Denver Draw (2 page)

It took Smithson’s friends a few minutes before they realized Butler was not going to go outside. They exchanged a glance and then walked over to the table.

“Uh, Mister?” Dusty asked.

“Yes?” Butler replied.

“You do know that Troy is waitin’ for ya outside, right?”

“I know that.”

“Uh…ain’t you gonna go out?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“B-but,” Pete Brand said, “he called you out.”

Butler looked up at both of them.

“And you think that means I have to go out?”

“Well…yeah,” Brand said.

“Forget it,” Butler said. “I’ve got a hot hand going here, boys. I ain’t about to walk away from this game.”

“B-but…Troy’s gonna be mad,” Dusty said.

“Let him get mad. What do I care?”

“Mister…he’ll kill ya,” Brand said.

“He’s right, Butler,” one of the other poker players said. “Smithson’s mean and you’re just makin’ him meaner by leavin’ him standin’ out there.”

“He’ll come in here and shoot up the place,” another card player added.

“Where’s the sheriff when you need him?” Butler asked.

“You been in Leadville long enough to know Sheriff Galloway ain’t worth shit, Butler,” the first player said. “You got ’im riled up, you’re gonna have to deal with him.”

Butler looked around the table. All of the players were staring at him and nodding, as well as some of the onlookers.

“You fellas don’t care one way or the other who gets killed, do you?” he asked. “Just so long as he doesn’t come in here shooting and interrupt the game.”

“I care,” one of the players said.

The others looked at him,

“Hey, Butler’s got most of my money,” he complained. “I want a chance to get it back.”

“Can’t much blame you for that,” Butler said. He looked around at Smithson’s two friends. “Go and tell your buddy I’ll be out directly.”

“He’s probably pretty mad as it is,” Dusty said.

“He might shoot the first man comes out the door,” Brand said.

“Then you better make sure he knows it’s you,” Butler replied, “hadn’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Brand said, “okay.”

The two men went to the batwing doors and then cautiously stepped outside.

“Sounds like you all want me to do this?” Butler said.

The men around the table nodded; onlookers did just that.

Butler sighed.

“You realize this means I’ll have to kill him?”

“You could go out the back door,” someone said. “Leave town.”

Butler sat back. The game had been ruined for him, and he had intended to leave Leadville the next day, anyway. Going out the back door had some merit.

“That’d be the coward’s way out,” another voice said. “Go on out and kill ’im. He’s a tin gun anyway, always lookin’ ta hire out and prove himself.”

That’s when it occurred to Butler that this might be something totally different.

“Ya ain’t got a price on yer head, does ya?” somebody asked.

Actually, he did, though not a lawfully placed one. Could Smithson have been trying to goad him into a fight in order to collect?

Suddenly, going out the back door didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“I’m cashing out,” he announced.

“Ain’t comin’ back even if you kill him?” a player asked.

“No,” Butler said. “I’m done with the game, and done with Leadville. I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

“If’n you ain’t dead tonight,” somebody said.

He looked around but could not pick out the man who had spoken.

Outside Troy Smithson said to his two friends, “So, do you think he bought it?”

“He bought it,” Dusty said. “He’ll be comin’ out thinkin’ he’s only got to face you.”

“Good.”

“You was real good in there, Troy,” Brand said. “I thought you was really losin’ your temper.”

Smithson glared at Brand and said, “I was. I hate that gambler. Thinks he’s so much better’n us.”

“Well, he’s gonna learn different,” Dusty said.

“Yeah, he is,” Smithson said. “He sure is. Check your guns, boys. We’re about to make us some money.”

They fanned out in front of the hotel, checked their loads, holstered their guns, and waited.

In the end, Butler did decide to go out the back door. In spite of the jeers and barbs that were fired at him by the patrons of the saloon, it turned out to be an excellent idea.

Butler moved down alongside the saloon until he reached the street. Sure enough, standing out in front of the saloon were the three friends, fanned out and waiting for him. It had all been an act, designed to lure him outside, convinced that he would only be facing one man, Troy Smithson.

He drew his gun, briefly considered taking two of them right then and there, leaving the third to be questioned. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t convince himself to shoot them from hiding. He was not a bushwacker, and holstered his weapon.

He stepped out of the alley, up onto the boardwalk. It was a dark night, with a sliver of a moon and almost no stars. Leadville’s streets were not well lit. The three men had been outside long enough for their eyes to adjust, but they were waiting for him to step out of the lighted saloon. If he had done that he probably would not have even noticed there were three men until it was too late. But from the shadows it was he who would be able to see, and they who would be blind.

“You boys put on a good act,” he called out.

All three men were startled, began glancing around to see where the voice had come from.

“That you, Butler?” Smithson said. “Come out where I can see you.”

“You mean come out where you can all gun me down,” Butler said. “I don’t think so.”

“Whataya talkin’ about?” Smithson asked. “This is just between you and me.”

“That a fact? Then suppose you tell your buddies to drop their guns in the street and walk away? Then I’ll come out and face you, just you and me.”

Smithson didn’t answer right away. The other two looked at him, then at each other.

“They’ll walk away,” Smithson said. “That oughtta be good enough.”

“No,” Butler said. “It’s not.”

Finally, Smithson seemed to locate him, staring into the shadows, so Butler moved a few feet to his left.

“There!” Smithson shouted, pointing with his left hand and drawing his gun with his right. “He’s there. Get him!”

All three men drew and began firing where Smithson was pointing. By that time Butler had moved even further to the left and stepped into a doorway, putting him even deeper in shadow. The fact that the three men were firing also freed him to do the same without any guilt about firing from cover.

He drew and shot Dusty through the chest. As the man fell onto his back in the street, the other two men trained their weapons on Butler’s muzzle flash, but Butler was moving again. They fired, glass began breaking, and now Butler was in the street with them. He fired a second time, taking Pete Brand in the hip. The impact
spun him around and Butler’s next shot struck him in the back. Brand fell on his face.

It was quiet. Butler and Smithson were standing in the street, alone. Patrons from the saloon had crowded around the door and windows to watch.

“Holster it,” Butler said. “Or we can both start firing.”

Smithson stared at him.

“I’m…I’m empty.”

“That’s because you wasted a lot of lead breaking windows.”

“You gonna kill me?” Smithson asked.

“That’s up to you.”

“Whataya mean?”

“Who sent you?”

Smithson looked confused, asked again, “Whataya mean?”

“Load your gun, Troy.”

“But I—”

“Go ahead, load it,” Butler said. “I’m not about to shoot an unarmed man.”

If Smithson had been smart he would have dropped his gun in the street upon hearing Butler’s declaration. But he wasn’t smart. He ejected the spent shells from his gun, and then slowly began to reload from his gun belt.

“Okay, now holster it.”

Smithson stood stock-still, gun in hand, but pointed down toward the street.

“Don’t even think about it, Troy,” Butler said. “Holster it.”

Grudgingly, Smithson did as he was told.

“Now I’m going to ask you again,” Butler said. “Who sent you and your partners after me?”

“Nobody sent us,” the other man said. “We heard there was paper out on you.”

“Are you bounty hunters?”

“No.”

“Then why come after me.”

“There’s a lot of money on your head.”

“Put there by who?”

“Hell, I dunno,” Smithson said. “How would I know? All I know is what the paper says.”

“Where’s the paper now?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Dusty had it.”

“You don’t know a hell of a lot, do you, Troy?” Butler asked. “Except that I was worth money to you dead.”

Smithson shrugged and said, “Nothing personal, Butler.”

“Really? I take somebody trying to kill me very personal,” Butler said. He holstered his own gun.

“Now’s your chance, Troy.”

“Huh?”

“Go ahead,” Butler said. “Earn your money.”

Smithson continued to look confused.

“Come on, Troy,” Butler said. “Make a move, either draw your gun or walk away.”

Butler kept a wary eye on Smithson. By now they were both able to see each other equally well. Butler was able to make out the expression on Smithson’s face. Even as the man started to turn, as if to walk away, Butler knew he was going to try it.

When Smithson went for his gun, turning back, hoping to catch Butler unaware, he was surprised to find Butler ready for him. The gambler drew and shot him in the chest twice. He figured the man deserved one bullet for his deceit and one for his stupidity.

“Hold it!”

Butler turned and saw Sheriff Galloway walking toward him with his gun out.

“Sheriff, you better holster that or use it.”

“What?” Galloway, a tall man in his thirties with a straggly goatee, stopped short. “Are you threatening me?”

“No threat,” Butler said. “I’ve just looked down the barrel of enough guns tonight.”

“What went on here?” Reluctantly, the lawman holstered his weapon.

“I think you know. I think you watched and waited for it to be all over.”

“I need to know what went on, here,” Galloway repeated lamely.

“Ask them,” Butler said, pointing to the men in the saloon, still peering out the windows and the door. “They’ll tell you. I’m going to bed.”

Butler holstered his gun and started to walk away, then turned back.

“Oh, and I’ll be gone by morning…and not a minute too soon to suit me.”

Trinidad, Colorado

Bat Masterson stepped out of his office and looked up and down the street. When he had first come to Trinidad some months ago, he hadn’t intended to stay long. He certainly hadn’t intended to become town marshal. The incident he privately referred to as “The Debacle in Dodge City,” had left him with a bad taste in his mouth. Not to mention the fact that leaving Tombstone to go to Dodge to help his brother Jim meant he hadn’t been at the O.K. Corral to help the Earps and Doc Holliday. From what he’d heard, even though that shootout had happened some time ago, Wyatt and Doc were still hunting some of those cowboys down. Apparently, Wyatt was intent on his revenge for the crippling of one of his brothers—Virgil—and the murder of the other, Morgan.

Trinidad was fairly quiet, especially since Bat had taken over as sheriff, and even in a position of authority it seemed to be a place where Bat could relax, lay back, and take stock.

So far, he hadn’t decided much, and all that was
ahead of him today was what to have for breakfast, and where.

He stepped down from the boardwalk, crossed the street, and began walking toward a nearby restaurant, exchanging greetings with some of the townspeople, all of whom were very grateful that Bat Masterson was the marshal of Trinidad.

Butler was close enough to Trinidad to have ridden in the night before, but he decided to camp first and then ride in come morning. He wasn’t sure how Bat Masterson was going to greet him. Masterson didn’t know that it was Butler who had sent him the telegram, telling him that his brother Jim was in danger in Dodge. It was that telegram that drew Bat away from Tombstone before all hell broke loose there. Jim Masterson actually was in danger in Dodge, and Bat’s arrival in Dodge did set off the shootout—which Butler was part of—that resulted in all the parties—the surviving parties—leaving town. Bat had not been happy with what had happened, and Butler decided never to tell him that he’d sent the telegram. But even not knowing that, Bat might not be glad to see him in Trinidad.

Still, he intended to ride in and test the waters. He’d been out of Leadville for a few days now, and was looking for a place to stop for a while, maybe just a few days, before continuing west. He’d been on his way to California when he heard about Leadville, and his detour there had been profitable, but he was now ready to head west again. All he had to do was outfit himself in Trinidad and he’d be on his way.

He woke that morning and decided to have breakfast in town, so he broke camp without so much as a pot of coffee, mounted up, and headed for town. He had his
fingers crossed that Bat Masterson would not run him out of town as soon as he saw him.

Masterson had decided on a place for breakfast, a restaurant a couple of blocks from his office. He was about to go inside when he heard a horse coming down the street. It wasn’t an unusual sound, but for some reason this morning he stopped to have a look.

The rider looked familiar from a distance. He was clad in a black gambler’s suit, white shirt, and black flat-brimmed hat. Bat waited until he got closer, then stepped down into the street to intercept him.

“Never thought I’d see you again so soon,” he said to Tyrone Butler.

“I was in Leadville,” Butler said. “I just need a couple of days to rest up and then I’m on my way to California.”

“What’s there?”

“Poker, I hope.”

“We got poker here.”

“I heard.”

“Step down, Butler,” Bat said. “I was about to have breakfast inside here.” He indicated the restaurant they were in front of.

“Any good?”

“Long as you don’t want nothin’ fancy.”

“Just a hot breakfast’s all I want.”

“Dismount, then,” Bat said. “We never did get to know each other in Dodge.”

Butler, surprised by Masterson’s reaction, said, “Much obliged, Bat,” and did as he was invited to do.