly, yeah.”
“Well,” Masterson said, “you couldn’t have anyone better—according to Bat, Ben’s the best man he ever saw with a gun.”
“Bat Masterson said that?” Butler asked.
“Yes, he did,” Masterson said. “I don’t know that I agree, but he’s still a good man to have on your side.”
“We agree on that,” Butler said. “Ben says he thinks this town is about to erupt.”
“He’s a pretty damn good judge of the situation, if you ask me,” Neal Brown said. “I think Peacock and Updegraff are gonna try to kill Jim outright, any day now.”
“I don’t think they have the gumption for that,” Masterson said.
“I think you’re wrong, Jim,” Brown said, “but I guess we’ll have to wait and see who’s right.”
“I got some work to do in the back,” Masterson said. “I’ll see you gents later.”
As Masterson went into his office Brown said, “I’ll have to stick around him, I think.”
“I think you’re right,” Butler said. “Neal, what do you think about sending for Bat?”
“I’d be for it,” Brown said, right away, “but I’d never do it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, even if it kept Jim alive, our friendship would probably be over. He’d be mad as hell at anyone who did that.”
“I see.”
“Thinkin’ about it?” Brown asked.
“No,” Butler said after a second, “I can honestly say I’m not thinking about doing it, at all.”
Butler left Brown at the Lady Gay and walked over to Hank’s cafe. He found the man in the kitchen, cooking.
“Thought you ought to know,” he told him. “Ryerson’s dead.”
“Who killed him?”
“I did. He came after me first.”
“First?”
“Said he had a list,” Butler said. “I was first, Corbin was on it, and there was a third man.”
Hank took a deep breath.
“He didn’t say who the third man was?”
“No.”
“You think it was me?”
“No way for me to know that.”
“Who’s Corbin?”
“Just a gambler, made a mistake a while back, got a small price put on his head. Ryerson had a memory for that sort of thing.”
“If that was true, then he probably remembered me, eventually,” Hank said. “He’d have to have a helluva memory, though. It’s been awhile.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” Butler said. “He’s dead.”
“Better for everyone, I guess,” Hank said. “You hungry?”
Butler shook his head.
“I had breakfast,” he said. “Might come back for lunch, though.”
“That’d be okay,” Hank said. “Thanks for bringin’ me the word.”
“Sure.”
After Butler left Hank tossed a look over at the trunk where his gun was. The leather of the holster was getting old, even though he oiled it. The gun was in good working order, but after all these years, was he? Maybe he wouldn’t have to find out.
When Butler got back to Front Street he ran into M. J. Healy, who was hurrying along and stopped short when she saw him.
“Well, thank you very much,” she said, although her demeanor was not a very angry one.
“What’d I do?”
