The money was pretty evenly split, and Bat offered each of them a final drink before he closed the Bonanza doors. “Well,” Doc said, over his last whiskey, “that didn’t prove much, did it?” “It proved that Virgil’s no card player, and Wyatt should stick to faro,” Bat said. Butler looked around. Except for Roscoe, the bartender, they were alone in the place. Doc was the only one who had to leave the building to walk to his hotel, while Butler and Bat both had rooms upstairs. Something didn’t feel right to Butler. He looked around again. This time he thought he saw a shadow at the front window. “Guess I better turn in,” Doc said. He’d been drinking whiskey during the game and his eyes were bloodshot. His coughing fits had been kept to a minimum. Butler wondered if the whiskey actually helped with that. Butler put his hand on Bat’s arm. “Something’s not right.” “I know,” Bat said. “You walk him, I’ll go out the back.” “Right.” All three of them walked to the front door, where Butler said, “I need some air.
