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to be seen how many of his five compadres did, too.
    “Well then get to it, son,” Bat said. “Get to it.”

CHAPTER 12
    As Vance went for his gun Butler looked at the bartender and shouted, “Now!”
    He knew Bat was counting on him to take care of Vance because, even as he caught the shotgun tossed to him by the barman, he saw Bat turning away from the man.
    All around them men were hitting the deck, leaving only Vance and his five partners standing. The odds were against Bat and Butler, but at least two of the men hesitated, and that worked in their favor.
    Butler triggered one barrel of the shotgun and blew out Fred Vance’s spine before the young man could fire his gun at Bat. Meanwhile, Bat fired twice and dropped to one knee.
    Butler turned to see who was standing. The one other man he’d picked out seemed stunned by what was happening, but the man next to him was grabbing for his gun. The gambler did not have time to hesitate, or feel sorry for the confused young man, Toby. He pulled the other trigger and blew both of them apart. As they slid down to the floor bloody bits of them adhered to the wall behind them.
    Butler dropped the shotgun and drew his gun, but by then it had gone quiet. He looked around and saw no one else standing. Then one by one, several by several, the patrons of the saloon began to get back to their feet, looking around them.
    “Goddamn!” Tom Reed said. “That was something!”
    Bat was walking around the room, checking on the young would-be gunmen.
    “They’re all dead,” he said to Butler. He turned to the crowd. “I need some volunteers to carry these bodies out of here.”
    No one moved until Tom Reed shouted, “Get off your asses and volunteer, ya ungrateful bastards.”
    Men began to come forward and one of them asked Bat, “Where should we take ’em, Marshal?”
    “Not enough room at the undertaker’s for all of them,” Bat said. He was ejecting spent shells from his gun and reloading live ones as he spoke. “Take ’em to the livery down the street, throw ’em in one stall together. The undertaker can collect them from there.”
    Suddenly there was a flurry of movement as men began hauling bodies out the batwing doors.
    Tom Reed came up to Butler and said, “Thanks for the help.”
    “I invited him,” Bat said.
    “And thank you, Marshal,” Reed said. “I really thought those maniacs were gonna kill somebody today.”
    “Thank your bartender, too,” Butler said, handing the shotgun back to the man. “He was quick.”
    “I’m gonna give you a raise, Randy.”
    “Thanks, Boss.”
    “Get your customers to help you clean up the blood, Tom,” Bat said. “I got to get back to work.”
    “Sure, Marshal, sure. Thanks again. You, too, mister.”
    “His name’s Butler,” Bat said. “He’ll be in town for a while, working at the Bonanza.”
    “Well, I don’t really care why you’re in town, Mr. Butler, just that you were here tonight.”
    Butler shook hands with the man, then walked out with Bat. He replaced his own empty shells with live loads as they walked back to the saloon.
    “How’d you get that bartender to toss you the shotgun?”
    “He had his hands on it the whole time. I just sort of…sent him a message with my eyes.”
    “Sharp man,” Bat said. “I’m glad he didn’t try to use it himself, though. Might have turned out different.”
    Butler nodded and holstered his gun.
    “Wanna deal some faro?” Bat asked. “I have to talk to the undertaker about the bodies.”
    “Sure,” Butler said. “I’ll reopen the table right now.”
    “Okay,” Bat said. “I’ll be in a little later on. And listen…thanks for back there. I don’t think me and the kid could’ve—oh shit, where’s the kid?”
    Butler turned.
    “We forgot about him. He must still be in the back.”
    “Why didn’t he come in when the shooting started?”
    “Guess you’re going to have to find out.”
    “Crap,” Bat said. “Lemme go find him. I’ll catch up