Denver Draw Read Online Free

realgood. Both men finished about the same time and left the restaurant.
    “There’s a livery right down the street,” Bat said. “After you get your horse taken care of, come back out to the main street and make a left. My place is two blocks down on the right.”
    “What’s it called?”
    “The Bonanza,” Bat said.
    “You going to be there when I get there?” Butler asked.
    “I’ve got to make some rounds, but I’ll end up there. Don’t worry, you’ll have a room waitin’. Got some pretty gals workin’ there, too. You can have your pick.”
    “That come with the job?”
    Bat laughed and said, “That’s gonna be up to them.”

CHAPTER 7
    The Bonanza was impressive. It looked to be fashioned after saloons Butler had seen in places like Wichita, Ellsworth, and Dodge City. He stepped through the batwing doors, carrying his saddlebags and rifle, and stopped just inside. It was all glass and wood paneling, the bar—if not the longest in the west, very close—looked like cherrywood. The paintings on the wall were all of voluptuous women in the nude. Butler recognized the artist as Peter Paul Rubens and wondered if any of them were originals.
    It was early and the place was empty, obviously not yet open for business. There were two bartenders preparing the bar for when they did open. All of the gaming tables were covered.
    Standing at the bar was Bat Masterson, drinking a cup of coffee.
    “Come on in, Butler,” Bat called. “Whataya think of the place?”
    “It’s amazing,” Butler said, joining Bat at the bar.
    “Drink? Coffee?”
    “Coffee’d be good.” It was a drink Butler could never have enough of.
    Bat waved at one of the bartenders who gave him a refill and Butler a fresh cup.
    “This is Roscoe, our head bartender,” Bat said. “That’s Willy.”
    Roscoe, a ruddy-faced man in his thirties, nodded. Willy, ten years younger and fresh-faced, waved.
    “Willy’s in training,” Bat added.
    “Where’s your table?” Butler asked.
    “In the corner, back there.” Bat used his chin to point.
    “When do you take the cover off.”
    “I’ve got one deputy,” Bat said. “When he comes on duty I open the table up. With you here, though, I can open earlier and stay open later.”
    “I’ve got to admit, it’s been a while since I dealt faro,” Butler said.
    “You never forget,” Bat said, nodding. “The one thing Neal Brown told me about you in Dodge was that you were a good card player.”
    “Poker player.”
    Bat waved.
    “Cards are cards,” Bat said. “I’m not worried. Nobody in this town plays that well.”
    “Still…”
    “You want me to brief you on the layout?”
    “It couldn’t hurt.”
    “Why don’t you put your gear in your room,” Bat said. “Up the stairs, second door. I’ll meet you at the table.”
    Butler went up. There were only rooms on one side, with a railing overlooking the saloon on the other. On a busy night, if he was in his room trying to sleep, he was sure he’d be able to hear the racket. That wouldn’t keep him awake, though. On the contrary, the murmur ofvoices—or even shouts—and the clatter of chips would lull him to sleep.
    The room was fine. Simple, clean, better than some, worse than others. He dropped his saddlebags on the bed, set his rifle down in a corner, and went back downstairs.
    Bat had the cover off his faro table. The green felt had faded some, but the symbols were sharp. Bat only needed ten minutes to bring Butler up to date before covering the table again.
    “You’ll be fine,” he said to Butler.
    “Bat, how long have you been the law here?”
    “About four months.”
    “And how much longer do you see yourself wearing that badge?”
    “As long as my luck holds out on this table,” he said. “When the cards start to run bad, that’s when I’ll put out. Or whenever I get antsy.”
    Butler understood that. He’d experienced that feeling himself many times.
    They went back to the bar and got their coffees