“That’s where I was going to go,” Butler said, “soon as I finish this beer.”
“Well, don’t rush it,” the barman said. “It’s good beer.”
Butler sipped his beer and watched some men at the far end of the bar, who seemed to be celebrating.
“What’s going on?” he asked the bartender.
“You got here two days after election day,” the man said. “We got us a new mayor, and he’s cleanin’ house. Fired the city marshal, Jim Masterson, his deputy, as well as the sheriff and undersheriff.”
“Jim Masterson?”
“Yep,” the bartender said, “Bat’s younger brother. Been marshal here for a few years, but today he’s out. Some folks are kinda excited about that.”
“What about you?”
“Not me,” the man said. “I like Jim. I think he was a great marshal for this town.”
“Do you think they’ll replace him with his brother Bat?” Butler asked.
“Not a chance,” the bartender said. “Bat ain’t in Dodge, but even if he was mayor, Webster would never hire another Masterson.”
“What’s Jim going to do?”
“Ah, he owns part of the Lady Gay, so I guess he’ll concentrate on that. And the old mayor, Dog Kelley? He half owns this place.”
“Interesting,” Butler said. He looked around. “I don’t suppose Masterson is in here now, is he?”
“Naw,” the barman said. “My guess is they’re over at the Lady Gay. They’ll be over here soon enough, though.”
“I’ll be back later,” Butler said. “Maybe I’ll spot them.”
“Whatever you wanna do,” the bartender said. “Interested in a girl for the evening? Maybe the night?”
Butler looked around, saw three or four saloon girls circulating through the room, all of them beautiful.
“I’ll let you know.”
“You do that. The name’s Hogan, Matt Hogan. Jest ask for me I’ll get ya whatever ya want.”
“I’ll remember.” Butler finished his beer, set the empty mug down. “See you later, Matt.”
“Usually,” Hogan said, “when a man introduces himself, the other fella does the same. Common courtesy, ya know?”
“Sorry,” Butler said, “I think I left my manners on the trail between here and Wichita. The name’s Butler, Ty Butler.”
“Came here from Wichita?” Hogan asked, as they shook hands. “Not much goin’ on there, huh?”
“Not much,” Butler said. “That’s why I came to Dodge.”
“Well, you’ll find everything you want here, my friend Butler.”
“I can see that, Matt. Thanks.”
Butler left the Alhambra, intending to go to the Delmonico for that steak. On the way he passed the Lady Gay and he noticed two men peering in one of the front windows. There was nothing really unusual about them. They wore trail clothes and guns in worn holsters. But before they entered the saloon they each removed their guns and checked them, to see that they were loaded. In Butler’s experience the only time you did that was when you intended to use the gun.
The two men entered through the batwing doors, and Butler’s curiosity got the better of him. He followed them in.
CHAPTER 8
Butler stopped just inside the batwing doors. The Lady Gay was not as large as the Alhambra, but it was no less lively on this evening. He looked around and spotted the two men who had entered ahead of him, one by one. They had split up, one going to the bar, and the other over to the roulette table to watch the wheel. Only he wasn’t watching the wheel, he had his eye on a table where three men were sitting. Butler knew that there was definitely trouble in the air, but if he went to the three men and tried to warn them, would they believe him? He knew what it was to be stalked by assassins, though. If he did warn them, maybe these fellows would leave and there’d be no inkling as to who sent them. Butler also knew the frustration of that.
He decided to go to the bar himself, get a beer and nurse it while keeping an eye on the two men.
“Beer,” he told the bartender.
The man nodded, didn’t speak to him, and brought him one. Butler picked it up in his left hand, turned his back to the bar, leaned against it and watched the floor.
The Lady Gay also had women working the floor, not wearing dresses as fancy as at the Alhambra, and pretty rather than beautiful, but they appeared to be popular nevertheless. Pale skin and overflowing bosoms did wonders for men’s thirst and egos.
But the two men who had come in ahead of him were not looking at any of the women, which was another- tip-off. One of them had gotten himself a beer, the other was still at the roulette wheel, both still had their eyes on the three seated men, who seemed oblivious to the danger.
Butler called the bartender over.
“Those three men over there,” he asked. “Who are they?”
“Them’s three unhappy men, stranger,” the bartender said. “One’s our ex-marshal, Jim Masterson, with his ex-deputy Neal Brown, and the third, older fella is our ex-mayor, Dog Kelley. They all lost their jobs in the past two days.”
“That’s too bad,” Butler said. “I guess they’re drowning their sorrows, huh?”
“Guess you could say that. Listen, I gotta go. My shift is over, but you have yourself a great time. Al will take care of you.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The bartenders changed places. The new one was in his late thirties, and he weaved a bit, as if he’d already sampled some of the beer, or whiskey…or both. Butler was not going to pay any attention to him until he noticed a quick look pass between him and one of the two men who was at the bar. It looked to him like a signal.
What came next happened very quickly. The man at the bar put his beer down and drew his gun. Likewise, the fellow at the roulette wheel turned and pulled his gun.
Butler was surprised to see Jim Masterson jump to his feet, whirl, draw his gun, and plug the man at the roulette wheel before the fellow could get off a shot. Shouts rose up as the body fell on top of the roulette layout. One of the men seated with Masterson jumped to his feet and drew his gun, watching the crowd. The other—the ex-mayor—simply slid from his chair and hit the floor.
Neither Masterson or his ex-deputy saw the man at the bar, so it fell to Butler to draw his gun and stop him.
“Hold it!” he shouted.
The man turned his head briefly to see who had shouted at him. When he saw Butler with his gun out he frowned, but switched his attention back to Masterson, who was in the act of turning to also see who had yelled. Butler had no recourse but to fire, which he did. The bullet struck the gunman in the side of the head, drilled through and came out the other side. It kept on going and hit another man, a bystander, in the arm, knocking him off his feet.
There was more yelling, but the shooting was apparently over. Both Masterson and his deputy, Brown, turned their guns on Butler, who was still holding his. They both also saw the man on the floor at the base of the bar. Butler made a show of putting his gun up, holstering it, and showing the ex-lawmen his hands.
“Check him out,” Masterson said to Brown, indicating the man on the roulette wheel layout. He, in turn, approached the man at the base of the bar.
It was suddenly quiet in the saloon, men and women clearing out, making room, reminding Butler of the recent scene in the saloon in Wichita.
“Know ’im?” Masterson called out to Brown.
