“Where’s he from?”
“Who knows,” Hank said. “I only know a couple of places where he’s been. I seen him in Montana, and once in New Mexico.”
“He gets around.”
“He goes where the money is,” Hank said. “If the price is high enough, he goes for it.”
So the price on Hank was high enough that, on two occasions, he thought Ryerson was after him.
“So do you think he’s after you now? After you’ve put your gun away all this time?”
“Who knows?” Hank asked. “Could be a lot of men in Dodge City he’s after.”
“I wonder if he’ll check in with the marshal?”
“He’s a legitimate bounty hunter,” Hank said. “My guess is he would. He’d want to make sure the man had the funds to pay him.”
“Unless he expects to be paid on the other end.”
Hank paused for a moment, thinking. Butler assumed he was wondering if the bounty hunter could kill him here, or if he’d have to take him back to wherever it was they put the price on his head.
Butler believed in second chances. Hank—whoever Hank was—had hung up his gun and started over. He didn’t think he should have to worry about a bounty hunter collecting a price that had been set years before.
And then, of course, there was the possibility that Ryerson was there for Tyrone Butler.
CHAPTER 39
Butler told Hank his story.
“My father had political affiliations in Philadelphia that got him and the rest of my family killed. He saved me by sending me west. He told me that no matter what happened, I should never come back.”
“And you haven’t?”
Butler shook his head.
“How long?”
“Almost ten years.”
“And is Butler your real name?”
“Yes.”
“But…why not change it, if you’re on the run and hidin’ out?” Hank asked.
“Because I’m not hiding out,” Butler said. “I won’t give up my name. If they want to try to collect a price on my head, let them come.”
“So, whoever killed your family…” Hank said
“A man,” Butler said, “a political faction or party?…I’m still really not sure.”
“They still have a price on your head?”
“Apparently. The last time I know for sure they tried was Wichita—a couple of weeks ago. And then this morning, at the Lady Gay, somebody tried…”
“Somebody?”
“Yeah,” Butler said, “we’re not sure if they were after me for me, or because I helped Jim Masterson the other night.”
“When you do somethin’ like that,” Hank said, “you’re definitely takin’ sides.”
“That’s what the marshal just told me today.”
“A couple of weeks ago the Masterson side might have been the right side, but since the election…”
“Yeah, I get that, too.”
“So you gonna move on?”
“No,” Butler said. “I came here to do some gambling and that’s what I’m going to do. What are you going to do?”
“About Ryerson?” Hank shrugged. “I don’t know. I definitely don’t want to go on the move again. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see if he recognized me. The fact that I’m supposed to be dead might put him off some.”
“And then what?”
“Well…to tell you the truth I’ll face him, but only because of the story you just told me.”
“My story? Why?”
“I admire that you won’t give up your name,” Hank said. “Mine…well, if I told you, you might not come and eat here no more, so I’ll still keep that to myself, but if Ryerson comes after me, I’ll just have to make a stand.”
“I think that’s a good plan,” Butler said.
“Well, I wish I could say the same for yours. If I was you, I’d saddle up and get the hell out of Dodge.”
“I appreciate the advice, Hank,” Butler said, “but I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”
“Well, you want somethin’ to eat while you’re waitin’?” the man offered. “On the house.”
“Can’t turn that down, can I?”
“Steak?”
“With all the fixin’s?”
“Comin’ up,” Hank said, and went back to the kitchen.
While he was gone Butler wondered about this man who was believed dead. He wondered how he was supposed to have been killed, but didn’t want to ask. There were things they had both held back about their stories and wouldn’t want to be asked about. Maybe, when Hank was good and ready, he’d tell Butler the rest of the story. As for Butler, he’d just keep the rest of his own story to himself a while longer.
CHAPTER 40
Butler had a meal fit for a king. Seems it paid to confide your secrets once in a while. His only worry now was whether he would be able to eat with M.J. later that evening at the Delmonico. For that reason he turned down Hank’s offer of pie and coffee.
“Listen,” Hank said, as Butler was leaving, “my gun’s in the trunk, but if you need some backup you let me know.”
“You’ll be a little rusty.”
Hank grinned.
“It ain’t somethin’ you lose, Butler,” he said. “Not when it comes naturally. I was a dead shot when I was fifteen. You just say the word and I’ll strap it on. I ain’t got many men I can call a friend, I don’t wanna lose one.”
Butler shook the man’s hand and said, “I’ll call on you if I need to, Hank and you do the same, hear?”
“I hear ya.”
“I don’t know many men who can cook a steak as good as you,” Butler added. “I don’t want to lose one.”
The time between meals went quietly for Butler. He returned to his hotel and had a long, hot bath and a haircut, so he’d look presentable when he picked M.J. up for their supper.
When she answered his knock at her front door, she did not look happy.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t find out anything about this man, Ryerson.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “I did.”
“What? How?”
“I’ll tell you once we’re seated at the Delmonico.”
He needed the extra time to think about what he could tell her. He didn’t want to give away Hank’s secret, but then decided that Hank really didn’t have to be anyone other than a plain old cook who had seen Kevin Ryerson before.
The Delmonico was busy, but they were able to get a table easily. M.J. was greeted by other diners; it seems that most townspeople knew her.
They stopped at one table and she said, “Hello, Mr. Mayor.”
“Miss Healy,” the new mayor said. He was in his forties, overweight, wearing a suit and checked vest, dining with his wife, who was middle-aged but handsome.
“Mayor and Mrs. Webster, allow me to introduce my friend Tyrone Butler.”
“Your…friend, dear?” Mrs. Webster asked, with a twinkle in her eyes.
“No, Ma’am,” M.J. said, “not that kind of friend. Well, enjoy your meal.”
“And you,” Mayor Webster said.
On the way to their table she said, “And that was our new Mayor, A. B. Webster.”
“Why do so many people in Dodge just use initials, and not their names?”
As they were seated she said, “You know, I guess I never noticed that, but you’re right.”
“Seems to me it would be a lot simpler just to have a mayor named Dog Kelley.”
“You’re right.”
“How did he get that name, anyway?” Butler asked. “Dog?”
“Racing dogs,” she said, “He used to own and race them and now that he’s not in office, maybe he’ll go back to it.”
“A form of gambling I haven’t discovered,” Butler said. “I guess I’ll stick to poker and an occasional horse race.