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freshened, this time by Willy.
    “Say,” Bat said then, “you wouldn’t be interested in wearin’ a badge, would you? I could always use another deputy.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “You can obviously handle a gun. From what I heard happened in Leadville, and what I saw in Dodge, you’re better than most.”
    “Not in your league.”
    “Hell, as long as you can hit what you aim at—”
    “I don’t think I’d be interested in being a faro dealer and a deputy, Bat. Too time-consuming. I’d never have time for poker.”
    “Yeah, I can see that,” Bat said. “And I need you more as a dealer than a deputy.”
    Butler was relieved. He didn’t want to insult Bat in any way. He still didn’t know the man very well, and wasn’t sure what kind of temper he had. He’d heard some stories, didn’t know if they were true, and didn’t want to test them out.
    “We’re good, then,” he said.
    “If you want to play poker tonight until about ten and then relieve me, that’s fine,” Bat said. “I make late rounds about then.”
    “Ten it will be, then.”
    Bat put his cup down.
    “I’ll see you then.” He waved at both the bartenders and left. When he was gone Willy came over, cleaning a glass.
    “You friends with Mr. Masterson?”
    “More like acquaintances.”
    “He don’t usually let nobody touch his layout,” the young bartender said. “He must think you’re friends.”
    “Maybe so,” Butler said. “I’d be honored if he did.”
    Willy was about to say more when Roscoe shouted for him.
    “Gotta go,” he said.
    Butler didn’t think of himself and Bat as friends—not yet, anyway—but what had happened in Dodge had apparently given him some respect in the eyes of Bat Masterson, and that pleased him.

CHAPTER 8
    About a week’s ride out of Trinidad three riders were camped. Sharing coffee around the fire. They were on their way into town, but in no particular hurry.
    “Feels odd,” Virgil said.
    “What does?” Wyatt asked.
    “The feeling that we’re not…huntin’ anybody.”
    “Or bein’ hunted,” Doc said.
    “That’s your thing, Doc,” Virgil said. “We never been hunted.”
    “Sure you have,” Doc said. “Maybe you just didn’t notice it.”
    Despite the fact that Doc Holliday had stood with the Earps against the Clantons and cowboys, Virgil still didn’t trust him, or even like him much. Doc was Wyatt’s friend. There was never any pretense about that. Doc had stood with Wyatt, not with the law, and not with the Earps.
    “Morgan was sure bein’ hunted that night,” Doc added.
    He was talking about the night in Tombstone that Morgan Earp had been shot and killed.
    “Don’t talk about Morg, Doc,” Virgil warned the tubercular killer.
    “Why not?” Doc asked, narrowing his eyes. “Are you warnin’ me off, Virgil?”
    “Cut it out, the two of you,” Wyatt said. “You’re stir crazy and you’re drivin’ me crazy. We best get into Trinidad where we can be around other people, maybe get away from each other for a little while.”
    “Suits me,” Virgil said, glaring at Doc.
    “You sayin’ you wanna get away from me?” Doc demanded. “’cause that can be arranged.”
    Wyatt gave up.
    “I’m gonna saddle up my horse,” he said. “You two can fight over who breaks camp.”
    He walked away from them and started to saddle his horse. They were the closest people to him in the world, but the two men were driving him crazy. They’d been riding together so long, just the three of them, that he really needed this stop off in Trinidad—if for no other reason than to see Bat Masterson. He had not seen his friend since he’d left Tombstone to go to Dodge City in response to an anonymous telegram. As it turned out Bat had actually arrived in time to back his brother Jim up in a fight. After that things had exploded in Tombstone, and Wyatt had been too busy to correspond with Bat. So this visit was overdue.
    And, of course, there was the fact that there were some