“Seems like it.”
“Well,” Cramer said, “this is an extra bonus.”
“Meaning you want a piece of the reward?”
“That’s not just a reward, Sutherland,” Cramer said, “that’s a good year in this damn place. Why? Did you think it would be yours?”
“It occurred to me to claim it,” Sutherland said. “After all, we’re not partners. You’re payin’ me to do a job. Anythin’ I pick up along the way—”
“Okay, how about this?” Cramer asked. “We’ll be partners in this.”
“Fifty-fifty?” Sutherland asked.
“Well, I want to be fair,” Cramer said. “Since you’re going to pull the trigger, why don’t we make it sixty- forty…in your favor?”
“But you’re still gonna pay me.”
“Yes.”
“And I still get my try at Luke Short?”
“Oh, yes.”
“All right, then,” Sutherland said. “You got a deal…Ed.”
CHAPTER 21
Butler noticed Jerry, the bartender, beckoning him over to the bar.
“What is it?”
“Victor just told me to tell you that Long-haired Jim Courtwright just came in.”
“Courtwright,” Butler repeated, then said, “Oh, the sheriff?”
“That’s right.”
“Has he ever come in here before?” Butler asked.
“A few times.”
“So? What makes this time different?”
“He asked about you.”
Butler looked around.
“Where is he?”
Jerry inclined his head toward the front of the saloon and said, “At the end of the bar, having a free beer.”
“Set me up with one down there,” Butler said. “I’ll talk to him.”
Butler walked down the bar until he reached the end, where a tall, slender long-haired man with a badge was nursing a beer. At the same time Jerry arrived with a beer for him.
“Jerry, get the sheriff another one,” he said. “That one’s getting warm.”
“Mr. Butler, I’ll bet,” Courtwright said.
“You’d win that bet, Sheriff,” Butler said. “You a gambling man?”
“No, sir,” Courtwright said, “not in the least. It’s the reason I keep on tryin’ to close down places like this.”
“Seems to me your time would be better spent trying to close places like the Bloody Spur.”
“Don’t you worry,” Courtwright said. “I got my sights set on shutting down all of Hell’s Half Acre.”
Jerry came with the sheriff’s fresh beer, but when he tried to remove the half-empty mug left on the bar, the man violently grabbed it and drained it, then gave Jerry back the empty mug.
“What brings you here, Sheriff?” Butler asked.
“I stop in from time to time,” the lawman said.
“Yeah, but this time you asked for me.”
“Well, I thought I’d just make the acquaintance of the new man in town,” Courtwright said. “Lots of card players come in, gamble a few days, and move on. It seems you’re stayin’ awhile. It would be rude of me not to be hospitable.”
“Well, thank you kindly for the welcome,” Butler said.
“I also wanted to talk to you about a rumor I heard goin’ around.”
“Oh? What would that be?”
“A rumor that there’s gonna be lots of trouble in some of our town’s gambling establishments.”
“Trouble?”
“Gunplay, killin’, that sort of thing.”
“Now, Sheriff, why would that concern you?” Butler asked. “I would think you wouldn’t mind some gunplay and killin’ between gamblers. Kind of do your job for you.”
“Yeah, you’d think that. Wouldn’t ya?” Courtwright said. “Except I’m just lookin’ to run you fellers out of town, not kill you.”
“Well, we appreciate it, Sheriff,” Butler said. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“You’re a real operator, aintcha?”
“Sorry?”
“You already got yerself situated here at the top gambling house in town,” Courtrwright said. “Now, how’d you do that?”
Butler smiled and said, “Charm, Sheriff, pure charm.”
CHAPTER 22
Sutherland had no qualms about bushwacking Butler. The fact was, shooting him in the back was the most efficient way of getting rid of him. It would be quick and easy and—he’d get away with it. That was the most important part of the plan.
Now, when it came to killing Luke Short, he would do that one face-to-face. That was the killing where there was a reputation involved. Killing Butler face-to-face would do nothing for his reputation, and it would be taking an unnecessary risk.
That was the reason Sutherland was on the roof of a building across the street from the White Elephant Saloon, with a rifle. From his vantage point he could see both the saloon and Butler’s hotel. He was a patient man. He had some beef jerky, a canteen of water, and he could simply piss on the roof if he had to. For anything else he’d just clench his butt cheeks for as long as it took.
And he didn’t have to supply a body in order to collect the price on Butler’s head. All he had to do was send a telegram, and wait. Once the kill was confirmed, he’d get his money. Whoever the man was who had put the bounty on Butler’s head, he had taken every precaution to make sure he was never tied to it, and that the payment would be made.
Sutherland sighted down the barrel of his rifle, picked out a practice target and pretended to pull the trigger. The practice target’s head exploded. Sutherland was almost as good with a rifle as he was with a handgun. Taking Luke Short face-to-face with a pistol was going to elevate him to legend status. Taking Butler with a rifle was going to put him on easy street. He had known for years that both of those conditions were in his future. All he had to do was align himself with the right people, and wait.
Ed Cramer was a nobody, the owner of a few pigsty gambling halls he thought made him a businessman and gentleman-gambler. But although he was a nobody, he had led Sutherland to both Butler and Short. And when both of those men were dead and gone, well he’d have no further need of Mr. Cramer.
Would he?
Ed Cramer was waiting for the word from Sutherland that Butler had been taken care of. This man Butler was
