“They’re liars,” Will would say, pausing to look around at the men nodding in agreement. “Liars and cowards, cheats and thieves and traitors.”
He spoke similarly of Isaac Pew, who remained a concern. The crazy old man wouldn’t forget what Will had done to him. Sooner or later, he would realize that Rickert couldn’t solve the problem for him. Then he’d move on to something else.
When he did, Will would be ready for him.
“What about the raiders down there in the Thicket?” Tim Warren asked. “I hear there’s a bunch of them. You think they’ll give you any trouble?”
Will spread his hands. “Most of the men down there are just good old boys who wore the gray. The Reconstructionists stole their farms and their stock. They got nothing left. And some of them, maybe even most, have had run-ins with law. Probably just for having defended Texas. Now, they’re out in the swamps, laying low, waiting for this to blow over. We ran into one bunch last time, and they were nice as anything. Even escorted us back out.”
“What about Teal’s gang?” someone asked.
“Teal’s a different story,” Will said. “We run into his gang, we’ll have to fight our way out of there. They’re a bunch of murdering savages.”
“I was here the day they came and robbed the bank,” Dale Vance said. “Rode into town, whooping and shooting and?—”
The saloon door swung open.
Will, who always positioned himself now with his back to the wall, saw who it was, saw the expression on his face, and knew that big trouble had finally arrived.
He stood to face the newcomer.
“Heard you been running your mouth about me, Bentley,” Chad Butler said through his teeth. He stood there, framed in the doorway, a shadowy figure thanks to the afternoon lightbehind him, a tendril of pale smoke rising from the thin black cigar clamped in his sneer.
Butler’s hand hovered at his side, clearly ready to seize the butt of the Colt shoved through his belt.
“Actually, Butler,” Will said, “I haven’t bothered to say much about you. What’s to say? You’re just a hired gun. And a failed one at that. First you came out to my neck of the woods with Rickert, and I ran you off. Then you came back out with Sully, and the women scared you off. I don’t see any reason to even mention you.”
The other men chuckled—but also cleared the way. They could all see what was coming.
“Want us to throw him out of here, Will?” Jake asked.
“No, no,” Will said. “Seems like I hurt his feelings, telling the truth. I’ll let him sass me a little. Then I’ll pat him on the head and send him home. Might help him to feel like a real man.”
“I’m surprised to hear you running your mouth,” Butler said. “You ain’t got your scattergun today.”
Will had his own hand close to his Colt. “Get out of here, Butler. Everybody knows you don’t have the guts to face me man-to-man.”
Of course, Will knew Chad Butler had enough guts to use his gun. And Will was ready for it. He just wanted to push him into drawing first.
Butler spat the smoking cigar on the floor. “I’ll show you who’s got guts,” Butler said, and grabbed for his gun.
Butler was fast.
Will had known he would be. That was part of why he’d practiced his own draw every day since learning Cullen Baker’s tricks, wanting to be ready for this moment.
Which he was.
Butler yanked his weapon free and was just bringing it to bear when Will shot him through the chest, drew back thehammer, and shot him again, lower this time, punching a hole in his miserable guts.
Butler’s gun went off and smashed a mug on the bar.
Then he was down on the ground, his Colt forgotten. He hitched around, making sounds for a while, the way men do sometimes when they’re hit hard and don’t want to die.
Then Butler did just that, giving up the ghost, and lay there with eyes open and empty, staring up from the floor beside his still smoldering cigar, which continued to add to the haze of gun smoke now hanging heavily in the air until Will stepped over and ground the cigar beneath his boot, extinguishing for good, just as he had its owner.
A moment later, the saloon doors opened again, and Sheriff Rickert stepped inside, gun drawn. Rickert glanced at Butler, dead on the floor, then pointed his gun at Will.
“Put down your gun, Will,” Sheriff Rickert said. “You’re under arrest.”
