“Somethin’s wrong?” Bat asked. “Dean, I want you to go around back. Try the back door, see if you can get in, and then wait for us to move.”

  “What do I do when you move, Bat?”

  “Just follow my lead, kid,” Bat said. “Don’t fire your gun unless I do. Got it?”

  “I got it, Bat.”

  “We’re gonna give you five minutes to get back there.”

  Collier nodded and took off on the run.

  “You trying to keep him out of harm’s way?” Butler asked.

  “Let’s just say he’ll get into less trouble back there.” Bat looked at him. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “I might, if I knew how many guns we were walking into.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Bat said. “We shoulda stopped by the office for a couple of shotguns.”

  “Probably one behind the bar.”

  “Fat lot of good it does us there.”

  “You never know.”

  Bat looked at his watch.

  “Two minutes, and then we’re goin’ in.”

  Butler nodded, and checked his gun.

  “What are they doin’, Toby?” Vance asked.

  “Just standin’ there, Fred.”

  Vance looked around the room, his gun in his hand.

  “Remember what I said,” he announced to the room at large. “I can get my gun out faster than any of you.”

  “Don’t worry, Fred,” Reed said. “We’re all gonna watch.”

  “Good.”

  He holstered his gun, and his men gaped at him.

  “Come on, put them up,” he said. “We don’t want Masterson to come in shootin’.”

  Toby and the other men stared at him, and then one by one they holstered their weapons.

  “Now spread out,” Vance said. “Masterson won’t be able to tell you from the others in here. And nobody move until I do.”

  His men nodded and began to move about the room, picking their spots and standing ready.

  “Time,” Bat said.

  “How do you want to play this?”

  Bat shrugged. “You got somethin’ in mind?”

  “I’m not wearing a badge,” Butler said. “I could go in first.”

  “If anybody’s watchin’ they’ve seen us together by now,” Bat said. “Might not make a difference.”

  “You never know.”

  Bat thought a moment, then said, “Okay, then, go ahead. Be ready to use that gun, though. These are a bunch of young pups who are on the verge of becomin’ wild dogs. Don’t let the look of them fool you. None of them looks like they shave yet.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And whatever happened in there, don’t give up your gun.”

  “I won’t,” Butler said. “Just give me a couple of minutes and then come ahead.”

  “I appreciate the backup, Butler.”

  “Thank me when it’s over.”

  He headed for the saloon.

  CHAPTER 11

  Butler mounted the boardwalk in front of the Bucket of Blood—how many saloons had he seen with that name in his travels—and entered through the batwing doors. As soon as he entered he felt the tension, realized he was the center of attention.

  “What’s wrong with that marshal?” Butler asked.

  No answer.

  “Likes to give people a hard time for no reason?”

  “You a stranger in town?” someone asked. He saw that it was a man standing at the bar. He was tall, wore a gun like he knew how to use it—or like someone taught him to wear it. He was in his twenties. Behind him a portly man in his fifties dabbed at a bleeding mouth.

  “That’s right.”

  “Marshal’s name is Bat Masterson,” the man said. “That mean anything to you?”

  “I heard of him,” Butler said. “Can’t say it means anything to me, though. Can I move away from the door now? I’d like to get a beer.”

  “Get your beer,” the man said, “and stay out of trouble.”

  “Much obliged.”

  Butler walked to the bar, directly to where the bartender was standing with his hands out of sight.

  “Beer.”

  “Yeah, sure,” the barman said. He pulled his hands from beneath the bar and drew Butler a beer. When he set the mug down in front of him his hands returned to their place under the bar. Butler felt sure the man was caressing a shotgun.

  “Where is he?” someone called out. Butler spotted the speaker, standing in a corner.

  “Shut up, Toby!” the man at the bar yelled.

  Butler marked Toby down as one of the young pups Bat was talking about, did the same for the one at the bar.

  It was so quiet in the saloon they all heard Bat’s footsteps on the boardwalk. As the lawman entered, the tension heightened. Butler put his beer mug down to keep his hand free. He also tried to signal the bartender with his eyes, but didn’t know if his message came across.

  “Oh, shit,” Bat said. “It’s you, Fred.”

  “It’s me, Masterson,” the man named Fred said. It was the fella who had told Butler to stay out of trouble. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I think the question is, what’s on yours, Fred.”

  Butler saw Bat’s eyes sweeping the room. He’s picking them out, he thought. One by one. So far Butler only had two identified, but Bat would know better since he’d dealt with them before. That meant Butler was going to do better concentrating on his two.

  “We’re just havin’ a good time here, Masterson. No need for the law to interfere.”

  “Well, you see it as interference, Fred,” Bat said, “I see it as doing my job.” Bat leaned over a bit to peer at Tom Reed. “What happened to your mouth, Tom?”

  “This young whelp backhanded me, Bat,” Reed said. “He didn’t have five guns behind him I woulda—”

  “Shut up, Tom!”

  “Five more guns, eh?” Bat asked. He looked around the room. “Smart man, Fred. You got your men blending in with the crowd, huh?”

  Vance said nothing.

  “Of course you know that anyone who’s not with you is gonna hit the floor when the shooting starts.”

  Vance frowned. He hadn’t thought of that.

  “That means I’ll be shooting at whoever’s standin’.”

  “Don’t matter,” Vance said. “We’re six against one.”

  “You like those odds?”

  “I’d bet ’em.”

  “I tell you what,” Bat said. “I ain’t even gonna shoot at you, Fred. I’m gonna take out your men.”

  “And I’m gonna take you out, Masterson.”

  “Naw, you’ll be dead,” Bat said. “See, I got my own men in with the crowd. One of them has got his eyes on you right now.”

  It was all Fred Vance could do not to turn around and look. He did hunch his shoulders, though. Butler pictured a bull’s-eye right between those shoulders. He’d back shoot the man without a qualm to keep Bat from getting shot.

  “Yer bluffin’,” Vance said.

  “I’ve never known you to be a good gambler, Fred,” Bat said. “You lose with cards, you lose with dice…you wanna lose with your life?”

  Vance fumed silently, his face starting to burn.

  “And for what? Just to prove somethin’ to yourself? That you’re a big man? I’ll save you the trouble, son. You’re not a big man, and nobody thinks you are.”

  “They will when I kill you.”

  “Naw,” Bat said, “that ain’t gonna happen. You touch your gun, Fred, and you’ll be dead.”

  “I’m tired of talkin’ to you, Masterson,” Vance said. “You been pushing me around ever since you started wearing that tin star. I’m gonna put a bullet right through it.”

  Bat knew the time for talking had finally passed. Fred Vance finally had his courage up enough. It remained to be seen how many of his five compadres did, too.

  “Well then get to it, son,” Bat said. “Get to it.”

  CHAPTER 12

  As Vance went for his gun Butler looked at the bartender and shouted, “Now!”

  He knew Bat was counting on him to take care of Vance because, even as he caught the shotgun tossed to him by the barman, he saw Bat turning away from the man.

  All around them men were hitting the deck, leaving only Vance and his five partners standing. The odds were against Bat and Butler, but at least two of the men hesitated, and that worked in their favor.

  Butler triggered one barrel of the shotgun and blew out Fred Vance’s spine before the young man could fire his gun at Bat. Meanwhile, Bat fired twice and dropped to one knee.

  Butler turned to see who was standing. The one other man he’d picked out seemed stunned by what was happening, but the man next to him was grabbing for his gun. The gambler did not have time to hesitate, or feel sorry for the confused young man, Toby. He pulled the other trigger and blew both of them apart. As they slid down to the floor bloody bits of them adhered to the wall behind them.

  Butler dropped the shotgun and drew his gun, but by then it had gone quiet. He looked around and saw no one else standing. Then one by one, several by several, the patrons of the saloon began to get back to their feet, looking around them.

  “Goddamn!” Tom Reed said. “That was something!”

  Bat was walking around the room, checking on the young would-be gunmen.

  “They’re all dead,” he said to Butler. He turned to the crowd. “I need some volunteers to carry these bodies out of here.”

  No one moved until Tom Reed shouted, “Get off your asses and volunteer, ya ungrateful bastards.”

  Men began to come forward and one of them asked Bat, “Where should we take ’em, Marshal?”

  “Not enough room at the undertaker’s for all of them,” Bat said. He was ejecting spent shells from his gun and reloading live ones as he spoke. “Take ’em to the livery down the street, throw ’em in one stall together. The undertaker can collect them from there.”

  Suddenly there was a flurry of movement as men began hauling bodies out the batwing doors.

  Tom Reed came up to Butler and said, “Thanks for the help.”

  “I invited him,” Bat said.

  “And thank you, Marshal,” Reed said. “I really thought those maniacs were gonna kill somebody today.”

  “Thank your bartender, too,” Butler said, handing the shotgun back to the man. “He was quick.”

  “I’m gonna give you a raise, Randy.”

  “Thanks, Boss.”

  “Get your customers to help you clean up the blood, Tom,” Bat said. “I got to get back to work.”

  “Sure, Marshal, sure. Thanks again. You, too, mister.”

  “His name’s Butler,” Bat said. “He’ll be in town for a while, working at the Bonanza.”

  “Well, I don’t really care why you’re in town, Mr. Butler, just that you were here tonight.”

  Butler shook hands with the man, then walked out with Bat. He replaced his own empty shells with live loads as they walked back to the saloon.

  “How’d you get that bartender to toss you the shotgun?”

  “He had his hands on it the whole time. I just sort of…sent him a message with my eyes.”

  “Sharp man,” Bat said. “I’m glad he didn’t try to use it himself, though. Might have turned out different.”

  Butler nodded and holstered his gun.

  “Wanna deal some faro?” Bat asked. “I have to talk to the undertaker about the bodies.”

  “Sure,” Butler said. “I’ll reopen the table right now.”

  “Okay,” Bat said. “I’ll be in a little later on. And listen…thanks for back there. I don’t think me and the kid could’ve—oh shit, where’s the kid?”

  Butler turned.

  “We forgot about him. He must still be in the back.”

  “Why didn’t he come in when the shooting started?”

  “Guess you’re going to have to find out.”

  “Crap,” Bat said. “Lemme go find him. I’ll catch up to you later.”

  “I’ll be at your table.”

  Butler was dealing and winning as Bat Masterson entered the saloon about an hour later.

  “Close it up,” he said as he came by the table. He continued on to the bar to wait.

  Butler closed the table despite the protests of the players and joined Bat at the bar.

  “What happened?”

  “I found the kid in the back room of the saloon,” Bat said, accepting a beer from the bartender.

  “What happened to him?”

  “He’s dead,” Bat said. “Caught a stray bullet right in the throat. He never had a chance.”

  “Jesus.” Butler asked the bartender for a beer. “I’m sorry, Bat.”

  “You know what really gets me?”

  “What?”

  “I was the only one firing in that direction,” Bat said. “Must’ve been my bullet.”

  “Well, for one thing,” Butler said, “I don’t think you missed, and for another thing, I was also firing that way. So don’t take it on yourself. Might have been me.”

  “I never should’ve pinned a badge on him, as green as he was,” Bat lamented.

  “He was old enough to know what he was doing.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Bat said, “but that don’t make me feel any better.” He put his beer on the bar half finished. “I got a bottle of whiskey in my room. I’m gonna turn in. You do what you want.”

  “All right,” Butler said. “See you in the morning.”

  Bat waved and left the saloon, his shoulders slumped.

  The bartender, Roscoe, came over.

  “I heard,” he said. “Too bad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dean was a nice kid, but Bat was right,” Roscoe said. “He never shoulda been wearin’ a badge.”

  “Maybe not,” Butler said, “but Bat can’t take that all on himself.” He picked up his beer. “I’m going to play some more poker.”

  Roscoe nodded, picked up Bat’s unfinished beer, and wiped down the bar with a rag.

  CHAPTER 13

  Bat was hung over. He had killed a bottle of whiskey that had been half full, and then tumbled into bed. When he woke his head was pounding. It had been a week and he still felt bad about Dean Collier getting killed. He was standing at the bar drinking strong black coffee when Butler came down from his room.

  ”’morning, Bat.”

  Bat grunted. Butler signaled to Roscoe, pointing to the cup in Bat’s hand and then to himself. He was still communicating well with bartenders, because moments later he had a cup of coffee in his hand, too.

  “Bad night?” he asked Bat.

  “Worse mornin’,” Bat grumbled.

  “Bat, you can’t still blame yourself—”

  Bat raised his hand and said, “One problem at a time. First I’ve got to get rid of this headache.”

  Butler could sympathize. He’d woken up plenty of mornings feeling just like that.

  “I’m going to go and get some breakfast,” Butler said.

  “You go,” Bat said, waving. “I can’t even think about food right now.”

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “I won’t need you for that table till later tonight,” Bat said as he went out the door.

  Butler waved that he had heard and kept going.

  Butler had been taking afternoon walks around Trinidad the past few days, finally trying to get to know the town. He had been surprised to find out it had a population of almost two thousand. Today he peered in the shops, walked through some of the residential sections, checked on his horse, bought some new shirts, and had his boots shined. He sampled a different restaurant for lunch and found it also to his liking. It looked as if eating well was not going to be a problem.

  He had a bath, got dressed, put on one of his new shirts, and went downstairs to play some poker. By this time it was almost four, and the saloon was coming to life.

  Leaning against a post in front of his office Bat’s head was still pounding, but it was starting to fade. He was just thinking he might be ready to get something to eat when he saw three riders coming down Main Street, all dressed in dust-covered black coats, trousers, and hats. Their horse’s heads hung low and when he recognized the taller of the three, he thought he was hallucinating. He also took a moment to think that the last two times someone new had ridden into town—Butler last week, and now today—he happened to be on the street to spot them.

  The taller rider saw him about the same time and directed his horse that way. The other two followed.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Bat said.

  “Hello, Bat,” Wyatt Earp said.

  “Wyatt,” Bat said. Then, “Virg, Doc.”

  Both of the other men simply nodded their heads and touched the brim of their hats.

  “Heard you were marshaling up here,” Wyatt said. “Thought it might be a place for us to…rest a while.”

  “Plenty of room,” Bat said. He stepped down, approached Wyatt, and stuck his hand out. “Good to see you, Wyatt.”

  “You, too, Bat.” The two men shook hands.

  “Livery right down the street. Hotel, too. Get yourself settled and come back over here. We’ll go and have somethin’ to eat, catch up.”

  “We’ll do it, Bat,” Wyatt said. “See you in a spell.”

  Bat watched them ride off toward the livery, wondered what kind of trouble—if any—was following the Earps and Doc Holliday. He was glad to see his friend Wyatt, but couldn’t help wondering if their arrival was signaling a change in the wind.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wyatt and Virgil decided they’d go to their rooms after checking in to the Fairgate Hotel, the closest to the livery, but Doc Holliday had an urge to play some poker. They discussed it in the lobby first.

  “After all that ridin’?” Virgil asked.

  “Hey,” Doc said, “you relax your way and I’ll relax mine.”

  “Go ahead, Doc,” Wyatt said. “I’m gonna get cleaned up and check in with Bat. Virg?”

  “I’m gonna lie down,” Virgil said. “My arm’s killin’ me.”

  “Maybe we should find a doctor in town,” Wyatt suggested.

 

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