Free Denver Draw by Robert J. Randisi Page B

time.” Bat opened the door to enter, then turned to Butler. “There’s a place right down the block if you get a hankerin’ for another cup of coffee. Don’t eat there, but the coffee’s decent.”
    “I’ll remember.”
    “Doc’s not up yet?”
    “I don’t know,” Butler said. “I didn’t think to check.”
    “That’s okay,” Bat said. “I’m the one supposed to be checkin’ up on him. Okay, let me get this over with.”
    Bat went inside, the door closing loudly behind him. Butler thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t been the first one to see Wyatt Earp that morning. He would not have wanted to be saddled with the job of looking out for Doc Holliday—although, that’s what he had been doing the night before, walking the man back to his hotel. Still, that had been willingly, and not a responsibility put on him by a friend.
    Butler watched as townspeople walked by, stores opened. Men eyed him suspiciously, women looked at him with a mixture of feelings. Could have been anything going through their minds from Who is that man to Why can’t my husband dress that nice early in the day.
    The street began to fill with traffic, men on horses, men and women riding buckboards or buggies into town to do their shopping. Butler found his mind going back to the deputy’s badge sitting on the stove in Bat’s office. He wondered if Bat had left it there, if it wouldmelt the longer it sat there. He never once thought about pinning it on, though. He was a gambler, not a lawman. He’d leave mixing those two occupations to the likes of the Mastersons and the Earps.
    After about half an hour of watching the town wake up, he began to get restless. He was thinking about going down the street for that extra cup of coffee when the front door opened and Bat came out.
    “How did it go?”
    “It took some doin’,” Bat said, “but I got him to see it my way.”
    “He’ll swear out the warrant?”
    Bat nodded. “I should have it later today.”
    “That’s good news for Bat, and a load off of Wyatt’s mind once you send him a telegram.”
    “I’ll send that today, too, have it waitin’ for him when he gets there. Now, I could use a cup of coffee. Walk down the street with me?”
    “I was just thinking the same thing.”

CHAPTER 24
    Wherever men like Bat Masterson and Doc Holliday were, there were men like Frank Pennington.
    Pennington was what was known in the West as a “mudsill.” It meant he was worthless, a nobody. It also meant that when he saw someone who had a reputation, he usually felt he was entitled to it.
    Bad enough Bat Masterson was the marshal in Trinidad, but now Doc Holliday was there.
    In Pennington’s mind, even if he had been able to back shoot Masterson or Doc Holliday, it would make him worth something, give him a reputation, even in his own mind.
    He’d been in the saloon the night before when they all walked in, the Earps, Doc Holliday, and Masterson. He’d also been among the men who had filed out to look for someplace else to drink, but unlike the others he’d lingered outside in the shadows, waiting. He really didn’t care who he caught coming out, but somebody was going to pay for the fact that Frank Pennington was a nobody.
    Virgil Earp had come out first. Pennington figured there was no percentage in back shooting a cripple, so he let him go.
    Wyatt Earp came out next, but by this time Pennington had convinced himself that he wanted the lunger, Doc Holliday. He figured he’d be putting the poor bastard out of his misery by gunning him down in the street, then he’d do himself good by letting the word slip out that he’d done it. Thirty years on this earth and he hadn’t done anything worth a damn, but he figured to change that right quick.
    Then when Doc Holliday came out that gambler came with him. Back shooting one man was one thing, but he wasn’t about to take two men on at the same time. Especially not after what he’d heard about the gambler and Masterson shooting up