Short looked down at himself, touched his silk hat and said, “There’s nothin’ wrong with the way I’m dressed.”
“I know,” Butler said, “that’s the problem.”
Once again Butler had left his gambler’s suit behind in favor of his trail clothes. He looked just fine, he thought, but Luke Short looked woefully out of place and uncomfortable in his plain trousers and cotton shirt.
The saloon Al Newman had told them about turned out to be a sailor’s pub called The Anchor. They entered and stopped just inside the door. They must have looked normal enough, because although they garnered a few glances, nobody seemed to have their nose out of joint.
“Jesus,” Short said, “don’t drink anything.”
“I know.”
They decided to order two whiskeys, take them to a table, sit for a short time, and then leave. They really just wanted to scope the place out ahead of time.
The bartender was a beefy man in his fifties with hairy forearms and a salt-and-pepper beard. His head was bald and he wore an earring in one ear.
“What’ll ya have, mates?”
“Whiskey,” Butler said, “for both of us.”
The man put two shot glasses on the bar and filled them. Butler paid, and they took their drinks to a back table, as planned.
The place was only half full, at a time when the White Elephant was overflowing with patrons.
“Not much going on here,” Short said.
There was no gambling, and not a Stetson in sight. The clientele was all seamen.
“Neither one of us knows what Sutherland looks like,” Butler said. “All we have are some descriptions.”
“And nobody here fits those.”
“Not much more to accomplish here,” Butler said. “Let’s go.”
As they stood up to leave, three men who had been sitting at a table together stood up and barred their exit.
“Whatsa matter, ya don’t like our whiskey?” one of them asked.
“The whiskey’s fine,” Butler said.
“How do ya know? Ya didn’t even drink it.”
“Ya can’t leave without drinkin’ it,” the second man said.
“That’s jes’ rude,” the third man said.
The three of them seemed able-bodied and not too drunk. In a fight Butler wasn’t sure he and Short could handle them, and they certainly didn’t want to have to shoot them. And most of all they didn’t want to attract undue attention.
“Okay,” Butler said, “we’ll drink the whiskey.”
He went back to the table, lifted the glass and drank while Short watched him as if he was crazy.
The whiskey was cheap and burned all the way down.
“Now your friend,” one of the seamen said.
“Ya come to our bar, ya drink our whiskey,” one of the others said.
Short walked to the table.
“Drink it and let’s get out of here,” Butler said under his breath.
Short gave him a murderous look, lifted the glass and drained it.
“There ya go,” one of the men said, slapping Short on the back. “That weren’t so bad, were it?”
“No,” Short said, “it wasn’t so bad.”
The three men stepped aside and actually ushered Butler and Short through the door. From outside they could hear the men laughing.
“I should go back in and—” Short started, but Butler cut him off.
“We did what we came to do,” he said. “We had a look. Let’s just go.”
“I can’t get this taste out of my mouth,” Short said, sticking out his tongue. “Yeah, let’s get back to the White Elephant so I can have a real drink.”
Sutherland entered the Anchor late that night and went directly to the bartender. It was his second time there in so many days.
“Anything come in for me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” the bald barman said. “Got it right here.” He reached under the bar and pulled out an envelope that now was covered with wet circles.
“Thanks. Lemme have a beer.”
Sutherland took the envelope to a table with his beer. He read the message from the lawyer, Al Newman. He’d already heard what had happened in front of the White Elephant Saloon, and knew that Butler wasn’t dead. So they were going to come for him tomorrow.
Good. He’d be ready.
He stood up and started to leave, but three men barred his exit.
“You didn’t finish yer beer,” one said.
“That’s rude,” a second said.
Before the third man could speak, Sutherland hit him square in the jaw with his fist. The other two men were stunned at the speed with which their friend hit the floor, but before they could act, Sutherland hit one, and grabbed the other, tossing him across the room.
“Anybody else want me to drink my beer?” he asked.
Nobody responded. He started to leave, then something occurred to him. He turned to face the room again.
“Who wants to make some money?”
CHAPTER 53
Butler and Luke Short had a long breakfast away from the White Elephant. They didn’t want any more surprises waiting outside the front door.
“Let’s have the cab drop us off a few blocks away and walk the rest,” Butler suggested.
“I’m with you,” Short said. “Check out the area on the way.”
“Right.”
Short sat back in his chair, took his cup with him, and regarded Butler across the rim.
“There’s a couple of big gamblers comin’ in next week,” he said. “Johnny Speck, Ed Bradley, and Dick Clark will still be in town. I can get up a big game.”
“Al Newman?”
“No,” Short said. “No matter how this comes out, not Al Newman.”
“Well,” Butler said, “however this turns out, I think I’ll be back on the trail next week.”
“I guess I can understand that,” Short said. “I guess this hasn’t been the stopover you thought it would be. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Oh, I wasn’t taking the blame,” Short said. “I’m just sorry it all happened.”
“So am I.”
“But at least I can tell Bat and Wyatt when I see them,” Short went on, “that we have a good friend in common.”
“Yep,” Butler replied, “you can certainly say that.”
They approached the Anchor at eleven fifty-five. They hadn’t seen any sign that they were being watched or followed once the cab had dropped them off.
“This area looks dead now,” Butler said.
“Sailors are back on their ships, dockworkers are at work,” Short said.
They approached the front door.
“What if they’re not open?” Butler asked.
“We’ll pound on the door,” Short said.
But the place was open, and they went right inside. As they crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them.
The bartender was behind the bar, bald head gleaming. Around the room about half a dozen men stood, armed with boat hooks, clubs, and a couple of guns. The bartender was bouncing a huge club in and out of the palm of his hand.
“Well,” Short said, looking around, “I guess we know where Al Newman stands.”
CHAPTER 54
“Welcome back, gents,” the bartender said. “We arranged a little reception for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Butler assured them.
“Oh, but we wanted to.”
“No,” Short said, “I don’t think you wanted to. I think you were paid to.”
“What’s the difference?” the bartender asked. “You’re here, we’re here. Let’s have some fun.”
“I don’t think that a bar fight where we’re outnumbered more than three-to-one is much fun,” Butler said. “I think we’ll pass.”
He tried the door behind him, found it locked.
The bartender smiled widely, revealing large, well-cared for teeth.
“We insist you stay.�
��
The circle of men behind them started to close in. Butler drew his gun and fired. The top half of a club in one man’s hand flew off. That stopped their progress.
“Here’s how it’s going to work,” Luke Short said. “You’re all going to put your weapons down, and then we’ll talk.”
The man with half a club in his hand was staring at it. The two men present wearing guns put their hands on their weapons.
“You were probably told to hurt us, maybe kill us,” Butler said, “and make it look like a bar fight. If you two men touch your guns, we’ll kill you.”
Their hands froze near their weapons.
“I’ve got them,” Butler said, so Short looked at the bartender, who was still holding his club.
“Sutherland put you up to this, didn’t he?” he asked.
The big man blinked, looked around the room and said, “I still think we can take you.”
“I don’t think you’ll be alive to find out,” Short said. “We could all put our weapons down and have an old-fashioned bar fight, but you know what? We don’t want to. We don’t have the time.”
The bartender glared at him.
“If you had any balls you would.”
“Well, that’s just stupid,” Short said. “Let’s see who’s got balls. You and your friends come ahead, and I’ll kill you first. You’ll never see if we fall or not.”
“You move your hand any closer to that gun, friend, and you’re dead,” Butler said to one of the armed men. “In fact, drop your guns, both of you.”
The two men looked to the bartender for guidance.
“Your call,” Short said to him.
The bartender looked angry.
“He said you wouldn’t shoot unarmed men.”
“He knew we would,” Butler said, “to save our lives. He set us all up so some of us would die. You get paid enough for that?”
Now the two men exchanged anxious looks.
“Ah,” Short said to Butler, “they haven’t been paid yet.”
“He knew some of you wouldn’t be alive to get paid when this was all done,” Butler explained. “How do you all feel about that?”
“What do you say, friend?” Short asked the bartender. “We going to do this or not?”
When there was no answer, Butler said, “Okay, no more playing around. Guns on the floor—now!”
The two hesitated only a moment, then drew their guns from their belts and dropped them to the floor.
“Now, the rest of you drop whatever weapons you’re holding.”
Hooks, clubs, and knives hit the floor.
“You, too, baldy,” Short said to the bartender.
The man continued to glare at Short, then tossed his club over the bar. As it hit the floor he came out with a shotgun from beneath the bar. Apparently, he figured Short would watch the club in its flight and he’d be able to take both him and Butler with one shotgun blast.
His plan didn’t work. Short had spent too many years watching the man doing the bluffing, and not the cards on the table.
He drew and fired. The bullet hit the bald man in the chest. He coughed, dropped his shotgun, and then fell to the floor behind the bar.
“Anybody else?” Butler asked.
The other six men all shook their heads.
“Now, we think we know who hired you for this,” Short said, “but somebody better step up and give us a name, or a description.”
One of the men did just that—stepped forward and said, “You got it right, Mister. His name’s Sutherland.”
“You happen to know where he is now?” Butler asked.
“No, sir,” the man said, “but I can tell you where he lives.”
He pointed his index finger at the ceiling.
CHAPTER 55
Butler kicked in the door and Short went in with his gun out.
“Not here,” he said.
“How can you tell?”
“It’s one damn room.”
Butler stuck his head in the door and saw for himself. He had his gun in hand, as he was covering from the back.
“Then where is he?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Short said, “but we’re going to find him.”
They looked at each other.
“Newman?” Butler asked.
“Newman,” Short said, with a nod.
They went back down the stairs and away from the docks, where they could find a cab.
Sutherland watched as Butler and Luke Short entered the Anchor, and a couple of dockworkers came running out, slammed the doors behind them, and locked them from the outside. Then he waited and when he heard the first shot knew that things had gone wrong.
Later, when he heard the second shot, he assumed the bartender had gone for the shotgun he kept beneath the bar. The bald, earring-wearing man had told Sutherland, “Worse comes to worse I’ll just use my greener shotgun on both of ’em.”
Yeah, right…
After the second shot he watched as Butler and Luke Short came out and went up the stairs to his room. Butler kicked in the door and Short went in while Butler kept watch outside.
While they were standing in his doorway talking, probably discussing their next move, Sutherland was pretty sure he knew what it would be. He left his hiding place and hurried away, determined to get there ahead of them.
This whole business was going to come to an end today, one way or another.
CHAPTER 56
As Butler and Luke Short approached the Newman home, they noticed a curtain in one of the front windows move. Someone was watching them.
“Okay,” Short said, “so where would we expect to find Sutherland right now?”
“Here?” Butler asked.
“Why not? We came running straight here from the Anchor. What if he was outside, watching?”
“Then he knew that things didn’t go the way he planned,” Butler said.
“We go knocking on that door now he could start shooting right through it.”
“You honestly think Newman would go along with that?” Butler asked.
“Honestly?” Short asked. “That’s an odd word to use in this situation. Newman’s been anything but honest with us. You know he had to have tipped Sutherland off that we’d be in that saloon, otherwise why would there have been a reception party for us?”
They stood together, staring at the house a few moments.
“I guess one of us could go around the back,” Butler said, “and we could go in both ways at the same time.”
“And if he’s not in there, we’ll scare Newman’s wife half to death.”
“What other options do we have?” Butler asked.
Short stared at the house and tried to think of an answer.
Sutherland watched the two men through the front window, saw them stop short of approaching the house. He’d been hoping they’d just come right up to the door and knock. He turned and looked at Al Newman and his wife, sitting on the sofa in their living room.
“Shouldn’t be too much longer, folks,” he told them.
While Sutherland continued to watch out the front window, Helen Newman leaned over and hissed at her husband angrily.
“How could you get us mixed up in something like this?”
“Helen,” he said, “it was dealing with men like Sutherland that bought us this house.”
“I don’t care, Albert,” she said. “Does that mean we have to let him in our home? Be threatened to our faces? At gunpoint.”
“The sheriff should be here soon.”
“A lot of good he’s going to do us if we’re dead,” she said. “What does this man want?”
“He wants Luke Short,” Newman said, “but he’s got to get rid of Butler to get to him.”
“Luke Short? Butler? Why do we care about any of them?”
“Because they’re professional gamblers.”
She waited, and when he didn’t say anything else she said, “And?”
How could he explain to her how humil
iating it was to stand in that White Horse Saloon week after week and watch lesser men be invited into Luke Short’s games. A woman wouldn’t understand. Especially a woman like Helen Newman would never understand.
Before he could try and explain his thinking to her, Sutherland said from the window, “Here comes the law.” He turned and looked at Al Newman. “Now let’s see if your plan works.”
Helen Newman looked at her husband and repeated, “Your plan?”
He sighed. There was no point in continuing to pretend that he was sitting with her on the sofa because he was being threatened. He stood up.
“Helen, just be still,” he said, and walked over to stand by Sutherland and look out the window.
“Butler!”
Butler and Luke Short turned at the sound of the voice, saw Sheriff Jim Courtwright approaching with two deputies in tow.
“What do you want, Courtwright?” Short asked.
“Shut your mouth, Luke,” Courtwright said. “For a change I’m not lookin’ for you this time.” He pointed a finger at Butler. “I want him.”
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“You can give me your gun and come with me,” Sheriff Courtwright said. “You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Suspicion of murder.”
“And who am I supposed to have murdered?”
“We’ll talk about that in my office.”
Courtwright reached for Butler’s gun, but the gambler backed away.
“Don’t make me use force, Butler.”
“Sheriff,” Butler said, “the man who killed Ed Cramer and the bartender, Zeke, is almost certainly in that house.” He pointed.
“Al Newman’s house?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s he doing in there?”
“Waitin’ for us,” Short said.
“One man alone is waitin’ to face the two of you?” he said, laughing. “That’s rich. I’ve heard a lot of things about Sutherland, but I never heard that he had a death wish.”
Butler and Short exchanged a glance.
“Who said anything about Sutherland?” Short asked.
“What?”
“We never mentioned Sutherland’s name.”
Courtwright looked confused, then trapped.
“Never mind that,” he said. “Butler has to come with me.”
Texas Bluff Page 13